relief he felt about the latter was surely excessive.
He couldn’t recall ever feeling such a powerful and immediate connection to a lady—and had no explanation to account for it. She wasn’t a beauty in the traditional sense. Her hair was chestnut, not gold, her figure rather taller than average, her face longer than oval, with a generous mouth and pert nose decorated with freckles. But something in those vivid green eyes had sparked a physical attraction that went straight to his loins and drew him to her like a thirsty man to a cool, clear stream.
Though he was too bitterly conscious of his mother’s fate ever to become a rake, he was hardly inexperienced, having enjoyed his share of discreet liaisons, always careful to take precautions to protect the lady. He wasn’t some green lad just out of university, susceptible to being bowled over by an attractive woman.
In sum, he couldn’t figure out what it was about Lady Margaret that had struck him so profoundly.
He did know he would seek her out again, if only to see if his unprecedented reaction would recur a second time. Or whether upon further acquaintance her attractions would seem no more remarkable than those of any other pretty, intelligent lady.
He paused a moment, frowning. Although Lady Margaret had emphatically disclaimed a relationship, if the newspapers had been puffing off a possible match between her and George, they must have been given some encouragement for the notion—very possibly from his half-brother. Marrying into an important political family would be just the sort of thing George would see as a prudent step towards the career as a government leader he coveted.
The prize pullet he’s bartering to install in his hen house. Giles recalled her words with a chuckle. She certainly deserved better than that.
If associating with a woman George might have marked as his own caused problems with his half-brother, so be it. Pursuing this fascinating lady would depend on his—and her—inclinations alone.
A week later, the butler ushered Lady Margaret into the front parlour of the Grosvenor Square town house of her great-aunt, the Dowager Countess of Sayleford. ‘I’ve ordered a full pot of tea and a plate of biscuits to sustain us,’ her great-aunt declared after receiving her kiss on the cheek. ‘Make yourself comfortable, and tell me all about the campaign in Chellingham.’
As her great-aunt knew well, her preferred topic of conversation would normally be the elections. Though Maggie was fairly bursting with curiosity about Giles Hadley, she didn’t want to open herself to the questions—to which she didn’t have answers—Aunt Lilly would certainly fire at her if she delayed discussing politics to make enquiries about a gentleman.
So, though she had shockingly little interest in conveying the results in Chellingham, she dutifully gave a brief recitation of what had happened in the campaign.
‘Glad to hear Armsburn held the seat,’ her great-aunt said. ‘My sources with an ear to Parliament tell me that one of the Grey’s government’s primary aims will be to eliminate boroughs like Chellingham that are controlled by the local landowner.’
‘Yes, and I’m afraid it’s virtually certain a bill to that effect will pass. I found the county full of inflammatory rhetoric! Even in normally placid Chellingham, there was alarming…disruption.’
‘Disruption?’ her great-aunt repeated, frowning. ‘What do you mean? Surely you weren’t endangered!’
‘No, not really. Oh, there was a scuffle in the street next to my carriage between two rival parties, some of whom had imbibed more ale than was good for them,’ she admitted. ‘In any event, I was quickly rescued by a most charming gentleman.’
Her great-aunt’s frown deepened. ‘Where were Michael and Proctor? I would have expected them to rescue you, if rescuing were needful.’
‘They were at another gathering place when the incident happened.’
‘Your father will not be happy to hear that.’
‘No, but there was no harm done, so you mustn’t tell him.’
Her great-aunt eyed her for a long moment before finally nodding. ‘Very well, it that’s what you wish. So, who was this “charming gentleman” who protected you when your kin failed in their duty?’
‘Another Member of Parliament—from the opposition, actually.’ Trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible, she said, ‘Mr Giles Hadley.’
Her great-aunt’s eyes widened. ‘Giles Hadley—you mean Viscount Lyndlington?’
At her nod of assent, her great-aunt continued, ‘Oh, my! Charming, you say? To hear some of the rabid Tories tell it, he’s the devil incarnate!’
‘His half-brother often paints him in that light. But Papa admires him, and I give far more credit to his opinion. It did make me curious, though—the difference between Papa’s view of him and his brother’s, and I do wonder what happened to create such a breach in the family. I’m sure Papa knows, but I didn’t think he would tell me much.’ She grinned at her great-aunt. ‘Whereas, I knew you would tell me everything!’
‘What did you think of Hadley?’ came the unexpected response.
Caught off guard, to her irritation, she found herself flushing. ‘I suppose it’s obvious I found him attractive.’
Her great-aunt raised her eyebrows, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘Since I cannot remember you ever enquiring about any other gentleman, I’d already assumed as much. Excellent! It has been six years since you lost Robbie. More than time enough for you to be moving on.’
‘Don’t be thinking that, Aunt Lilly!’ she protested, raising a hand. ‘I’m not angling for another husband!’
‘Why not? You’re still young, and attractive, and it’s more than time enough for you to be over your disappointment about Sir Francis. And your grief.’
Once, she’d hoped Sir Francis might help her bury the grief—and look how disastrously that had ended. Both episodes being still too painful for her to discuss, she ignored the question, saying instead, ‘I found Giles Hadley…fascinating, that’s all. Those compelling blue eyes seem to look deep within you. There’s a restless energy about him, a sense of anger lurking beneath the surface, to say nothing of what I understand are quite radical political views. He’s certainly different from any other gentleman I’ve known! And yes, he does…attract me. But I’m not about to do anything foolish.’
Her great-aunt looked at her speculatively. ‘You are a widow now. I don’t advocate foolishness, but with discretion, you can do what you want—marriage, or not.’
‘All I want right now is to know more about his circumstances. It’s rather obvious that his half-brother hates him. Not that I’ve discussed him with George, but whenever the opposition is brought up, he never loses the opportunity to get in a dig about his half-sibling. I suspect much of his spleen stems from knowing the viscount will inherit, even though George is the brother favoured by their father. But why, Aunt Lilly? What happened to fracture the family?’
‘It’s an old and quite interesting scandal.’
