by Cheryl Bolen
To which she replied, "Though I should love to take credit for such brilliant ideas, Jeremy Bentham is the genius who devised the scheme."
Harry addressed his companions: "Consider, if you will, a man stealing a leg of mutton to feed his hungry family, getting caught, and hanged. How can so petty a crime merit the same punishment given a cold-blooded murderer?"
Louisa beamed as she watched Lord Wycliff's friends' faces brighten with enlightenment. She especially enjoyed making the acquaintance of Lord Wycliff’s great friend Lord Jack St. John.
“I believe you are acquainted with my very great friend, Miss Jane Featherstone,” she had said.
“Indeed I am. She is, I must own, the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known. And her father, with her able assistance, hosts what is in my opinion the best salon in all of London.”
“I share your opinion on Miss Featherstone’s significant intelligence,” she said.
St. John eyed his friend. “Is this the reform-mad lady you were telling me about?” Mr. St. John was, she noted, the rare man who did not appraise her as if she were a horse to be auctioned at Tattersall’s—which rather endeared him even more to her. She admired serious-minded men.
Lord Wycliff nodded. “She is trying to entice me to take my seat in the House of Lords.”
“As I’ve been urging you to do ever since you returned to England,” his friend said. “Speaking of returning to London, did you know Alex's brother, Morton, is planning to return from the Peninsula?”
“He’s selling his colours?” his lordship asked incredulously.
“Yes. You may not know because it happened when you were out of the country, but the old duke died, and the firstborn son succeeded. That son died unexpectedly last week of a ruptured hernia whilst playing tennis, so the second son is returning to England as the new duke.”
“Which puts our dear Alex next in line for a dukedom.”
Lord Jack St. John shrugged. “I doubt the new duke will be playing any tennis.”
She was mildly disappointed when Lord Wycliff’s friend took leave of the ball, but her admiration for his lordship was growing. After seeing him every day this week, she was beginning to realize not all nobles were committed to the status quo that was so advantageous to wealthy landowners like themselves. Lord Wycliff's progressive ideas had blossomed like spring flowers under her tutelage these past several days. She was not only learning that all nobles were not opposed to change, but also that not all men were totally selfish. If Lord Wycliff would sit in Parliament next session and endorse the idea of extending the franchise, he would gain Louisa's undying admiration.
Even though he would be shooting himself in the foot.
"Lord Seymour has left the receiving line," Lord Wycliff said. Though it was difficult to be heard over the sounds of laughter and conversation as well as the strains of the orchestra, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "Come, let us speak to our host. Lord Seymour has rather a penchant for pretty young things. You are quite the loveliest woman here."
"Pray, my lord, do you see me as young?"
"You are young."
"How old are you, if I might ask?"
"Seven and twenty."
“I am but three years your junior, my lord.”
She kept remembering that Lord Wycliff had said she was the loveliest woman here. Her heart went to fluttering – despite that she had never before wanted to be the object of men's desires.
And she hated herself for such shallowness.
When his hand rested at her back as he led her to Lord Seymour, she experienced an odd feeling of pride. She had been acutely aware that her escort was the recipient of seductive gazes and gushing flirtations from half the women present.
Their host was a distinguished looking man in his fifties. Though slight of build, his voice was commanding, as was his presence. He had obviously grown a swooping mustache as a younger man to add maturity to his slim person. Now it was his trademark, making him easily identifiable in political cartoons.
Louisa detected a glint in his green eyes when she approached with Lord Wycliff.
"I see, Wycliff, you have brought your charming companion." Lord Seymour turned his gaze to Louisa. "Mrs. Phillips, is it not?"
"It is," Louisa answered timidly. She knew she would have to gain firmer control of her voice if she hoped to merit this notable Whig's favor.
"Mrs. Phillips desires to speak with you on matters of reform," Harry said.
Seymour's brows elevated. "I am always happy to discuss reform, my dear Mrs. Phillips."
She moved closer to the notable Whig and favored him with what she hoped was her best smile just as the orchestra quit playing the set. The relative silence that ensued greatly pleased her. Now Lord Seymour could hear her much better. "I particularly desire to impart to you the importance of extending the franchise."
"What? No plea to regulate child labor? Or to reform the penal system?"
Now her convictions overtook any timidness. She was on firm ground expressing her beliefs. "While I am seriously troubled over the exploitation of children and the unfairness of our penal system, I believe the most serious problems will be solved if the vote does not rest with a privileged few to the exclusion of those most affected by our country's laws. If votes could be cast by those whose loved ones are transported for the most minor infractions, we could be assured the severe penalties of today's laws would be lessened."
"Well spoken, my dear," Seymour said, his eyes twinkling. "You must be influenced by Philip Lewis, a man I greatly admire."
An intoxicating feeling of pride bubbled within Louisa, and she had to fight the desire to shout I am Philip Lewis! Instead, she bowed humbly and said, "I, too, admire him." She fairly gagged on the necessity of calling her alter ego him.
Just then Lord Seymour's excited niece came scurrying up to her uncle and placed a possessive hand on his forearm. "Uncle! He is here. Won't you come meet him?"
Lord Seymour excused himself and left in a flurry on his niece's dainty heels.
After he had gone, Louisa turned to Lord Wycliff. "I am most grateful for the opportunity you afforded me of speaking with Lord Seymour and with Lord Jack—Mr. St. John."
Lord Wycliff smiled. “For a moment I didn’t know to whom you were referring. You see, at Eton, Lord Jack was always referred to as Sinjin, a shortening of his surname.”
“St. John,” she murmured.
He looked down upon her from his considerable height. There was a distinctly admiring look on his face when he spoke to her. "Then I beg you to repay me by waltzing with me."
There it went again. That ridiculous fluttering in her chest as he took her hand within his strong grasp and led her to the dance floor. He had not even allowed her to protest. And when he actually took her in his arms, she feared she would swoon. Unaccountably, he had not seemed a real man until now. He was a nobleman. An inanimate object to be scorned.
But the man whose hands clasped hers so firmly was very real. And very appealing: tall and solid and ripe with masculinity. She blushed as she fleetingly thought of his sexual appetites. She supposed he was a most practiced lover. He had probably had his way with many women in this very room, judging from the jealous stares she now drew.
A pity there was no such thing as a trustworthy man.
* * *
Dancing with Mrs. Phillips filled Harry with an odd sense of pride. Though not dressed nearly so grandly as most of the woman here tonight, she still outshone the others with her simple beauty. Her dress flowed softly from beneath her rounded bosom, clinging to her smooth curves. He found himself wondering what she would look like with her hair long and draping over her smooth bare shoulders.
Putting her beauty aside, he had to admire her. She had not wavered from her purpose in her brief meeting with some of Parliament's leading Whigs. Her knowledge and vast capacity for compassion far exceeded that of all the other matrons here added together.
He looked down at the top of her fair h
ead where candlelight cast a silvery glow over her smooth tresses. "Thank you," he murmured.
She looked up at him. It was difficult for him to get his thoughts straight while gazing into the porcelain perfection of her face. "For what?"
"For directing me. I spent all of last night with Mr. Bentham's writings." God, but he was an insincere lout!
"You found them enlightening?"
"Not only enlightening, but I've discovered that my whole life has been misdirected."
She smiled, and he thought perhaps her slender hand pressed his own a little more firmly.
* * *
Later that evening Louisa was overjoyed to find herself seated to the right of her host. Had Lord Wycliff interceded in her behalf? Or did Lord Seymour himself desire to further the acquaintance?
Throughout dinner Lord Seymour directed a great many comments toward her. "Mrs. Phillips is possessed of a deep concern for equality," he told the guests at the head of the table. "She has expounded with authority on empowering the citizenry with the franchise."
"I declare," Mrs. Aker-Jones said, glaring across the table at Louisa, "is the unfortunate woman mad? The ignorant masses would likely throw open all the prisons, and utter chaos would result."
"I am not an unfortunate woman, nor am I mad," Louisa retorted. "Though you must be possessed of inferior intellect if you imagine such a scenario."
"Well, I..."
"Please ladies," Lord Seymour interjected. "I had no idea my remarks would stir such controversy."
"I am used to being surrounded by controversy," Louisa said. "If I have offended you, Lord Seymour, I am deeply sorry, but I cannot help but speak my mind. As you know, I am most single-minded in my pursuit of justice."
Lord Seymour placed his thin white hand over hers. "A noble pursuit, to be sure, but may I add that life is most unjust, my dear, a fact you will come to understand when you are my age."
As if she knew nothing of injustice! "I hope I shall never be so cynical that I do not desire to help those trodden-upon individuals who have no voice."
Lord Seymour surprised her by squeezing her hand.
"I hope so, too," he said.
* * *
Harry sat across from Mrs. Phillips at dinner. He was unable to remove his gaze from her and strained to hear her smooth voice, which was no easy task since Mrs. Aker-Jones seemed bent on engaging him in conversation and in telling him the merits of her daughter, who bore a strong resemblance to a beanstalk. As he observed Mrs. Phillips's confidence when speaking to the powerful lord about her causes, Harry unexpectedly swelled with pride.
He admired her more than he agreed with her.
Though she should have been like a fish out of water, surprisingly, she was not. Eloquence permeated her speech, elegance her appearance.
One matter did concern Harry. Lord Seymour. Though the man held enormous respect in the House of Lords, his private dalliances with beautiful women were less than admirable. As Harry watched the man paw at Louisa, he vowed he would never allow Seymour to initiate the intimacy with Mrs. Phillips that the Whig so obviously desired.
Oddly, Harry felt unexpectedly protective toward her. Her bravura, he knew instinctively, only masked her innocence.
When he deposited her at Wycliff House a few hours later, she said, "Tomorrow, I shall direct you to the solicitor."
This was what he'd been waiting for. He should be elated.
Instead, he felt like a traitor.
Chapter 4
"I declare, Louisa, you are looking much prettier than when I arrived," Ellie said. "I suppose it's the wearing of colour." The young woman's eyes rounded, and her flattened hand flew against her mouth. "Though really, Louisa, you should be wearing black. It's not at all proper not to mourn one's own husband. Even if you didn't love him. Think of propriety!"
How different she and Ellie were, Louisa thought. Despite Ellie's claims to emulate her sister's unorthodox beliefs, at heart, Ellie's tastes were conservative. Louisa wondered if her own tastes might have conformed to the norm if her life had been more normal.
Louisa hastily finished pinning up her hair. She was guilty of spending unaccustomed time on her toilet these past several days. For the first time in years she actually wanted to look pretty.
And for that she felt exceedingly guilty.
But she felt absolutely no guilt over not wearing mourning for the husband she had never been able to love. "To mourn someone I abhorred would be the embodiment of dishonesty, and you know I have no tolerance for liars."
"To be sure," Ellie said. "If you will not wear mourning, I am most happy you have cast aside your dislike of femininity, and I daresay Lord Wycliff approves, too. I believe the earl has romantic feelings for you."
Louisa had little patience with her sister's foolish romantic notions. The very idea of a nobleman having amorous feelings toward her was absurd. "I assure you Lord Wycliff tolerates me solely in order to improve his mind — and to learn who owns his former house." She whirled away from the looking glass. "Even if he were in some way attracted to me — which I assure you he is not — a match between a nobleman and me is quite unacceptable to both of us."
Before leaving the room, Louisa took one last look at the glass, rather pleased at the way her saffron-coloured dress hung. She thought it made her look somewhat taller — which was a very good thing. Then she fastened on her gold earrings, angry at herself for this newfound desire to look pretty when a visit from his lordship was pending.
As they walked downstairs she continued to think of what Ellie had said. I believe the earl has romantic feelings for you. Louisa could not deny that Lord Wycliff had held her a little closer than necessary during the waltz at Lord Seymour's, and his lingering gaze that swept over her last night had made her feel completely undressed. His flirtatious ways had not stopped there. She thought of the way he held her hand a bit longer than necessary when handing her into his carriage, and the way he always sat next to her in the carriage, his powerful thigh brushing against hers ever so slightly.
Such behavior, no doubt, was exhibited by all noblemen, especially ones who were as young and virile and available as Lord Wycliff. She was sure these men cared for nothing save their own gratification. Wastrels the whole lot of them!
Then she neared the bottom of the stairs to find him standing there. She had not even known he'd arrived, and here he stood, his boots planted sturdily on the marble floor as he gazed up at her, looking at her with a somber, unfathomable look. She did likewise, running her eyes from the dark hair he wore uncovered to his well-cut coat that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered down to his trim waist. She could understand how empty-headed women could be enamored of a man such as Lord Wycliff.
Thank goodness she was not an empty-headed female.
Once again, Lord Wycliff's warm brown eyes flickered along the length of her. Had Godwin looked at her in such a way, she would have become nauseated and wished she had never been born. Lord Wycliff's longing gaze, on the other hand, brought a quiver to her insides and a not unpleasant stirring deep and low. She felt unaccountably feminine and, oddly, desirable and beautiful.
And infuriated with herself for feeling so.
She offered him her hand — a gesture she would not have done two weeks earlier — and gritted her teeth at her own ease in accepting him.
"Ah, Mrs. Phillips, how lovely you look today," he said, pressing her hand to his lips. Then he hastily glanced at Ellie, who was a step behind her sister. To her, he merely nodded. "Good day, Miss Sinclair."
His youthful cousin, twirling his hat in his hands, stepped forward and bowed to the two young women, his eyes solely on the younger sister. "Good morning, ladies."
As they all gathered in the foyer, Louisa turned to Ellie. "Do allow Mr. Coke to take you for a stroll about the square. I am sure you will find the information I have to impart to Lord Wycliff rather tedious."
Louisa noted the amusement twinkling in Mr. Coke's eyes before he donned his hat and
offered Ellie his arm as the two strolled away.
Unaccustomed to being alone with Lord Wycliff, Louisa's heart fluttered as she turned to him. "Won't you follow me to the library?"
To her consternation, he took her arm, just as his cousin had done to her sister. Did Ellie feel as light and silly as she did right now? She had been so entrenched in her own world she had given nary a thought to Ellie and her relationship to the pleasant Mr. Coke. Now that she thought about it, she realized Ellie had recited any number of favorable comments about the young man. He did seem rather nice. And he acted with great propriety toward her sister. Still. . .Louisa had never known a man worthy of her trust.
She took a seat on the library's silken settee facing Lord Wycliff. For a moment she forgot his presence. She took note of her elegant surroundings and realized such grandiose furnishings meant nothing to her. She neither needed nor wanted such expensive finery. But she did need a roof over her head, though that roof would never be in Kerseymeade. She would beggar herself on the streets before she would ever step foot in her father's house again.
Her stomach twisted at the memory that even though she had been a dutiful wife to Godwin, he had not had the goodness within him to provide for her future. She had received no money this quarter, and the solicitor she had asked to investigate the matter had not reported back to her.
The thought of being penniless as well as homeless sent a sinking feeling to her stomach.
"You were quite the loveliest woman at the ball last night, Mrs. Phillips," Lord Wycliff said.
"You know little of me, my lord, if you think such a comment a compliment. Were you to say Lord Seymour would speak to Parliament on behalf of my principles, that, sir, would turn my head."
A wry grin slid across his handsome face. "We shall continue to work to that end, ma'am."
"We?"
He nodded. "I confess you have made a convert of me. You and I shall foist ourselves into Society with the sole aim of enlightening the idle nobles."
