She was finally calming down enough to realize he truly believed what he was saying—that he was a human lie detector. If she wasn’t so upset, she’d have to ponder that, but anything seemed possible these days. “People must lie to you all the time. You cannot possibly always know the truth unless you have a gossip monger on your shoulder.”
He shrugged. “I collect information, admittedly.” Finished with her bodice, he returned to drying off. “But I only do so after I hear the lies. I like to know why people do what they do.”
She sensed his conviction and shook her head. If he would insist on this nonsensity, then he had to listen to hers. “If I am to believe that, then you must believe that I can tell what the people around me feel. You’re feeling rather smug right now.”
He stopped toweling off to stare. “Is that part of hearing ghosts in your head?”
“No, the voices didn’t start until I heard my mother after she died. The feelings have always been there.” She looked around for a mirror to fix her hair, but of course, Ash had none. When they’d remodeled a public room for his private chamber, they’d had no reason to install mirrors for a blind man. With a sigh, she borrowed his brush to start braiding.
“And I can tell that you aren’t lying, that you really believe you hear your mother,” he said. “That doesn’t mean it’s true, just that you believe it. But if I’m to believe that you know how I feel, then you must know that I love you, and I think you’re beautiful. So you can’t run away.” He took the brush to stroke the damp strands of her hair.
“I can’t read minds,” she said irritably, not understanding how the conversation had gone so far off topic. “I can feel love, yes. I don’t feel distaste when you look at me, which is a pleasant change, but feelings can change at any minute.”
“Mine won’t,” he said reassuringly, stroking her hair, then braiding it. “We can argue this tomorrow, on our way to Iveston. For now, I would very much like to rest my aching head for an hour before confronting our guests. I need time to consider how and if I should let them know about my recovering sight.”
Immediately concerned, she let the confusing conversation drop. She caught his big, competent hand and kissed it. “You are worried. You’re afraid your sight will go away.”
“Perspicacious.” He carefully stuck the pins she handed him into the circle of braids he’d created at her nape. “Would it be better if a blind marquess marched through the streets and spoke extemporaneously in front of the Lords, or a half-blind one?”
“Be yourself. Say nothing of your sight. And I dare say you’ve already memorized a perfectly ringing speech.”
“Not so ringing if I can see them yawning and nodding off,” he said dryly, applying the final pin.
She turned and kissed his rough cheek. “If I must believe you see me as beautiful, you must believe that you can command men to do what is right. Rest. I’ll see that your guests are entertained.”
Still so unsettled she didn’t know whether to stay or hide, Christie swept out of the room. She could only hope all the traitors had been caught or had gone home. She might knife the next man who touched her family. She never wanted to suffer another day like this again.
And she still had the longest part to go.
33
Head no longer pounding after his nap, Ash let his valet straighten his tie and tuck his neckcloth into his waistcoat. If his vision continued to improve, he would have to order a mirror brought in here so he could arrange his own damned linen.
He was thrilled that his narrow view of the world hadn’t left while he slept.
At a knock on his door, he commanded entrance, knowing it wouldn’t be Christie. She wouldn’t knock. He hadn’t seen her since he’d fallen asleep for half the day.
Theo and Erran entered, both garbed in afternoon attire. Ash had ordered lamps lit around the room so he could better see as he moved about. Now, he tilted his head back to observe as much of his brothers as he could. Theo’s tie had already come undone and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. A sheaf of paper bulged in one of his coat pockets, and a hank of brown hair fell across his brow. Ash was rather relieved to see his heir hadn’t changed much over these past months.
Erran, on the other hand, looked like a vanity plate. If he cocked his head just right, Ash could finally admire one of the pleated shirts Celeste produced. His younger brother had recently had his hair trimmed and his beard shaved and appeared more polished than any lord. Erran would make a fine representative in the Commons when the time came. It was good to know that blindness hadn’t deceived him in that.
Ash still didn’t know what to tell his brothers. He was terrified even this limited scope would vanish at a moment’s notice.
“Your bride told us we are to admire your attire and ask if ours is up to snuff. What the devil does that mean?” Theo asked, attacking the fire in the grate so the flames added to the room’s light.
Apparently everyone had developed the habit of ignoring the lamps around him. Ash could see the point. “I want my sword stick. Anyone know where it’s got to?”
“From the sounds of it, the boys probably used your walking stick to herd dogs this morning while you were lying about being coddled by your wife. You have another in your office,” Erran said, crossing to the study door.
“That’s not the one I mean. The one with a horse head is a sword,” Ash called after him. “I didn’t have that one because I couldn’t find it.”
“Pascoe stole that one, unless the one he was carrying was identical.” Theo paced. “Why do I need to be here? I’m no good at politicking.”
Erran returned with an assortment of sticks. “No horse head.”
“Tell Pascoe I’ll whack him for stealing my favorite stick when I couldn’t see his thievery.” Ash chose one with a silver knob, studied it for the latch, then opened it to reveal a flask inside. “This will suffice. Where’s my brandy bottle?”
His brothers gawked. Jones scurried to fetch the brandy.
“What do you mean, when you couldn’t see,” Erran inquired, eyeing the tricky knob in suspicion.
Rather than ask, Theo stepped in front of Ash and met his eyes. He raised a finger and passed it back and forth between them. Ash followed it by turning his head.
“You can see.” Theo continued holding his finger to the right but swatted Ash on the left, a blow Ash hadn’t seen coming while focusing on the finger. “You can almost see.”
Ash cuffed him back. “For now. For this minute. Let’s not be hasty.” Ash held out the stick for his valet to fill, waiting out the stunned silence.
“Enough to ride a horse?” Theo demanded.
Leave it to his heir to pinpoint Ash’s major concern—returning to riding the fields Theo hated. “Maybe. Do I tell those men out there?” He nodded to the corridor where laughter and rising voices carried.
“You’re asking us?” Erran asked. “That’s a first. My vote is to just walk out there, say nothing, and let them judge for themselves. Your eyes are really none of their concern.”
Until recently, Ash had not been inclined to listen to his younger brothers. After these past months of relying on them for almost everything, he couldn’t be so . . . blind. His brothers had intelligence and strengths that multiplied his own. Better yet, he could trust them to be honest.
“You’re right,” he agreed, catching Erran’s look of surprise with chagrin. It was a wonder they hadn’t locked him in the attic and thrown away the key when they had the chance. “Let’s go out there, raise a cup of punch, and send them off like a conquering army.”
“Oh, we’ll be an army, all right,” Theo said with dryness.
Ash raised an eyebrow.
Erran shrugged. “We’ll leave it as a surprise. Marriage is a unique institution and we have a lot to learn.”
Considering they hadn’t had a woman in the household for twenty-five years before Aster arrived, Ash could appreciate that. He was anticipating whatever madness their wives had spun this time.
“The Whigs for the working man!” Celeste called from her platform near the park. “Show your support for the party that will give all men the vote!”
Wearing the tri-color sash sewed on Erran’s new sewing machine, Christie handed out small flags to anyone who held up a hand. A small crowd was forming in the cold November gloom.
“Ash will kill us,” Aster said cheerfully at Christie’s back, handing out more flags on that side.
“Ash won’t have time to kill us,” Christie said in satisfaction. “He has messages from the king to answer. Under his suggestion, the Civil List is about to become a point of contention on which the current administration shall fail.”
From her higher perch on the bench, Celeste considered the group of gentlemen gathered to enter Westminster. “Some of the representatives actually look determined.”
“Finally.” Aster made a moue of disgust. “How fast did Erran have to talk to convince them that reform is necessary?”
“Probably not too fast after they learned of Lansdowne and Montfort’s misdeeds.” Christie handed out the last of her flags. “Any left lingering on the fence are now in Whig pockets.”
“And how did they learn of that?” Celeste asked, climbing down from her perch now that the mob at their feet had surged, shouting, toward the group of representatives entering the hallowed halls of Parliament, urging them to vote reform. “I thought a gentleman’s code of honor prevented speaking ill of their own.”
“Women gossip,” Christie said in satisfaction.
Aster laughed. “Malcolm women especially. There will be an entire army of outraged members speechifying. Did you really tell your guests what happened, Christie?”
Christie smiled. “No, I told Ash’s valet, who told the other servants, who told everyone in St. James, apparently. Malcolm women cannot compare to the gossip of loyal hired help. Shall we repair to tea and wait for the results?”
“Happily, but you’re the one who has to listen to the bellows of the Mad Marquess tonight,” Celeste said in her lilting accent, taking Christie’s arm. “Your outrageous gossip may have forced the king’s involvement.”
“Ash won’t have time to bellow at me,” Christie said in satisfaction. “He’ll have so many other things to bellow about that he’ll find a better use of his time.”
Her sisters-in-law laughed, and Christie basked in the warmth of understanding. For the first time since childhood, she felt as if she belonged.
Ash stood before the most august body in the kingdom, trying not to squint into the candlelit shadows. This small chamber in the medieval Palace of Westminster was not designed for six hundred plus men who had gathered to hear the outcome of the debate in the Commons. Given the way the members slouched and lay about the hard wooden benches, snoring and gambling and occasionally punching each other into responding, Ash thought it a good thing that they didn’t have room for an audience.
It was also a good thing that he mostly saw the chamber from memory. It was too dark to see beyond the first bench as he preached his sermon of reform or revolution. He understood why it had been so hard for the leadership to give up the wooden tally sticks they’d once used to count the vote. He’d often been tempted to throw them to wake up the drunkards. His marksmanship currently wouldn’t allow throwing anything, however.
Shouting to wake the dead, and those in the back row, he finished his speech. “And I tell you now is the time for all true Englishmen to stand up and be counted, to ensure our future, to encourage an industrial revolution and not a revolution of the people we are sworn to protect, a revolution that will make us leaders of the world. Electoral reform will move us forward into an era of prosperity for all!”
When he finished, Ash was gratified to hear more than his small crowd of supporters clapping. His family had pushed hard for this moment. He wished they could be here now to savor it. That would come if the king heeded his words about a choice in a new prime minister to lead them out of the past. He used his stick to find his way to his seat.
When the Lords finally received news of the vote in the Commons, the result was not a surprise. Without Lansdowne and Montfort, the other side had fallen apart—just as Ash’s enemies had hoped to shred his faction by removing him.
As word leaked outside, a great roar rose in the square.
“I’m told that one of my great-nieces is out there raising the rabble.” The Duke of Sommersville fell into step with Ash as they attempted to push through the mob to the exit.
“My wife, your grace, although shouting isn’t Christie’s style,” Ash said. “She is more likely encouraging others to do so.”
The duke pounded his shoulder. “Good to know that the family tradition of sensible matches marches on. My son told me of your accident. I’d like to have a look at your eyes someday, if you don’t mind. I have a particular fascination with injuries of the head. I’ve been told I have a healing touch. Do you believe in magic?”
Given that his wife and her family’s magic potions and a blow on the head had started sorting out his vision, Ash snorted. “No, not in magic, but in things that we can’t explain. I’d be honored, but I’m already seeing better, although that was more likely the knock on the head and not Christie’s influence, if you’re hinting that she has supernatural talents.”
The duke nodded. “It’s good enough to know that you have an open mind and are willing to experiment. Give my regards to your lady and tell her I’ll call before I leave town.”
If Christie wanted family, she’d have more than she knew what to do with shortly. But Ash had other plans for his wife, and they had little to do with dukes. “We’ll be leaving for Iveston in the morning, your grace, but we’ll be happy to have you visit us any time you wish to travel that way. My estate has been neglected too long.”
“Understood. We should keep in touch. There’s a lot of work ahead if we’re to make reform happen.” The duke sauntered off as they broke through the throng in the old palace and onto the crowded street.
Ash swallowed hard at the solid mass of humanity ahead. The gas lamps merely showed him a swirling mass. He would have to hope he remembered his direction and hold on to his purse. Fighting pickpockets wouldn’t happen easily when he could scarcely move or see.
Before he had waded ten feet into the throng, the scent of lilies reached him. Ash waited, and his astonishing wife shoved her way to his side. Hugging her, he kissed her cheek. “Tell Celeste to dissolve this mob and let us go home.”
“You believe she can dissolve a mob?” Christie asked with interest, raising her hand to signal someone he couldn’t see in the darkness.
“I currently believe in miracles. Let us go home and create a few more. We have an early start on the morrow. It is a good thing the boys went with William. I’m not inclined to share the carriage.”
“You radiate triumph,” she declared. “And lust, but that seems to be a given.”
Ash laughed and watched the mob part as Celeste’s magical voice called for dispersal. “How was I so fortunate to find you?”
“I found you, remember? How could I ignore such a ferocious blind man? You didn’t even have the sense to be afraid until the thief fled. I knew then that I had to meet you, even if you laughed in my face. I had never met any genuine heroes.”
“So you lied to me. That makes complete sense. I’m happy to have that explained. Come along, wife, the waters part and even I can see the way.” Offering his arm as if they were out for an evening’s stroll, Ash led his bride home. Or she led him. He didn’t trouble to work it out.
34
“I am half terrified to take you to Iveston,” Ash declared as the carriage departed busy city streets for the rural roads of Surrey. “Until Aster arrived, women were in the habit of fleeing our abode.”
Christie had heard enough about Iveston to feel a degree of apprehension. “Is that why Theo and Aster chose to stay in London?” she asked. “They fear I’ll run screaming from the house and not return?”
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“No, if they’d thought that, they would have come to laugh at me. Theo had a paper to present to the Astronomical Society, and Aster is hoping to found her own Astrological Society. Now that the harvest is done and I’m on my way back, they’re probably plotting a mad escape to Aster’s home—or Wystan, where there is an observation tower for Theo and a Malcolm library for Aster.”
Christie studied the quiet winter fields rolling past their window. “So far, everything looks very ordinary. Are we close yet?”
“Those are my fields.” He nodded to the right. “I’ve been dreading seeing them from inside a carriage, but it is good to catch glimpses of them, even if I cannot view the whole hillside. I can’t abide sitting still, but having you to talk to has prevented me from beating the walls of this cage.”
To her surprise, Ash had spent this journey watching out windows, eagerly soaking up the sight of places of interest he hadn’t been able to see since spring. He’d related stories about the various clubs they’d passed on Pall Mall, pointed out new construction, and when reminded by familiar views, told her tales of his youth in London.
She was thrilled that his vision was improving. She loved hearing him speak with her as she’d always imagined a husband might. She basked joyously in his conscientiousness in seeing to her comfort and allowing her to observe a side of him that wasn’t immediately apparent in the authoritarian persona he presented to the world.
“Does the household know we’re coming?” she asked, trying to hide her anxiety.
“I sent word. They’ll be down on their knees in gratitude. William is no disciplinarian when it comes to the twins. They’ll be running amuck. Our housekeeper is inclined to tipple in the afternoons, so the servants pick up bad habits. I’m hoping the new butler won’t quit once he sees what’s in store. I suspect Pascoe and Jacques are still dealing with Montfort’s situation, so they’ll be about, encouraging chaos. I told Zack to hang around if he could. There are undoubtedly repairs you’d like him to undertake.”
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