The Heiress Effect (6 page)

The process of turning a young man, scarcely
twenty-one, into a politician, was fascinating. The marquess had
asked Hapford questions. Who had said what? How had they looked as
they spoke? What had Hapford thought of them? Bradenton was a good
teacher, gentle and kind.

“Good,” he finally said to his young nephew.
“You’ve done quite well. You pay attention to the right things, and
you listen when you need to. You’ll do your family proud.”

Hapford ducked his head and flushed faintly.
“I’m trying.”

That was when Bradenton’s eye fell on Oliver,
and his smile widened from avuncular indulgence to something
altogether sharper.

“What make you of Mr. Marshall?” he asked
softly.

Hapford looked at Oliver and swallowed.
“I—well—he’s…he’s…”

“I know. He’s sitting right here. But I know
Marshall. We’re old acquaintances. And he wants a favor of me, so
he won’t object to a little plain-speaking. Isn’t that so,
Marshall?”

Oliver had no idea what the man was about, so
he simply inclined his head. “Just so, my lord.”

“Very well, then,” Hapford said. He took a
deep breath. “By my observation, Mr. Marshall is—”

“Ah, ah.” The marquess held up a finger. “You
took me at my word, didn’t you?”

Hapford looked about in some confusion.
“Shouldn’t I have done so?”

“Take nobody at his word. Not me. Not
Marshall.” He smiled and patted his nephew’s shoulder. “Normally,
I’d wait a week to introduce this, but you’ve done so well until
now. This is advanced material, so to speak. Marshall, if you’ll
oblige me, tell my nephew why you really agreed with me.”

“I want to know what you’re up to,” Oliver
said in bemusement.

“And if you will, explain why I spoke the way
I did in front of you.”

Oliver paused, wondering if Bradenton really
wished him to explain everything aloud. But the marquess made a
little motion with his hand.

“You wanted to demonstrate that you could
make me do as you wanted. That you have the upper hand.” And
Bradenton did, for now.

“Precisely so,” Bradenton said. “You see how
it is, Hapford. Men like you and me, we have power and information.
We can trade that power for other things. Small power gets traded
for less important things. Large power, well…” He shrugged. “What
do you think that Mr. Marshall wants?”

“He wants your vote on the question of the
extension of the franchise,” Hapford answered swiftly. “And I
wanted to ask him—”

“Later. What else does he want?”

“He wants…” Hapford bit his lip. “He wants
your influence on the question as well. You’re a powerful man, so
your support would likely mean more votes than just your own.”

“Well done, indeed. Now let’s see if you’ve
mastered the lesson. What else does Mr. Marshall want?” He leaned
back in his seat and waited.

The silence stretched; Hapford peered at
Oliver, as if he could see into him, and finally shook his
head.

“Put yourself in Marshall’s place,” Bradenton
advised. “You grew up on a farm. Your parents scraped together
enough to get you into Eton and then Cambridge. By birth, you stand
firmly in one world, but you’ve connections to another one. A
better one. Tell me, Hapford. What would
you
want?”

This, Oliver supposed, was the sort of
training that men received if they were born into the right
families: the beginning of a thousand lessons on the operation of
politics, conducted at night, so that the new men would know how to
go about. This was how institutions continued for hundreds of
years, how wisdom was passed on to the right sort.

He’d remember this.

But now he felt like an insect pinned to a
specimen card.

Hapford had a thick ring around one finger.
He turned it in place, peering at Oliver, frowning as if trying to
recognize what species Oliver was.

“Money?” Hapford guessed.

His uncle nodded.

“Recognition?”

Another nod.

“Um…” The young earl pulled back and shook
his head.

“Tell him what you want, Marshall.”

Oliver unclenched his jaw. “Everything,” he
said. And it was the simple truth.

Later, when he was gone, Oliver was sure that
Bradenton would tell Hapford even more. He’d explain how Oliver was
coming up in influence—a longer path than the one Hapford treaded,
one where he had to work harder, with less training. For now, that
single word would do. Oliver wanted everything, and Bradenton could
speed his way.

“Oh,” Hapford said in confusion.

“Speaking of everything,” Oliver said. “The
bill that—”

“Not yet,” Bradenton interrupted. “Tell me,
Hapford. What think you of Miss Fairfield?”

Hapford blinked at this sudden change in
conversation. “She’s a little odd, I grant you, but Geraldine
vouches for her…” He trailed off in confusion. “I don’t know. I
don’t like speaking ill of people.”

“That,” said Bradenton, “is a nicety you’ll
have to rid yourself of. Tell me, what makes Miss Fairfield so
odd?”

Hapford stood and walked to the window. He
stared out it a long time. Finally, he turned around. “She
doesn’t…she doesn’t seem to know what’s expected of her. What her
place is.”

Bradenton was usually so good humored. But at
that, Oliver caught a look in his eye—a thinning of his lips—and he
remembered that in all the nonsense that Miss Fairfield had spouted
that evening, she’d told Bradenton that nobody would think anything
of him if he hadn’t been a marquess.

“Yes,” Bradenton said tightly. “She doesn’t
know her place, and she’s too stupid to be taught it by the normal
methods. What are we to do about it, Hapford?”

Hapford frowned. “I don’t see why we need to
do anything. She isn’t hurting anyone, and Whitting takes such
amusement from her that it would be a shame to deprive him of
it.”

“There’s where you’re wrong.” Bradenton’s
voice was quiet. “It harms everyone when people don’t know their
places. Something should be done about it.”

Hapford considered this. “Even if that’s
true…” He shook his head. “No. Geraldine doesn’t let anyone speak
ill of her. I don’t want to upset her.”

“Yes, well,” Bradenton said tersely. “In
another few years, we’ll see if you’re so eager to do Miss
Johnson’s bidding. But never mind. You’re right in essentials. A
gentleman never hurts a lady; the potential repercussions to his
reputation are not worth the risk.”

Hapford looked relieved.

Bradenton shook his head and leaned over,
tousling his nephew’s hair. “Watch, and I’ll show you how it’s
done.”

And then he looked over at Oliver. He looked
at him as if he’d been planning this moment for hours—and he
probably had. Oliver felt a sick pit open up in his stomach.
Whatever it was that Bradenton was thinking, he didn’t want to hear
it.

“Very well, Marshall. It’s your turn now.
We’re going to talk about the vote.” His voice was soft once more.
“Do you know why I voted against the last bill?”

Oliver had his own suspicions. “I suppose
you’ll tell me.”

“It was too expansive. People need to know
their places or there will be chaos. If even Parliament won’t hold
them to order, we might as well surrender.”

Oliver swallowed. “Actually, my lord, the
last bill was rather conservative. You see, the—”

“You’ll never get my vote on anything more
liberal. I ask for so little—just that rate-paying clause I
introduced. If they can’t afford to pay it, what business do they
have offering an opinion?”

Oliver shut his mouth in annoyance. That
would only put this same debate off another ten years. But a small
step forward would be better than nothing. “Perhaps we could come
to an agreement if the rate was low enough.”

“Perhaps.” Bradenton tapped his fingers
against the arm of the chair. “But there is one other thing I need.
Hapford, why do you suppose Marshall is so keen on this bill?”

“I had thought his background.” He flushed.
“My apologies for speaking of it so openly, Marshall.”

“Yes. What else?”

“I…” Hapford shook his head, looking at
Oliver for some hint. And perhaps he found it because his brow
cleared. “Because everyone is talking about the issue,” he said.
“And if he plays a role in getting it passed, he’ll get the
credit.”

“Precisely,” Bradenton said. “It was me and
my friends who got the last bill voted down. Think what it will
mean if he is the one to broker the compromise. He’ll be respected,
elevated, talked about for office of his own. It will be a
coup.”

Oliver’s nostrils flared.

“It’s one I’m willing to grant him,”
Bradenton said. “That’s what it means to be us, Hapford. We don’t
just vote. We give power.”

Oliver leaned forward, wanting. Wanting so
hard that he could almost taste victory in his mouth.

“And so if we’re going to be doing it,”
Bradenton said, “we have to be sure of him.”

“We do?” Hapford echoed.

“We do. We need to know that he’s going to be
part of the proper order. That he’ll know his place, and expect
everyone to be in theirs.”

That taste of victory turned metallic. Oliver
didn’t know his place. He’d spent too many nights seething at the
way of things, too long wanting to rise in power, not just so that
he might wield it, but so that he might wrest it from the hands of
those who abused it. They’d spent years trying to teach him his
place; he’d learned through long, hard experience that the only way
forward was to keep quiet until he grew so tall they could no
longer shove him down.

But all he said aloud was, “I should think
I’ve proven my discretion over the years.”

Bradenton simply smiled. “Didn’t you hear me,
Marshall? I don’t want your words. I have a job that needs doing,
and I cannot do it myself.”

That sick sensation in Oliver’s stomach
grew.

“You see, Hapford?” Bradenton said. “He
wants. I have. The only way to make a deal is if I want something,
too.” He leaned forward. “And what I want, Marshall, is Miss
Fairfield.” There was no masking the venom in his voice. “I don’t
want to see her or her annoying gowns. I don’t want to hear her
thoughtless jibes.” Bradenton’s nostrils flared. “She’s the worst
of the worst—a woman with no birth to speak of, who thinks that her
hundred thousand pounds makes her my equal. A woman like her,
running about, spouting her tripe… She does damage to us all, and I
want her gone.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Oliver said
sharply. “I don’t ruin women, no matter how annoying they are.”

Hapford was looking between them, his eyes
worried. “Well said, Marshall.”

Bradenton seemed to come back into himself
with one long, slow breath. The hatred in his eyes dimmed to mere
amusement. “Oh, look at you two. Ruin her? Goodness, how sordid. I
wouldn’t ask my worst enemy to kiss her.”

“Then what are you asking?”

The marquess leaned back in his seat. “I want
her to know her place. Humiliate her. Hurt her. Teach her her
lesson. You know how it’s done; it took you long enough to learn
yours.”

For a second, the room seemed to go hazy
about Oliver. He’d learned his lesson, all right. He’d learned to
keep quiet in public and seethe in private. He’d learned to keep
his ambition hidden. To let men like Bradenton see only what he
wished to see.

“Don’t answer, Marshall. Work it through your
principles.” Bradenton smiled. “But in the end, we all know how
this will work out. It’s one annoying girl against your entire
future. Against the future of voting rights.”

“I say,” Hapford muttered.

“It’s not pretty,” Bradenton said. “And yes,
Hapford, there are times when you might not like the details, messy
as they are. But this is how things get done. If there’s something
you can’t do, that must nonetheless be done…”

“But—”

“One day, your Miss Johnson will wish she’d
cut the acquaintance far sooner. You’re doing her a favor, Hapford.
You’re going to be her husband; it’s your duty to do what she needs
before she knows it.”

Hapford lapsed into silence.

“And as for you, Marshall…” Bradenton looked
at Oliver. “Take the time you need to salve your conscience. To
tell yourself whatever it is you need to make this palatable.
You’ll be doing her a favor, you know.”

No,
Oliver thought.
Not a favor.
And I’m not doing it.

But that sick pit in his stomach felt
differently.

Yes,
it whispered.
Yes, you
are.

It usually took Jane one day, at most two, to
crush a man’s interest in her. Any positive feelings her fortune
engendered could be quickly overcome, so long as her first
impression was sufficiently negative.

She had assumed that Mr. Oliver Marshall
would prove no different.

She had assumed wrongly. The second time they
encountered each other was on a street corner. She was going into
the modiste for a second fitting with her companion; he was passing
by, talking with a male friend.