not be tasking Mr Hadley to help me provide you with them just yet.’
He laughed. ‘Very well, Puss. We’ll have him to dine a few times first. An excellent young man, by the way. Many an individual who suffered the setbacks he endured in his youth would have railed at his fate and become a bitter or frivolous wastrel, marking time until he inherited. Giles Hadley confronted his situation with courage, and with quiet determination and considerable effort, earned himself a place in the governing of this nation. I admire him for that.’
‘So do I, Papa. And now I will bid you goodnight.’
After exchanging a kiss, they both walked upstairs to their bedchambers. But after blowing out her candle and settling back on her pillow, Maggie found she was no longer sleepy.
What had she really intended to accomplish with her impulsive invitation? To see if Giles Hadley could fit into her world—or she into his?
Did she want him to ‘sweep her away’? She wanted him. That was certain. Every feminine part of her came to aching, needy life when he was near. The strength of that physical attraction made her only too acutely aware of how much she missed ‘enjoying a husband’.
But it was a great leap from that to a more serious relationship, one she was nowhere close to being ready to take. Although, she suddenly realised, unlike every other man of her acquaintance, she probably didn’t need to fear that this Mr Hadley would feed her sweet lies to win her favour—or her hand.
She had no idea what his current income was, but when he inherited the earldom, he would be a very rich man, with no need of her wealth. Though his half-brother George might prize her for her political ties, her Tory associations would be of no assistance whatsoever to the Reformist Giles; indeed, they would be a detriment.
Wedding her would offer him no real advantage, her only usable attributes—her lineage and breeding—being possessed by numerous other single females. Perhaps she could, cautiously, trust Mr Hadley when he told her how he felt about her.
And then she had to laugh. Had he not just told her quite plainly he had no interest in marriage? In fact, he’d made that odd comment about not ‘harming’ her by marrying her. As if she were a Tory candidate who would suffer for allying herself with a Reformer.
She considered the remark for a few minutes before dismissing it, unable to puzzle out the enigma. With neither of them interested in anything serious, perhaps she could let down her guard, feel free to be herself and simply enjoy his stimulating conversation and electrifying presence.
As for the physical attraction… He had all but invited her to a discreet affair, amicably conducted, no strings attached.
The very thought of it sent a spiral of warmth and longing through her. Even Aunt Lilly had admitted to ‘amusing herself’ after she’d been widowed. Oh, if only there were a truly safe way to do so!
But it was way too early in their acquaintance to worry about that. Before one directed a horse towards the highest fence, one must first saddle and bridle him, and get to know his paces. So for now, as she’d told her father, she would stick to the simple enjoyment of listening to his views…and the exquisite, tantalising pleasure of having him near.
In the late afternoon of the following day, Giles poured a glass of wine for Davie in the sitting room of their suite at Albany. ‘You don’t intend to accompany Ben and Christopher to dine with the committee members?’ Davie asked.
Not wishing to reveal any more information than he had to, Giles simply shook his head as he handed Davie his glass.
‘I promised Lady Greaves I’d come to Moulton Street tonight. It’s their son Dickon’s birthday. You’d certainly be welcome, if you’d like to join me.’
‘I don’t want to intrude on a family dinner.’
‘You wouldn’t be intruding. Sir Edward and Lady Greaves would love to see you.’ Davie raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You can’t avoid polite society for ever, you know. Eventually, you will be an earl.’
Giles took a sip of wine, delaying the need to respond. How could he explain to Davie his continuing ambivalence about his eventual inheritance? As Davie knew all too well, he’d been angry and resentful as a young man, once he’d grown old enough to fully understand what his father had done to him and his mother. From the time his aunt pulled him from poverty and sent him to school, he’d been driven to prove he could become successful without any assistance from the earl. He’d thought, as time went on and he built his reputation, his achievements towards that goal would make it easier for him to reconcile himself to the future that must be his.
So far, it had not, nor had he been able to make himself act on any of Davie’s increasingly frequent reminders that he ought to begin easing himself into his father’s world.
‘The current earl is, I understand, quite vigorous,’ he said at last. ‘Who knows, we may have abolished the aristocracy before he cocks up his toes. And since by then, you will most likely be Prime Minister, you will outrank me.’
‘The farmer’s whelp lording it over the lord?’ David chuckled. ‘Unlikely. Seriously, you really should become at least a little involved in the Season. Sir Edward and Lord Englemere would be delighted to have you come to any of their entertainments, and once the ton discovered you would actually accept invitations, you’d have a flood of them.’
‘What, subject myself to evenings of boring balls or tedious musicales with some dreadful soprano screeching away, or some equally dreadful young miss trying to display her limited prowess at the keyboard? If I want to waste time, I can take a nap.’
‘What are you doing this evening? Not staying here napping, I hope.’
Tread cautiously, Giles told himself. ‘Actually, I have a prior commitment. With, I should point out, a well-respected member of society. I’m invited to dine at the Marquess of Witlow’s.’
Davie’s hand froze with his glass halfway to his lips. ‘At the Marquess of Witlow’s?’ he echoed, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘With Lady Margaret as your hostess?’
‘I expect so, since I understand she usually plays hostess for her father.’
‘Did Lord Grey ask you to talk with Witlow? Try to negotiate to find some common ground before the bill comes to the floor that might persuade the Lords to pass it?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Then how—?’
Giles had hoped Davie, the most discreet of his friends, wouldn’t press him, but it appeared that wish was not going to be fulfilled. ‘I happened upon Lady Margaret after my speech at the Commons yesterday,’ he reluctantly explained.
He had no intention of adding that he’d hoped she might come, had castigated himself as an idiot for thinking he sensed her presence while he was speaking, and then had been thrilled to glance up into the Ladies’ Gallery and discover she was in fact in attendance. He’d found himself trotting up the stairs to the Gallery before he realised what he was doing.
And, ah, the strength of the desire that pulsed through him as she raised those lovely green eyes to meet his gaze… He’d felt an overwhelming compulsion to persuade her to remain with him—and
