Chapter Eleven
The following morning, Ralston stepped into the House of Lords in Westminster.
With his scarlet fur-trimmed coat he blended in with the other lords seated on red-leather benches.
Sunlight from the stained-glass windows streamed across the magnificent chamber.
At the upper end stood the king’s throne, a gilded and carved chair.
Situated beside it was the woolsack, the seat of the Lord Speaker of the House.
Colorful tapestries depicting the battle in which the English defeated the Spanish Armada decorated the walls.
It was the first reading of his child labor bill, simply a time to introduce the measure, and he was prepared. The first reading was a formality, and debate was usually not allowed. Afterwards, he knew he would have to garner support for the second reading.
He’d left Berkley Square well before Nora had arisen.
He understood she would be exhausted after a long wedding day, and he’d left his staff instructions not to disturb her.
He hoped she’d slept well on her first night in her new home.
He, on the other hand, hadn’t slept much at all.
Rather than think of his proposed bill, he’d thought of his bride asleep a chamber away.
He’d sworn marriage would not change his normal routine, not even a wrinkle, yet here he was on the cusp of the bill’s introduction, and he was thinking of his wife and if she’d slept well.
He forced himself to focus as the Speaker made the announcement. ‘My lords, the Earl of Ralston requests the floor.’
All eyes turned to him as he rose. ‘My fellow lords, I hereby introduce my bill to address the exploitation of our society’s most vulnerable, our youth.
The Cotton Mills Act proposes that no child under the age of nine shall be employed in textile mills and no child from the ages ten to sixteen shall work more than twelve hours a day.
This bill is a compassionate, modest measure and long overdue. ’
Lord Weber, a fair-haired man of average height and weight, close to Ralston’s age, rose and was called to attention.
‘My lords, Lord Ralston, though well meaning, is proposing a bill that should cause alarm and should not have made the docket today. It is fiscally irresponsible and in direct conflict with our free market. I say his “modest measure” would cost us all inordinately high coat prices at our tailor’s. ’
A good number of lords laughed at Lord Weber’s statement.
Ralston was surprised, not at his opponent’s argument but at the timing.
Debate was usually reserved for the second reading of a bill.
As for the man, Ralston knew Lord Weber.
They’d gone to Oxford together and Weber was a snob.
He frequently opposed bills that aided the lower classes of society.
He’d opposed a bill to increase funding to the Royal Hospital Chelsea where many elderly veteran soldiers resided.
Another to ban bone crushing in poorhouses and a third to prohibit factory smoke on Sundays.
Weber was also closely aligned with the owners of London’s textile mills.
Ralston kept his voice firm as he responded. ‘Lord Weber, are you suggesting our lucrative mills would cease to exist without the backbreaking labor of children? If so, then perhaps you own one coat too many.’
More chuckling from the lords.
‘There are other reasons to consider.’ Weber’s smile did not reach his eyes.
‘These children you champion—poor, orphaned and without prospect—do not require the interference of Parliament. They require work and discipline. The mills provide both which they do not receive at home. Otherwise, they will resort to beggary and in many cases crime.’
Ralston had anticipated this weak argument. He also understood that the vote would be split. If Lord Weber garnered additional support, Ralston would have an uphill battle.
‘You suggest that employing a five-year-old child for fourteen hours a day in soot and filth and dangerous conditions is discipline? Or is it exploitation?’ Ralston faced the other lords, making eye contact with several as he spoke.
‘England is the leader of the world. Can we not do better? Can we not offer compassion with commerce?’
‘Here! Here!’ other lords shouted.
The Speaker cleared his voice. ‘Lord Ralston’s bill shall be entered for the second reading. You can further debate the merits of the bill before voting.’
On the way out of the chambers after the session ended, Ralston ran into Lord Weber.
‘You are championing a losing cause,’ Weber said.
‘Oh? Are you concerned? What textile owner has paid a visit to your home?’ Ralston asked.
Weber scoffed. ‘I wouldn’t admit to anything even if it were true. You know what you propose is unpopular.’
Ralston was curious but kept his voice calm. ‘With whom?’
‘I have more lords on my side,’ Weber said with confidence. ‘Withdraw the bill before you are humiliated.’
‘You are that concerned I’ll win, aren’t you?’ Ralston knew Weber disliked being challenged and he hated being taunted. He’d watched his nemesis for over a year when he’d stood in front of the lords to argue or debate.
Lord Weber’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t say I didn’t give you proper warning.’
Ralston watched his adversary turn and walk away. He believed in his cause, but he also knew never to underestimate a snake like Lord Weber.
A microscope arrived in a wooden box a few days later. Nora had been fortunate that whoever had placed the order for the instrument no longer had the funds to purchase it and she was able to obtain one so swiftly. The housekeeper, Mrs Hanning, was the first to notify Nora of its delivery.
‘What is it, my lady?’ Mrs Hanning asked.
Nora had established a good rapport with the head housekeeper, and she knew she would rely on her expertise to run the household smoothly. ‘It’s a microscope,’ Nora explained. ‘I want to study shells as well as some mollusk specimens.’
The housekeeper blinked. ‘Pardon?’
‘Seashells.’ Nora described her interest as simply as possible. The two women had learned how to get along since the wedding. Mrs Hanning was competent and professional. Nora was happy not to intrude with her duties. It gave her time to pursue her science.
Mrs Hanning hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. She eyed the wooden box. ‘Where should I have a footman store it?’
It was a good question. One Nora hadn’t considered the answer to. She cleared her throat. ‘My bedchamber.’
She could set up the microscope on her escritoire and open the drapes to let in sunlight so she could clearly see her specimens and make her notes.
Her books had already been delivered and were currently in a crate in the corner of her room.
Her precious shells had been carefully packed in paper and were stored in another crate.
Her bedchamber was spacious, much more so than her bedchamber at home, but once she unpacked everything, it would quickly become cramped.
At home, Nora had ‘inherited’ many items after her father’s death and had stored them in crates.
There had been books, more precious shells, along with items he’d traded during his career, vases, snuff boxes and bronze bowls.
No one else in her family had wanted the items. She’d kept a mother of pearl jewelry box for herself.
Mrs Hanning called over a footman and instructed him to deliver the box to Nora’s bedchamber.
‘Thank you, Mrs Hanning,’ Nora said. ‘I am grateful for your assistance.’
‘Of course, my lady. There is the garden party later today. His Lordship will return to escort you. Shall I have Jane lay out a suitable dress?’
Nora paused. The mention of Lady Leticia’s garden party sent a flutter through her chest, not of excitement but anxiety. At least it wasn’t a ball—those were much more formal, but a garden party was no refuge. Members of the ton would still be present, still watching, still whispering.
They would want to know how she, the daughter of a Middle Eastern merchant, had come to bear the title Countess of Ralston.
They’d want to know details about how she and Ralston had met.
Her concocted story, so unlikely and so at odds with their expectations, would surely invite scrutiny.
She’d rarely associated with the ton and had little in common with the ladies.
And yet, her circumstances had changed.
Realizing Mrs Hanning awaited her reply, Nora composed herself. ‘Yes. Please ask Jane to expect me shortly.’ She’d brought her maid with her when she’d moved into her new home.
When Jane dressed her later that afternoon, Nora allowed herself to admire the gown—purple silk with slashed sleeves and embroidered roses adorning the hemline.
Her auburn hair was upswept at the sides, held in place by twin pearl combs, with the rest left to cascade down her back.
She studied herself in the looking glass and, for the first time since her wedding, acknowledged that she did, in fact, look the part of a countess.
Still, looking the part and feeling it were two very different things.
Ralston arrived just after the hour. The sharp lines of his navy coat emphasized his broad shoulders and his buckskin breeches hugged muscular thighs. His gaze swept over her slowly, appreciatively.
‘You look lovely,’ he said, voice low and warm. ‘The ladies will all want to meet you.’
She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Heavens, I fear I’m not prepared. What if they find me lacking as a countess?’
He smiled gently. ‘Society ladies are not so different from you.’
Her mouth thinned. ‘I doubt they spend their days cataloguing shells.’
‘They are no different.’ A mischievous gleam lit his dark eyes, ‘Although perhaps a little less interesting. Still, they will be curious. The new Lady Ralston—beautiful, mysterious and clever. Who could resist?’
Her pulse quickened at his smooth words. He could easily distract her. Perhaps that was his goal. For her to forget her anxiousness over the party.