Chapter Nineteen
The next afternoon, Kate stepped from the muddy street up into the stone entrance of the House of Lords in its ugly, square facade. Up the double staircase and past the high, ornate galleries with stained glass windows, chandeliers burning heavily in their domed ceilings.
She entered the Painted Chamber, which was empty but for two harried-looking clerks who passed in the opposite direction, disagreeing in whispers. She could hear Loughborough’s droning voice from the Lords Chamber beyond, working through the opening proceedings of the day.
It was a slow Friday. The session hadn’t begun until two o’clock, and when Kate entered the Chamber itself, the benches were mostly empty.
There were at most forty lords present, and a number of them were already nodding off, lulled by the gloomy light that filtered down from the high, round windows.
The archbishop, his ballooned sleeves resting comfortably over his stomach, showed no interest in her entrance.
She had woken him at four in the morning and not quit his house till an hour ago. He’d had his fill of her.
She bowed to the woolsack and took her seat. On the bench opposite, relaxed and patrician, sat Lord Wroth.
He was handsome, in his midfifties, with dark hair and frank brown eyes, which he turned on her for a moment in amused welcome before returning his attention to the chancellor. His clothes were expensive and beautifully made without being showy. Nothing in excess. Nothing out of place.
Kate smiled to herself, feeling an unholy satisfaction. Lord Wroth had no idea what she was about to do to him.
When Lord Pecke’s bill came to the floor for its third reading, it was met with unconcealed groans and pleas that the vote be taken as quickly as possible.
Nobody wanted to hear from the committee.
Nobody wanted the substance debated. Lord Pecke lectured the assembled lords for forty-five minutes anyway.
By the time he moved that his bill be passed, even Lord Wroth’s polite attention had become a little glazed.
“The motion is to pass this bill into law,” the chancellor said by rote, obviously keen to get to the next matter. “Those who support it, say content.”
How many times had Lord Pecke spoken that word alone, in this chamber? Never querulous, never resentful, never discouraged. Today, all twenty-six bishops and the Duke of Howard spoke with him, and passed the bill into law.
Lord Wroth looked up and fixed his dark eyes on Kate, too late. No vote of not content could now reverse what had just happened. He didn’t understand it, but he understood that something was wrong.
She couldn’t help herself. She smiled. She let Lord Wroth see her teeth.
Lord Pecke was gently ribbed for finally getting the peasants some toothbrushes, and then the chancellor moved on to the rather more pressing matter of the Vote of Credit for Services that had come to them from the other House. The day’s proceedings continued.
Lord Wroth had a clerk fetch him an unabridged copy of Lord Pecke’s bill and began paging through it like a student on the eve of exams. It was forty minutes later when he looked up at her again, the page he’d been reading crumpled inside his fist. He had found the relevant clause.
Oh, the glory of that moment. She had never won an advantage so decisive or landed a blow so devastating to him, and she was there to see it land.
And there was nothing he could do. Leap up and rant and rave, gaining himself no advantage? But I didn’t do my reading, sir! No. He would look foolish. He would look like a sore loser, a figure of fun. The great Lord Wroth, diminished.
All he could do was seethe and let her see in his eyes that there would be no forgiveness. That he would hit back, and it would hurt.
She nearly laughed aloud.
Let him try. Her single weakness was so well hidden, he would never find it.
Against all expectation, Celine had taken society by storm; she was their darling, above reproach.
Within the month she would be married, and Kate would have burned the letter.
In every other regard, Lord Wroth had taught her too well.
He himself had formed her to be able to withstand any attack.
She was like a body that, surviving his early attempt to destroy it, had become inoculated against him.
WHEN KATE LEFT Westminster Palace an hour later, she tilted her head up to the sun and took a deep breath. It felt sweet. New.
With great speed, the church would now take the mines into their pocket. The Crown, glad to be spared the expense of this piece of public welfare, would make no objection.
Lord Wroth could not have the mines back.
And Kate … she scarcely knew how to feel. She had expected it to be a lifetime’s work. Expensive, exhausting, with few wins and far too many losses. But with no warning at all, it was done. The weight of fifteen years, lifted from her shoulders.
A small piece of recompense made, at last.
And all because of Celine. Celine, who had used Kate’s private pain as a weapon. Celine, who had found the means by which Kate could begin to make amends.
She walked home with an unsettling eagerness. She had promised to take Celine for a drive in the park before their celebratory dinner with the Peckes. Four footmen bowed her through the street gate, and she strode impatiently across the front courtyard.
As she approached the front door it opened, expelling the person who so thoroughly occupied her thoughts.
Celine wore a walking dress with voluminous skirts that fluttered then settled round her legs.
The material was muslin, printed with tiny flowers.
A long blue shawl fell from her elbows at uneven lengths, and her shoes were of fine kidskin in the same colour.
She put a hand to her bonnet to keep it from flying away and stood for a moment atop the steps of Howard House, her face turned into the sun’s warm, caressing touch.
When she caught sight of Kate finally, her expression became opaque.
Warmth unfurled in Kate, pouring into the gaps between her resentment, her rage.
How was she to think of this woman, this parasitic tick, this beautiful strategist?
Celine’s lush upper lip pulled down into fine, curling lines that looked like they’d been drawn with a pencil; the sun lit her green eyes on fire.
Slowly, Celine came down the steps until she stood one step above Kate.
“Well?” Celine said.
“Well,” Kate said, and a smile broke free of her iron control. “We won.”