Duchess by Mistake (16 page)

At Haverstock House, he was pleased to see the gathering would be just the three couples and his sister. Then the marchioness announced that they were awaiting her husband's cousin.

Not that damn Rothcomb-Smedley!
From what Haverstock had said to him earlier that day, Philip thought perhaps Haverstock was a bit out of charity with his cousin.

"I had the good fortune," Lady Haverstock continued, "of nearly bumping into Richie at the bookseller's today, and I thought how delightful it would be if he could join us tonight."

It would make the numbers even, Philip consoled himself.

Haverstock's gaze connected to Philip's, but their expressions remained unreadable.

Soon Rothcomb-Smedley came strolling into the saloon as if it were his own bloody house. A more confident upstart Philip had never seen.

The marchioness turned to the Duke of Aldridge. "Will you show me into the dinner room, your grace?"

Then, as precedent demanded, Haverstock turned to his duchess sister and escorted her, while the four others paired up to enter the dining chamber. As the daughter of a duke, Clair outranked Lady Lydia, a marquess's daughter, who would be the last to enter the dinner chamber.

He overheard Rothcomb-Smedley greeting Clair. "We missed you at the big wedding."

"I was at Auntie Hop-sham's—never dreaming that my wayward brother was on his way back to England—and totally surprised, but delighted, over his choice of a wife."

Philip had no desire to hear Rothcomb-Smedley gush over his wife. He turned his attention to his hostess. It was difficult not to stare at Lady Haverstock. She was possessed of extraordinary beauty. Now that he thought about it, he realized she rather resembled the Contessa Savatini, who was said to be the most beautiful woman in all of Italy. Yet, Haverstock's marchioness was even prettier, likely because this dark-haired beauty radiated a sweetness that was far more admirable than the seductive qualities exuded by the Contessa.

"I did not think my husband could have been happier than he was when he learned of your return to England," the marchioness said, "but that joy was eclipsed by the wedding of his sister to his dearest friend."

"The joy is mine." Philip held out the chair for the marchioness, then sat to her right. Elizabeth sat to Haverstock's right, and Lydia sat next to her, with Rothcomb-Smedley directly across from Philip. As much as he did not want to converse with the man, he was pleased that Rothcomb-Smedley would not be seated near his wife.

Morgie sat beside Philip and turned to address him. "You did know I have a son?"

Philip chuckled. "Yes, my wife is excessively fond of her little nephew."

Morgie's voice lowered. "Don't tell Lyddie—she's uncommonly attached to the little fellow—but I'm alarmed. He don't talk. He don't sit up. He doesn't even have a single tooth!"

"You mustn't be concerned. Elizabeth says he's perfect."

Morgie's  countenance brightened. "Me mother said the same thing. You'd think the babe was hers the way she dotes on him. (First grandchild, you know.) Though no one is as fond of the fellow as Lyddie."

"You're most fortunate. What man doesn't want a son?"

"I will own, I was exceedingly happy when I found out we were going to be parents—except for worrying about Lyddie, but I imagined having a lad to ride with and shoot with and – well, you know, do all the manly things with."

"Give him time."

As Philip began to serve himself from the wide array of offerings ranging from roasted hare and buttered lobster to steaming bowls heaped with vegetables, he listened as his sister and Rothcomb-Smedley conversed with one another. "Elizabeth tells me you are in the process of educating her about Parliament," Clair said.

"I hope I can be helpful in that regard."

Clair took the plate of roasted pheasant that he handed her. "I've always been vastly interested in government."

"I shouldn't like for you to supplant me with Elizabeth." Rothcomb-Smedley gave her a mock glare.

Philip found his hands fisting with anger toward his wife's cousin. Right in front of her husband's nose, he was flaunting his affection for Elizabeth!

"Oh, I'm not
that
knowledgeable—not like a sitting member of Parliament, especially one such as you who has so many responsibilities."

Philip wished to God the man had never stood for Parliament.

"Most young women," Rothcomb-Smedley said, "would have no idea of the offices I hold."

She shrugged. "As I said. I have a strong interest in Parliament, and I daresay it will grow now that my brother has taken his seat in the House of Lords."

He nodded across the table to Philip. "By the way, your grace, I shall be most indebted to you and Elizabeth for allowing me to host a dinner at Aldridge House next Friday."

Philip seethed. Why did Rothcomb-Smedley persist in calling
his
wife by her first name when he should have used
her grace
? He flicked an impatient glance at his wife, who was talking to Lydia about the baby. "My wife has failed to tell me about this."

Rothcomb-Smedley lifted a brow. "I pray I am not the source of a conflict between you and the duchess."

"Not at all. My wife and I—even when there is a gap in communication—are always in harmony with the other's plans. Speaking of my wife's plans," he said to his sister, "Elizabeth says you are eager to help with her widows."

"I started today! There is much to be done. Currently living under that roof are three and twenty children—with more expected. That is far too many for a single school room."

"You're concerning yourself also with the children's education?" Philip asked.

"Of course. I've taken it upon myself to start setting up various chambers for the teaching of different subjects. I've even apportioned the former wine cellar."

Clair had always been his favorite sister. He thought one of the reasons he preferred her was because she was the most intelligent. She would be a fine teacher. He recalled how she used to play "governess" to Margaret and Caro. "Allow me to guess which subject you will provide instruction in."

She smiled at him. "You cannot possibly know where my current preferences lie. You've been away five years. "

"I would wager you're still excessively adept at mathematics."

A dismayed expression on her face, she nodded. "You remembered. . ."

"How could I forget? It was so novel for a girl to be passionate about mathematics."

Rothcomb-Smedley turned an admiring eye upon her. "You truly fancy mathematics? As well as the study of Parliamentary law? A girl after my own heart."

Then why in the devil did the man have such a compulsion to be with Philip's wife every day?

"I say," Morgie said to Clair, "that's jolly good that you fancy mathematics. It was always my favorite field of study."

Philip looked good naturedly upon his lifelong friend. "I vow, Morgie, I was at school with you every year and have no recollection of you enjoying any aspect of study."

"Bloody well hated the lot of learning. Except for maths. Comes from being from a long line of bankers. We get off to percents and sums and the like—especially when they pertain to money."

"I will own that no one of our acquaintance knows more about the acquisition of money than you," Philip said.

Morgie frowned. "Except Father wouldn't hear of me taking my place on the 'Change. Said he'd worked hard all his life so his son can be an idle gentleman."

Philip knew that if Morgie's father was still alive he'd be filled with pride, especially in the promise of a new generation. What would it be like to have a son, and later a grandson to carry on? Philip was oddly envious.

His wife's voice rang out, but it was not to him she spoke, but to her cousin. "Will you be at the Hollands for dinner on Thursday, Richie?"

"Indeed I will."

"Wonderful!" she said. "Then I'll know someone besides Philip." Her laughing eyes met her husband's, and he was powerless not to smile.

"Wouldn't want me wife to go there," Morgie mumbled.

"Why not?" the marchioness asked.

"Divorced woman and all that," he replied.

Clair glared at Morgie but kept her disapproval to herself.

Even though he had been gone these five years, Philip had kept informed about his sister's progressive ideas. It was good that he'd come home to keep a watchful eye over the lot of them. It really wouldn't do for them to start cavorting with divorced women. Or prostitutes.

Just last year his eldest sister had been forced to take time away from her three children to intercede with Clair when she developed a plan to help destitute prostitutes. This intercession necessitated that Sarah leave her beloved countryside and come to London. Much to the consternation of Clair, who had befriended the most unsavory sort of common streetwalker with the firm intention of reforming her. There was almost no end to the tireless, worrisome letters Sarah had dispatched to him in Italy.

How ironic, Philip had thought, that Sarah had turned out to be the ever-so-proper wife and mother. The year she was presented she had given him more grief than all the other siblings had in these eight ensuing years.

Sarah had been far too polite to beg him to come home, but he knew it was time.

Just another reason compelling him to return.

He chatted amiably with Lady Haverstock while half way listening to his wife discuss Smith's
Wealth of Nations
with her brother. Philip expected Elizabeth—having just finished reading the book—to remember all those economic theories down to the smallest details. But Haverstock not only held his own with his sister, but he spoke of Smith's work with great intelligence. Had Haverstock just finished rereading the work?

Philip swelled with pride over the intelligent woman he had wed. She was good stock. Just like her fine brother.

* * *

 After the meal the men stayed in the dinner room, drinking port and discussing Parliament. "Me father's last request was that I stand for the Liversham seat in the House of Commons," Morgie said, frowning.

Rothcomb-Smedley grinned. "What an excellent plan! Of course you'll win with the Morgan fortune behind you." His expression went from happy to troubled. He faced Philip. "As we speak, Lord Hervey is gathering a large group of lords at White's with the express purpose of rallying opposition to the tax bill,"

Even though Philip was not fond of Rothcomb-Smedley, he knew the two had to work together for the good of the country. For, unlike most of the peers with whom the Duke of Aldridge served, his wife's cousin—like Philip—wanted what was best for their country rather than what was best for their purses. He eyed Rothcomb-Smedley, while leaping to his feet. "Then why in the hell are you here?"

Rothcomb-Smedley stood. "You're right. We need to go."

With the duke leading the way, the four of them reentered the drawing room. His face somber, his gaze connected with Elizabeth's. "It appears we are not to have the pleasure of an evening away from duty."

All expression drained from her face. "You're leaving?"

He nodded solemnly.

Her gaze flicked to her cousin. "You're going with him?"

Rothcomb-Smedley nodded. "We have fires to put out."

Before he left, Philip moved to his wife and brushed a kiss across her cheek. She stiffened.

As he and Rothcomb-Smedley rode to St. James, Philip could not purge from his troubled thoughts the sorrowful look on his wife's face.

After sweeping past White's porter and entering the club's largest chamber, Philip's gaze swung from the front of the room where Alvanley was seated at the bow window with three other men, all of them talking loudly and drinking large quantities of brandy. Philip's attention settled on the gathering of white and silver-headed peers who were seated and standing around Lord Knolles. At least a dozen fellow members of the House of Lords were intently listening to the Lord Chancellor, who looked like a monarch holding court right in the center of London's most prestigious club.

"I presently control four and twenty seats in the House of Commons," Lord Knolles said. "Together, we—those of you with me tonight—can exert our authority over these men who owe their offices to us." His gaze fanned over those encircling him. "I daresay those of us here account for nearly half the members of the House of Commons."

"And if we don't stand up against this unjust tax increase," Lord Highsmith said, a grim expression upon his face, "every man here will lose his lands."

"That's not true!" Philip moved closer, glaring at the knot of powerful peers.

Lord Knolles' eyes narrowed. "The Right Honorable Duke of Aldridge disagrees?"

"Aldridge's father must be turning in his grave," Lord Clapington mumbled.

"Who'd have thought the duke would turn out to be a bloody Whig?" another said.

"I am neither Whig, nor Tory," Philip said, his voice powerful yet respectful. "I am an Englishman, and I will always vote for what I feel is best for my country."

Lord Knolles heaved an audible sigh. "You cannot be expected to know about the workings of
English
government.  You've sat in our chamber for merely a week—after spending several
years
away from this country you profess to love so thoroughly."

The aging peer was still in possession of a strong voice, even though advancing years had left his shoulders sagging, his nose bulbous, and his hands shaking.

Rothcomb-Smedley stepped closer to the Lord Chancellor. "Now see here, Lord Knolles, you cannot know how deeply the Duke of Aldridge is committed to crushing France." His gaze flared to Philip.

Philip cautioned himself to speak without rancor, to be respectful. "Because I have been in Italy, my lord, I was able to observe what happens to a grand old kingdom, like the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily, when that Corsican monster usurps some of the most noble families in all of Europe to place his corrupt siblings upon the throne."

"We cannot allow that to happen in England," Rothcomb-Smedley said. "Like you men, I was born to a noble old English family. My mother was a sister of the old Marquess of Haverstock, and my father was a younger son of the Earl of Sutton. No one could wish to preserve these old properties more than I."