Chapter Eleven #3
“Yes,” said Lark, “but despite several generations of your family worming their way into the British aristocracy, part of you still takes pity on anyone the Crown wants to oppress.”
“What has you so upset, precisely?” asked Hugh.
Owen knew exactly what the issue was, but voicing it to his friends felt…embarrassing. “Do you want my honest answer?”
“We won’t judge,” said Fletcher.
Owen rolled his eyes. “Yes, you will, but honestly, the situation is that I suspect most of my fellow members of Parliament, even those in Commons, would just as soon side with the business owners and not bother about what is causing the rebellions.”
“The Luddite situation,” said Lark.
“Yes. To me, the obvious answer is to find other jobs for the rebels, because truly, all they want is to be able to earn enough to feed their families. And I think they have the foresight to know that now it’s textile mills, but soon machines could take over the way we make everything.
Imagine if you no longer need a man to work a printing press, but instead newspapers are printed by mechanical means.
Or what if machines made, I don’t know, clothing or food.
Thousands of artisans would lose their jobs.
I applaud these technological advances, but what do you do about all the people whose skills become obsolete? ”
“It’s nice that you care,” said Hugh.
Owen grunted. “The problem is that I feel a moral and ethical obligation to see this through, at least as long as Parliament remains in session, because I worry that without a voice like mine, the Tories will let the rich and powerful level London to build more palaces.” Owen paused and rubbed his forehead. “I am pontificating.”
“It’s fine,” said Lark. “You let me blabber on last week. ’Tis now your turn.”
Owen nodded. “Well, I suppose part of me might prefer I were more heartless, because more than anything, I want to leave for Wales right now so that I can lie with my wife again.” That was the crux of it.
He felt an ethical obligation to stay in London, but what he wanted more than anything was to be with Grace.
“Ah,” said Lark. “I see the issue here. You installed your lovely wife, who you like, contrary to all conventional knowledge, at your distant home and miss the touch of a beautiful woman.”
“I suppose I could write and ask her to come here, but that is not our arrangement.”
“Can’t hurt to ask,” said Hugh.
“She has her own obligations in Wales. According to her last letter, she now has two pottery students she is teaching, plus she is managing my estate and helping my aunt oversee the castle renovation work. There was also mention in one of her letters of her feeling a bit under the weather and not being able to travel much, even locally, although I suppose that was a month or two ago.” Owen shook his head. “It is uncouth to discuss such things.”
Fletcher frowned. “It sounds like you miss her.”
“I do.”
“And not just physically.”
Owen nodded. “I suppose that’s true. We exchange letters regularly, but it is not the same as speaking with her, and I find that, the more intimate our letters become, the more I want to see her. Is that mad?”
“It makes sense to me,” said Hugh.
Beresford walked in then, looking more morose than he usually did. Owen watched him speak to someone across the room before strolling toward the fireplace where Owen and his friends sat.
Beresford stopped by Lark’s chair and asked, “Women are still banned from this club, correct?”
“Yes,” said Lark.
“So my mother cannot foist any unwitting unmarried young ladies on me here? I am safe?”
“For now.”
“Anyone want to vouch for me that I can find my own wife without my mother’s intervention?”
“No,” said Lark without hesitation.
Owen must have been glaring, because Fletcher said, “You’ll have to excuse Caernarfon. Marrying your fiancée seems to have worked out for him and he’s acting like a lovesick fool because she’s in Wales.”
Beresford smiled ruefully. “Is it bizarre that I think it’s good that she has someone who wants her like that?” He sat on the arm of Lark’s chair. “I’ve always been fond of Grace, albeit not in a romantic way. She has a good heart.”
“Yes,” Owen muttered miserably.
“What I mean is, I like her and have long hoped she could find what I could not give her. It’s unfortunate she’s in Wales and you are here, Caernarfon, but she deserves to have a husband who genuinely cares for her.”
Owen nodded. “I appreciate that, but it does not solve any of my present predicaments.”
“He feels obligated to see through his various endeavors in Parliament,” Lark said to Beresford.
“I’ll happily vote against that road bill,” Beresford said.
“Most of the House of Lords is trying to stay in Prinny’s good graces, but the road plan is foolish and pointless.
Why no one is interested in your compromise bill, which would make the roads more passable for everyone, I do not know, unless the point is to ensure that the poor suffer as if they caused their own misfortune, and horrible roads are just the sacrifice we make as the aristocracy to make sure no one enjoys them. ”
Owen nodded. “I agree, obviously. It just feels like an uphill battle. Whenever you show the smallest bit of compassion for the less fortunate in Parliament, the other members begin to look at you as if you are threatening to walk into their vaults and steal their money yourself.”
“The thing with money is that it is never possible to have enough,” said Beresford. “It’s like gambling. Or cake. Once you have a taste of it, all you want is more.”
“Making money is like cake?” said Lark, deadpan.
“I know you understand me. I am making an observation.”
“Do you want more money?” Lark asked.
“I don’t think about it much because I’ve hired people to worry about my money for me. But honestly, who doesn’t?”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “If we’re done with the politics lesson, I believe we were discussing Owen’s problems.”
One by one, the men of Owen’s close social circle started to leave, until Owen was left with just Fletcher and a snifter of whiskey.
“You do seem sad,” Fletcher observed.
Owen wanted to laugh with how obvious an observation it was. He knew Fletcher meant well, though.
Owen and Fletcher had been close since they’d roomed together at Eton.
Fletcher had things he was passionate about—art, his family—but he loathed politics.
He cared deeply about his friends, but he often acted like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Owen felt privileged to know his friend’s true character underneath his nonchalant surface.
And now Fletcher was looking at Owen like he was actually concerned.
Owen took a deep breath. “When I agreed to marry Grace, I didn’t think it would be this difficult. Maybe I should go back to Wales.”
“It would take you a fortnight just to get there and back. Can you spare that much time?”
“Not if I’m the only one in Parliament who cares about what happens to anyone who doesn’t have a mound of coin and an entailed estate.”
Fletcher frowned. “I won’t pretend to know much about women or love, but maybe if you plan to return home as soon as this vote occurs, it might help alleviate some of what you are feeling.”
“That is a possibility.”
“That way, you won’t feel like you are abandoning your work, but you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, as it were.”
That made some sense. Seeing Grace as soon as he could would be something to look forward to. “Thanks, Fletcher.”
“And if that doesn’t work, I have a good store of whiskey at my house.”