Chapter 14
Alexander paced the room, resisting the urge to watch Violet’s departure from the nearest window.
I am not some wet-behind-the-ears boy falling for his first love. But, by God, she is a fine woman. One to inflame a man’s senses.
He strode back into the drawing room, snatching a decanter from a sideboard and removing the crystal stopper.
He took an unhealthy swallow directly from the decanter, a trickle of brandy finding its way down his chin.
Then he remembered himself, and wiping it with the back of his hand, he turned back to the sideboard and picked up a glass.
Pouring the drink into the receptacle felt a more civilized thing to do.
He tipped the glass back in a sharp motion and swallowed the drink.
Enough to give me some Dutch courage. I have never needed to steal myself against the temptations of a lassie before.
Finding himself at the window, he looked out, for a moment lost in thought, lost in the memory of recent events.
He could still feel the softness of her skin, the heat of her body.
The delicious, tender moistness of her lips.
The urge was in him to go to her house, once again scale the wall and wait for her to go out to the hut that had been built for her under the shelter of the trees.
Certain women that he had known, some of noble birth, would have welcomed such daring.
Would have been aroused by it. Perhaps Violet would be too.
But he could not afford to take such chances with this woman.
Those who had come before had been passing fancies.
He had been used by them, attracted because of his ruggedness or the thrill of his uncivilized nature.
In truth, he had used them, taking pleasure in seeing those who had once been so far above him, laid low, made helpless by their own lust. Violet was different.
He needed her and she had already shown that she was capable of refusing him the aid he requested because she feared that his reputation would stain her own.
So my reputation must be whiter than the snow. Pure. I can do nothing about my past but I can do something about my present. I will not be the marauding Scot that everyone thinks I am. A patron of cheap taverns and dockside gambling dens.
The urge to fill his glass came to him and he resisted it.
Turning, he hurled the glass he held into the fire, taking satisfaction in the sound of it shattering in the cold grate.
That was another idiosyncrasy from his past, a legacy of poverty.
So many nights had been spent sleeping on the streets of Glasgow that he found himself uncomfortable in a room too well-heated, eventually feeling as though he was being smothered.
Instead, he chose to keep his house cold, savoring the sight of his breath fogging before his eyes.
A knock came at the door.
“Come in!” Alexander called out, turning from the window and folding his arms, leaning back against the windowsill.
“I beg your pardon, Your Lordship,” said Jenkins, his sole manservant.
Jenkins had dark hair, combed severely back from his temples and a face well-schooled to stillness in all circumstances. Alexander had never seen the man break a smile or express any discernible emotion. Nothing could shake the man’s detachment. He held a folded piece of paper in his hand.
“A runner brought this from the House, Your Lordship,” he intoned. “I was made to understand that it was of the utmost importance.”
Alexander started across the room, taking the note, and hastily unfolding it. He scanned the elegant handwriting, immediately recognizing it to be the work of Sebastian. It was summoning him to the House and urging him to make haste.
“Damn it! Whit’s gaun on, noo?” he whispered, lapsing into his native Scots.
Jenkins was unflappable. “A reply, Your Lordship? The runner is waiting.”
“Aye, I’m leaving now. I’ll be there at the back of twelve,” Alexander said, glancing up at the servant’s clock on the mantelpiece.
Another novelty for him. Another luxury taken for granted by everyone around him. Being able to tell the time of day precisely by looking at a clock. An example of unfathomable engineering and a symbol of wealth. Growing up, only those he and his mates had called Toffs could afford a clock.
And I’ve been surrounded by them ever since getting to London! I cannae believe it sometimes.
Jenkins had been standing with one hand behind his back. Now he revealed that he was holding a pair of socks and a pair of riding boots.
“I took the liberty, Your Lordship,” he said.
Alexander grinned fiercely, taking the hosiery and footwear.
“Whit would I dae without ye, Jenkins. Yer a pal,” Alexander said, sitting to pull on the socks.
“Thank you, Your Lordship. Quite the compliment, I’m sure,” Jenkins said without the hint of a chink in his professionalism. “If I may be excused to relay your message?”
Alexander waved him away. Moments later he was heading for the door.
Jenkins had hung up his coat and hat beside the door and he found a pair of gloves in the pocket, and a walking cane standing beside the coat stand.
For a moment he stood looking at the gloves, then he slapped them into his right hand and took up the stick in his left.
It felt ridiculous to be stepping out of the door with a pair of gloves clutched in one hand, a cane tapping the pavement.
Jenkins stood in the road, hailing a cab.
As Alexander stood waiting, a gentleman passed him, lifting his hat in greeting.
Alexander returned the greeting and received a salutation. The words slid right off him, so surprised was he.
That gentleman just passed the time of day with me. Usually, I get looks for my beard or my hair. Or because I opened my mouth at the wrong moment.
With astonishment he realized that the gentleman, though paying little actual attention to him, had taken Alexander for one of his own kind.
Taken him for an English gentleman. He had been standing straight-backed with chin raised and shoulders back, just as Violet had taught him.
In fact, it had the thought of her, never too far from his mind, that had made him think of his posture.
A cab came to a halt opposite him and Jenkins hurried to open the door for his master. Alexander climbed in.
“Parliament, please driver,” he said, sitting back.
The carriage began to move and Alexander watched London flow past the window as he contemplated the immediate results from just one lesson with Violet.
Imagine how I’ll be after a week’s such lessons.
Perhaps I should not be such a quick study, then I will require more lessons with her.
Except I do not have the time to be anything but a quick study.
I am not learning in order to be near Violet.
I am doing it for all those children, like the boy I was, made slaves by their poverty.
The charred and blackened remnants of the Palace of Westminster soon came into sight.
Scaffolds surrounded the surviving sections and men clambered over the structure, hard at work restoring the home of the mother of all Parliaments.
Sebastian stood outside in the square, talking with two other gentlemen that Alexander recognized as peers belonging to neither of the two parties, the Whigs and the Tories.
Alexander got out and paid the cabbie, striding confidently across the square towards Sebastian, who turned to look in his direction as he approached.
“Your Grace,” he said formally, bowing with his head.
The other two men followed suit. Both were graying and middle-aged, but ranked considerably lower than Alexander, as did Sebastian Cadzow, Viscount Holmesley.
“Sebastian,” Alexander greeted, forgetting his friend’s title or the English customs of addressing a peer by the name of their estate.
He cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment at the mistake, hoping it was not too big a social faux pas.
“You may know Lord Arthur Woodley, Viscount Graves, and Lord Eric Phillipton, Earl of March,” Sebastian said without missing a beat.
“We certainly know of the Duke of Lorchester, even if he does not know us,” Phillipton said.
“Yes, quite a speech the other day. Quite colorful,” Woodley said.
“But with its heart in the right place,” Phillipton put in.
“Indeed. Very much,” Woodley agreed.
Alexander took a deep breath, smiled politely, and addressed both men.
“I thank you for the kind words. I wish I’d had more…experience of giving speeches in the house before this issue arose which is so important to me.”
“These two excellent gentlemen are debating whether they should be voting with us Whigs on this issue. They are not yet convinced and desired to discuss the matter with its chief sponsor,” Sebastian said, looking pointedly at Alexander.
“Of course. I would be happy to talk the matter over with both of you,” Alexander said, putting enthusiasm into his voice.
“Shall we retire to an establishment capable of providing a good vintage and some palatable food?” Sebastian said with a charming smile.
“Lead the way, Holmesley,” Phillipton said jovially.
Alexander put his shoulders back and walked alongside the other three men. He began to speak, the effort of maintaining the English accent and diction putting a sweat to his forehead beneath the brim of his hat.
Violet, my dear. I am desperately in need of your help. I hope I have not frightened you away with my impetuous behavior.