The Earl, the Vow, and the Plain Jane

by Cheryl Bolen

  Chapter 9

  Slade looked from the carriage window and saw that they were stopping in front of the familiar bow window of White's. "But I thought you were a member of Brook's," he said to Lord Wycliff.

  "I am--because that's where the Whigs gather, but I also belong to White's because it was my father's club."

  The coach door opened, and he stepped out.

  "But why are you bringing me here tonight?" Slade asked.

  "I hope for a confrontation with Darrington-Chuff."

  "Good lord, why?"

  As White's porter held open the door for the men to enter, Harry Wycliff paused. "Because he's been spreading lies about you and me."

  Surely no one would believe Darrington-Chuff, who was noted for lying.

  Wycliff purposely bumped elbows. "Look who's here."

  Slade fully expected to look up and see Darrington-Chuff's corpulent body but instead saw Alex playing faro. A closer look confirmed that he was playing for low stakes. They went to greet him.

  "When I finish here, I'll join you for a drink," Alex told them.

  They settled at a table where they were promptly served Wycliff's favored brandy, and a few minutes later Alex joined them. Though the room where they sat was subdued and quiet, the same could not be said for the next chamber. The volume of voices there must be in proportion to the volume of their liquor consumption.

  Wycliff's brows lowered. "Does that not sound like Darrington-Chuff's voice?"

  The faces of the other two men plunged into concentration. "So it is," Slade said. "Shall we see if he maligns us?"

  They grew even more quiet as they listened.

  "We Tories are still the majority, but we've got to stay that way. It's a good thing you're standing for Blythstone." Slade did not recognize the speaker's voice.

  "Yes," Darrington-Chuff said. "I can no longer stand idly by whilst the likes of Wycliff and Slade try to destroy our nation. Who does that Wycliff think he is? Absenting himself for nearly a decade from the country he professes to love, then waltzing back here with ruinous plans? And where the devil did he find that wife of his? She's not one of us, though I don't mind saying I wouldn't mind sampling her fetching wares."

  Wycliff, his face blanched with anger, leapt from his chair, stormed into the next room, and hurled his fist into Darrington-Chuff's fleshy cheek, sending that man backward. Darrington-Chuff slammed against a table, then, not able to right himself, slumped to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth.

  Slade and Alex held Wycliff back. As angry as he was, he might kill the man sprawled on the flood beneath him.

  Darrington-Chuff looked up at his attacker, a cloudy expression on his face, fury firing his pale blue eyes. "You've knocked out my bloody teeth!"

  "I'll do worse if you don't apologize for insulting my wife."

  Silence greeted Wycliff's statement. Darrington-Chuff's blue eyes locked with Wycliff's brown. Not a sound could be heard as the two glared at each other. Darrington-Chuff finally bowed his head. "Meant no disrespect toward Lady Wycliff." Then eyeing one of his companions, he said, "Pray, Mulgrave, give me a hand up."

  Once Darrington-Chuff was on his feet, Alex approached him. "Be warned, Darrington-Chuff, I shall defeat you for the Blythstone seat." With that, he turned, facing his friends. "Come, let's plan my victory, gentlemen."

  The three longtime Eton friends left the chamber.

  * * *

  The following afternoon the three men once again met in Wycliff's library. Wycliff smiled at Alex. "I can't convey to you how happy I was to get your note."

  "The note saying I refuse to meet with you before one in the afternoon?"

  Slade laughed. "That--as well as the good news. We will be indebted to your brother for his generosity."

  "I daresay Freddie thinks this will keep me out of mischief. The last time he came to my aid it was his brilliant idea to give my sweet little opera dancer an annuity to keep her from claiming my affections. Freddie fears I'll marry beneath my station." Alex shrugged. "Little does he realize that marriage has no appeal for me."

  "I daresay he'll find having a brother in Parliament distinguishes the family." Slade swigged his coffee.

  "You must own," Wycliff said, "serving in that august chamber vastly eclipses being falling down drunk at Mrs. Nelson's gaming establishment."

  Alex rolled his eyes. "Which, lamentably, I've been known to do."

  "Now you shall become most distinguished," Wycliff said. "You'll start Saturday. There's to be a gathering of voters in Blythstone. Slade and I are coming with you, and we hope to show a force with other members of Parliament."

  Alex gave a mock quiver. "I shall feel as if I'm parading about naked."

  "It does rather feel that way the first time one speaks in public--especially when one is speaking about things that elicit an emotional response." Slade shook his head. "Whenever I address the topic of child laborers I have difficulty reeling in my emotions."

  "Daresay it would be simpler to speak in superlatives about king and country," Alex said.

  Wycliff nodded, disdain showing on his face. "Like the Tories."

  Slade held up his palm. "Perhaps it's best whilst one is electioneering not to get too specific about reform. That can come after you're elected."

  "I suspect that's good advice," Wycliff said.

  "We don't need to give Darrington-Chuff ammunition with which to annihilate me."

  "Our first order of business comes tomorrow night," Wycliff said. "I've begun asking prominent Whigs from both houses to gather here for the first of what I hope are political dinners. I propose to have these every week while Parliament's in session."

  Alex rolled his eyes. "You two act as if you live and breathe nothing but Parliament. Slade doesn't even go to his club anymore."

  "Lord Slade," said Lord Slade, "doesn't have the funds to belong to a club, nor can I afford to keep a town house."

  "Exactly why I live in bachelor's lodgings," Alex said, then eyed Wycliff. "It's a good thing one of us has re . . . reclaimed his family's fortune."

  "And now our friend. . ." Slade eyed Wycliff, "has directed his abundance of energies on political reform."

  "I had no choice. My dear wife is more passionate about politics than Slade and half the Whigs in Parliament."

  "I confess I've had something to do with Wycliff's plan to begin having these political dinners. Mr. Featherstone has long been hosting smaller affairs for members of the House of Commons, and the last time I attended it became obvious to me that it's become a financial burden on him."

  Wycliff laughed. "So my dear friend said, Why not let Wycliff absorb the expense?" He shrugged. "Which I'm most happy to do. Louisa's been wanting us to have these dinners since the day we wed."

  "A most intelligent woman, to be sure," Slade said.

  "Of course. She had the good sense to marry me."

  * * *

  Jane wrapped the rug around her against the night's chill and addressed her father. "It was very thoughtful of Lady Wycliff to send her coach to collect us." She felt guilty that poor Mr. Poppinbotham was being excluded from the political dinner she was to attend that night at Wycliff House, but as she wasn't the host, she had no influence over the invitees.

  "I've never even met Lord Wycliff," her father said. "Can't imagine why he desires my presence at the dinner."

  "He wants you there because you're the leading Whig in the House of Commons."

  "My dear daughter is prone to exaggerate my importance."

  "As you exaggerate about me, Papa, when you say I'm pretty."

  A frown pierced his aging face. "That is not an exaggeration. You are pretty. I can tell others think so, too. Mr. Poppinbotham as well as Lord Slade."

  The mention of Lord Slade thinking her pretty sent her stomach plummeting. "You are mistaken about Lord Slade. Can you not tell he means to court my lovely cousin?"

  "He may intend to court Lady Sarah, but I've seen the way he looks at you. I am not so aged t
hat my eyesight is gone. Lord Slade admires you greatly."

  "I will own, he does admire my mind."

  "Harrumph!"

  When they entered Wycliff House on Grosvenor Square, Lady Wycliff greeted them. After telling Mr. Featherstone how much she admired him, Lady Wycliff spoke to Jane. "Oh, Miss Featherstone, I am so happy you're joining us. I've been exceedingly eager for us to start hosting these affairs."

  "Plural?" Jane asked.

  "Yes, we hope to make them a weekly affair while Parliament's in session."

  "And members of the House of Commons will be asked as well?"

  "Naturally."

  Jane was relieved. If Lord and Lady Wycliff took over the hosting of these dinners, her father would no longer have to deplete their coffers. She thought of Mr. Poppinbotham and almost asked if candidates would be invited but realized it wasn't her place to bring up the subject. She was fortunate enough to be invited here tonight. It wasn't as if she had ever done anything to merit such consideration.

  In the dining room where twenty of them sat down at a long, linen-covered table, Jane was mesmerized by the portrait that dominated the chamber. A Gainsborough of an uncommonly pretty woman. "Pray, Lady Wycliff, who is that beauty?" Her eyes lifted to the portrait.

  Lord Wycliff proudly answered. "That is my mother."

  "She's very beautiful," Jane said. Several more at the table concurred.

  "Yes, she was," Lady Wycliff said. "Were it not for that portrait, I would not be sitting here as Harry's lady for we never would have married."

  All eyes turned to their beautiful hostess. "After Harry's absence from England, he returned to this house to reclaim it, and the portrait was missing. It's a long, complicated story, but he enlisted my help to find it, and during our quest, we . . . fell in love."

  Lord Wycliff looked proudly down the table to his wife. "So I like to say my mother helped me find the woman of my dreams."

  How fortunate they were to have married for love. A pity Jane would never be able to do so. She thought of Lord Slade. He, too, was prohibited from choosing a compatible mate.

  Halfway through dinner that would have done credit to the Prince Regent, their host cleared his throat. "One of the reasons I've brought all of you together tonight--other than continuing to bond with like-minded reformers--is that I wish all of you to get to know Lord Alex Haversham, who has consented to challenge Hugh Darrington-Chuff for the Blythstone seat."

  The young man being spoken of was seated beside Lord Wycliff and appeared the same age. She had noticed him as soon as she'd entered the house. It wasn't every day such a handsome man entered one's sphere. He wasn't classically handsome as was Lord Slade. Where Lord Slade was large and dark and somewhat brooding in appearance, Lord Alex displayed a sunny countenance with a ready smile that called attention to the piercing dimple in a single tanned cheek. Gold tones glistened in his fair brown hair.

  Several men's voices lifted in approval.

  "Is he not the son of the old Duke of Fordham?" Mr. Featherstone asked.

  Lord Alex nodded.

  From the quality of his well-tailored clothing, Jane could well believe he was the son of a duke.

  "I was at Oxford with your father," Mr. Featherstone said. "I was very sorry to hear of his passing--and the passing of your eldest brother."

  Lord Alex inclined his head and murmured his gratitude.

  "There's to be an electioneering gathering in Blythstone Saturday," Lord Wycliff said, "and I have hopes many of us can come to show our support. Lord Slade means to speak, and Lord Alex will say a few words."

  "Then I take it his brother, the Duke of Fordham, means to sponsor him," Lord Aylesbury said.

  Alex nodded.

  "But is your brother not aligned with the Tories?" Mr. Goldfinch asked.

  "He is," Alex responded, "but he's typically apolitical, hence he's never been interested in taking his seat in the House of Lords."

  "It's glad I am to hear that someone's got the funds to wage a campaign against Darrington-Chuff," Lord Babbington said. "Never cared for the fellow."

  Lord Framptingham's brows lowered. "Did you say Blythstone? My wife has a fine little manor house near there. I propose all of us stay there Saturday. In support of Lord Alex, of course."

  "That would be splendid," Lord Slade said.

  "I must come," Louisa Wycliff said, eyeing her husband at the opposite end of the table.

  "But, love, you'd be the only woman," her husband said.

  Lady Wycliff looked at Jane. "Please, Miss Featherstone, say you'll come with me."

  Jane could not believe her good fortune. Nothing could please her more than having the opportunity to spend a few days with these leading Whigs. "I should be happy to accompany you, my lady."

  Chapter 10

  As she rode in the coach next to Lady Wycliff and directly across from that lady's husband and Lord Slade, Jane felt guilty for not inviting her cousin on this trip to Blythstone. She had given the matter a great deal of thought but decided that since Sarah had no interest in politics, exposing her to such a large dose of his lordship's passion would do nothing to strengthen any budding relationship between them. If anything, being around all these men who lived and breathed Whig politics would destroy any attraction Sarah might develop toward Lord Slade.

  Jane felt guilty, too, for excluding Mr. Poppinbotham. She had asked Lord Slade if he thought Mr. Poppinbotham's own campaign could profit from attending the electioneering activities in Blythstone. "Pray, do not invite the man," Lord Slade had answered most emphatically. "Allow him to spend his efforts on his own electioneering."

  Now, as they were nearing the end of their journey into Hertfordshire, she felt even more guilty. "Lord Slade, do you think Mr. Poppinbotham will expect us to join his electioneering efforts in Plymouth since we've done so for your friend Lord Alex?"

  "Good Lord, I hope not. The man has to realize that Lord Wycliff's and my friendship with Lord Alex goes back more than twenty years. The three of us are like brothers. We'd go to the ends of the earth for one another."

  "In fact, Alex and you have gone to Land's End for me," Lord Wycliff said to his friend, grinning. Then he directed his attention to Jane. "I daresay Poppinbotham will never be able to make such a claim on us."

  "And," Lady Wycliff added in a kindly voice, "Plymouth is much farther than Hampshire. I'm sure Mr. Poppinbotham will never expect you to travel that far."

  "If the three of you men are such great friends, how is it that I'd not heard of Lord Alex before?" Jane asked.

  The two men looked at each other sheepishly. Finally, Wycliff shrugged. "Lord Alex has heretofore had other matters to occupy him."

  "Yes, he spent several years as a soldier, only returning just this last year," Lord Slade said.

  Jane's thoughts returned to Mr. Poppinbotham. She knew Lord Slade was in the same camp as her cousin in disliking an alliance between herself and the printer, but at least Lord Slade had never come out and declared his opposition. He merely expressed it in his facial expressions and tone of voice when speaking about Jane's suitor. Her first-ever suitor.

  She'd been flattered over Mr. Poppinbotham's disappointment in learning that she was going to be gone for several days--even though he lacked any of the attributes Lord Slade held in abundance, Mr. Poppinbotham had most certainly endeared himself to her.

  I must not look upon Lord Slade's perfection of person, she told herself. Consequently, she'd spent most of the journey either talking to Louisa Wycliff or eyeing Lord Wycliff's boots.

  When they arrived at Lady Framptingham's manor house, Jane marveled that the Framptinghams did not even use this fine house. Both his lordship and his wife had inherited many properties throughout England and Scotland.

  The house--Jane had since learned was called Stourside Manor--was constructed of Portland stone in the Palladian style, without wings. It was a single, three story block with a pedimented roof supported by Ionic columns and was set in a verdant parkland t
hat terminated in a circular drive in front of the house's modest portico.

  Once they entered the house, Lord and Lady Framptingham greeted them enthusiastically. At first Jane was a bit taken aback. Since Lord Framptingham was fairly young and of relatively handsome appearance, she had expected his wife to be of similar circumstances. Lady Framptingham, however, was at least ten years her husband's senior and was in no way attractive. She had grown to fat, and a thick roll of fat clung to her sunken chin. Jane could not help but to think Lord Framptingham had most likely not married for love. Apparently, his wife was a great heiress.

  The lady proved friendly and gracious to her guests, and Jane instantly admired her.

  Lord Alex had reached Stourside before them. "The things I do for my friends," he lamented to Lord Slade, his voice low, but not so low that Jane could not hear him. "To think I could have been with Mrs. Thaxton, the toast of the London stage tonight, yet, here I am, preparing for dull electioneering just to join Wycliff and Sinjin."

  "We did vow before we ever left Eton to help one another," Lord Slade reminded him, "and we desperately need you now."

  Lord Alex's brows lowered. "Because of that vile Darrington-Chuff."

  As they climbed the broad stone staircase, Lord Wycliff nodded. "I'm afraid so. The man has continued to spread lies about our agenda. He's telling the Tories that we're plotting a people's revolution like what the French experienced two decades ago."

  "Does he not realize that we are aristocrats? Why would we want to sever our own heads?" Lord Slade asked.

  Lord Wycliff shrugged. "His brain never was more developed than that of a newborn colt's."

  "Then why in the devil do the Tories tolerate him?" Lord Framptingham asked.

  Lord Slade shrugged. "He is very wealthy, and his great uncle is a duke."

  "I've sent my secretary to spy at Darrington-Chuff's electioneering meeting today," Lord Framptingham announced.

  A wicked smile swiped across Lord Slade's face. "Excellent!"

  The Framptingham servants showed the newest arrivals to their chambers, where they would stay until dinner.