would be re-elected to the next Parliament. If she visited the Ladies’ Gallery after the sessions began again in June, she would surely hear him speak.
Before she heard more of his politics, though, she ought to learn more about the man. If he truly were dangerous, it would be best to know beforehand just how much of a risk he might pose.
But who to ask? Papa, who abhorred gossip, would be unlikely to tell her more than the bare minimum about Hadley’s background.
Then she recalled just the person who would happily spill every detail she might want to know. As soon as she returned to London, she decided, she would pay a call on her great-aunt Lilly.
* * *
Lounging in his chair, Giles took his time finishing the home brew, which was as excellent as advertised. So he’d met the renowned Lady Margaret—and found her as witty and even more attractive than Davie had pronounced her.
He had to admit, he’d hoped to see her. When the four friends had drawn up that list of the boroughs to canvass, he’d chosen this one because it was known to be controlled by her father—and she was known to often canvass on behalf of his candidates. After the discussion of the possibility that she might marry George, and Davie’s description of her, he’d been curious to meet the woman.
As he’d approached her carriage, he’d been impressed by her engaging smile and the ease with which she mingled with the crowd, by her obvious enjoyment of bantering with them and their enthusiastic response to her.
And then he’d caught her eye.
He shook his head, bemused. Some curious sort of energy had flashed between them, literally stopping him short. Despite the press of people, the babble of voices, the stamping of hoofs and rattle of passing carriages, he’d had the ridiculous feeling that nothing existed in the world but the two of them.
He didn’t remember walking closer, but suddenly he was beside her, unable to keep himself from smiling, compelled to touch her—even if all that was permissible was for him to shake her hand.
He hardly recalled what he’d said to her during their interlude at the inn, and could only hope it hadn’t been utter nonsense. He remembered only two salient points from their conversation: her father approved of him and she wasn’t going to marry George.
The 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
