Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Lord Dunsmuir and Mr. Friend to see you, my lord,” Hollis said.
James crossed the study to greet his cronies.
He’d known Robbie Dunsmuir and Eugene Friend since their days at Eton, and they had all roomed together at Oxford.
Like him, the two were firstborn sons who welcomed the responsibilities that accompanied the role.
They shared interests in politics, financial matters, and sports, and James trusted his friends implicitly.
“Well met, old chaps,” he said.
After the usual exchange of handshakes and jovial thumps on the back, they settled in the tufted leather seats by the fire. Tea and refreshments were served, and James caught up with his friends.
“We saw your brother on our way in,” Dunsmuir remarked. “He looked in fine spirits.”
Copper-haired and blue-eyed, the Scot was a lanky fellow whose easygoing charm had made him a magnet for females.
Barmaids and baronesses vied for his attention, and he’d been a bit of a rake before he married.
Now he had a wife and seemed content with overseeing a growing brood.
Given Dunsmuir’s own contentious relationships with his brothers—he had five of them—he’d been particularly sympathetic to James’s dealings with Ethan and Owen.
“Ethan is doing well.” With brotherly pride, James added, “He has been composing music.”
“That is capital news,” Friend said. “Talent such as his should not go to waste.”
Friend was Dunsmuir’s opposite physically, being dark and heavy-set.
His full mutton chops were a point of pride.
Behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, his eyes gleamed with a mix of intelligence and impatience.
He’d inherited a debt-ridden textile business from his papa; now he owned a half-dozen lucrative factories, with more on the way.
He was also the remaining bachelor of the trio.
“I would wager Ethan’s pretty new wife has something to do with his mood.” Dunsmuir winked. “We met her as well. I’ve always had a preference for redheads.”
“You have a preference for anything that breathes.” Friend raised his thick brows. “And isn’t your lady blonde?”
“As bright as sunshine is my Eloise,” Dunsmuir said smoothly. “While she holds my heart captive, a fellow cannot help but notice beauty. Well, unless he’s entirely captivated by ledgers and numbers—like you, Friend.”
Used to the back and forth, which had been going on since they were lads, James smiled.
This is what I need. To spend time with old friends. To think about something other than what went wrong in my marriage…
He reined in his thoughts. Since their last encounter in the greenhouse, he and Evie had been assiduously avoiding one another.
They crossed paths when necessary: at meals and activities where the absence of either of them might alert their guests to their marital troubles.
Despite his conflicted feelings about his wife, he appreciated her discretion.
She would never embarrass him with a public display.
In fact, he was beginning to realize that with her, he had the opposite problem: she was so contained that he had trouble reading her at all.
What she’d said about their babe twisted his gut even now, his hands clenching around the arms of his wingchair.
For months, he’d avoided the topic of the miscarriage, not wishing to cause her pain.
He’d held his own grief inside to spare hers.
Apparently, his efforts had been for nothing: she seemed to be incapable of feeling.
“Perhaps that was nature’s way of rectifying something that should not have happened in the first place.”
How could she spew such vileness? He’d wanted to shout at her, shake her. When had she become this bloodless…this cold? Worse yet, what if she’d always been this way, and he’d fooled himself into thinking that she preferred emotional restraint when she, in fact, had no feelings at all?
“Of course, neither of us are as settled as Manderly here.” With a grin, Dunsmuir drew James into the fray.
“Look at him, with his flourishing estate and accomplished lady. If your fair countess is free, I should like to pay my respects. Having glimpsed your glorious gardens, I would not mind her expert advice on improving my own.”
Friend snorted. “I would keep him away from my lady. And my garden.”
“Evie is occupied at the moment.” In truth, James had no idea what his wife was doing, but he wasn’t about to share that. “She will come by if she is able.”
“If we are done with the niceties”—Friend gave Dunsmuir a pointed look—“I think it is best to get on with the purpose of our visit.”
So there was a reason for the unexpected call. While James didn’t mind spending time with his old friends, he’d suspected that it wasn’t mere coincidence that brought them to his neighborhood. Perhaps they had a financial venture to discuss or a political tidbit to share.
“I am all ears,” he offered.
Friend and Dunsmuir looked at each other.
“This information must remain confidential,” Friend said.
“When have you known me to be a gossip?”
“You have always shown unparalleled judgment.” Dunsmuir leaned forward. “Which is why you are about to hear what you are about to hear.”
James cocked his head, intrigued. It was clear his cronies were bursting at the seams to share the news, whatever it was.
“Henry Gosford is retiring,” Friend announced.
“Gosford?” James drew his brows together. “Why?”
One of the Members of Parliament for Reading, Gosford had just turned forty and had served five consecutive terms. His moderate position made him popular with his fellow Whigs, and his jovial temperament had won the hearts of his constituents.
He was the sort of politician who visited orphanages and held babies…
and made sure the papers got wind of it.
“When Gosford releases the announcement, the reason he will give is ill health. The real reason,” Dunsmuir drawled, “is a certain brunette actress at the Adelphi. Gosford, the fool, was spotted in public with her, and someone leaked copies of the lease he paid for her cottage and other damning receipts from jewelers and the like to the papers. The scandal will eat him—and his wife and children—alive.”
“That is unfortunate,” James said, frowning. “Mrs. Gosford is an amicable lady and her husband’s staunchest supporter. She is undeserving of such treatment. The children, too, are blameless.”
“Be that as it may, the party cannot take any chances,” Dunsmuir went on. “Gosford must go. He has been persuaded that an early retirement from public life is the only way to control the damage.”
“You know what this means, Manderly.” Behind his spectacles, Friend’s forge-dark gaze smoldered. “The opportunity we have been waiting for has arisen. You must take Gosford’s place.”
Although James’s thoughts had traveled in the same direction, he forced himself to take a step back. To consider the situation from all angles.
“It is not that simple.” He shook his head. “The General Election is mere months away. I cannot possibly get ready—”
“We will help you,” Dunsmuir said. “Friend and I are at your disposal.”
“And you have support within the party,” Friend asserted. “While Gosford was admired, he lacked imagination. A true vision. Your name, however, comes up repeatedly during discussions of the party’s future and who we wish to represent us.”
“I am honored. Truly.”
The possibility of spearheading real reform sparked excitement in James.
Yet the proposed task was enormous…and not just because of the short notice.
Running for election would put him, and everyone close to him, in the public eye.
His chest tightened as he considered Evie’s reaction to this new development.
Even before their relationship had disintegrated to its present state, she had avoided the limelight.
While she’d played her social role as countess perfectly, she’d done so out of duty.
Out of a desire, it had seemed, to please him.
Now that she considered their marriage a bloody mistake, he wasn’t sure what she would do. Whether she would go along with his plans. Whether he wanted her to.
In either case, I need to talk to her. Even if it’s the last thing I wish to do at the moment.
“If this feels like an honor”—Dunsmuir arched his brows—“why the long face?”
James scrambled for a proper answer. One that wouldn’t expose his marriage to scrutiny and, at the same time, would allow him to be honest with his friends. He did not wish to repay their trust with deception.
He cleared his throat. “You know as I do that public office brings attention to one’s private affairs—”
“By Jove, Manderly.” Dunsmuir blinked. “Don’t tell me you have a bit of muslin tucked away somewhere?”
“Of course not.” James gave his friend a hard stare. “What kind of fellow do you take me for? I would never break the vows that I made as a gentleman—that I gave before God.”
“That is precisely the reason why you must run,” Friend said with satisfaction.
“While Gosford’s early departure will reduce the furor, it will not quiet the wagging tongues entirely.
Thus, our next candidate must be unimpeachable.
He must be a gentleman of high social standing, whose reputation cannot be faulted in any way. In short, he must be you.”
“I am not a saint,” James said dryly.
“You’re close enough,” Friend declared. “Unless you tell us otherwise.”
Caught between ambition and uncertainty, James hesitated. He didn’t know how to address his strained marital relations—no, he didn’t want to. And he was not certain it mattered. Unhappy couples were neither scandalous nor uncommon. If both parties acted with decorum, there would be no issue.
“You know me as well as anyone,” he said at length. “I have no skeletons of which I am aware. Nonetheless, when any man’s life is placed beneath the magnifying glass—”
“Ah,” Dunsmuir said. “I understand what you mean. Completely.”
“You, er, do?”
“You are referring to the dreadful circumstances which have affected your family,” Dunsmuir said. “The disappearance of Lord Owen during the Afghan War and his, shall we say, unruly behavior after he was rescued. Then there was the tragic accident that robbed Lord Ethan of his musical career.”
James frowned. He hadn’t been thinking of his brothers but of his own weaknesses and how his opponents might capitalize upon them. Now he bristled at the characterization of Ethan and Owen as detriments to his aspirations.
“Owen served this country honorably and at great personal cost,” he said severely.
“He is not alone in the challenges he faced returning from war: former soldiers endure hardships every day.
As a civilized society, we owe them not only gratitude but compassion, and this must be reflected in policies that provide for their care after the horrors of battle.
“As for Ethan, he has persevered in the face of adversity—adversity that would bring most men to their knees. He is a study in determination and grace. I could not be prouder of my brothers. In fact, they inspire me to be a better man.”
“He is ready.” Friend turned to Dunsmuir, his face lit with excitement. “I told you he was ready, and this proves it.”
“That was a pretty speech,” Dunsmuir agreed.
Scowling, James said, “That wasn’t a speech—”
“Not quite,” the Scot agreed. “Yet it has potential. Listen to me, old chap.” His expression grew uncommonly serious. “This isn’t just about your ambitions. If we do not put our best candidate forward, we will lose the seat…to Ryerson.”
“Eustace Ryerson?” The thought chilled James’s nape. “Do you think he has a chance?”
“Since the repeal of the Corn Laws, Ryerson’s stance has grown increasingly reactionary.
His proposed policies aim to punish the poor for their so-called moral failure and to silence reformers—he’s taken aim at trade societies and ‘strong-minded females’ already.
Unfortunately, his fear-mongering has gained him a devoted following.
” Dunsmuir’s shrug was philosophical. “You know as well as I do that Ryerson plays dirty. Several of my sources say that he was the one who leaked Gosford’s indiscretion to the papers.
He will undoubtedly brandish the scandal like a weapon against our party during his crusade for righteousness. ”
James swore softly. “You think Ryerson could win Gosford’s vacated seat?”
“We think that he will win if we do not have a stronger candidate.” Friend leaned his arms on his thighs, his gaze solemn and unwavering.
“Think of what is at stake here. Ryerson wants to reinstitute harsher workhouse rules. He wants to subject poor women and children to his ‘morality screenings’ to qualify for medical attention. He opposes any kind of electoral reform because, apparently, if anyone but wealthy landowners has a say in the way this country is run, it will lead to mob rule and social collapse.”
“Now that is a speech.” James tilted his head. “Why don’t you run, Friend? Or you, Dunsmuir?”
Friend shook his head. “I’m not good with people.”
“And I might be a little too good,” Dunsmuir said ruefully. “I’ve a few skeletons in my closet. From back in the day, of course.”
“You are the one for the job, Manderly,” Friend said firmly. “When you speak, people listen. Be the voice of change, and we will manage things in the background.”
“We’ve built relationships,” Dunsmuir added. “We have people to call upon, people eager to support you as Gosford’s replacement. Say the word, and your campaign begins now.”
How could he turn down friends who had such faith in him? How could he refuse the opportunity to contribute to the greater good? At the same time, how could he do any of this without Evie’s support—without the foundation of a healthy, if not happy, union?
James expelled a breath. “I must consult my wife before giving an answer. This decision will affect her life as much as mine.”
“By all means.” Dunsmuir smiled. “However, I think I know what she will say.”
That makes one of us, old boy.
“Lady Manderly is a sensible female.” From Friend, this was the highest form of praise. “During our talks, she has made convincing arguments supporting the rights of women and the working class. You will do well with her by your side.”
That depended on the outcome of James’s conversation with Evie.
He realized that he could no longer allow things to continue as they were.
His efforts to protect Evie’s delicate sensibilities in the past had backfired.
The best option now was to address the issues concerning their future head-on and without further delay.
“I shall speak to her,” James said.