“I did not say that, but it is hardly an idea without merit.” He smiled. “You could go to London next month, since you cannot attend the convention in Edinburgh.”
Thomas Hardy had organized a convention of corresponding societies, and just about every society in the country was sending delegates to Edinburgh. Tom would represent their society. But with Britain having entered the war against France on the Continent, the stakes had changed. Radicals and radical clubs were no longer looked upon with patronizing amusement. There was talk of governmental repression. Everyone knew that the prime minister was intolerant of all radicals, as were many of the ministers around him, and so was King George.
It was time to send a message to the entire British government, and especially Prime Minister Pitt: they would not be repressed or opposed by the government, not now and not ever. They would continue to propagate and espouse the rights of man, and support the revolution in France. They would continue to oppose war with the new French Republic, as well.
Another smaller convention had been organized to take place in London, under Whitehall’s very nose. Julianne hoped she could find the means to attend, but a trip to London was costly. However, what was Tom really suggesting? “I am not spying on my brother, Tom. I hope you were in jest.”
“I was,” he assured her quickly. When she stared uncertainly, he added, “I was going to write our friends in Paris, but why don’t you do that?” Tom touched her chin. His eyes had softened. “You are such a better wordsmith than I am.”
She smiled at him, truly hoping that he hadn’t asked her to spy on Lucas, who was not a Tory and not at all involved in the war. “Yes, I am,” she said, hoping for levity.
“Let’s sit. We still have a good hour of discussion ahead,” he said, guiding her to a bench.
For the next hour, they discussed the recent events in France, motions in the House of Commons and Lords, and the latest political gossip in London. By the time the meeting had broken up, it was almost five o’clock in the evening. Tom walked her outside. “I know it’s early, but can you have supper with me?”
She hesitated. They’d shared supper last month after a society meeting. But when he’d been about to help her into her carriage, he’d restrained her, and then he had looked at her as if he wished to kiss her.
She hadn’t known what to do. He had kissed her once before, and it had been pleasant, but not earth-shattering. She loved him dearly, but she wasn’t interested in kissing him. Yet she was fairly certain that Tom was in love with her, and they had so much in common that she wanted to fall in love with him. He was such a good man and a dear friend.
She’d known him since childhood, but they had not become truly acquainted until two years ago, when they’d both discovered one another attending the Falmouth meeting. That had been the real beginning of their friendship. It was becoming clear to her that her feelings were more sisterly and platonic than romantic.
Still, dining with Tom was very enjoyable—they always had stimulating discussions. She was about to accept his invitation, when she faltered at the sight of a man riding his chestnut gelding up the street.
“Is that Lucas?” Tom asked, as surprised as she was.
“It most certainly is,” she said, beginning to smile. Lucas was seven years her senior, making him all of twenty-eight. He was a tall, muscular man with classically chiseled features, piercing gray eyes and golden hair. Women tried to catch his attention incessantly, but unlike Jack, who was a self-proclaimed rogue, Lucas was a gentleman. Rather aloof, he was a man of great discipline and greater duty, bent on maintaining the family and the estate.
Lucas had been more of a father figure for her than a brother, and she respected, admired and loved him dearly.
He halted his lathered mount in front of her and her delight in seeing him vanished. Lucas was grim. She suddenly thought of the bold sign just behind her back, welcoming newcomers to their meeting, and she hoped he wouldn’t see it.
Clad in a brown coat, a burgundy waistcoat, a lawn shirt and pale breeches, his black boots brown with dust, Luke leapt from his red gelding. He wasn’t wearing a wig and his hair was casually pulled back. “Hello, Tom.” He shook hands, unsmiling. “I see you continue to peddle sedition.”
Tom’s smile vanished. “That isn’t fair, Lucas.”
“War is never fair.” He turned a cold gray gaze on Julianne.
He had disapproved of her politics for several years now, and he had made himself very clear when France had declared war on them. She smiled, hesitantly.
“You are home. We weren’t expecting you.”
“Obviously. I have galloped the entire distance from Greystone, Julianne.” There was warning in his tone. Lucas had a fierce temper, when aroused. She saw he was very angry now.
She stiffened. “I take it you are looking for me?” What was this about? “Is there an emergency?” Her heart felt as if it had stopped. “Is it Momma? Or has Jack been caught?!”
“Momma is fine. So is Jack. I wish a private word and it cannot wait.”
Tom’s face fell. “Will you dine with me another time, Julianne?”
“Of course,” Julianne assured him. Tom bowed at Lucas, who did not move. When Tom was gone, she faced her brother, absolutely perplexed. “Are you angry with me?”
“I could not believe it when Billy told me you had gone into town to attend a meeting. I instantly knew what he meant,” he said, referring to the boy who came daily to help with the horses. “We have already discussed this, several times—and recently, since the King’s May Proclamation!”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, we have discussed our difference of opinions. And you know that you have no right to force your Tory views upon me.”
He colored, aware that she meant to insult him. “I hardly wish to change how you think,” he exclaimed. “But I intend to protect you from yourself. My God! The May Proclamation explicitly prohibits seditious meetings, Julianne. It was one thing to engage in such activity prior to the proclamation, but you cannot continue to do so now.”
In a way, he was right, she thought, and it had been childish to call him a Tory. “Why must you assume that our meeting was seditious?”
“Because I know you!” he exploded. “Crusading for the rights of every common man is a wonderful cause, Julianne, but we are at war, and you are supporting the government we are at war with. That is sedition—and it could even be construed as treason.” His gray eyes flashed. “Thank God we are in St. Just, where no one really gives a damn about our affairs, outside the customs agents!”
She trembled, thinking of that horrid dispute with the milliner. “We meet to discuss the events of the war and the events in France, and to espouse the views of Thomas Paine. That is all.” But she was well aware that, if the government ever wanted to bother with their small club, they would all be accused of sedition. Of course, Whitehall did not even know of their existence.
“You write to that damned club in Paris—and don’t deny it. Amelia told me.”
Julianne could not believe her sister had betrayed her trust.
