Betina Krahn (6 page)

It was behind that screen of spindles that Antonia Paxton sat, chafing at the restricted view and at the nonsense being bandied about on the floor below. Wielding her fan vigorously with one hand, she dabbed her heated face with the handkerchief in the other. She had chosen to wear her black-trimmed purple silk with its cuirass bodice, stovepipe skirt, and fashionable bustle, and as the afternoon wore on, she began to feel every prickly lump in her horse-hair-padded bustle and each unyielding stay in her corset. It was a struggle to keep the heat of the chamber and her discomfort from distracting her from her purpose in being there.

She had come to observe the progress of the bill and to take note of which members of the House might be considered friends of the measure, and which were sworn enemies. A fortnight ago she had attended one of the parliamentary hearings on the bill and had come away from the proceedings incensed by many of the members’ attitudes toward marriage. As a result she had written impassioned letters to key members of the House of Commons
and had importuned one of her former protégées whose husband was an MP to secure gallery passes for her.

She bit her lip and curled her fingers around the railing of the gallery, wishing she could demand to be recognized and speak on behalf of the women she knew would be securely married if not for that cruel and antiquated law. But the smells of stale smoke and exercised male heat billowing up from below underscored the fact that this was an exclusively male arena, and that however informed or powerful a woman’s views, she had to rely upon a man to express them here. The combination of her growing personal and political discomfort brought her to the edge of her nerves.

“If old Pickering utters one more ‘thou shalt not,’ I swear I shall climb out of this balcony and have at him with my purse,” she muttered from between gritted teeth. Rearranging herself yet again on her hard seat, she cast a glance at Aunt Hermione, who sat beside her wearing a look of wilted forbearance. “The ripe old cod. Just look at him.” With a nod she directed her aunt’s gaze to the front row of the Opposition bench, where a portly, bulbous-featured old fellow sat looking like a dyspeptic bulldog.

“Disgraceful,” Hermione agreed, tugging at her bonnet ribbons.

When Sir Jerome rolled to his feet yet again, Hermione groaned audibly and Antonia narrowed her eyes and fingered the chain handle of the handbag in her lap. But the old knight yielded the floor to a hitherto unheard speaker, a young backbencher named Shelburne, who proceeded to take the debate in an alarming new direction.

“One reason put forth in support of this vile bit of legislation,” the new speaker intoned, “is that permitting marriage between a man and his deceased wife’s sister would be a significant step toward reducing the problem of surplus women.”

Surplus women.
That hideous term again. Antonia fought an almost irresistible urge to throw her purse over the railing at him.

“But we cannot afford to change our law to suit the whims and caprices of social fortune.” He grasped his lapels and inflated his chest as he warmed to his subject. “We cannot abandon our most sacred principles of morality for the sake of providing husbands for a few women, no matter how poor and wretched the creatures may be.”

There was a wave of reaction: “here, here’s” mingled with hoots of derision and rumbles of consternation. “I cannot speak to the fine theological points of this matter. But I can and must speak to the fact that there are better ways to deal with the unsavory imbalance in the numbers of eligible men and women. Let me read to you the suggestions of one more learned than I in this matter: Lord Remington Carr, Earl of Landon.” He lifted a magazine and adopted an oratorical stance.

“Lord Carr writes in
Blackwood’s Magazine
this month: ‘It has been suggested that one way of dealing with the problem of surplus women is to gather them up and transport them to the colonies, where they would find usefulness as wives and companions of the men on the frontiers of the empire. But there is no evidence that these noble men laboring to enlarge British fortunes abroad are pining for marriage. Indeed, many of them may have fled England’s shores to avoid being trapped in that onerous and inequitable union.’”

Antonia’s heart began to pound and her eyes burned dryly as she stared at the speaker without blinking. Onerous … inequitable … how dare he speak about marriage so? Then the name of the author of those words righted in her mind. It was Remington Carr, Earl of Landon—author of that vile, antimarriage piece she had read two months ago in the
Spectator
, and also of a series of articles
demanding that women be given the vote, which had appeared in the
Telegraph
over the last three weeks. It was he who had coined that noxious phrase “surplus women.” Now even the renowned
Blackwood’s
was printing his scurrilous ramblings!

“‘Instead’”—the young MP read on—“‘I venture to offer a modest proposal for dealing with spinsters, widows, and other surplus women. These unfortunates have been duped by the popular, oversentimentalized ideals of Home and Family into believing that they are entitled to the support and status of their own homes—to be provided by men. But most of these women shall never marry, never preside over a home of their own. And even if they could, marriage is no guarantee of security. Nowhere is this more painfully obvious than in the case of
widows
, those pathetic women who have learned firsthand the folly of depending on another for the security and substance of their lives. The false ideal of marriage is as much a trap for these poor, deluded women as it is for the unhappy men who find themselves snared in it.

“‘Revision of the marriage laws is no answer to the problem of our surfeit of women. I propose, instead, that these unattached females who languish about the landscape be reeducated in the realities of life. They could be trained in a trade or craft and put to work at an honorable wage, so that they may be made self-supporting. This would have the effects of enhancing the general productivity, of providing an inexpensive new source of labor, and of reassigning the burden of their care from the male members of society to their own shoulders, where it rightly belongs. These women have most certainly been trained for
dependence
by our societal myths. Why should they not be retrained for
independence
by our societal truths?’”

The young MP went on reading and speaking, but past that point—“trained for dependence”—Antonia heard only
one word in three. Marriage and the ideal of the loving family a hoax? Widows called pathetic, dependent, and a burden to others? Women should be forced into shops and factories and mills and offices … required to support themselves by all manner of unseemly labor? Dear God, what would happen to the families? the homes? the children?

The loathsome earl was proposing nothing less than an assault upon the institutions of Home and Family! The old wretch would dispense with marriage altogether, if he could—the devil take children, decency, charity, humanity, and all other such worthy products of wedlock and family life!

Through a deepening haze of anger, she watched young Shelburne sit down with a satisfied expression while a storm of controversy erupted around him. The other members of the House jolted to their feet, some outraged, some cheering—both sides spoiling for a fight in the volatile atmosphere.

The shouting and fist shaking accelerated and soon got so out of hand that the Speaker was unable to hammer the chamber back to order. He called for the Doorkeeper and the Serjeant at Arms, and for a moment it looked as if full fisticuffs would break out. Then, abruptly, the Government forces began to make their way to the doors and a number of the Opposition soon followed, effectively tabling the bill.

The turmoil in the gallery penetrated Antonia’s shock. She had come here to learn who supported the marriage bill and who opposed it. Well, she certainly had learned. That wretched earl, with his hateful views on women and marriage, was being used as a sort of spokesman for the antireform forces! She was on her feet in a flash, hauling Aunt Hermione up and dragging her across numerous feet and through a dozen apologies on the way to the nearest exit. When they reached the corridor, Hermione pulled
back against Antonia’s grip and scowled at the sight of the fire in her eyes.

“Merciful heavens, Antonia! What do you think you are doing?”

“I intend to have a word or two with that insufferable young pup,” she declared, pulling Hermione toward the stairs once more. “Or perhaps several words.”

“Oh, dear.”

They hurried down the steps ahead of the spectators pouring out of the gallery. But once on the main floor, they found the entrance to the Commons Lobby blocked by the gentlemen ushers. They hurried along the side corridor toward the Central Lobby and were caught up in a crush of members and lobby correspondents from a number of the leading newspapers emerging from the Commons corridor. Antonia stood on her toes and craned her neck to locate her quarry across the great hall. He was smiling and shaking hands, receiving what appeared to be congratulations from a half-dozen elder members of the House. Frantic that he would get away, she fixed him in her sights and set a course for him, trundling Hermione along with her.

“Quite a maiden speech, Shelburne,” a senior-looking MP was saying when she arrived.

“Quite full of inaccuracies and impertinences, you mean,” she declared as she halted behind him and hurriedly resettled her tailored, high-crowned hat back to its businesslike angle. Young Shelburne and his fellow party members turned with frowns, which changed to either male interest or male indignation at the sight of her.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” Shelburne said, scowling down his nose. “I was neither inaccurate nor impertinent in my speech. The quotations were read verbatim, and with the greatest respect for the tradition of debate and the company of my fellow members.”

“Not, however, with any respect for the subjects of that
insulting article,” she countered, drawing herself up straight and narrowing her eyes. Hermione, beside her, retreated a half step, knowing what was promised in that fiery look. “By reading such refuse in these hallowed halls, sir, you have affronted all womanhood. This day you have accused women of being stupid, indolent, incapable hangers-on who have no dignity and no rightful place in the home.”

In defiance of the male power and prerogative embodied in that wall of serge coat fronts and starched shirts, she took a step closer. To her satisfaction young Shelburne’s cocky smile faded, and he glanced at his friends and colleagues.

“According to you, the sacred ideal of hearth and home is nothing but a hoax perpetrated upon pathetic, weak-minded females,” she continued. “In one fell swoop you have made a mockery of marriage and sneered at the plight of the unfortunate.”

The gradual rise of her voice and the sardonic laughter of Shelburne’s friends attracted the notice of two men standing nearby, dressed in tasteless plaid wool jackets and large bowler hats, which had paper of some sort stuck in the brim. They scrutinized the young MP, then Antonia’s elegantly clad form and state of agitation. Drawing writing pads out of their pockets and pencils from above their ears, they edged closer to hear what was being said.

“You accuse me falsely, madam.” Shelburne stiffened and splayed a protective hand over his expensive tucked shirtfront. “I mocked no one. I merely quoted the words of an eminent peer, Lord Remington Carr, regarding—”

“The words of a scandalous radical who holds women in contempt and who assails the moral precepts of marriage and family that are the very foundation of our society.” Her expression sharpened with disdain. “A fine sort to model yourself upon, sir. You should go far in politics.”

“I assure you, madam, it was never my intent to defame women.” Shelburne’s tone lost all its condescension. “I strongly believe that this marriage bill is not an acceptable means to right the imbalance in the sexes. And Lord Carr is a most eloquent spokesman.…”

“Lord Carr is a callous, unfeeling bore who masquerades as a freethinker,” she said, inching forward and tightening her grip on the handle of her purse. “And from the virulence of his diatribes against marriage, he is undoubtedly a
freelover
as well … a man morally bankrupt and utterly self-absorbed … totally without regard for a higher moral authority!”

Several throats cleared, and gazes that had been riveted on her suddenly flickered to something or someone just out of her range of vision.

“She’s absolutely right on that last part, you know,” a resonant male voice inserted. “He is totally without regard for any moral authority … higher than his own common sense.”

Sensing a possible ally, Antonia glanced in the direction of that voice, and her gaze caught on a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in an impeccable charcoal-gray suit, with an elegant dove-gray vest, silver-striped cravat, and black silk top hat. He was carrying a gold headed walking stick and a pair of kid gloves that perfectly matched his vest. And when her gaze slid upward, he was wearing an expression of cool amusement … on the most devastatingly handsome face she had ever seen.

His angular, exquisitely carved features somehow combined unequivocal masculinity with aristocratic elegance. He had broad cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a boldly curved mouth that made her suddenly, intensely aware of her own.

“As to the balance in his moral bank account, I doubt anyone this side of heaven’s gate can truly know it,” the
gentleman continued, glancing at the others in a way that communicated something inscrutably male. “But I can say with some certainty that he has never found love
free
. Like most men, he has paid handsomely for his pleasures.”

As the others chuckled, he smiled, an effortless and assured expression that was somehow both alluring and annoying. Alluring? She stiffened and fought the stubborn fascination of her senses. Clearly this was no ally.

“I am sure that Lord Carr, like most gentlemen of leisure, has
paid
far less than have the women of his acquaintance,” she countered, pointedly ignoring his provocative reference to purchasing physical pleasures. “Not content with harassing and misusing the women in his immediate circle, he now seeks to spread his contempt for women and marriage to the rest of his countrymen as well.”