She undressed, putting on a thin cotton night rail. Sleep didn’t come quickly, nor did she search for it. Colin’s distance bothered her more than his earlier anger.
The candle had burned itself out before she heard him come to bed. She lay there, listening to him remove his boots, unbutton his breeches, pull his shirt over his head. The mattress gave as he climbed in beside her…and she realized that if he had wanted distance between them, he could have had a separate bedroom. That was the way her parents had been, the way her aunts and uncles had lived.
But Colin had not once suggested such a thing.
The insight gave her courage. She turned to him. He was naked, and she smiled. This was the way she liked him.
Without words, she began kissing him—his shoulder, his neck, working her way to his lips.
Colin was hard and ready for her. Soundlessly, they made love. Words would have been superfluous. They laced their fingers together as he pulled her beneath him. When he entered her, she knew she would follow him anywhere.
For him, she would give up her home, her friends, her very identity.
Afterwards, he fell asleep, still inside her. She cradled his head against her chest and said the one thing she was so afraid to speak aloud—“I love you.”
And the truth of those words filled her with hope.
When Colin woke the next morning, he discovered Rosalyn was already up. He found her out digging in her flower beds. She wore a faded blue dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Curls peeked out from beneath her bonnet and made his heart ache with love for her.
He knelt down and picked up a hand shovel from her basket of tools. “You were up early.”
She smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You’ve had less sleep than I.”
“I had compensations.” The light dancing in her eyes made him laugh.
“We both have.” He dug in the soil a bit. Rosalyn’s hands moved with purpose, while he was merely filling time. The speech was on his mind. “You helped me sleep well last night. I was so tense I might not have slept otherwise.”
She looked up at him through her lashes. “We helped each other. Did you check on the fox?” she asked. “I forgot to.”
“Yes. John’s salve is a cure-all, and wild creatures hate confinement. The fox was ready to leave, and so I let it go.”
Rosalyn sat back. “You what?”
He met her gaze. “I let him go. He was anxious to be where he belonged.” The meaning of his words were not lost on him. “Of course, Cook was anxious to have him gone, too.” He dug back into the earth. “It seemed the right thing to do.”
She looked to the line of trees where the fox used to sit. He wasn’t there. “Do you think he’ll be back, or will he go off on his own?”
“Rosalyn, he had to leave sooner or later.”
“I suppose.” She rested her hands in her lap. “And this way, we can tell Lord Loftus we don’t have the fox.”
“I prefer not talking to him on the subject at all. Besides, Shellsworth has probably already had his say.”
She rose to her feet. “I think I’d best get ready.” She turned and left, and Colin found himself sitting alone. She’d not asked after his speech. He knew she must have doubts. He tossed the spade into the basket and got to his feet. He’d best see to their transportation into town.
They did leave earlier than Colin thought they should, but then, they both had a bit of nerves. Covey came with Cook and John in the pony cart. Bridget had made plans to attend with some friends.
That Bridget and her friends wanted to go was the first inkling they had that the event might be larger than Rosalyn and Lady Loftus had anticipated.
They knew by the time they reached the ruins of the old Norman keep at the top of the street that this was an event. The roads were packed. The streets of Clitheroe were busier than if it had been a market day.
As they rode down toward the White Lion, all around them came the call for good wishes. Colin recognized many faces from his childhood. He remembered that, at the time, there had been a good number of them who’d wanted to see him in the stocks. They all seemed pleased with him now.
A podium and stand had been set up outside the public house to take advantage of the spring afternoon, and to allow Botherton to sell more ale and cider. Everyone was there.
“Oh, dear,” Rosalyn said on the phaeton’s seat beside him. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
Lord Loftus had already arrived. He and his wife sat in an open carriage close to the podium. They nodded their heads and waved like visiting royalty. Mr. and Mrs. Blair, the mill owner and his wife, as well as the Lovejoyces and their daughter, Belinda, were also part of their party. Colin could feel Belinda watching him. Funny that a woman who had once meant so much to him was little better than a stranger now.
Shellsworth and his wife were in a carriage, pulled up as close as possible to the Loftus’. The lawyer appeared tense, which made Colin all the more relaxed.
He set the brake and jumped down. Immediately, men held out their hands to him. He was a local lad, and they’d come to give him support.
Colin’s heart swelled at the good wishes, but the person he wanted to see—his brother—was not there.
Botherton called the meeting to order. He enjoyed having the White Lion be the center of attention. “We’re here to hear two good men speak,” he shouted in a commanding voice. “As you may or may not know, one will fill our Commons seat.”
No one said anything. What was there to say? A man close to Colin grumbled, “The decision is nowhere close to ours.”
“Loftus buying the ale if he wants our vote?” another man wondered aloud, and those who overheard him laughed.
Colin stood next to Oscar’s nose. The warhorse nuzzled his neck. Rosalyn sat on the phaeton with her hands in her lap. She wore the wide-brimmed straw hat she’d had on earlier that morning and the dress of marine blue that brought out the green in her eyes and the gold in her hair. She’d never looked prettier.
Botherton looked to Loftus. “How do you wish to proceed, my lord? Do you have a choice, or shall we draw straws to see which should go first?”
“Draw straws,” Loftus said airily, relishing his role of lord.
Colin and Shellsworth were called forward. The short straw would go first, and that was drawn by Shellsworth. Colin returned to the phaeton and stood by the side, where his wife was sitting.
Shellsworth was a good orator for the first forty minutes. He stood up to the podium with a confidence that said he did not know everyone didn’t like him. He spoke exactly as Colin predicted he would. He talked about Loftus’s generosity and the power of the conservative Tory party. He went on about British victory and British power in the world.
It was obvious that, in preparation for the speech, he’d been giving it to his wife, who knew it so well that she mouthed the words with him. Someone caught her doing it and nudged a companion, who quietly laughed and tapped another to look. Pretty soon, people weren’t watching Shellsworth but his wife.
However, after the first hour passed, and Shellsworth gave no sign of abating, the crowd grew restless. Even Loftus started looking at his fingernails. The lawyer kept talking.
Rosalyn tapped Colin on the shoulder. “He will be difficult to follow if everyone is tired of hearing speeches.”
He noticed for the first time she’d brought a handkerchief, which she had wrung into threads with worry. “All the better for me,” he assured her.
Rosalyn didn’t say anything.
At last the lawyer finished. His final words were greeted by a smattering of applause. “I clap because I’m glad he’s done,” said a man standing next to Colin, and all around them laughed.
Botherton used the moment between orators as a chance to encourage everyone to refill their tankards, which many did. The mood of the crowd was still festive but definitely more fidgety than it had been at the beginning.
Botherton called Colin down. As he
walked through the crowd, many clapped him on the back.
They expected much out of him, he realized. He was one of them. Shellsworth represented the gentry. Colin was the upstart.
As he climbed the makeshift stage to take his place at the podium, he still wasn’t certain what he would say. Inside his jacket was his carefully written speech. At this height above the crowd, he could feel the clear, fresh spring wind. The air was ripe with the promise of new life.
The people settled in. Surprisingly, there were as many women there as men. When he’d left years ago, such would not have been the case.
Loftus watched Colin with suspicious eyes. He stroked his upper lip with a finger. Lady Loftus beamed at him. There was no doubt she was on his side. The Lovejoyces prepared to listen with benevolent tolerance. At one time, Mr. Lovejoyce had thrown Colin out of their home for daring to call on his daughter. That same daughter now ran her tongue over her lips, slowly, so that he would not mistake the message.
Colin looked away. He put his hand on the podium—and then he saw his brother.
Matt stood in the back of the crowd, baby Sarah in his arms and Val at his side. The children were probably off playing elsewhere. Colin understood without words that Matt was here to support him. He might not approve of red wheels on sporty phaetons. He might think Colin’s goals wrongheaded. But he was present as a brother.
The connection between them spanned years and ideology. They had been birthed by the same parents, trained by the same disciplined tutor, and Colin realized they were not so far apart after all. Even if Matt could sing and he couldn’t.
The one difference between them was the fact that Matt had the courage of his convictions, the courage he believed Colin lacked.
And then Colin’s gaze turned toward Rosalyn. She sat on the phaeton’s perch with her hands in her lap and her eyes shining with pride. She alone had the most to lose if he spoke his mind.
She alone was the one encouraging him to do so. As if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes, he saw what he should have seen all along—she loved him.
The knowledge struck him like a bolt of lightning.
Rosalyn hadn’t been attempting to sway his decision. She had been trying to let him know that it was his to make, and she would be there come what may.
He remembered her touch last night in bed. The way she had offered herself to him. Love had been in every movement.
Yes, she loved him. Her love was there for all to see, provided the person wasn’t a duffle-headed husband.
Colin looked right at his wife and began speaking. He didn’t even bother to pull out the pages of the speech he had prepared the night before. He knew what he wanted to say. He’d yearned to say these things so many times over the years.
He started with the usual homage to God and King, but from there he diverged. “But what I’ve come to discuss with you,” he said, looking at these people who had been a part of his youth and would now be players in his future, “is the question of Parliamentary reform.”
The moment the words left his lips, there was a reaction. Loftus dropped his hand and sat straighter. Shellsworth grinned.
But the crowd listened.
Colin spoke of the necessity for representation for all men. He talked about the vote and the need for a strong House of Commons to represent Britain’s future for all. He mentioned the importance of education and taxes going to support not the landlords but those who earned the wages.
He spoke out against injustice and shared his vision of a new Britain, one where all men could be safe from the threat of habeas corpus being suspended, or being imprisoned without legal protection. He said the time had come to end corruption at the very highest levels of government and in the military. He’d witnessed how class distinctions had benefited a few while keeping good men from achieving. “I have achieved what I have in my life,” he said, “because I had a man like Father Ruley, whom many of you knew and trusted. He gave me an education, one that should be available for all. I want the Commons seat. I wish it could be put to a vote as it should be. But if I don’t receive it, I want all who hear my voice to know that a new time is dawning in England. The ways of the hierarchy are changing. The individual is important. We are standing with one foot in the old ways of feudalism, and another in the modern world. What happened in France will not happen here. We are Englishmen. We don’t behead tyrants, but neither do we tolerate them.”
With those words, he’d finished.
In all, he’d spoken for only ten minutes. The crowd had gone silent. Even the children had stopped laughing during their play, as if picking up the mood of the adults.
Colin didn’t look to Loftus’s carriage. Instead, he looked at the crowd, uncertain of their response.
And then Rosalyn stood. All eyes turned immediately to her, and Colin felt people hold their breath, wondering what drama was about to unfold.
She began clapping.
At first, she clapped alone, but then Matt joined her, then Val and even little Sarah, mimicking her parents. There was laughter then and a groundswell of applause. Shouts went up, congratulating him on the courage to speak what they’d all been thinking.
Shellsworth stood, calling for quiet. His shrill voice charged, “Mandland speaks insurrection against the government!”
Botherton took the podium from Colin. “Sit down, man!” he shouted back. “He said no such thing!”
“Yes, and if your head wasn’t so far up someone’s arse,” a wag yelled at Shellsworth, “you’d know he spoke truth!”
Everyone laughed at that—save for Shellsworth and his wife, who threw her hands up over her ears in a ridiculously childish gesture. To show his anger, Shellsworth picked up his whip and lashed out at those in the crowd closest to him.
For a moment, chaos was in danger of overtaking the assembly. Angry hands reached out to pull the whip and the lawyer out of the carriage, but Colin cried out, “No! Leave him be. He has the right to his opinion.”
Several heads nodded, and there were acknowledgements of agreement.
The moment was interrupted by Loftus’s coachman backing his carriage out. The matched pair of bays, which also served as hunters, pushed their way toward Downham Manor, the crowd stepping aside to let them pass. Colin noticed that some men even removed their hats while Loftus passed, a sign of respect, while others stood silent and sullen.
Shellsworth wasted no time in turning his vehicle around and trailing in Loftus’s wake.
Colin saw exactly what his speech had done.
The powerful of the parish would no longer welcome him with open arms. He truly would be making his own way now. And Loftus would never give him the Commons seat.
There was a step on the stage, and Colin turned to see his brother climbing up to join him. Matt threw his arms around Colin’s shoulders. “That took courage,” he said. “I’d not dared voice those thoughts, even from the pulpit, but now, brother, I know I can’t keep silent.”
Botherton led the cheer for the Mandland brothers. Colin knew the nature of men. Today they would cheer; tomorrow, when there was hell to pay, half of them would deny having even been present…or would they?
Could not the seeds of change that had swept the Colonies in America and led the French to revolt find root here?
And if so, what role would he end up playing?
He looked to his wife, to the woman who had given him the freedom to say what he believed…
She was gone.
The phaeton was still there with young Boyd holding Oscar’s harness. But his wife was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Eighteen
Rosalyn was beside herself. If she didn’t catch up with her patrons, Lord and Lady Loftus, Colin was going to lose the Commons seat. She knew she could make them see right.
It would have been impossible for her to drive the phaeton out of the crowd. She’d asked her husband’s nephew Boyd to watch Oscar, and then she’d made her way up to the top of the hill by the Norman keep, wher
e Covey, John, and Cook waited.
“John, you must take me to Downham Manor,” Rosalyn said.
Covey asked, “Is that wise? Lord Loftus is not pleased.”
“But I can calm him down,” Rosalyn said. “He must see that Colin speaks what people are thinking. He must understand that Colin didn’t direct his comments at him.”
“He certainly did,” John said stoutly. “And about time. I say the colonel is a rum one. He should be in the Commons seat.”
Rosalyn was taken aback by her usually reserved gardener being so forthcoming.
Covey stepped in. “Yes, John, you drive her. Cook and I will find a ride home with friends.”
John had no choice then but to do Rosalyn’s bidding. In the end, it was all for naught. The pony cart could never catch up with a carriage, and at Downham Manor both Lord and Lady Loftus refused to see her.
Rosalyn stood on the step, slightly stunned. She had expected her cachet with the two of them to carry some weight. She had wanted to protect Colin.
And she couldn’t.
She came down off the steps and walked to the cart. “I think we’d best go home, John.”
He grumbled something about the rude manners of the gentry. Rosalyn barely heard him. Instead, she was struggling with her own doubts.
Had Colin gone too far? Had she encouraged him?
However, for the first time in their acquaintance, John talked all the way back to Maiden Hill. He discussed the parish and the people he felt needed more concern.
Rosalyn was surprised, to say the least. When the house was in sight, she gathered her wits enough to place her hand on his arm. “John, why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are the colonel’s wife. You are the one who can see justice done.”
See justice done.
The words didn’t make sense to her. “But I founded the Borough Charity League.”
“That’s nothing, my lady. What good did they do except pay a pittance and sit around preening for each other? I and most of the lads at the pub, lads who had families with mouths to feed, thought that your Charity League was more for planning dances for Lady Loftus and her kind. That’s all the gentry want—opportunities to la-di-da over each other. They pay you a pittance, expect your hard work, and look right through you as if you don’t even exist. I thought you were one of them, but now I know you are different.” He looked her in the eye. “I’m proud to be working for you, Mrs. Mandland.”
The Seduction of an English Lady Page 21