by Cheryl Bolen
Her brows drawn together, she peered up at him. "Whatever can you mean, Mr. Poppinbotham?"
"I mean that you do know a wealthy man whose heart is in the right place. I feel obliged to support Lord Alex in his plight against that Darrington-Chuff."
She doubted Mr. Poppinbotham knew anything good or bad about the wretched Darrington-Chuff, but she was grateful he would help Lord Alex fight against him. She lifted her face to him, touched his hand, and smiled. "You are our savior, my dear man. You are an angel."
"Indeed you are," her father said. "We are deeply indebted to you, Mr. Poppinbotham. It's imperative that Darrington-Chuff be crushed. He's a thoroughly odious man. Are you acquainted with him?"
Mr. Poppinbotham shook his head. "I do not belong to clubs like White's."
"Perhaps Lord Alex will sponsor his benefactor for membership," she said.
"And who is his benefactor?" Mr. Poppinbotham asked.
"You, my dear man."
Mr. Poppinbotham preened some more. "So I am! Or will be. When I felt obliged to stand for Parliament as a Whig, I knew that it would fall to me to be vastly important to our cause."
"We are incredibly fortunate to have you in our ranks, Mr. Poppinbotham," she said.
* * *
How was she going to tell Lord Slade that Mr. Poppinbotham had offered (with a little push from her) to sponsor Lord Alex's candidacy? Lord Slade had expressly not wanted Mr. Poppinbotham's help. He would be angry with her.
She had known since the idea had first germinated that encouraging Mr. Poppinbotham to sponsor Lord Alex would drive a rift between her and Lord Slade. He neither admired Mr. Poppinbotham nor wished to further his connection with the prosperous publisher. But, like Jeremy Bentham promulgated, she must act for the greater good. If she had to forfeit the friendship of Lord Slade over this, so be it--though it would be a source of melancholy to her. Defeating Hugh Darrington-Chuff was more important to more people than a friendship between two people.
Perhaps she could get her father to tell Lord Slade about Mr. Poppinbotham's generosity. Lord Slade would never get angry with Papa. But that would be taking the cowardly way out.
She also considered bypassing Lord Slade entirely and informing Lord Alex that he could proceed with electioneering because he now had a wealthy sponsor. But she couldn't allow Lord Slade to find out second-hand something so important.
Imparting the news face to face with Lord Slade, as distasteful as it was, was the only honorable solution.
* * *
It was to be a perfectly amiable dinner at the Wycliffs'. Unfortunately Alex had sent his regrets. Without the necessary financial backing, he must have decided to bow out of politics before he'd had the opportunity to enter. Slade made a mental note to go see him on the morrow and try to persuade him not to give up. Not yet. A duke's son had excellent prospects. Slade was almost certain help was imminent. Alex had too many attributes not to be a rising Whig star.
As the guests were gathering, Miss Featherstone came up to him. "May I have a private word with you, Lord Slade?"
"Yes, of course." She must wish to impart something pertaining to Lady Sarah. A pity he had not made better progress in his quest to win that lady's heart.
He followed Miss Featherstone to the unoccupied morning room, which was lit by a single taper. She stepped into the chamber but was careful to keep the door open. When she stopped, she turned to face him. Her youthful face was barely illuminated by the soft candlelight which glanced off her chestnut tresses. There was something almost angelic looking about her.
He quirked a brow.
She started to say something, then stopped. Then she drew a breath and spoke barely above a whisper. "I wanted to tell you the good news first."
Good Lord! Had he won Lady Sarah's affections? He could not credit it. "What good news, my dear lady?"
"Lord Alex can proceed with his electioneering. We've found a wealthy man to back his cause."
Somehow, this news was even more welcome than news of the lovely heiress. "Excellent! Who's the man?"
She bit her lip. It made her look like a girl. She did not answer for a moment. Finally, she spoke in a croak. "Mr. Poppinbotham."
He went from bliss to fury in the span of a second. He was so angry he didn't trust himself to speak for a moment, and when he finally did, his voice shook with anger. "You asked him, did you not?"
She nodded solemnly.
"Against my express wishes."
She nodded again. "His money's as good as another man's. What matters is that Lord Alex can proceed. He can defeat that horrid Darrington-Chuff. It's all for the greater good."
"We have no desire to be beholden to that pompous, ignorant, hideously dressed buffoon of a printer." With that, he pivoted, left the chamber, and called out without turning around. "Give my regrets to Lord and Lady Wycliff."
He left the Wycliff's house and strolled aimlessly on foot around the city for hours, unimpeded by the eerily dark streets or the thick, curling fog. After his anger simmered, he felt beastly for the way he'd treated Miss Featherstone when she was only trying to help their cause. Still, she infuriated him. He'd thought he could trust her. She had known he did not want Poppinbotham's money, yet she had defied him. He would never again trust her.
He--not Miss Featherstone--was to blame for his unnatural animosity toward the Buffoon. Why in the devil did he harbor such ill feelings toward the annoying man? It wasn't because Poppinbotham was such a fish out of water. Slade had never held it against a man that he wasn't born to rank and privilege. Though Slade had found the man to be sadly lacking in knowledge, he had to concede that Poppinbotham must be possessed of shrewd business acumen to have achieved such success in his publishing enterprises.
Slade admired men who wanted to better their lives--and especially if they channeled that desire for betterment to governance for the betterment of mankind. Even though Poppinbotham proclaimed to want to represent the needy masses, Slade was not at all convinced of his sincerity. Poppinbotham wanted to elevate his own stature.
And it was frightfully obvious that while the Buffoon was striving to sit in Parliament, he was also striving to woo Miss Featherstone. She was so far above his touch it sickened Slade to contemplate such an unequal alliance. The man was completely unfit for her. Slade's enmity for the Buffoon had nothing to do with Poppinbotham's class but everything to do with his unwarranted arrogance. His ignorance was matched by his obnoxiousness.
Fortunately, Miss Featherstone was highly intelligent. She was bound to recognize the man's many, many faults, not the least of which was his ignorance of things--like political theory--which she understood with uncommon clarity. There was no way she would ever consider plighting her life to the Buffoon. Even if the man was sinfully rich.
Still, the very notion of the Buffoon courting Miss Featherstone rankled him.
Even though Slade was completely out of charity with her.
He thought long and hard about refusing to take Poppinbotham's money. It rankled him to think he or Alex would ever have to be beholden to a man such as Cecil Poppinbotham. But after hours of wandering through the streets of Mayfair he realized what he had to do.
Chapter 13
It was nearly dawn, but the candles burned brightly in a fine Mayfair house that was Mrs. Nelson's gaming establishment. For reasons incomprehensible to Slade, this is where Alex came when he was feeling low, and Slade suspected that having to withdraw his candidacy must have made his friend low.
He found him at the faro table. Slade's glance whisked to the wager. Five guineas. At least he wasn't beggaring himself with heavy losses--losses he could ill afford. Both Alex's head and his eyelids were dropping. He'd probably been drinking heavily all night.
Slade went to stand beside him.
Alex lazily looked up, then straightened, a querying expression on his face. "What the devil are you doing here?" It was well known that Slade avoided all types of gaming.
"I came to see you. Finish that. We need
to talk." And his friend needed to get out of there before he lost far more than he could afford. "Allow me to call for your coach."
"Very well," Alex slurred.
Moments later Mrs. Nelson herself met them at the door as Alex was donning his coat and hat. She'd been a reported beauty some thirty years earlier when, after receiving a settlement from her former lover, the Duke of Argyll, she had bought this house in Mayfair and started her successful business. She was still a handsome enough woman though her midsection had greatly expanded, and her hair was now more gray than brown. "Ah, me dear Lord Alex," she said, curtsying as she bestowed a shimmering smile upon her client, "Lottie and I shall miss you. Pray, don't stay away so long this time."
Slade saw that Lottie of the faro table could not remove her gaze from the handsome duke's son. Alex had never lacked for female attentions.
Alex nodded to Mrs. Nelson. "You can always be assured of my patronage." Then he flicked a glance into the adjoining chamber where Lottie watched him with a somber smile. He nodded then turned back and strode through the open door to his waiting carriage.
"I did not know you stayed awake until dawn these days," Alex said as the coach turned onto Piccadilly.
"You are right. I don't normally. I was going to wait until tomorrow to speak to you on this matter, but since I'd not yet gone to bed I thought now was as good a time as any."
The abundance of brandy Alex consumed had not dimmed his wits. "Then you must have been troubled over this . . . this matter you're going to discuss with me."
"My feelings are irrelevant." Slade shrugged. "I am powerless to even understand my reservations."
"Reservations about what?"
"Apparently, Miss Featherstone had found a wealthy man who seeks to sponsor your candidacy--a man who has become a committed Whig."
"Who is this man?"
Slade knew his friend well enough to know there was something akin to excitement in his voice. So Slade had judged correctly when he surmised that Alex had been disappointed over withdrawing from the election. "A Mr. Cecil Poppinbotham."
"Is that the fellow who wears the outlandish clothing? The fellow who fancies your Miss Featherstone?"
Linking her with that Buffoon sent Slade's gut plummeting. "She's not my Miss Featherstone."
"But I do have the right fellow?"
"Yes."
"It's difficult to believe one such as he could be possessed of a fortune. Are you sure of it?"
"Yes. He started as a printer--printing religious pamphlets. It grew into a very prosperous company. He's even got Hannah More writing for him."
"Then I daresay he's vastly wealthy."
"Rich enough to sponsor his own campaign as well as yours. The more Whigs elected, the merrier." Slade was trying not to interject his own prejudices into this discussion.
"I say, that's awfully decent of the fellow. I suppose now I shall have to sponsor him for membership in Brook's."
"He'd never be voted in. Not unless someone can instill good clothing sense into him."
"There is that. I suppose Miss Featherstone will be able to manage him. Is she not the granddaughter of an earl?"
Slade was so angry over the idea of Miss Featherstone uniting herself to the Buffoon, he felt like lashing out at Alex. "She is," he said through clenched teeth.
"Do you dislike the notion of me accepting aid from this man?"
"It's not my decision. His money's as good as another's, and his is available immediately."
"Then I have no problem accepting it. In fact, I'm grateful to the fellow."
They rode is silence for a moment.
"You still don't keep a coach?" Alex asked.
"Not until I dower and marry off three sisters. Then I might be able to see to my own needs."
"Shall I drop you off at your lodgings?"
"Yes, please."
Slade was dismayed that Alex was quite willing to accept Poppinbotham as his benefactor. He supposed there was nothing wrong with accepting assistance from the Buffoon. After all, having Alex in the House of Commons was the all-important objective even if achieving the objection meant embracing Cecil Poppinbotham.
Why was it no one else was as out of charity with the publisher as he was?
He frowned. He was also out of charity with Miss Featherstone. Never again would he trust her.
* * *
Nothing between her and Lord Slade would ever be the same again. She'd lost his trust. To lubricate his stiffness, she was determined to persuade her cousin to favor Lord Slade. Coaxing Lady Sarah to accompany the earl to Hyde Park would be a way he could be with her without having to compete with her army of admirers. A pity he possessed no coach. A ride in the park was out of the realm of possibility for him, especially now that Jane would not have him share Mr. Poppinbotham's coach. What about a walk through the park? It was a lovely day, and many people enjoyed walking there on such a day.
With such an aim, Jane walked to Clegg House on Berkley Square. "My, but you're here early," Lady Sarah said.
"I will own I wished to come before the stampede of your suitors."
Lady Sarah rolled her eyes. "The suitors grow tedious."
Jane nodded. "I thought today would be an excellent opportunity for you to get to know Lord Slade better. I believe your array of conversational topics would be expanded by exposure to a man possessed of his vast knowledge--especially of Parliament. It's a subject men know a great deal about, and I believe you will wish to be known as being well informed."
Lady Sarah, who had been examining herself in the cheval glass, turned around, a look of bewilderment on her pretty face. "Yes . . . of course. What do you have in mind?"
"Perhaps a stroll through the park. Green Park is only a moment away. Would you permit me to let his lordship know that you would be amenable to walking with him this afternoon?"
"In place of holding court in our drawing room?" Lady Sarah said with a little laugh.
If any other lady referred to presiding over her morning callers as holding court, she would sound decidedly vain, but Lady Sarah did not. The beauty had no need to embellish her popularity with opposite gender. "I think so."
"Very well. A walk would be . . . quite novel."
"Then expect Lord Slade to collect you." Jane went to the writing table in her cousin's bedchamber, extracted a piece of velum, and began to pen a note to his lordship.
My Dear Lord Slade,
I have taken the liberty of telling my cousin, Lady Sarah, you would call on her for the purpose of strolling through Green Park with her early this afternoon, and she is most agreeable. If this plan is not agreeable to you, notify me as soon as possible.
Your champion,
Jane Featherstone
It was a significant breech of decorum for an unmarried lady to write to a gentleman, but since this gentleman thought of her only as a sister, Jane had no qualms about breaking such a rule. After she stamped the sealing wax with the Clegg family crest, she dispatched one of the Clegg footmen to deliver the letter personally to Lord Slade.
* * *
Miss Jane Featherstone might claim to be his champion, but he was inflexible in forgiving her for going against his wishes. Still, Slade was appreciative of her efforts on his behalf in courting Lady Sarah.
He arrived at Clegg House some time earlier than the hour for paying calls. The butler showed him to the morning room while he delivered Lord Slade's card to the lady. The earl waited no more than ten minutes before Lady Sarah, fetching in pink, swept into the morning room. "Good day, my lord. My cousin appears to have persuaded you that your accompanying me on a walk through the park is exactly what I need to enrich my youthful mind."
He stood, his gaze wandering behind her. Where was Miss Featherstone? Was he to be alone with Lady Sarah? "Is your cousin not coming with us?"
"No. I daresay she does not want my conversation to suffer by comparison to hers. My cousin is uncommonly brilliant, is she not?"
"Yes, she is." He moved a
nd offered his crooked arm to her as they left for their walk.
"Even your brother has commented on her intelligence," she said, looking up at him.
"I daresay he's heard me discuss her on many occasions."
They were the only pedestrians on the pavement of Berkley Square beneath the mid-day sun. "It's a lovely day, is it not?" she asked.
"Indeed it is. I hope we have finally put the rains behind us."
"I do hate rain. I've always said it should only rain at night when we are safely tucked in our beds."
A novel thought--with which he tended to agree. In fact, it was the first time since he'd met her that he found himself agreeing with Lady Sarah. It was a start. He chuckled. "I think that's a brilliant idea. A pity we cannot regulate the weather."
"Indeed it is."
A very fine coach and four was entering the gates to Devonshire House as they walked by. It embarrassed him that he had no carriage with which to carry this lady about Hyde Park.
A moment later they entered Green Park where a great many people were strolling on this sunny afternoon. "Since I have met you, my lord, I am taking a greater interest in reading the newspaper accounts of the goings-on in the House of Commons."
"I'm flattered, my lady. I shall have to quiz you. What is the subject upon which I spoke last week?" He looked down at her. How lovely she was! Her porcelain perfect face was tinged with pink the same soft shade as the dress she wore. Her nose was flawless, and the way her long lashes swept downward was almost seductive. Almost. He wished like the devil he did find her sensuous. What the deuce was the matter with him? Any other man in the kingdom would be honored to trade places with him right now. But he felt no emotional connection.
She did not answer him for a moment. She looked rather like a recalcitrant child who'd been caught with its hand in the plum pudding. "La, my lord! I confess I only look for your name because you're so important a personage, and I feel so privileged to know you."
He inwardly cringed. The girl had not enough interest in her own government to read a single article in the newspaper. He tried to act flippantly. "Were you afraid your father would see you reading about an infamous Whig?"
