Chapter 4
As it turned out, Miss Whitlock proved to be the very least of my concerns.
While Miss Whitlock had garnered more than her fair share of curious looks upon her introduction prior to dinner, any suppositions about either her origins or her unorthodox presence were soon forgotten in the face of several other contretemps.
First, Lady Lyndhurst protested in the feeblest and most apologetic manner possible that she couldn’t stomach anything planned for the evening’s menu.
Her long face did look pale and her soft features rather listless, as if she was still recovering from an illness, but the fact that she’d waited until this very moment to inform me left me wondering if the move was not calculated to gain attention from her fellow guests.
But in the end, it didn’t matter that even an hour’s notice would have prevented the problem.
Lady Lyndhurst was our guest, and so her needs must be attended to regardless.
Fortunately, Lord Gage’s butler, Bowcott, was more than equal to the task of finding out her dietary restrictions and communicating them to Lord Gage’s most excellent cook.
Within a few minutes, Lady Lyndhurst was presented with a comparable first course and then something supplemented for each course thereafter.
The fact that Lord Gage’s most excellent cook also possessed an ego the size of his employer’s, and a temper which far surpassed his, was never discussed, though I suspected the blameless kitchen staff belowstairs were all feeling his wrath at these last-minute alterations.
Then Lord Milngavie clutched a handkerchief to his nose, insisting that daylilies made him ill.
This prompted the removal of the floral arrangement at the center of the table I had worked on earlier that afternoon, as well as several of the smaller vases interspersed about the room.
Bowcott came to the rescue again by transferring a simpler arrangement from the saloon into the dining room—this one sans daylilies.
There was a draft from the side door that Lady Brougham didn’t like, so her shawl had to be fetched.
Baron Foley complained that a glare from the window was striking him in the face, though he wouldn’t dare impose upon us by being moved.
He also wouldn’t stop mentioning it. Not until the drape was pulled partially closed.
And it appeared Jemmy had begun tippling early, for he was already three sheets to the wind when we sat down at the table and was steadily drinking his way to four.
So when Mrs. Birnam proceeded to grumble under her breath about her placement at the table, I had little empathy left to offer her.
Especially when someone had altered my carefully planned seating arrangement at the last minute.
Artfully interspersing the eight women present amid the fourteen men had been no small feat.
Yet someone had presumed to change it without my permission. And I had a strong suspicion who.
Lord Melbourne, the home secretary, was supposed to be seated near the head of the table next to my father-in-law, but he had instead been moved to the seat next to me near the middle of the long table.
It took everything within me not to aim a glare past him toward the man seated on his other side—Mr. Birnam.
Considering the smoldering heat of the glares Lord Gage kept sending my way, perhaps it would not have been remiss.
Clearly, he blamed me, and this only made me angrier.
He should know by now that, despite my social ineptness, I would never make such a bumbling mistake.
Between dealing with Lady Lyndhurst’s dietary requirements and Lord Milngavie’s incompatibility with daylilies, Bowcott managed to catch my gaze.
The normally merry twinkle in his eyes was dimmed, though his unflappable demeanor remained unchanged.
However, it was evident that he was just as surprised by the switches made to the place cards.
Short of causing a scene, there was little that could be done about it.
But I anticipated Bowcott would have some stern questions later for the footmen assisting him in serving dinner.
Whether one of them had aided and abetted Mr. Birnam—likely because of a bribe—or the tradesman had maneuvered matters more directly remained to be discovered.
There was nothing for it at the moment but to make the best of it.
Though this proved difficult when Mr. Birnam proceeded to talk the hind leg off Melbourne’s horse, practically bludgeoning him at times with his words.
For Melbourne’s part, he appeared to take the matter in stride, perhaps accustomed to such fervent attempts to sway his opinion or garner his favor.
However, I was deeply embarrassed that he should be treated in such a manner while receiving our hospitality.
But while I and others made every effort to redirect the conversation, Mr. Birnam would not cease yammering on about the changes to the Factory Act being debated before parliament.
“But come now, good sir,” Melbourne retorted, finally managing to slide in a word edgewise after Birnam’s most recent speech.
“Surely, you must see that the establishment of a proficient Factory Inspectorate is beneficial for all. Why, if you’re already following the laws, as you assure me you are, then they’ll protect you as much as the laborers in your mills.
” He swirled the Bordeaux in his glass before taking a drink.
“O’ course, I’m followin’ the laws,” Mr. Birnam insisted.
Which only made my suspicion that he wasn’t all the greater. I glanced toward Trevor, who was seated across the table and two seats away, but he kept his own gaze trained on his plate, a troubled furrow marring his brow.
“But ye must see that havin’ these inspectors traipsin’ through the factories, askin’ questions o’ workers, gettin’ in the way, will only slow production. ’Tis an insult to think such a thing is needed.” Birnam pounded the table. “That our word isna tae be trusted.”
“While I can tell that your honor is very important to you,” Melbourne replied without a hint of irony, “what of your competitors? What if they are not being so diligent? Shouldn’t they be held to the same standard?”
“Weel, yes…”
The viscount nodded. “Good, then we’re agreed that for the sake of fairness, and the well-being of the children and a future workforce, an inspectorate is needed to ensure the laws are enforced.”
“The bairns are better looked after in the factory than rovin’ hungry in the streets…” Mr. Birnam began to protest again, but Melbourne had turned his head resolutely toward me.
“Now, I’ve neglected my other dinner companion for far too long,” he stated firmly before offering me a determined and charming grin.
“Lady Darby, my apologies.” Though I much preferred to be addressed as Mrs. Gage, he used the title my marriage to my first husband had bestowed upon me.
Since Sir Anthony Darby had been higher ranked than my second husband, many in society continued to call me Lady Darby out of courtesy rather than right, but I was perfectly happy to be stripped of the honor.
“None are needed, my lord,” I answered softly, responding with my own apologetic smile. How much he read into this, I couldn’t be sure, but I hoped he understood. At least, unlike my father-in-law, he didn’t seem to hold Birnam’s remarks against me.
I’d first met Lord Melbourne when Gage and I had helped Lord Gage solve a rather fraught and complicated inquiry for the home secretary.
I’d found Lord Gage’s friendship with Melbourne astounding at first, considering my father-in-law had been a staunch Tory, and the viscount was one of the most important Whigs.
But then I’d realized that Lord Gage was, by some necessity, a Vicar of Bray, changing sides to ally with those in power when required in his roles as advisor to the king and the nation’s premier gentleman inquiry agent.
Intelligent and well-connected, Melbourne had likely received dozens of invitations to house parties during this brief parliamentary recess, but he’d chosen to accept Lord Gage’s.
As such, I was savvy enough to recognize he wasn’t here just because he enjoyed our company.
And judging from the other men seated around the table, that ulterior motive had much to do with upcoming legislation, most notably the Factory Act and the Slavery Abolition Act. Both important bills.
But Birnam’s presence threatened to disrupt that.
I wanted to berate myself for thinking that inviting the Birnams was a good idea.
I recalled how Trevor had confided in me that one of the reasons Mr. Birnam even considered him a worthy suitor for his only daughter’s hand was because of his social and political connections.
Now I wondered if part of me had wanted—in a misguided manner—to prove that to be true.
If so, this had been a spectacular blunder.
“I understand your daughter recently turned one,” Melbourne inquired. His thick dark hair had largely gone to gray, particularly the large swathes of facial hair at the sides of his face, but he was still a striking man.
“In April,” I confirmed.
“Then she must be walking now.” His bushy eyebrows arched expressively over his twinkling eyes. “And exploring everything.”
“Indeed.” I laughed lightly. “You cannot turn your back for a moment.”
He chuckled. “When George began toddling about, Lady Caroline suggested he needed a second nursemaid just to keep track of him.”
I was surprised to hear him speak of his son and now deceased wife, for he rarely did so. As such, I decided to tread carefully, gentling my voice. “And how is your son?”
His response was tempered. “George is much the same as always.”