The Heiress Effect (30 page)

It was more than her spirit and intelligence
he admired. Because there was her body. There was definitely her
body.

At this point, he was too steeped in liquor
to rouse any real physical ardor, no matter how heated his
thoughts. That was a good thing, because once he’d started to think
of her body—of the generous swell of her breasts, the soft curves
of her hips—it was rather difficult to stop thinking of what he’d
like to do with her.

He hadn’t touched her enough. Not nearly
enough. His thoughts turned wild, then, and even though the port
had rendered him unable to do anything about it, he thought of it
all—of the slide of his hard member into soft, willing female
flesh, at the noise she would make when he did it. He wanted until
he was half mad with drunken lust.

Yes, he whispered to himself as he stumbled
up the stairs to his room. Jane was exactly the sort of woman he
wanted. Someone exactly like Jane, but totally opposite. It was a
good thing he wasn’t in love with her or it might be difficult to
find that other woman.

He had a terrible headache the day afterward,
and he couldn’t quite decide if it was caused by the liquor or the
dissonant irrationality he’d indulged in.

In any event, he had no time to consider the
question. Parliament still had come to no agreement, and the Reform
League promised to hold a demonstration in Hyde Park. Not just a
few hundred men, either; they were talking about having everyone
available show up. The government, fearing the inevitable unrest
and violence that would be associated with such a gathering, had
promised to arrest anyone who attended. Neither group would back
down. Plans were made in London to initiate special constables just
to handle the rabble.

May arrived, and people began to come for the
demonstration. Not one or two or even five thousand of them, but
tens of thousands.

Members of Parliament who had refused to
consider some type of reform now grew uneasy with the threat of
that crowd hanging over their heads. The papers contained reports
from the police, detailing the number of guards that would be
needed to stop such a gathering. Someone pointed out that there
weren’t that many constables to be found in all of England, that
deadly force would be necessary to stop the crowd.

Oliver refused to be distracted by thoughts
of a distant woman when so much else was at stake.

The evening before the planned rally, he sat
with Minnie and Robert and read report after report—reports of
meetings, of inns full to bursting, of courts convened for the sole
purpose of commissioning special constables.

Matters were going to be ugly on the
morrow.

He slept fitfully and was awoken at dawn by a
knock on his door. When he answered it blearily, though, it was not
his brother with news of violence already started.

It was a footman with an urgent telegram.

Oliver was still half asleep, and his
dreaming mind ran away with him. A strange certainty leapt up in
him. It was from Jane. She needed him. He’d go to her. He’d have to
marry her after all, to save her from some horrible, unknown
fate.

Never mind London. Never mind impossibility.
Never mind the wreckage that would make of his life.

He rubbed his eyes, found his spectacles, and
focused on the message.

It wasn’t from Jane—of course it wasn’t from
Jane. He refused to be disappointed that his life wasn’t in
shambles. It was from his mother.

FREE GONE

PLANS TO ATTEND DEMONSTRATION PROTESTING
FAILURE TO INCLUDE WOMEN IN VOTING REFORM

FIND HER

His sleepy, half-sexual imaginings vanished,
and he reread the telegram once again, this time with dawning
horror. Then he called for schedules and cursed. The mail train
would have arrived at Euston Station a few hours ago.

Free was already here, alone in London. She
was going to an illegal demonstration alongside several hundred
thousand angry men, men who would be pitted against half-trained
constables who were crazed with fear at the thought of the mob.
And—knowing Free—she was going to tell all those men that she
wanted the right to vote, and they’d better give it to her.

“Holy mother of God,” Oliver swore.

His sister was going to get herself
killed.

On today of all days, Oliver had expected to see
constables on patrol, monitoring every street corner. But when he
stepped out onto the street, there was no sign of the special
constables that had been so much discussed over the past days. In
fact, there was no sign of police presence whatsoever.

Instead, there were hundreds milling about
the streets. The crowds grew thicker as he came closer to Hyde
Park. It was there that he saw the first constables of the day: A
lethargic pair had stationed themselves at the park gates. They
made no attempt to stop the throngs from streaming into the park;
in fact, one of them was congratulating people as they entered.
They appeared to be making a half-hearted effort to stop
costermongers from profiting off the event—and even then, as Oliver
watched, a pie-seller slipped by, handing over a pasty as silent
payment.

How they would have filtered out the elements
intent on demonstration, Oliver didn’t know. A group of ladies had
come up on horses to watch the festivities; they were seated with
gentlemen nearby, with servants pouring wine and passing out little
cakes. He’d heard someone say the other night that if there was
going to be a clash between the Reform League and the police, they
intended to have a front row seat. He’d assumed it had been a joke,
but apparently, it had been honestly meant stupidity.

Hyde Park looked more like the scene of a
carnival than a pitched battle. There were already thousands of
people present. How was he to find Free in this throng?

He wandered around the park in confusion,
hoping that nobody would take it amiss if he stared, and then
realized that he was one of thousands of gawkers. Nobody cared
about him.

He’d feared that matters would get ugly. He
knew only too well that a throng this large could turn vicious all
too quickly. But thus far, the complete absence of blue-uniformed
officers had made the event festive. The promised clash between the
event organizers and the government looked unlikely to materialize,
and the relief left everyone giddy.

When the members of the Reform League began
to appear, they were cheered as if they were heroes returning from
battle. They came in groups, waved at the crowds, and led people in
chants. As soon as Oliver had a chance, he started asking
questions. “Pardon me,” he said. “Have you seen a woman talking
about universal suffrage?”

This got him an odd look. “Of course I have,”
one man said. “I see one regularly. I’m married to her.”

The next man made a face at the notion of
universal suffrage and shook his head, refusing to answer.

By the time he’d talked to the third fellow,
he’d perfected his technique. “Is there by chance a group of women
advocating universal suffrage here?”

“You’ll want to go over to where Higgins is
speaking,” a man said, indicating a distant quadrant of the
park.

He made his way over to the indicated place.
It was on the other side of the Serpentine, hidden by a cluster of
trees, and it took him three-quarters of an hour to make his way
through the crowds. Thankfully, he hadn’t been misled. There were
shouts here agitating for the vote for all, not just for working
men.

When he broke through the crowd, he saw a
large group of women. They were clustered thickly together, arms
joined. There, right in the middle of them—

For the first time since he’d awoken that
morning, Oliver felt a deep sense of relief. He strode forward.
“Free!”

Before he could reach her, a wall of women
intervened, arms linked. They glared at him. A dark-haired lady of
forty narrowed eyes at him and wagged her finger in his
direction.

“None of that,” she said sharply. “There’s no
men beyond this point.”

“I was just—” He gestured. “I just wanted to
talk to her. To Frederica Marshall.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“Free!” Oliver called.

“Stop it, now.” The two women nearest him
took a step forward, eyes glinting in menace.

“Free!” he said again, waving more
desperately.

“Off with you,” one of them said. “Or must we
ask someone to remove you?”

“No, wait, I just—”

It was at that moment that Free turned.

“Wait!” Free called. She dropped the arms of
the women next to her and came over. “Don’t send him off,” she
said. “He’s my brother.”

“So?” The dark-haired woman looked
unimpressed. “You wouldn’t want to know what
my
brother’s
been willing to do.”

“He won’t harm me,” she said. “He’s just
being ridiculous and protective. Give me a few moments and I’ll
make him stand down.”

Oliver snorted, but when the women in front
of him looked at him with narrowed eyes, he raised his hands.
“She’s right,” he said. “I only want her to be safe.”

The women exchanged glances—but then with a
shrug of their shoulders, they unlinked their arms. Free stepped
between them and linked her arms with theirs.

“Oliver,” she said, in a tone of disgust.
“What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

He stared at her in disbelief. She always did
this to him—made him feel that his world was upside down and
backward. “What am
I
doing here?” He looked around. “It’s
not
safe?
I’m not a girl of sixteen, Free. I didn’t sneak
out of my home in the middle of the night, all alone, to make my
way to London.”

“Yes,” Free said. “I want to know what
you
are doing here. You likely left your home in the middle
of the morning, and I don’t see
you
with a chaperone.”

“This isn’t about me.” He looked her in the
eye. “It’s about your coming to the most dangerous place in all of
England, one where violence is threatened.”

She cocked her head and looked around. “Oh,”
she said slowly. “
Violence.
I see.” She raised her eyebrow
at a street-seller hawking his wares directly behind them. “What’s
he going to do, hurl pies at me?”

“Besides,” Oliver said, ignoring this
inconvenient aspect of reality, “you’re sixteen. I can’t believe
you took the train alone.”

“You keep using the word
alone,”
Free
said. “But you told me once that I should seek answers before
arriving at conclusions. Mary Hartwell drove me in her father’s
cart to the station. We took the train together. And because we’d
communicated our intention to participate to the women’s chapter of
the Reform League, we were met at the station. I’ve never been
alone,
not once.” She jiggled her arms. “Do I
look
alone?”

“Yes, well, but still…” He glanced to her
side, at the dark-haired woman who was pretending not to listen to
their conversation, and then to the other side where the blonde was
openly grinning.

“From four in the morning until six, I’ve
been with this group,” Free explained. “We discussed the
practicalities of the rally. Women may not be as strong as men, but
we can be formidable in number.”

“I have to admit that your friends make an
effective barrier. Still, there was some risk—”

“We had procedures,” Free said. “We discussed
them this morning. Every one has two women watching out for her,
and watches out for two other women in turn. That way, we know
everyone’s safe at all times. We don’t wander off. We don’t let
anyone into the perimeter.” She cast Oliver a hard glance. “If one
of us is arrested, we’ve all committed to being taken to the
station.”

“Free.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Anna Marie Higgins—she’s the lady over there
in the sailor hat—she’s been taken to the station thirteen times
already.” Oliver glanced to his right.

Miss Higgins didn’t look like a hardened
suffragette. She was dressed in a lovely, fashionable sky-blue
dress. She’d topped this off with a sailor’s hat, one that she’d
adorned with bright blue ribbons that waved in the breeze.

A passing man raised his fist in the air.
“Votes for all!” he said.

Miss Higgins blew him a kiss.

Oliver shook his head and turned away. “I’m
not sure that you should admire a woman whose main recommendation
is that she’s managed to garner a baker’s dozen of arrests.”

“Who else am I supposed to admire?” Free
asked. “You? You’re here lecturing me on how my behavior was
unsafe, but I took greater pains to secure my safety than you did.
You’re a duke’s son in the midst of a potentially hostile mob. For
God’s sake, they’re playing the Marseillaise over there. Who knows
what could happen to you?”

“That’s ridiculous!” Oliver said hotly. “I
only came to find
you.
Don’t turn this around to be about
me. I don’t care what safeguards you took; it’s still dangerous.
This is risky. Even if it turns out that nothing goes amiss, this
could have been a violent mob.”