Joan Wolf (13 page)

Jessica gently pointed out that the country was not governed by Philip and his like but by diehard Tories, led by Lord Liverpool, who were adamantly opposed to change of any sort.

“Quite right,” replied Lord Holland instantly. “That is why we need Philip to take an active hand in unseating the Tories.”

“Why Philip?” she asked.

“Everybody likes him so much,” replied Lord Holland promptly. “I hardly know anyone of whom everyone entertains so favorable an opinion.”

She smiled at Lord Holland, a flicker of irony in her gray eyes. “Are you asking me to be your recruiter, Lord Holland?”

He smiled easily back, full of the charm and bonhomie that made him so lovable. “Why not, Miss 0’Neill?  Why not?”

Jessica and Linton drove home late that evening. He was very pleased. He had had ulterior motives for wishing Jessica to venture out to Holland House, and the evening had been a resounding success. Before they left Lady Holland had called him over to her and said in a low voice, “How serious is this, Linton?”

He had narrowed his eyes.  “Very serious,” he replied.

“So. She is an unusual girl.” There was a little silence as she continued to look at him. Then she said, “She will always be welcome here.”

He took her hand. “Thank you, ma’am.” He was very grave now. “We may have need of a friend.”

She nodded decisively. “You have one in me. And in Lord Holland as well.”

He was thinking of this exchange now as he said to Jessica, “You and Lord Holland seemed to get along like a house on fire.”

“What a nice man he is!” she replied warmly.

“He is. What did you talk about?”

“You.” Laughter hovered in the comers of her mouth.
“He wants me to convince you to go in for politics.”

“Oh Lord,” he groaned.

“He said lovely things about you.”

“He wouldn’t say them if he knew my true thoughts about his politics.”

“And what are your true thoughts?”

“The Whigs are hopeless at the moment,” he said brutally. “There are factions within factions. First there are the Grenvillites, who are just like the Tories only they think Lord Grenville should be prime minister and not old Liverpool. Then there are the Foxites. Did Holland tell you he was in favor of reform?”

She nodded.

“Of course. Just don’t ever ask him to put theory into practice. Besides, the Foxites have no use for economics and economics is, of course, the whole point of reform. Then there are the reformers, people like Whitbread and young Grey and Brougham. But they all disagree with each other as well as with the Grenvillites and the Foxites.”

“Heavens. It seems as though the opposition party is in opposition to itself.”

‘The problem is they can discover nothing on which they can agree to unite in opposition.”

“Have you spoken to Lord Holland about this?”

He shrugged. “What’s the point, Jess? If there were a party for me to join, I’d join it; but it’s either the Whigs or the Tories, and I certainly can’t become a Tory!”

“But perhaps Lord Holland and the others could agree to compromise?”

He snorted. “Holland and Grey make it a point of honor not to work with anyone they disagree with about anything.”

“Oh.”

“Precisely. So I keep my mouth pretty well shut. All these people happen to be my friends, you see, and I do like them enormously.”

“The world is changing despite them, Philip,” she said. “As you once told me, England is turning from an agricultural to a manufacturing country. The economic power is no longer solely in the hands of the landowners. The new holders of the country’s wealth, those manufacturers and nabobs Lord Holland spoke so scornfully about, are going to demand their share of the political power as well.”

“Of course. And they will get it, eventually. In the meantime I’ll just continue to farm.”

She reached out and took his hand. “You are one of a rare breed, my lord, do you know that?”

“What breed?” he asked.

“You are a genuinely independent man,” she answered. “And I love you.”

* * * *

Linton had bought Jessica a horse, and they had formed the habit of rising early and riding in Hyde Park when there was no one around to frown at them as they galloped hard through the cold February mornings, their breaths hanging white on the chill air. They would return to Montpelier Square, cheeks glowing, to consume an enormous breakfast and to plan their day.

The morning after the dinner at Holland House was no exception to their usual routine, a routine that had all the sanctity of three weeks of practice. They were sitting in the dining room over breakfast when a decided break in that routine occurred. Peter entered the room and said woodenly, “Sir Matthew Selsey to see you, my lord.”

Surprise flickered in Linton’s eyes. “Show him in here.”

“Very
good, my lord.”

Linton turned to Jessica. “My brother-in-law,” he said briefly.

“I’ll go.” She rose from her seat, but he reached out and his fingers clamped hard on her wrist. “No. I want you to stay.”

She couldn’t pull away from him without a struggle, and there was the sound of steps in the hallway. A spark of anger flickered in her eyes, but she sat down. He released her wrist as his brother-in-law came into the room.

“Matt!”
He rose and held out his hand. “I didn’t even know you were in the country.
How is Maria?”

Sir Matthew Selsey was a pleasant-looking man in his middle forties, with brown hair and surprisingly vivid hazel eyes. He took Linton’s hand. “I am happy to tell you you have a new niece,” he said, his face breaking into a grin.

“Congratulations!” Linton sounded delighted. “Another girl after all those boys. And how is Maria?”

“Fine. I only arrived home a week ago, and she had the baby the next day. It was all the excitement of my unexpected arrival, she said.”

Linton laughed, then he turned to Jessica. “I beg your pardon, Jess, but good news often makes me forget my manners. May I present my brother-in-law, Sir Matthew Selsey. Miss Jessica O’Neill, Matt.”

Jessica’s face wore its aloof, guarded expression, but Sir Matthew smiled at her warmly. “How do you do, Miss O’Neill. Forgive me for breaking in upon you so rudely.”

“It is quite all right,” she replied. “Will you sit down, Sir Matthew, and have some breakfast?”

“I’ll have a cup of coffee, gladly.”

He sat down across from her, and Linton said, “I didn’t know you were coming back to England.”

“I wasn’t, originally,” Sir Matthew replied, stirring his coffee, “but I found myself getting more and more worried about Maria. This may be our sixth child but after all she
is
thirty-eight, even if she doesn’t look it. And it has been six years since John.” His eyes suddenly twinkled. “Don’t ever tell her I said that, Philip.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” They both laughed. “What are you doing in London, Matt?”

“I had to see Castlereagh. I’ve been in London two days and I’m going back to Selsey this afternoon. Unfortunately I must leave for Vienna next week. Maria and the children will join me in April.”

“Have you been staying in Grosvenor Square?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Linton’s eyes, full of blue light, rested thoughtfully on his brother-in-law’s face.

Sir Matthew’s expression remained placid; he was, after all, a diplomat. He turned to Jessica. “Linton’s man gave me your direction. I shouldn’t have come barging in if I hadn’t been so short of time.” He gave her his warm smile. “I did want to break the good news myself.”

Jessica looked back and then her grave face lit with an answering smile. “Of course you did. It is not every day one has a new daughter. What are you calling her?”

Matt grinned. “The boys wanted to name her Hortense.”

Jessica’s rich, deep laugh rippled. “Aren’t boys wretched?”

“Jess should know,” Linton said, amusement in his own voice. “She has two brothers about Matthew’s and Lawrence’s ages. What name
did
you decide on, Matt?”

“Elizabeth Maria Deborah.”

“That’s lovely,” Jessica said.

“It is my mother’s name,” Linton told her with a pleased smile.

Sir Matthew stayed for perhaps twenty -more minutes, and, when he left, Linton saw him to the door.

“I can see why you aren’t spending your time
in
Grosvenor Square, Philip,” his brother-in-law said. “She is lovely. And—unusual.”

“Unusual. That was Lady Holland’s word also.”

Sir Matthew looked startled. “Lady Holland! Have you taken her to Holland House then?”

“Yes.”

Sir Matthew looked at Linton’s face and said no more. They shook hands and parted the good friends they had always been. Linton walked back to the dining room where Jessica still sat. “Maria will have it all out of him in half an hour,” he said. “Come into the drawing room. I have to talk to you.”

Chapter Seventeen

What is love? Tis not hereafter,

Present mirth hath present laughter, What’s to come is still unsure.

—
WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE

Linton’s absence from Grosvenor Square had been noticed by people other than Sir Matthew Selsey. A number of friends, missing him at the club, had called at Linton House to be informed by a wooden-faced butler that “Lord Linton is not in.” Nor, it appeared, was he expected.

Lord George Litcham was one of the first to take serious alarm. He had spent as much time as anyone in the company of Linton and Jessica, and he was not insensitive. After a great deal of thought he broached the matter to Bertram Romney.

“Worried about Philip?” said that young man. “I don’t understand you, Litcham. Dash it all, Jessica isn’t one of those avaricious harpies who take a man for all he’s worth. And even if she were, it wouldn’t matter. Linton is too rich to be fleeced like that.”

“I know she isn’t one of that breed, Romney,” replied Lord George. “That is precisely what worries me. She is different.
They
are different.” He hesitated. “I am very much afraid Linton is serious about her.”

“Serious?”

Lord George said patiently, like a man talking to a very small child, “I am afraid he means to marry her.”

Bertram’s eyes widened. “He couldn’t.”

“I don’t know,” Lord George said slowly.

There was a very long silence. “We need my cousin, Maria Selsey,” Bertram finally said. “She scares me half to death, but she’ll know what to do.”

“I thought Lady Maria was expecting a child any day now.”

“Bum it, so she is! Isn’t that just like a woman? As soon as she has a chance to make herself useful, she’s indisposed.”

“What about Lady Linton?” Lord George asked, ignoring Bertram’s strictures on the opposite sex.

Bertram looked unhappy. “Dash it all, my Aunt Elizabeth thinks the sun rises and sets on Linton’s head. What am I to do? Write and tell her he is in danger of marrying his mistress? Which I’m not at all sure he is, by the way.” There was a little silence as Bertram looked at the paper lying on his table. “Besides, she’s a first-rate girl, Jess. I like her.”

“I know,” said Lord George. “So do I. And that, Romney, is the problem.”

In the end they decided that Bertram would write a letter to his own mother asking her to come up to town for a week or two. “Very sensible woman, my mother,” Bertram had assured Lord George. “She likes Philip. If he needs rescuing she’ll be glad to lend her assistance. I’m sure of it.”

* * * *

Others were not so considerate of the delicate state of Lady Maria or the fond motherly heart of Lady Linton. Both of these ladies received missives from various friends who were staying in London at present and who found Linton’s behavior sufficiently odd to inspire a report to his womenfolk. At first they had shrugged off the letters as gossip, then they had been angry, finally they became alarmed.

“Look at this, mother,” Maria said two mornings before her baby was born. “A letter from Emily Cowper.”

“About Philip?” asked Lady Linton, anxiety in her voice.

“Not
about
Philip. Emily is too polite for that. She merely
mentions
Philip, but her comments are very much to the point.”

They were sitting in the morning parlor at Selsey Place, and now Lady Linton laid down her pen and put aside the letter she had been writing. “What does she say?”

“I saw Linton yesterday,” Maria read. “It was a wretched, rainy day but I had to go to Hughes’ for a fitting and, as I was on my way home, I passed him and Miss O’Neill as they were coming out of the park. They had evidently been riding in the rain, something I wouldn’t do if my life depended upon it. But they were both laughing—even with water streaming down their faces! He is as handsome as ever, Maria, even waterlogged. I don’t see him at all socially, so perhaps you can write to ascertain if he has caught pneumonia or not.”

 Maria looked up. “Then she goes on to something else.” She closed the letter. “I don’t like it, mother. Emily would not have written to me if she hadn’t thought I should know what is going on.”

“But what
is
going on, Maria?” asked Lady Linton. “Philip has a mistress. He has had mistresses before and no one got upset like this.”

“He is living with her,” Maria said slowly. “Evidently he is never at Grosvenor Square. And you heard what Emily Cowper wrote.
He isn’t going out socially. From what I can gather he spends all his time with this actress.”

“But what can we do?” asked Lady Linton.

“I think you should go up to London, mother,” Lady Maria said decisively.

But Lady Linton refused to leave her daughter at such a critical time, and the next day Sir Matthew Selsey came home. In the end he was the one charged with “finding out what Philip is up to.”

* * * *

Sir Matthew had not been overly pleased about his commission. He had a great deal of liking and an equally great deal of respect for his brother-in-law, and was quite positive that jealous gossip was at the root of all the reports that had been reaching Selsey Place. But he had to go up to London anyway, so he placated his wife by assuring her that he would look into the matter.

After two days at Grosvenor Square he had not been so sanguine. Then he had a conversation with Bertram’s mother, a woman whose good sense he had always respected. The fact that Bertram, a careless young scamp if ever he saw one, had seen fit to call in his mother sounded an alarm to Sir Matthew immediately. An alarm Mrs. Romney herself did little to soften.