by Cheryl Bolen
"There is that."
"A pity I have nothing to contribute."
"As an impoverished Featherstone, I do understand that," she said with a nervous laugh.
"We have that in common, too." He offered her a wan smile.
"Lord Wycliff seems quite wealthy."
"I don't know how wealthy he is. When we first floated the subject of Alex standing for the House of Commons, Wycliff was the first to suggest he get the money from his brother."
"Oh dear. That's not good."
"No, but I still plan to ask him if he can assist Alex."
"What about Lord Alex? He is a duke's son. Does he not have money of his own?"
"There were three sons of the old duke--along with four daughters to dower. Since Alex was the third son, there wasn't a lot for him."
"So he's just third in line to the dukedom?"
"Actually, the eldest son died last year shortly after ascending to the dukedom. He was just thirty when he died of a strangulated hernia after a game of tennis"
"I wonder if Mr. Poppinbotham would be able to help. He seems quite wealthy."
"No."
There was something akin to vehemence in Lord Slade's voice. She did wish others would be more tolerant of the man she might marry.
While they talked, she noticed that Lord Alex had not touched his food, but had finished his bumper of Madeira and had poured another glass from one of the decanters that dotted the table. Then, still clutching his bumper, he rose.
Lord Slade also rose. "It looks like he's going to mingle with the guests. I'd best accompany him."
She placed a hand on Lord Slade's arm. "Perhaps he needs to do this on his own. He mustn't look like another man's puppet."
Lord Slade sat back down. "You're right. As always."
She shook her head. "Would that your words were true!"
His lordship continued to watch his old friend as he moved amongst the long tables of men who had gathered there. "He's looking more like his old self. Alex was always our leader, always the merrymaker, always the lady charmer."
She could well believe that Lord Slade had never been the lady charmer. The very notion of him having a lady bird, as did other men born to rank and privilege, was as preposterous as Miss Plain Jane Featherstone being a light skirt.
She peered down the table. The duke was chatting amiably with their hostess. Lady Framptingham did possess the ability to put others at ease. Now that their food was eaten, the Wycliffs moved down to speak with Jane and Slade.
"Why so grave?" Lord Wycliff asked as he pulled up a chair across the table from them. "I would say the event's been a spectacular success, and Alex is well on his way to charming every man here with his cheerful nature."
Lord Slade kept his voice low. "Fordham refuses to support his candidacy."
An angry look shot across Lord Wycliff's face. "Why in the devil not?"
"Because Alex is a Whig," Lord Slade said.
Lord Wycliff uttered a curse which Jane pretended not to hear. "Is there nothing we can do to persuade the man?"
"Had we time, possibly," Lord Slade answered. "As it is, there's not enough time."
"If only this weren't so late in the quarter," Lord Wycliff said. "I've drained my coffers sponsoring my cousin Edward Coke, who's married to Louisa's sister. He's electioneering in East Anglia. That--along with buying back the Grosvenor Square house--have left me with pockets to let until things come right next year."
"That's bloody bad news," Lord Slade said.
Jane felt as if she'd been struck. Deep down, she'd been confident that Lord Wycliff would come to his old friend's rescue. It never occurred to her Lord Wycliff was not fabulously wealthy. His lovely home, his wife's beautiful clothing, their fine carriage had all seemed to point to an inexhaustible source of income.
Lord Slade's gaze lifted toward the circular drive in front of the house. "Good Lord! You won't believe who's just arrived." There was uncharacteristic malice in his voice.
They all turned to look.
"He wouldn't. . ." Lord Wycliff said.
"Who wouldn't, darling?" his wife asked.
"Hugh Darrington-Chuff."
Now that she had a name, Jane realized the bloated man storming toward them had to be Darrington-Chuff. The arrogance of his stride was matched by the anger which clenched his fists and distorted his ruddy face.
Lord Slade leapt to his feet and moved to Lord Alex. The two then moved to intercept their opponent, who had almost reached the head table.
Anger simmered in Darrington-Chuff's pale eyes when he spoke to Lord Alex with a hatred so intense it made his voice tremble. "I. Will. Crush. You. You haven't a prayer against my fortune. I'd advise you to quit now and save yourself humiliation."
The two enemies' eyes locked.
"You cannot intimidate me, Darrington-Chubbs."
Lord Alex must be using a name the lads at Eton had called the portly Darrington-Chuff, Jane mused.
Hatred distorted the man's face as he lunged toward Lord Alex.
Two very large footmen intervened and held the intruder's arms behind him.
"I will buy the votes of half these men here," Darrington-Chuff threatened. "That's why I've come today."
Lord Framptingham stood. "No, you will not. Not on my property. Get. Out." With just a few nods to his other footmen, a half a dozen men closed around Darrington-Chuff and began to escort him from the property--but not quietly.
"Do not vote for Lord Alex Haversham," he shouted. "He wants to destroy our country! Do not trust him."
Jane could not help but to wonder how much damage had been done to Lord Alex's campaign. First, the loss of financial support, and now a slur against Lord Alex's good name.
"Just ignore him," Lord Slade said to his friend. "Come, let's show these voters what a bloody good fellow you are."
"Yes, I'd like to vouch for his character also," Lord Wycliff said.
The three of them began to move from table to table, shaking men's hands and speaking in a friendly manner.
What a contrast those three fine men were to the vile Mr. Darrington-Chuff, Jane thought. If only Lord Alex could procure the funds to buy these men's votes. She did not approve of the British electoral method. How she wished they would copy the Americans, who mandated secret balloting where voters voted for the best candidate--not the one who paid for their allegiance. She would have to speak to her friend, the essayist who secretly wrote as Philip Lewis. That would be a good topic for her next essay.
* * *
The Duke of Fordham brought out Jane's baser instincts. As she watched him take leave of the brother he'd so vastly disappointed, she resisted the urge to tear into him like a shrew. How could one brother betray another? It wasn't as if Fordham had ever committed himself to Tory principles before. The only other person to ever have incited in Jane such feelings of anger was her sister-in-law Lavinia. And now, too, Hugh Darrington-Chuff.
"Forgive me for withdrawing my support," Fordham said to Lord Alex.
"One day you'll see the error of your ways. One day you'll understand the reasons for my supposed defection," Lord Alex said. "I'm committed to what my Whig friends stand for. One way or the other, I will raise the money."
Once Fordham had driven off, Lord Alex explained to their host and hostess that his Whig affiliation had lost his brother's backing.
Lord Framptingham shook his head woefully. "That's a very low blow, indeed. Would that I could help, but I am already sponsoring a half a dozen other seats."
"You've already been exceedingly generous." Lord Alex turned to Lady Framptingham. "I am deeply indebted to you for all you've done."
"I wish I could do more," that lady said. "As it is, I can scrape together only three hundred to help your campaign. I believe in you."
Lord Wycliff nodded ruefully. "The most I can get my hands on before the next quarter is two hundred."
Lord Alex bowed his head. "I'm deeply appreciative. Those contributions, while not enou
gh, will go a great way toward what I will need."
How Jane wished she had something to contribute. But she did have an idea.
Lady Framptingham came and linked her arm to Lord Alex's. "Come. You must tell me about all your conversations with the good people of Blythstone. You impressed them."
Lord Slade turned to Jane. "Can I persuade you to walk about the park with me?"
"Indeed you can." She linked her arm to his, and they went outdoors where it was a cool but sunny afternoon. "How fortunate we were to avoid rain today. I thought the feast went splendidly--except for the wretched business with the wretched Duke of Fordham."
Lord Slade frowned. "That was unfortunate. Unpardonable, actually."
"I thought so too. Poor Lord Alex. I don't know how he managed to be so civil to his traitorous brother."
"My, I did not know Miss Jane Featherstone ever felt malice toward anyone," Lord Slade said with a chuckle. "Though, I will own, Fordham most certainly deserves your wrath."
"He most certainly has earned it. I don't know how one's brother could be so callous."
"I believe part of Fordham's problem is that he's always been jealous of Alex, who was a great favorite with their parents--as well as with anyone who's ever known him."
"Yes, I can see that. He's charming whilst being sincere. I was taken aback when he addressed Mr. Darrington-Chuff so offensively."
Lord Slade nodded. "Quite truthfully, though everyone at Eton addressed the blow-hard as Darrington-Chubb, I can honestly say that Lord Alex never did. One who's well liked never has a need to belittle one who's less fortunate. The only reason Alex did so today was because Darrington-Chubb was behaving so beastly to him. Were it up to Alex, this would be a gentleman's race."
"But Darrington-Chuff is no gentleman."
"Precisely."
She could never tire of gazing upon Lord Slade's handsome profile, never tire of strolling beside him. Being next to his big frame made her feel undeniably feminine.
He drew a deep breath. "I cannot speak to you about your cousin in front of the others, so I thought now would be a good time. I had half hoped you'd have been able to persuade her to come on this journey with us."
The mention of her cousin was like being stabbed with her darning needle. "I gave the matter serious consideration, but in the end I thought being at a political gathering might do you more harm than good."
He quirked a brow.
"Surely you've noticed that Lady Sarah has no interest in political matters?"
He thought for a moment before answering. "I don't suppose I had. When one's life is consumed with one subject, one assumes everyone shares that passion, but now I see that you are right."
"It's a pity you may have to marry a woman with whom you have so little in common." As soon as she spoke, Jane wished she could take back her words.
"Yes," he said solemnly.
Her heart went out to him. What sacrifices he was prepared to make in order to fulfill his Vow. "Of course, I know you won't marry my cousin unless she completely owns your heart, and there is much to claim your love in Lady Sarah."
"Indeed."
She wanted to ask him if he were falling in love with her cousin, but she could not bring herself to do so. She had no right to probe into so personal a matter. And as supportive as Jane was to his pursuit, it still hurt her to think of him loving Lady Sarah. She sighed. Lady Sarah, for reasons Jane would never be able to understand, could never love Lord Slade as Jane was capable of doing. Not that Jane would allow herself to fully commit to loving this incredibly appealing man who towered over her at present.
He cleared his throat. "I don't suppose Lady Sarah has mentioned me?"
She shrugged. "At this point, my cousin has not been able to narrow down the considerably long list of her admirers."
"I wish I were a more patient man."
"Then you might have to make a rash decision you might live to regret. Let the affections grown naturally."
He placed a gentle hand over Jane's. "You are right. Once more."
* * *
After their walk, all of them gathered in the drawing room where Lord Alex announced that his brother had withdrawn his support. "My earnest commitment to court today's voters was in no way a commitment to this candidacy. I felt it my duty to be gracious to men who had given up their time to meet me, but I will not be able to proceed with electioneering without considerable financial support which has not been forthcoming."
Lord Wycliff came to stand beside Lord Alex. "I am happy to say that Lady Framptingham has pledge three hundred guineas to Lord Alex's campaign, and I've managed two hundred. Are any of the rest of you able to contribute?" He gazed from one to the other of the four peers who had come to Blythstone. The first shook his head ruefully. The second, Lord Babbington said, "One hundred is the most I can get my hands on. Bloody bad timing."
"I know," Lord Wycliff said. It's eight weeks until the next quarter."
"A pity the voters must be bribed before casting their votes," Lord Aylesbury said. "If only the election were to be held during the next quarter I would be able to make a sizeable contribution, but now, there is no way I can get my hands on another farthing."
When Lord Wycliff eyed the final peer, he slowly shook his head, a solemn look on his face.
Jane was more committed than ever to proceed with her plan.
Chapter 12
On Jane's first day back in London, Mr. Poppinbotham paid her a call. When she had gone to bed the previous night, exhausted from the long journey, she had thought Mr. Poppinbotham might come to her today. But since awakening to the patter of rain upon her windows, she thought not.
That he came in the rain was a pleasant surprise. It was important that she look her best when she went downstairs to see him. She, therefore, took longer than normal on her toilette. Though her selections were limited, she chose a pale green sprigged muslin. When she wore it, she'd been told, it accentuated her pale green eyes. Those making such comments also praised the beauty of her eyes, but she thought they were perhaps just being kind. She pinned back her tresses, and a few tendrils of nondescript brown hair spiraled about her face. She took one last glance into her looking glass, knowing she could not appear to better advantage. That is not to say she looked lovely. She looked tolerable. What a pity that no amount of primping could round out her skinny frame.
Her father had been entertaining Mr. Poppinbotham in the drawing room. Both men rose when she entered. Though the drawing room was normally lovely--owing to her late mother's impeccable taste--it was dreary today, owing to the gray skies and ever-increasing rainfall.
"How lovely you look today, Miss Featherstone," Mr. Poppinbotham said.
"You are much too kind. Pray, be seated." She sat on a faded silken settee close to the fire. Because of the rain, a chill permeated everything, and she was most grateful for the fire's warmth.
"I had hoped to claim you for a ride in the park," Mr. Poppinbotham said, "but, alas, the weather will not oblige."
"Still, I am very happy to see you," she told him. Which was true. Mr. Poppinbotham was integral to her plan.
It was as if her comment added an inch to his stature. A smile settled across his face, and he straightened his spine, while preening like the king of the jungle. The man no doubt fancied that he cut a dashing figure in his striped coat of orange and brown, paired with a waistcoat of lime green. He wore buckled black shoes that would have been far more suitable for a ball than for a morning call. She told herself that when she married him she would have to discreetly assist in the selection of his clothing.
"Tell me again what sent you to Hampshire," he said.
"Lady Wycliff asked me to accompany her whilst they participated in an electioneering meeting for Lord Alex Haversham, who is standing for Blythstone. You will recall he is the brother of the Duke of Fordham." She knew, with Mr. Poppinbotham's adoration of nobles, he would be impressed. She was counting on it.
"A more worthy candi
date I cannot imagine," said her father, who had remained as chaperone for propriety.
Mr. Poppinbotham smiled. "How astonishing! I almost met the Duke of Fordham last February. Or was it December? Let me see . . . I was in Bath, and the duke was there also. He drank the waters in the Pump Room. I remember thinking he was such a young man to be a duke."
"Yes," she said, "he was the second son. The first died unexpectedly shortly after succeeding."
Mr. Poppinbotham shook his head. "A pity. But the new duke was most definitely in Bath when I was there. I had hoped for an introduction to him, but alas, it was not to be."
"The man would do you no credit," she said, shaking her head solemnly. "He came to Blythstone, but we were extremely vexed with him."
Mr. Poppinbotham's eyes widened. "Pray, why?
"Because the sly devil withdrew his support from his brother, Lord Alex."
"Why did he do that?"
"Because he learned that Lord Alex meant to throw his allegiance to the Whigs."
"Then you are saying the Duke of Fordham is a Tory?" Mr. Poppinbotham lowered his brows in dismay.
A grim expression on her face, she nodded.
"Oh, dear."
Now it was time to invoke her plan. She put her head into her hands.
"What is the matter, my dear Miss Featherstone?" Mr. Poppinbotham asked.
She sniffed. "We are all crushed. Poor Lord Alex cannot proceed against the evil Mr. Hugh Darrington-Chuff without the financial support his wicked brother has withdrawn." She sighed. "Lady Framptingham--the stalwart Whig that she is--has pledged three hundred toward Lord Alex's campaign, and Lord Wycliff has pledged another two hundred. But Lord Alex still needs a donor with a large purse to ensure victory over his wretched foe. If only we were acquainted with a wealthy man whose heart is in the right place." She once more buried her face in her hands. And sniffed loudly.
"Indeed," her father said, "it is a pity. Quite crushing."
Mr. Poppinbotham left his chair and came to her, settling a gentle hand upon her quivering shoulder. "There, there, my dear Miss Featherstone. You can count on Cecil Poppinbotham to bring wrongs to right."