compare notes with his friends about the election results. He found them all present as he walked in, Davie offering him a mug of ale, Ben Tawney urging him to a seat.
‘What happened in Chellingham?’ Christopher asked. ‘Did Reynolds manage to snatch the seat from Witlow’s man?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he confessed, to the groans of his listeners. ‘Michael Armsburn did so well in the verbal tally, we didn’t bother asking for a formal vote. Riding around with Reynolds, one could tell it was hopeless. Even the unemployed former soldiers one would expect to rally to the Reform cause told us they intended to vote for Witlow’s man. Said his lordship had watched out for their families while they were off fighting in the wars. How did all of you fare?’
‘A win in Sussex!’ Ben announced. ‘We’ll own the county now.’
‘Wins in Merton and Warrenton as well,’ Christopher added. ‘The Whigs should return an overwhelming majority.’
‘That calls for another round, don’t you think?’ David asked. After walking to the door to beckon the innkeeper to bring more ale, he said, ‘Ben and Christopher, why don’t you make a tally of the projected gains, district by district? I expect we’ll be recalled to committee as soon as Parliament reconvenes.’
Once the two friends settled at the table, Davie raised his mug to Giles. ‘So,’ he said in a quiet voice pitched for their ears alone, ‘what did you think of Lady Margaret?’
Surprised, Giles felt his face flush. ‘How did you know I’d met Lady Margaret?’
Davie shrugged. ‘You’d said you’d try to help the Radicals win one of Witlow’s seats—yet you chose to canvass for one that we knew at the outset was very unlikely to be turned. A seat that just happens to be held by a cousin of Lady Margaret’s, for whom she has often campaigned. And that, after hearing your brother might have matrimonial designs upon the lady. So, what did you think of her?’
‘Sure the Home Office shouldn’t employ your talents to keep track of dissidents?’ Giles asked, disgruntled that his motives had been so transparent. ‘Very well, I was quite impressed. She’s a natural campaigner—the crowds love her. She seems passionate about politics and the welfare of the people in her father’s boroughs.’
‘A shame she’s passionate for the wrong party,’ David said, his perceptive friend watching him entirely too closely for Giles’s comfort. ‘Did you talk with her?’
‘Yes. Her person is as appealing as her politics are not. I have to admit, I was quite...strongly attracted. By the way, she denied any interest in marrying George.’
‘Did she? I don’t know that her lack of interest would weigh much with your half-brother, compared to the advantages of the match. One can only hope her father has a care for her preferences, rather than for giving a leg up to a rising member of his party. Do you intend to pursue the connection?’
‘Yes, I do.’ At least long enough to see if the extraordinary attraction he’d felt lasted beyond that first meeting.
‘And what of George?’
Giles shrugged. ‘Having never in my life consulted George’s preferences before doing something, I’m not likely to start now.’
Davie nodded. ‘Very well. Just make sure the lady doesn’t get caught in the crossfire, if there is any.’
Giles grinned. ‘One thing you can count on: I will always protect a lady.’
Before they could join their friends at the table, a liveried messenger appeared at the doorway. ‘A note for Mr Hadley.’
After Giles raised his hand, the man gave him the missive and walked out. Scanning it quickly, Giles frowned. ‘It’s from Lord Grey. He wants me to join a dinner meeting he’s about to begin with some of his committee chiefs.’
Ben whistled, and David raised his eyebrows. ‘Congratulations on having the party leader call for you!’ Christopher said. ‘Maybe there’s a cabinet post in your future?’
‘I doubt that. I’ll have to go, though, unfortunately, it’s at Brooks’s Club—which is probably why Grey didn’t invite all of us. He knows I never grace the halls of Brooks’s unless I’m summoned.’
‘Maybe you should go there more often,’ Davie advised. ‘Many of the senior party leaders are members; let them get to know you better.’
‘I’d rather meet here, with all of you.’ Giles smiled. ‘Planning strategy and dreaming dreams of change, as we have since that grimy little inn at Oxford.’
‘Being a Hellion was all well and good,’ David allowed. ‘But challenging the prevailing view has served its purpose. Now that the goals we dreamed about are going to be realised, shouldn’t we turn our efforts into getting a hand in determining how they are implemented?’
‘Very true,’ Christopher said. ‘Why not take advantage of whatever benefits membership at Brooks’s can offer?’
‘You could even pass them along to us,’ David added with a grin. ‘It’s the only way I’ll ever gain access to them, after all. Their politics might be liberal, but never in this lifetime are high-born Whigs going to allow the orphaned son of farmer into their club, regardless of how highly placed his sponsor might be.’
‘Or the illegitimate son of a governess,’ Ben added.
‘A gently born governess, whose father is now a viscount and acknowledges him,’ Giles reminded Ben. ‘If you asked, your father would likely sponsor you at Brooks’s.’
‘So the members could mutter under their breath about my mother as I walk by, like the boys did at Oxford? I think not.’
‘As for me,’ Christopher said with a grin, ‘being in the unusual position of being considered my legal father’s son even though I’m not, I could be put up for membership. Except that dear legal Papa is a Tory who frequents White’s.’
‘I doubt they would have voted me in, had Lord Newville not been insistent,’ Giles said. ‘I can only imagine how much arm-twisting was involved.’
‘Your nomination did place the members in an awkward position,’ David said. ‘Many of them are friends of your father, and there’s the sticky matter of George. If anything happens to you, George gets the title; like our Oxford classmates, few there would want to befriend you and offend him, in case some day he attains real power.’
‘We’ll just have to see that he doesn’t,’ Giles retorted.
‘Faith and the devil, that reminds me!’ Christopher exclaimed. ‘Wychwood told me that George lost his seat!’
‘In Hampshire, my father’s county?’ Giles asked, astounded.
‘Yes. Despite how strongly the voice vote went in favour of the Reform candidate, Wychwood said George insisted on a formal counted vote. And lost it decisively.’
The other three whistled as the significance of that registered. ‘Pity his poor servants—and any other unfortunate who crosses his path in the next few days,’ Christopher said. ‘He’ll be as quick to lash out as a temperamental stallion with an abscessed hoof.’
‘He’ll
