Candice Hern (6 page)

“Fine,” she said, and removed the papers to another larger worktable on the other side of the room.

Tony followed her with an armload of books. “And I assure you, I meant no insult earlier,” he said. “I was simply curious about your unmarried state.”

“I believe you are also unmarried?”

“I am.” He grabbed another chair and moved it closer to the makeshift tea table. He would
not
face her across the fortress of her desk this time.

“And I suspect no one questions
your
decision not to marry.”

“On the contrary. My mother questions it constantly.” He held out the chair and she sat down. “Wants to see me settle down and fill a nursery. I would guess your mother wishes the same for you.”

“My mother died when I was fifteen.”

Her stark words stopped him. He still held on to the back of her chair, and reached down to touch her gently on the shoulder. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Edwina. I didn’t know.”

She shrugged, which had the effect of dislodging his hand. “It was a long time ago,” she said.

Tony walked around the table and took his own seat in the armchair. “And your father?” he asked.

“I don’t believe Papa has ever noticed that I haven’t married. He doesn’t notice much. The roof
could fall down around him and he would simply put on his hat to shield himself from the debris and continue whatever he was doing. If not for the housekeeper, he would likely forget to eat.”

“And so you live here with your brother.”

“Yes, and quite happily, too. Don’t assume, Mr. Morehouse, that you know my mind. I am, in fact, unmarried by choice.”

“Indeed?”

“Though I have no doubt there are some who are put off by such a managing female as myself, my decision to remain unmarried is not based on lack of opportunity.” There was the tiniest hint of humor in her eyes, as though she was laughing at herself. Or perhaps she was laughing at him?

“Everything I own I have worked hard for,” she said, “and I’ve no desire to turn it over to a husband who might squander it or
gamble
it away. Nor do I have a desire to be forever dependent upon a man and his whims. There are more important things to do with my life.”

“Like edit a ladies’ magazine?”

“That is merely a means to an end. The profits allow us to do so much more.”

Profits? What was she talking about? Her uncle had taken all the profits and given Edwina a mere pittance.

“That is,” she continued, speaking very quickly and with a slight nervousness, “
if
we had access to
the profits there is so much we
could
do. There are people starving because of the food shortages and heavy war taxes. Thousands of peasants have been forced off the land due to enclosures, and have been rounded up in the cities to work in factories. Yet the laborers are prohibited from demanding a fair wage by the wretched Combination Acts. While the government has concentrated on war, its people have suffered and been ignored. It is unconscionable.”

Oh, Lord. She was a do-gooder. He ought to have known. “And you hope to right these wrongs?”

“We try to do what we can.”

“We?”

“My brother and I. He has bigger plans, of course, and I am certain he will achieve them one day. But for now, we don’t have the money for any sort of grand charitable gesture or sweeping reparation. We send clothing and blankets to factory families in the North. We help find work for displaced farmers near our family home in Derbyshire. And most importantly, we lobby politicians for reform.”

Worse than a mere do-gooder, she was a reformer. “You astonish me, Edwina. Your words hint at republican idealism. Or do I misunderstand?”

“No, you understand perfectly. We had great hopes for France and the Revolution, but most of those efforts fell apart.” A shuttered expression of
regret, or perhaps sadness, came and went, quickly masked. “But the ideals and ambitions that fed the Revolution are still sound, and I support them.”

Good God. The woman was a damned Jacobin.

T
he entrance of Lucy with a tea tray precluded Tony’s responding, for the moment, to Edwina’s startling admission. It simply never occurred to him that the beautiful Miss Parrish might be a radical thinker. While he helped Lucy with the tray, Tony tried to reconcile the efficient editor of a magazine of light entertainment with the serious republican reformer.

It was not that he disapproved. He was not exactly a conservative thinker himself. If truth be told, he was not much of a thinker at all, as far as political matters went. Anyone who had lived during the past dozen years or so could not help but form some opinion on events across the Channel, first with the
Revolution and now with that upstart Bonaparte as First Consul, threatening borders throughout the continent. But Tony had been largely unaffected on a personal level, and whatever mild opinions he held were primarily those instilled by having grown up in a strict Tory household.

Sir Frederick Morehouse was a man of traditional, conservative English values, from his powdered wig to his buckled shoes. He was a stickler for convention. He hated the French on principle, simply because the English had always hated the French. And he was staunchly anti-Jacobin, fearing, as did many of his generation, a Reign of Terror on English soil. He was a loyal supporter of the King and of the government, so long as it did not fall into the hands of Whigs. The fact was, Sir Frederick had not allowed dissention in his house, and so Tony had never bothered to argue a single political point with him. There had been a time or two when he would have liked to do so, but since he was already his father’s Great Disappointment, he decided not to press his luck.

Edwina poured the tea and handed a cup to Tony. “Does it bother you to know that I went to France in support of the Revolution?” she asked.

He took a sip of tea and set the cup back down without taking his eyes off her. “Bother me? No, why should it? It surprises me, that is all.”

“Well, you may rest assured that those dreams
were…well, let us just say they were crushed by the Terror.”

That shuttered look came into her eyes once again, briefly, and Tony thought there was a wealth of hidden meaning beneath those words. But then, she must have seen dreadful things if she had been in France during the bloody days of Robespierre’s massacre.

“But you still retain your republican ideals?” he asked. “You still espouse reform?”

“My ideals are not as intact as they once were,” she said, and shot him a wistful little smile. “But yes, I do support steady, wise reform. It is inevitable. The face of this nation has changed after years of fighting—and funding—a very expensive war. It is time to look inward. Our own people have been neglected for too long.”

“Spoken just like a politician,” he said, and then, out of sheer contrariness, decided to further taunt her. “You ought to have been a man, Edwina.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He lowered his voice to a seductive tone and allowed his gaze to make a slow, deliberate survey of her body. “But I am eternally thankful that you are not.”

She rolled her eyes and gave a disparaging click of her tongue. “And though my ideas appear to surprise you,” she said, “yours, sir, are quite predictable.”

“Oh?” Tony did his best to feign innocence. “How so?”

“You are completely unable to carry on a serious conversation with a woman without it degenerating into flirtation, innuendo, and seduction. You have no respect for a woman’s intellect. And you certainly cannot even begin to comprehend the need for reform on behalf of those less fortunate than you. Clearly you have no thought beyond your own pleasure.”

Tony winced at her last statement, for it was painfully close to the truth. He had never been a man overly concerned with serious matters. But neither was he a complete hedonist. He probably ought to defend himself. But that imp of mischief was still at work, and Tony had the irresistible urge to bait her.

“You are right, of course.” He gave a sigh of pure ennui. “But I never saw the point in worrying over grand ideas and philosophical issues when there is so much pleasure to be experienced.”

“Is that really all that matters to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much matters to me more than good food and drink, good friends, good women, a bit of sport.”

“And gaming, I take it, is your primary sport?”

“It all comes down to risk, does it not? Anything with an element of risk is a manner of game, after all, whether it be a turn of the card, a roll of the
hazard dice, a footrace with a pretty young girl, or a duel over a man’s wife.”

“A duel? Do not tell me you have engaged in dueling?”

“Once or twice.”

Her mouth twisted in disgust. “How perfectly horrid. And perfectly idiotic.”

“But it is the ultimate wager, betting one’s life. The ultimate thrill.”

Her eyes blazed with black fire. “You should be ashamed even to admit such a thing. How can you put your life on the line for such a frivolous cause while others risk their lives, or their freedom, in the cause of liberty?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s a man’s business.”

She flattened her palms on the table and leaned forward. “Do you say such things merely to provoke me? It’s almost ten years since
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
was first published, and still we fight the same battles against narrow-minded attitudes such as yours.”

“Oh, please.” Tony raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You bluestocking types are forever bringing up the Great Wollstonecraft as if she were a damned oracle and the
Vindication
was Holy Writ.”

“You wouldn’t be so smug about it if you’d bother to read it.”

Tony only just managed to stifle the reply on the
tip of his tongue. It seemed almost too easy, and yet he had an inspired notion for another wager.

“I know everything I need to know about that tiresome book,” he said.

“Do you, indeed?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Pardon me, but I don’t credit secondhand reports and attacks in the
Anti-Jacobin Review
as valid sources.”

“I’ll wager I know as much about it as you do.”

“Unlikely.”

“Then you will accept my wager?”

“Oh ho, a real wager again,” she said. “Not a mere figure of speech this time?”

“A real wager. You may quiz me on
A Vindication
, and if my answers prove I know as much about it as you do, then you must agree to go driving with me tomorrow in the park.”

She glared at him skeptically, as though weighing the proposition from all angles. He could practically read her thoughts from the series of expressions flickering across her face. Did he really know something about Wollstonecraft? What were the chances he knew enough to keep her from tripping him up? And if he did, what was the harm in an innocent drive through the park?

He would swear she was thinking precisely that as she gazed at him over the rim of her teacup. He had demonstrated with his essay that he was not an
illiterate numbskull. Did she guess that he had indeed read the famous
Vindication
? By God, she
knew
he just might win this game, and yet she was going to take the challenge. He would bet on it.

“Bring out your little red book, Mr. Morehouse. We have a wager.”

Nicholas mumbled a greeting to his sister as he walked past the open door to her bedchamber, then returned, walking backward, to stand in the doorway.

“Well, look at you,” he said.

Edwina was doing just that, as she studied her reflection in the dressing glass and adjusted her straw bonnet. “What do you think?” she asked. “Will I do?”

“Do what, exactly? In that gear you could do most anything, I’d imagine. You look very pretty, Ed.”

She thought so, too. She wore a white cambric muslin dress, fitted close around the neck with a delicate ruff of Vandyked lace, and long, full sleeves with matching lace frills at the cuffs. Over the dress she wore a poppy red spencer jacket that tapered in front into two points adorned with tassels. The little jacket was from several seasons ago and was perhaps not as bright as it once was, but the color suited her. Edwina realized her rather unique coloring was not set off to its best advantage in pastels and muted tones. Plain white looked good on her,
but when it came to color, she needed something bold and dramatic.

And that was the full extent of her fashion expertise. Or lack thereof. She liked color, but had little appreciation for texture or line. The current fashions that involved complicated draping and wrapping and fastening were simply beyond her. She never quite had the knack for putting things together in interesting and creative ways. Edwina had not inherited her mother’s artistic eye. So she kept her wardrobe simple and could only hope that whatever she managed to put together did not offend.

But that aggravating man had threatened her confidence with his perfect tailoring, his beautiful waistcoats, and his ever-changing collection of watch fobs. What would he think of her simple, outdated costume?

“Where are you off to in such finery?” Nicholas asked.

“Out.”

“I gathered as much. Out where? Or perhaps I should ask with whom?”

“I am going for a drive in the park.”

“Good God. At the fashionable hour, too. This is indeed momentous. I cannot recall the last time you made such an appearance. And with whom will you be driving, may I ask? As your brother and erstwhile protector, I feel I should be allowed to know, don’t you think?”

“Anthony Morehouse.”

“No! You can’t mean it.” He stepped into the room. “Confess, Ed. Are you involved with that fellow?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.”

“It could be dangerous, my girl. We are in a precarious position, what with him owning the
Cabinet
now. It would not be wise to let down your guard.”

“I’m aware of that, Nickie. And you know how important the magazine is to me. You know I would never do anything to jeopardize that work.”

“Forgive me, Ed. I do know that. And I do trust you. It’s just that you have never shown an interest in any man since…well, in a long time. You’ve been away from the game for years, and Morehouse is a master player. As slick as they come. Don’t let all that golden hair and roguish charm make a fool of you.”

“Heavens, Nickie, you don’t have much faith in my good sense, do you? I lost a wager with the man, that is all. And as payment, I must drive with him in the park.”

“Another wager?” He shook his head and laughed. “Just like when you were children. I don’t know who is playing off whom in this game of yours, but I think I will keep my nose out of it. Only first, tell me what he did to win this drive in the park.”

“You will not credit it, Nickie, but he quoted
Mary Wollstonecraft to me as if he had committed
A Vindication
to memory. I even pulled a copy from the bookshelves and read along as he quoted certain passages word for word. I hadn’t thought he could do it.”

In fact, she had rather suspected he could, but not quite so thoroughly. When she had asked him to summarize in one sentence the main point Mary was trying make in
A Vindication
, he had replied without a moment of hesitation: “She believes that most women are fools because they have allowed the primary objective of their lives, and their educations, to center on how to please a man.”

Edwina had never heard anyone put it in such bald terms, but that brief synopsis was actually spot on, and she had known in an instant that he had in fact read the book. Most detractors, who clearly had not read it, were outraged that Mary would dare to lash out at Man for making the life of Woman so miserable. But she was really more aggravated with her own sex for fostering, indeed for exploiting, the notion of females being the weaker sex. Anthony had understood the point completely.

Yes, Edwina had known the wager was set up for him to win, but she played along because…well, because he was a very attractive man and she saw no reason why she should not enjoy a bit of light flirtation. It
had
been a long time.

Edwina was not indifferent to men’s admiration.
She simply had no inclination to deal with it. Normally she ignored it. Or rebuffed it, if it was rudely done. But she never let it affect her. Not since France. But now and then—rarely—a spark of interest surprised her and set off the tiniest pang of loneliness. Not for simple human companionship. She had that. But for something more. Something warm, something intimate.

Since Anthony Morehouse had first walked into her study, that rare spark of interest had been flaring brightly. Despite the fact that he hadn’t become the man she had expected. Despite the fact that the bright, serious-minded boy she once knew seemed to have allowed all that was good in him to be corrupted. Despite the fact that he appeared to have made his way through the world on good luck and good looks. Despite all of these things, she’d discovered that the essential goodness of the boy still lay at the heart of the man. And she was as attracted to him now as she had been smitten as a schoolgirl.

“Take care, Ed,” Nicholas said. “Morehouse is obviously more clever than we thought. Ah, I hear someone at the door. I believe the man has arrived. Allow me to escort you to him. And do stop fussing with that bonnet. You look very pretty. Any man would be proud to drive you in the park. But remember, Ed, you must try not to drop your guard. One slip and he may be on to us.”

“You have made me a very popular fellow today, my dear,” Tony said as he slowly maneuvered the phaeton through the crowded pathways of Hype Park. “At least I assume all those admiring eyes are not for my benefit.”

“Perhaps it is your team that draws the eye,” Edwina said. “I don’t know when I have seen such a beautiful pair of grays.”

“They are prime ones, aren’t they? Won them off D’Aubney a few weeks ago.”

“Fruits of another wager? I ought to have guessed as much.”

“But I do not believe it is the grays drawing attention this afternoon,” he said. “You look magnificent in that red spencer. Regal as a queen.”