A Wicked Conceit Anna Huber (learn to read activity book TXT) 📖

Chapter 7

Two hours later when I was finally able to sink into the plush leather seats of our carriage, I could not repress a deeply weary and deeply relieved sigh. Though the distance to our home was short, I could only feel grateful Gage had summoned our coach, for the prospect of walking even a block seemed unbearable.

Gage turned to me with a sympathetic smile, reaching out to help adjust the warm fur collar of my cloak. “For all that your sister professes to be concerned for your health and that of the baby, she seemed remarkably blind to your fatigue.”

“I imagine she was punishing me,” I replied, too tired to summon the hurt and anger which so often accompanied my thoughts of Alana lately.

“Punishing you? But why?”

I smothered a yawn. “For not complying with her wishes. For trusting Dr. Fenwick’s advice over hers.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” I answered sleepily, rolling my head to the side against the squabs to peer out the small part in the window curtains at the Georgian town houses lining the square. Most of their windows were dark, their occupants having long since retired.

I heard our coachman give the order and then we were rolling forward on the short journey to our home on Albyn Place.

“I apologize for my earlier comments.”

I turned to find him gazing down at me in remorse.

“I know you’re not blind to Kincaid’s flaws or his manipulations. And you’re right, your ability to empathize has proven useful in the past.”

His expression of regret was at once unexpected and welcome, soothing some of the ache in my heart. I lifted my hand to his face. “None of this is easy, is it? And I don’t blame you for your anger or frustration with Bonnie Brock. He is the crux of the problem, even if he isn’t directly responsible for the book or the plays being written.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should turn that anger and frustration on you.” His expression turned sheepish. “Or express it in the manner I did before your sister.”

A pang of guilt twinged in my chest, for part of me knew I deserved that anger and frustration, simply for a different infraction. The words to voice the truth about Lord Henry’s father bubbled up inside me, clamoring to be spoken. But the fear that was still lodged in a dark corner of my breastbone edged them aside, and instead I found myself voicing another thought entirely. “What did Philip have to say?”

Shortly before our departure, my brother-in-law had asked Gage into his study for a private word. I naturally assumed it was about our current inquiry or the predicament of The King of Grassmarket, but I was wrong.

Gage turned away, and I lowered my hand as he gathered his words. “Apparently, the prime minister and his fellow cabinet ministers believe the only way they can circumvent the Tory opposition and ensure the success of their third attempt at passing a Reform Bill in the House of Lords is by creating a considerable number of new peerages. Thus inundating the House of Lords with pro-reform votes with new Whigs.”

There had been staunch Tory resistance to the previous two efforts to pass a Reform Bill, despite its approval in the House of Commons and immense popularity among the general population. A number of violent riots had even broken out after the defeat of the second attempt the year before.

“But only the king can create new peerages,” I said.

“Yes, and the king may balk at taking such a drastic step. Though it’s not without precedent. But Earl Grey and the other ministers are considering it nonetheless.”

I waited for him to continue, for I could tell from the firm set of his mouth that he had more to say. Philip, as the Earl of Cromarty, had a seat in the House of Lords and was intimately involved in a number of parliamentary matters, namely the Scottish Reform Bill, which would hopefully soon follow the passage of the current Reform Bill that only applied to England and Wales. But while Gage was a great friend and confidant of Philip, he didn’t normally concern himself overmuch with political matters except when they applied directly to us or the implications of our inquiries.

“Philip said my name had been put forth as a potential candidate.” The words seemed to be pulled reluctantly out of him, and then his tone turned slightly bitter. “That my assistance to my fellow countrymen, and my wisdom and discretion, had not gone unnoticed.”

“You’re thinking of Sunlaws. How the Duke of Bowmont used his wealth and power to ensure that his son didn’t face any distasteful consequences.”

His eyes shifted to meet mine, frustration at the injustice still prevalent in our society churning in their depths. “How can I not? Particularly when they want to know if I can be counted upon to toe the party line.”

Which my honorable husband would sooner eat glass than do if the measure he was supposed to vote accordingly on was against his principles. And I loved him for it.

A warmth spread through my chest at this sure knowledge, and I reached for his hand where it clenched in his lap. “Did you voice your concerns to Philip?”

“No. But I told him I needed time to think on it.”

Our carriage pulled to a halt in front of our town house door, placing a temporary hold on our conversation. But once we’d been divested of our outer garments and Gage had looped my arm through his to escort me up the stairs to our bedchamber, I readdressed it.

“You support the Reform Bill,” I began, already knowing his answer.

“I do,” he confirmed. “It’s high time one was passed.”

The chief objectives of the act were to extend the franchise of male voters, greatly increasing the size of the electorate, and to redistribute the boroughs which represented seats