The Earl, the Vow, and the Plain Jane

by Cheryl Bolen

  Jane was pleased over her apple green bedchamber. Its ceilings were tall, its proportions generous, and though the silken draperies and bedcoverings were faded, she thought the room lovely. She always marveled at how the very wealthy owned such lavish houses that were seldom used.

  As she changed from her traveling clothing to dress for dinner, it occurred to her that she was surely the only lady here without a personal maid. Of course, there were only three ladies at Stourside.

  * * *

  A dozen of them had sat down to dinner around the Framptinghams' generous table. In addition to the four who'd come in Wycliff''s carriage and their hosts and Alex, five solo Whig members of the House of Lords had come. The food--from fresh fish to kidney pies and roast saddle of lamb along with a wide assortment of side dishes--far surpassed the tolerable fare Slade had expected from a little-used country house staff.

  The conversation was exactly the stuff on which Slade thrived. Every man--and woman--at the table held views which paralleled his own.

  The congeniality of the night, however, halted as if shot by an arrow when Framptingham's secretary, his brows lowered, entered the dinner room to report on what had transpired at Darrington-Chuff's electioneering.

  Framptingham asked his man, a Mr. Howard, to pull up a chair next to him. "Now, pray, Mr. Howard, tell us what has agitated you so."

  The secretary drew a deep breath. "The gathering was very well attended. Even the candidate's great uncle, the duke, came, and his presence had the assemblage in awe of sharing a humble chamber with such a personage."

  Slade observed the forty-year-old secretary with respect. This wasn't the first time he'd had dealings with him. Not only was Howard well spoken, but he was also possessed of a fine mind.

  "But the worst of it was," Mr. Howard continued, "that Mr. Darrington-Chuff--and his great uncle--told monstrous lies about you, my lord. You and Lord Alex Haversham."

  Lord Framptingham's eyes narrowed. "What kind of lies?"

  "He used the word anarchists to describe you, but it's my belief he's not acquainted with the proper meaning of the word. I believe he meant to label you and the other prominent Whigs as revolutionaries."

  "Either way," Slade said with disgust, "it's an outrageous lie."

  A moment later, Alex tried to adopt a flippant air. "I say, did the imbecile say anything else derogatory about me?"

  "That," Lord Framptingham said to his secretary, "is Lord Alex Haversham."

  Mr. Howard peered across the table at Alex. "Indeed he did, my lord. He said until you took the whim to stand for Parliament, you had led a life of complete debauchery."

  Wycliff shook his head angrily. "That is the pot calling the kettle black."

  Mr. Howard's comments struck anger in Slade's breast, but Alex appeared to handle such comments with nonchalance. He gave a bitter laugh. "Damned difficult to exhibit debauchery when one has spent eight years leading men into battle."

  "The fool Darrington-Chuff is epically misinformed," said Wycliff, a grave expression on his face.

  But how did one fight against such slanders, Slade wondered. He pushed away his plate. He'd lost his appetite. These lies sickened him. How could they counter these lies with the truth? Would anyone even come to Alex's gathering Saturday? Had they come all this way for nothing? Did Alex not have a prayer of winning? Worst of all, would that baboon Darrington-Chuff beat a fine man like Alex, who would do good for his fellow man?

  "How many would you say attended?" Wycliff asked.

  "I counted chairs for around four hundred and fifty, and at least another hundred stood around the perimeter of the assembly hall."

  "Did Mr. Darrington-Chuff serve food and drink to those who'd come to hear him speak?" Lady Framptingham asked.

  "Only drink."

  "Well," that lady said, a smile flitting across her full face, "I propose we show Lord Alex's supporters some aristocratic hospitality."

  Her husband's eyes twinkled. "And what are you proposing, my lady?"

  "We shall host a fete such as the residents of Blythstone have never seen, and we shall have it right here at Stourside Manor."

  "But there's no way we can accommodate hundreds of people within the walls of this house!" her husband protested.

  "We'll have tables spread over the grounds, and all attendees will have the opportunity to stroll through the manor's public rooms," Lady Framptingham responded.

  Those seated went silent. Miss Featherstone was the first to speak. "You are exceedingly generous, Lady Framptingham. My papa, who's been in Parliament for more than forty years, swears that the best way to the voters' hearts is through their stomachs. And I might add that inviting the voters into an fine aristocratic manor house like this will not only be an incredible experience for them, but it will also solidify strong support for Lord Alex."

  Now that she was not being held up for comparison with her physically flawless cousin, Slade thought Miss Featherstone looked quite pretty tonight. Though she was close in age to Wycliff's lovely lady, Jane Featherstone looked much younger. Perhaps it was the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, or perhaps it was the virginal simplicity of her ivory frock, but she did not look as if she could have left the school room. He rather admired the way the candlelight played off her cork-coloured locks. They no longer looked so plain at all.

  She no longer looked plain.

  And there was nothing even close to average about her intelligence. As always, he completely agreed with every word she said.

  Lord Framptingham nodded pleasantly at Miss Featherstone, and then directed his attentions at his wife. "Well, woman, we'd better get started. You've got two days to prepare a feast the likes of which those men will never forget."

  Lady Framptingham looked complacent. "When have I ever failed to pull off a respectable fete, my love?"

  From his seat at the head of the table to his wife at the foot, Lord Framptingham beamed with pride. "Never, my dear. I am a most fortunate man to have wed you."

  Slade looked from lord to his lady. Slade and most of those in the ton had always thought Framptingham had married for fortune, but now it was obvious that if Framptingham had not been in love with his wife at their marriage, he most certainly was in love with her now.

  More than anything, Slade was impressed with the way Lady Framptingham's interests dovetailed with those of her husband. She was his helpmate in every way.

  Try as he might, Slade could not picture Lady Sarah as his political helpmate. Even if by some unfathomable good fortune, that lady would respond favorably to his suit, he knew she would never share in his passion for governing.

  He wondered if he would ever be able to fall in love with her. Certainly, she was extremely pretty, but he'd yet to be snared by Cupid's arrow. And he had promised her cousin he would not propose until he could truthfully declare his love for the beautiful heiress.

  Damn, he should be in London this very moment dancing attendance upon her. He had an obligation to his family. He inwardly sighed. He also had an obligation to the people of England. Alex in Parliament could be just what this country needed.

  What a pity that Alex's candidacy appeared now to be such an uphill battle.

  "Say, Lord Alex," their host said, "could your brother, the duke, be persuaded to come here Saturday?"

  Alex's face brightened. "As it happens, he's in London, which is a great deal closer than our family seat in Yorkshire. If we could dispatch a courier tonight, it's possible he could make it here by Saturday--though I cannot make any promises."

  Lord Framptingham turned to a footman and asked that someone named Smith be fetched to travel to London that night.

  "My papa, who was not in Parliament," Lady Framptingham said, "was always vastly impressed by those with titles--especially dukes. That's the way it is with those of us not born to the peerage." She smiled down the length of the table at her husband.

  * * *

  Jane had great admiration for Lady Framptingham. By the time Jane ha
d awakened the following morning, the house was alive with workmen. Lady Framptingham and her hefty purse had succeeded in enlisting the services of a dozen more scullery workers and another two dozen footman, who were already busy setting up tables and chairs in the lovely parkland surrounding Stourside.

  The lady of the house lamented that she did not have enough livery for the additional footmen, but that did not stop her from rummaging the attics for discarded livery from the past three generations.

  "The important thing," Louisa Wycliff told Jane, "is that there are enough servants to serve the food. I daresay the attendees won't pay attention to what the footmen look like or what they're wearing."

  Lady Framptingham hung up a musty coat in the scarlet livery on drying racks in her own bedchamber. "I daresay you're right."

  The local greengrocer's supply had been depleted, and several local farmers fattened their purses by offering up their barnyard occupants for Lady Framptingham's fete for Lord Alex Haversham.

  While all the activity was being conducted under the watchful eye of Lady Framptingham's capable housekeeper, Lady Framptingham, along with Lady Wycliff and Jane--all dressed as stylish as possible--piled into the plush Framptingham coach and began to pay calls on the gentry within eight miles of Stourside Manor.

  "My mother, a Carter, was raised at Stourside Manor," Lady Framptingham told Louisa and Jane, "and our family has been one of the leading landowners in this part of the county for more than two hundred years. I still believe we can carry some weight hereabouts."

  "I do hope you're right," Lady Wycliff said.

  Louisa Wycliff and Jane had both been melancholy since dinner the night before. How did one wage a war against lies? Equally as upsetting, what kind of a Parliamentarian would Mr. Darrington-Chuff make when he didn't even know precisely what anarchy was?

  If women were permitted to vote, Lord Alex would handily win on the basis of Lady Framptingham's easy intercourse with Stourside's neighbors, each of whom she knew by name. She would whisk in and reacquaint herself with the wife and ask to speak to the husband, and then she would launch into her invitation.

  "Mr. Mather," she said to the solicitor on the outskirts of the village of Blythstone, "Lady Wycliff and Miss Featherstone have joined me in coming to invite you to a fete at Stourside Manor at two tomorrow afternoon for Lord Alex Haversham's candidacy for the House of Commons for Blythstone. We expect Lord Alex's brother, the Duke of Fordham, to attend as well and would be delighted to have you come and meet them." She eyed Jane. "You may have read about Miss Featherstone's father. Harold Featherstone has been in the House of Commons for forty years."

  "Indeed I have heard of him." He smiled at Jane, then beamed back at Lady Framptingham. "I will be delighted to attend."

  "I beg, Mr. Mather, that you bring any other voters you should know," her ladyship said.

  "I would be honored, my lady."

  * * *

  At two o'clock Saturday Slade joined the men in the library. They had not closed the library door so they could hear when the prospective voters arrived. For once, Alex did not look calm. It wasn't just his nervousness over offering himself up to several hundred strange men, but Alex knew he was worried that his brother had not arrived.

  "I feel beastly that Fordham's not come. I shouldn't like the voters to think we've lied about him attending," Alex said, his brows pinching together.

  Lord Framptingham peered at the footed clock upon the mantelpiece. "What worries me is that it's two, and not a soul has come."

  Chapter 11

  The Duke of Fordham, Alex's brother, turned out to be the first to arrive. Alex enthusiastically introduced him to all the Parliamentarians who had gathered to support him, then Slade and Alex led him to the drawing room to introduce him to their hostess and the two other ladies.

  "Her father is Harold Featherstone," Alex said after introducing Jane.

  The duke's brows lowered. "The Whig?"

  "Yes, your grace," she answered.

  The duke's lips thinned, and then he politely took his leave of the women. "I beg a word with you, Alex."

  The frigid tone of Fordham's voice made Slade uneasy. He watched as the brothers went into the morning room and closed the door.

  When the two men reentered the library moments later, Alex's face was grim. The abrupt change in their manners went unnoticed by most of the men present because the corridors of Stourside began filling with men's voices as the first wave of visitors arrived.

  "I'd best go greet them," Lord Framptingham said.

  Slade approached Alex and spoke to him in a low voice. "Pray, what is the matter?"

  Alex eyed the open doorway. "Come with me."

  Slade followed his friend to a small china closet off the dinner room. The chamber was ringed by white, glass-fronted cases displaying turquoise porcelain in every shape and size imaginable. This was the only room in the bustling downstairs where privacy could be obtained since the visitors had begun flocking to the manor house.

  Alex's face was still sorrowful. "I shall be obliged to drop out of the contest."

  Slade felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. "What's happened?"

  "My brother refuses to support a Whig."

  It was a moment before Slade could gather enough composure to respond. "I suppose we should have been honest up front." Slade had felt uneasy that Alex had evaded the most important topic when seeking assistance from his brother. "Though I will own, I thought he'd be more accepting."

  "You're right, of course. I wish now I'd been more passionate in expressing my opinions. Who knows, I may have been able to convert him to our views. But it's too late now."

  Slade nodded. "I believe we will have to accept that Fordham's not going to be able to help." He held up a palm. "That's not to say you need to give up today. We are expecting hundreds of guests--guests who've come to see you. This is your opportunity to court them. Tomorrow we'll address the funding problem."

  "I don't know how I can go out and be congenial the way I feel at present. It's as if Freddie's yanked the rug out from beneath my feet."

  "Forget you're a person. Think of yourself as a vessel of change. You're not representing one man. You're representing thousands."

  Alex drew a deep breath. "I don't see how this can work."

  "Somehow, it will." Slade found himself wondering how rich Wycliff was. Would he be able to bestow enough money on his friend to establish the campaign? But underlining everything was Slade's fear that they would not be able to raise the money, and Alex would have to drop out.

  Today, though, they would plunge into electioneering with every intention of courting these voters. Today they would act as if victory were in their hands.

  Knowing what a novice Alex was, Slade would have to stay close to his friend as he mingled with the guests. The two left the closet to face a stream of ruddy-faced men.

  Slade's first instinct was to start introducing the candidate to his potential constituents, but these men were much too interested in the massive chambers and fine furnishings of Stourside. "Will you take a look at that chandelier over the staircase," said a middle-aged man who was clutching in his hand the hat he had recently removed from his ginger head.

  It was best Slade and Alex wait until the men had finished gawking at the manor house that had been closed to them for decades.

  Lord and Lady Framptingham, who had snagged the Duke of Fordham to stand beside them, stood in the drawing room greeting the men as they poured into the chamber. "Ah," Lady Framptingham said in a much louder voice, "Here is Lord Alex. I must introduce you to the man who's going to be the next great Parliamentarian to represent the good people of Blythstone."

  Slade's normally gregarious friend had never appeared so reticent as he went to stand beside his stone-faced brother. Slade went to stand on his other side. "Smile," he instructed in a whisper. "And tell your bloody brother to be pleasant."

  Surprisingly, Alex did as Slade told him.

  As the lin
e of men moved along, Slade shook their hands and introduced himself, careful to explain that he had been in Parliament since he was one-and-twenty.

  "You look mighty young still," a gray-haired man told him.

  "I shall be thirty on my next birthday," Slade answered. "I am the same age as Lord Alex, who was at Eton with me."

  "So he's the son of a duke?" The next man said.

  "Indeed."

  Lady Framptingham moved to sandwich herself between him and his friend. Which was a good thing, given her family's association with these voters.

  "Once we've had the opportunity to meet with all of you," she said "we're going outside where the tables have been set up to accommodate all of us for a feast. We're so happy you're able to join us."

  * * *

  Lord and Lady Wycliff, Jane, Lord Slade, Lord Alex, and his brother ate at the table with their hosts. Lord Slade came to sit next to Jane, who was seated at the opposite end of the table from her friend Lady Wycliff. Something was disturbing him. "Have things not turned out to your satisfaction, my lord?" she asked.

  "Actually, I've been pleased both by the turnout and by Lord Alex's ability to speak intelligently with the voters."

  "But something's wrong."

  "You know me too well." He sighed. "Fordham refuses to support his brother."

  "It's my fault," she said, her stomach sinking. "I could see it in his face when the duke asked me who my father was. I'm usually proud to tell people I'm the daughter of Harold Featherstone, but I almost hated to do so in front of the stuffy duke. He's very unlike his brother."

  "Yes, he is," Lord Slade said, grimly. "Don't blame yourself. The duke was bound to learn Alex sympathizes with the Whigs. It's best he learn as quickly as possible."

  "But what will Lord Alex do?"

  "I wish I knew."

  "The Framptinghams are very wealthy."

  Lord Slade frowned. "But Framptingham already sponsors a half a dozen seats. I'd hate to push them. The richer one is, the more financial obligations one has. Look at how much they have already done today for Alex."