Chapter Seven
Back in London, Anthony strolled into his club one evening and was immediately confronted by Matthew Clairborne, an earl and politician who was working on some sort of education reform bill in Parliament.
Beresford only knew that because Clairborne had been quite vocal about said bill and there’d been much ink spilled about it in the newspapers Lark insisted on reading every morning.
A bothersome habit, to be sure, although sometimes Beresford got bored and read those papers himself.
“Where is Caernarfon?” Clairborne asked.
“On his honeymoon. Surely you occasionally deign to read society columns. Caernarfon married Midwood’s daughter. Wedding of the year! Quite a spectacular feast afterward, too, in fact.”
“Is this your way of rubbing it in that you were invited?”
“I do try to place myself in the most high-profile social situations so that all may bask in my power and beauty.”
Clairborne frowned. “Right.”
“Why are you asking after Caernarfon—and asking me of all people? Despite securing an invitation to his wedding, I am not on his list of favorite people.”
“When you bother to show up for votes in Parliament, you often vote with him, and I’ve seen you conversing with him in this very club, so I assumed you were friends. I do not, in fact, read society columns. That is women’s business.”
Beresford saw right through what Clairborne was saying there and decided to ignore it.
“Well, all I can say is that Caernarfon is in Wales for at least another fortnight, likely ensconced in a love nest with his new bride…who, as it happens, was betrothed to me until six weeks ago, if you should like to take me down a peg. She’s beautiful and came with a large dowry, so Caernarfon won the day, I suppose.
” Beresford crossed his arms. “But of course, society columns and scandal sheets are beneath you, so you will tell me none of this signifies.”
“You speak too prolifically, Beresford.”
“So I’m told. What do you want with Caernarfon?”
“His vote on my education reform bill. But it will come up for debate and voting before he returns, I’m afraid.”
“I suppose that gives you a week to invent a faster conveyance.”
“Indeed. Well, thank you for the information, Beresford. I will count on your vote should you bother to show up.”
“Of course.”
Clairborne sighed. “My sister has long been fond of Caernarfon. She will be sad to hear he’s been taken off the market.”
“Is she looking for a husband?”
“She is indeed on the marriage mart this year. My aunt has been escorting her to balls. Surely you’ve seen them.”
Anthony tried to remember what Clairborne’s sister looked like. “She’s tall, yes? Your sister, I mean. Auburn hair, freckles?”
“That’s her.”
“And her name is…Margaret?”
Clairborne rolled his eyes. “Matilda.”
“Yes, right.”
“I take it by your lack of attention to detail that you will not be asking her to dance at the next ball.”
“I daresay I feel obligated now. I am not in the market for a wife myself, though.”
“Nor am I advocating for you to offer for her. I am just saying, she is on the market now. I’m making conversation.”
“Ah, I see. Well, tell Matilda to save a dance for me at her next appearance, eh?”
Clairborne assented and loped off.
Anthony was aware of the fact that Owen didn’t like him, likely because Owen harbored a familiar prejudice against men who dallied with other men, but at least Lark’s other friends were more accommodating.
Anthony set out to find them when he was accosted by another MP, this one Jacob Tipton, the elderly Duke of Foxborough.
“I say, Beresford,” he said, placing his cane in Beresford’s footpath.
Anthony fought not to roll his eyes.
“Can I count on your attendance at Parliament next Thursday?”
“I will consider it. What is the occasion?”
Foxborough let out a husky chuckle of a laugh. “Right to the chase you go! I feel we must rein in the spending of the Prince Regent. He has asked for more funds to decorate one of his palaces, but do you not think the money brought in from British taxpayers should go toward improvements?”
“Certainly the roads in London would be top of my list,” said Anthony, willing to indulge the old duke. “I nearly lost a wheel on my favorite barouche the other day because of a large divot in Haymarket Street.”
“Capital! I agree wholeheartedly. So I can count on your vote?”
“I will give the issue the attention it deserves.” That was Anthony’s stock answer for most issues in Parliament.
His attendance was sporadic and mostly depended on how bored he was any given day, but he did have a seat in Lords and had once been the deciding vote on a very important bill regarding the safety of factory workers in Yorkshire.
That is, fewer factory workers would lose limbs to the machinery now that safety precautions were in place; Anthony felt good about that.
He found Lark next, standing near a fireplace, staring at the fire as if it held the answers to life’s questions.
What Anthony wanted to do was pull Lark into his arms from behind and hold him there until he spoke about whatever was bothering him.
Alas, they were in public, and Beresford knew they’d gotten careless and were doing a poor job of hiding their affair, so he really should behave himself.
Instead of touching Lark, he walked up beside him and said, “Schilling for your thoughts?”
Lark looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Not a pence?”
“Inflation, you know. Cost of goods these days. I am just trying to keep up.”
“You spend too much time in Parliament.”
“There are a lot of men here who feel the opposite. It seems everyone has a bill and would appreciate my vote on it.”
Lark frowned.
“What is it?” Anthony asked.
“I heard a terrible rumor that someone in Parliament wants to advance an anti-buggery bill. It would mean anyone caught could be hanged.”
“Is that not already a law?” Anthony tried to sound casual.
“Likely it is, but it’s one of those laws nobody sees a need to enforce. In this case, some MP in Commons wants to make an issue of it. He has a notion that this is a way to attract votes from the general public, since he has to run for his seat instead of being born into it.”
“How many buggerers do you think there are in London? A few hundred?”
“Are you keeping count? Did you write down their names as they paraded through your bedroom?”
“Hush. Jealousy is unbecoming. And anyway, what I mean is that this is a bill that would apply to a very small portion of the population—and it is a population that means no harm to others. This MP in Commons, how do buggerers affect his life? They don’t!
Why bother to kick up dust about something that is already illegal? ”
“My concern is that he means to enforce the law. And I don’t know if you knew this, Beresford, but you are guilty of the crime.”
Anthony waved his hand dismissively, although he wondered what Lark meant to say by using his title instead of his given name.
“Any law would have to get by Lords as well, and I can assure you, the preoccupation of the peerage is mostly lining their own pockets or doing good deeds so that they can impress people and thus line their own pockets. Not to mention you have many other friends in Parliament, so why ask me?”
“Everyone else will know the issue bothers me and will wonder why.”
Anthony put his hand on the fireplace mantel and leaned in a way he thought would be sexily casual. “And you don’t want them to know because you so enjoy my hard—”
“Hush.” Lark put up a hand. “You idiot. We cannot discuss—”
“Relax, Lark. I am jesting.”
“Well, refrain from jesting before both of us end up at the wrong end of a noose, you jackass.”
Lark’s tone was not jesting. “Are you cross with me?”
“A little, yes. You have no sense of self-preservation. Being wealthy and powerful does insulate people from scandal to an extent, but if this bill passes, it’s over for us.”
Beresford paused to understand what Lark was saying, but couldn’t parse it. “What do you mean by that? It’s over for us in that we’ll both be hanged? It’s over for us in that we’ll have to go underground? Or it’s over for us in that our relationship with each other will be over.”
“I don’t know. Maybe all of those. I just know this is bad news.”
“You can’t mean you would end our relationship over a piece of legislation.”
“If it meant keeping you alive? I would.”
Anthony wasn’t sure what to do with that. He was touched. He was frustrated.
“The bill may not pass. Lords won’t see this as a priority. But if it does, I’ll be careful. I’ll stop spending time with you in public if that’s what it takes. But you can’t just throw this aside because of fear.”
“I can, in fact, do that if it means not watching you hang.” Lark was whispering and practically spit that part out.
“May we postpone further discussion on this until or if the bill actually passes? Because I intend to vote against it, and I have friends I can talk into voting against it.”
“Yes, but what will they think of you if you do?”
“I can make an argument that has nothing to do with me. The bill is a waste of time, it’s solving a problem that doesn’t exist, innocent people could get caught up in the witch hunt, that sort of thing.”
“And you’re pushing it because you don’t want to get caught in the witch hunt.”
Anthony crossed his arms. “Let us not make more of this than it needs to be.”
Lark threw up his hands. “Fine. You asked what I was upset about and that’s what it is.
And while I adore you for your optimistic outlook on life and the way it never appears that anything bothers you, sometimes you are too cavalier and take too many risks.
And, as I’ve said repeatedly, I point all this out because I don’t want to see harm come to you. ”
“And what about you?”
“I don’t matter.”
“I think you do.”
Lark frowned. “Whatever. I can weather a storm. You have a title, you actually do show up for your seat in Parliament, you have a reputation you need to protect. I’m…”
“You have a title.”
“But I don’t care about my reputation.”
“I don’t, either. I’d give the title to my cousin tomorrow if it meant we could stop fearing doom lurking around every corner.” Anthony grunted. “This isn’t a problem yet. Can we push off fretting about it?”
“For now. Fine.”
“Good.”
Hugh and Fletcher were approaching from the other side of the room.
“May I point out,” Anthony said, “that Hugh’s father-in-law is repeatedly rumored to flounce around in women’s clothing and visit molly houses, and though I know that’s not true, and the press has gone easier on him since his daughter married a duke, the rumors still pop up periodically.
And yet, he carries on in Parliament. And he’s so far up Prinny’s backside, he—”
“I take your point.” Lark walked away from the fireplace, a sign the argument was over.
“Trouble, lads?” Fletcher asked.
“No,” said Anthony. “At least none that Lark isn’t looking for.”
“You think I want this?” Lark said. “You think I want any of this?”
“I think you’re overreacting.”
“Bloody hell.” Lark stalked out of the room.
Anthony considered going after him, but he figured Lark needed time to cool off. Instead, Anthony dropped into a chair near the fireplace.
“What was that row about?” Fletcher asked, sitting across from Anthony.
“Politics,” said Anthony.
“Silly thing, politics,” Fletcher said.
Anthony gave Fletcher a once over. Fletcher also stood to inherit a title—his father was a marquess—so he would eventually have a seat in Parliament as well.
However, he’d long been disinterested in both politics and idle gossip, which made it difficult for Anthony to come up with things to speak with him about.
Anthony tossed about for some topic of conversation and recalled that Fletcher was a patron of the arts.
“I say, Fletcher, have you yet had time to see the new opera at the Royal Opera House? I heard it is a take on Pygmalion.”
“No, but I am taking Lady Louisa Petty to see it at the end of this week. Do you plan to see it as well? It’s a new composer, Donizetti. He is quite young. I’m curious to see if the new opera is good.”
Anthony smiled. Fletcher’s Italian pronunciation of the young composer’s name indicated he was, in fact, a fan of Italian operas. “You will have to tell me your thoughts. Although I often go to the opera to be seen, and rarely to, you know, see the opera.”
“Lady Louisa loves opera, and so I must hold my tongue as she listens.”
Ah, yes. One mustn’t let it be known that one liked art too much.
It was not what men did. Anthony did like opera, or he liked the spectacle of a good production, but he liked socializing with his peers more.
“I did like that production of The Magic Flute they put on last Season. The costumes were beautiful.”
“Lady Louisa and I saw that three times. She thought it was wonderful.”
Anthony took this to mean Fletcher also enjoyed it but did not want to say as much.
Hugh looked on, not saying anything. Hugh had rarely been seen at the Royal Opera House, and so might have thought Anthony and Fletcher were speaking gibberish.
It was probably time for Anthony to take his leave anyway. Find Lark and smooth down his ruffled feathers.
“I should be off. But Swynford, before I go,” Anthony said, standing back up. “May I have a word?”
“It’s fine,” Fletcher said. “I can entertain myself. Deal myself a game of whist. Work on my skills.”
Anthony pulled Hugh into a quiet corner and relayed what Lark had told him and a brief summary of their argument. Then he said, “You must have some influence with your father-in-law. Can you make sure this bill never makes it to the floor?”
“I can’t make sure of anything, but I can come up with a cover story and convey that it’s…unnecessary. Isn’t buggery already illegal?”
“Technically, but it’s one of those cyclical things.
Every, oh, thirty years or so, someone decides the sin that shall not be named needs more attention, and that men who seek their pleasure with other men should be burned at the stake.
The MPs in Parliament need an issue to throw attention off something they plan to do that they think will be unpopular, is my guess. ”
“I can’t do anything about Commons.”
“No, but if Lords doesn’t take up the bill, it won’t become a law.”
Hugh nodded. “All right. I’ll try. But please, for the love of all that is holy, do not get caught. I’d prefer it if neither of you hanged.”
“If Lark ever speaks to me again, I promise, I will be the soul of discretion.”