style="font-size:15px;"> But since the invitation had been tendered, the gentleman had accepted, and she had no intention of revoking it—the need to see him again being greater than her reluctance to discuss the reasons for it with her sire—she’d have to tell Papa—something.
She was dozing over her book in the library when at last she heard her father’s distinctive step in the hallway.
‘Papa, could I have a word with you?’ she called out as he passed the library door.
At the sound of her voice, he stopped short and peered into the room. ‘Is that you, Puss? What are you doing still up?’
‘There’s something I wanted to inform you about. Nothing of importance, but I know you will be tied up in committee meetings all morning, and was afraid I might miss you. It will only take a moment.’
Her father came over to place a kiss on her forehead. ‘I always have time for you, sweeting. Shall I pour you some wine?’
‘No, this really won’t take very long.’
‘I think I will rest these old bones while we talk,’ he said with a smile as he seated himself. ‘So, what’s amiss?’
‘Nothing! It’s just that I invited someone else to join us for dinner tomorrow night, and wanted to let you know beforehand.’
‘I thought we’d included everyone we thought could contribute to the conversation. Who did we forget?’
‘Well, it’s not someone we normally include, but he does have quite interesting views. You’ve even told me you admire him, though you disagree on almost every particular. It’s Mr Hadley—Mr Giles Hadley.’
He looked perplexed for a moment before the name registered. ‘Viscount Lyndlington, you mean! Unusual that he insists on spurning the title, but I suppose, given the situation between him and Telbridge, understandable. Of course he’s welcome, Puss—but how did you come to invite him? I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted.’
‘Oh, yes! I met him in Chellingham—you remember, I was canvassing for Michael, and he was there to rally support for Mr Reynolds. We spoke briefly, and I found him quite interesting. Then today, we spoke again when he came up to the Ladies’ Gallery after he’d given a speech at the Commons.’
‘An eloquent plea for passage of the Reform Bill, I understand.’
‘Yes, he’s quite an excellent speaker. If it is inevitable that the bill will pass the Commons, and he is certain it will, then it might be useful to have a thorough discussion before it comes before you in the Lords.’
‘You must have found him persuasive.’
‘I did. Not that I agree with all his views, of course. It’s true, though, that there was quite a lot of reform talk even in Chellingham, and that borough is as conservative as conservative comes.’
‘I will look forward to debating his views.’
‘Very good, Papa. That’s all, so I’ll bid you goodnight.’
When she came over to give him a kiss, he caught her hand, staying her. ‘Had I forgotten you telling me you’d met Mr Hadley in Chellingham?’
Maggie felt her face redden, and hoped in the dim candlelight, it wouldn’t be apparent. ‘I don’t believe I mentioned it, specifically. Since at the time, I wasn’t sure whether or not I would ever see him again, I didn’t think it important.’
‘Nor can I remember you visiting the Ladies’ Gallery any time recently to hear the speeches.’
‘I’d been remiss in not visiting sooner.’
‘This young man must have made quite an impression on you.’
So much for thinking she’d got through their little chat without having to explain her interest in Giles Hadley. ‘Yes, Papa, he did,’ she admitted.
‘I thought your favour might lie with a different Mr Hadley.’
‘George?’ She shuddered, and for a moment, debated telling her father it was almost certain that Mr Hadley had been spying on her. But asking Papa whether he’d authorised such a thing, especially when she was nearly certain he had not, might force her to disclose she’d seen a bit more of Giles Hadley than she’d thus far admitted. Deciding to say nothing, she continued, ‘He may be a good Tory, but I cannot like him, Papa. He’s too…calculating. And completely self-absorbed.’
Her father nodded. ‘With the wealth and affection Telbridge lavished on the boy, small wonder he thinks of little beyond his own interests. It’s probably just as well he lost his seat. In my estimation, his ambitions rather exceed his abilities.’
‘That was my impression,’ Maggie said drily. ‘Unless the measure of a man is the inventiveness of his tailor.’
‘Should I be asking Giles Hadley what his intentions are?’
‘Good heavens no, Papa!’ she protested, embarrassed by the very idea. ‘Promise me you will do nothing of the sort. Yes, I find Mr Giles Hadley…attractive. An excellent and persuasive orator with unique ideas I would like to hear more about. But that’s all!’
Her father retained her hand, rubbing the fingers. ‘Would it be so bad a thing if you were interested in…more? I know losing Robbie broke your heart, and whatever happened with Sir Francis hurt you deeply. But it hurts my heart that you are wearing out your youth playing hostess for an old man, instead of enjoying a husband and setting up your nursery.’
Tears stung her eyes at the mention of those old wounds. ‘I like being your hostess!’ she protested. ‘If you’re tired of having me preside over your table, I can always retreat back to my house in Upper Brook Street, or visit Mama at Huntsford.’
‘You know I love having you here! Though your mama would, of course, appreciate a visit.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I do feel…selfish, however, for not doing more to urge you to go on with your life.’
‘I have gone on with my life.’
‘Have you, Puss? Or are you just treading water, holding your place against the current, refusing to allow yourself to be swept into something new?’
‘Papa, how poetic!’ And unfortunately, how true. But how could she allow herself to be swept away when she no longer trusted any man to tell her the truth? And even if she could, when she no longer believed a mere marriage of convenience would wash away the lingering ache of loneliness and loss?
The possibility of opening herself to more—to anything that might cause the sort of devastation she’d experienced after Robbie’s death—was unthinkable.
A flirtation with Giles Hadley might make you forget it for a while, a little voice in her head whispered.
Ignoring it, she said, ‘For now, enlivening conversation at dinner by adding an articulate, dissenting voice is as “swept away” as I care to be. Will that suffice?’
‘It’s a start,’ he said, patting her cheek. ‘But don’t keep holding your place in that stream for too long. I still have aspirations of bouncing your children on my knee before I’m
