Chapter 34

“This is a mess.” Ryland tossed the sheaf of papers onto Griffith’s desk and leaned back. “And everyone’s happy with it?”

Griffith leaned one hip against his desk and ran a thumb along the edge of a blue dart. “That’s how it ended up so convoluted. All of the pertinent parts of the old proposal are there. I simply adjusted the contested parts and maneuvered them around a bit.”

“A bit?” Anthony extended his red dart and poked at the discarded papers. “It’s eleven pages long. Half of them aren’t going to read it.”

“As long as they leave the room to vote, I don’t care. It took me nearly two weeks to write that and get the required support.” Griffith cocked his head to the side and shrugged one shoulder before straightening from the desk and lining up his dart to toss at the board on the far wall of his study. “It does the job.”

The men fell silent as Griffith took aim and launched his dart at the target. Once the thunk of metal into cork had faded, Ryland leaned forward in his chair and propped his forearms on the edge of the desk. “I don’t understand. What about the concerns you had last time? That some of the villages in your territories would be left without any options for medical care? The College of Physicians is growing, but there are not many of them wanting to move out to Cornwall and set up on the cliffs.”

“There’s nothing in there that says a town can’t still have a practicing apothecary—only that he must be trained.” Griffith threw another dart. “We’re learning more about medicine every day. The more I looked into it, the more I saw the value in some form of standard training. So I’ll pay to have them trained.”

No one spoke as the last blue dart left Griffith’s hand and sank into the center of the board.

He turned, not knowing what he expected to see on the faces of the men he’d turned to for counsel and camaraderie in his adult years.

Ryland’s grey stare was leveled in Griffith’s direction. Unblinking, unwavering, and unreadable.

Anthony’s blue gaze was a little bit easier to read, but the underlying humor Griffith saw there made him turn away.

The marquis laughed and moved into position to throw his own darts. “It’s nice to know that love can fell even the largest of men.”

“Does she know you’ve done this?” Ryland asked.

Not wanting to look at either man and discover he’d done something foolish despite his careful considerations, Griffith kept his eyes on Anthony’s flying darts, soaring across the room in considerably quicker succession than Griffith’s had.

“No,” he said into the quiet stillness after the last dart had been thrown.

“It was read officially for the first time today.” Anthony strode across the room and began pulling the darts from the board. “Someone’s bound to have gone by Lord Pontebrook’s house and informed him.”

Griffith knew this, had even contemplated going by and telling the man himself, but he knew the next time he saw Isabella’s uncle he was going to be laying down some very specific expectations on the man.

Most of the time Griffith tried not to think about the fact that what he wanted was almost as good as law for most people. It was a heady and somewhat terrifying power to wield, and Griffith didn’t take it lightly. Sometimes, though, it was good to be a few steps below the king.

“Are you going to go see her?” Ryland’s voice matched his unchanged gaze.

“No.” Griffith had lost a great deal of sleep last night wondering the same thing. “Not until it’s done. She walked away from me because she didn’t want the apothecary measures to come between us. I’m making sure they’re out of the way before I approach her again.”

Anthony stopped at Griffith’s shoulder. “And if she comes to you?”

“She’s always had that option.”

“I’ll pay for mine as well.”

Ryland’s declaration cut into Griffith’s suddenly maudlin thoughts, and it took a few moments for Griffith to grasp what he was talking about. “Your apothecaries?”

The other duke nodded. “It’s a good solution. Better for my people all the way around.”

“Then, I can count on you if debate gets too heavy tomorrow?”

Ryland let out a bark of laughter and picked up his copy of the bill once more. “If? With the way this thing is written I think we’re looking much more at when.”

“Never have I seen such a bungling bill, not even from the bunglers over in the House of Commons!”

Ryland bumped his shoulder into Griffith’s. “See? Even Earl Stanhope agrees with me.”

“Can you name a bill Earl Stanhope hasn’t had an objection to lately?” Griffith whispered back. He was once again sitting in the back row in the House of Lords. The vote would occur tomorrow, assuming this debate didn’t get the third reading pushed back even further, but the bill’s fate would really be decided today. He waited to see who else would have an objection.

“I think this an honest and worthwhile topic,” the earl continued, “but should we really be smuggling through such a potentially oppressive act at such a pace?”

Griffith bit back a groan. He was trying to be as uninvolved in the proceedings as possible, not wanting this reform to become synonymous with his name. Because the new bill was actually a massive edit of the old one, he could pretend he hadn’t written it. He had, however, vocally thrown his support behind the revision, along with explaining his intentions for making sure his people didn’t suffer.

A few nods around the room made Griffith think the bill was about to be tabled once again. But then the lord chancellor’s voice replaced Earl Stanhope’s. “Granted, this is not as perfect as it might be, but the changes have been calculated to do much good. In all honesty, my lord, given the amount of time and money and effort that has been put into this bill already, your objections hardly seem valid enough to merit tabling it until a later date.”

Griffith held his breath as it was finally decided that the third reading and vote would take place the next day.

He was one step closer to removing the last obstacle between himself and Isabella.

Isabella approached the house feeling a touch lighter if not any happier. The last threat her uncle held over her was gone, and now she had only to live with the consequences of her choices. On her way to Richmond Park she’d stopped by the jeweler whose name was stamped in the box and returned all of the rented jewelry. He’d been surprised, saying her uncle had paid the rent full through for another month, but Isabella had insisted that he take them back now. Chances were her uncle wouldn’t carry through on a threat against her father that could color himself in such a poor light as well, but returning the jewels made her feel better, and precious little else did that these days.

Even the fabulous view of the Thames from Richmond Park hadn’t lifted her spirits today, and she had to drag herself up the stairs and through the front door.

Servants scurried back and forth across the front hall. Loud laughter rolled out the open drawing room door.

Isabella paused with her hand on the door. This was nothing like the house she’d left that morning. When she and her maid had slipped out the door after breakfast, the house had been cold and somber. The servants crept about as quietly as they could, and only Frederica dared disturb the silence. Eventually she would pull Isabella into her frivolity, but it had felt out of place and discordant with the house’s temperament.

Of course, Freddie had every reason to be happy. Arthur would be returning as a hero any day now. And with her father so distraught he couldn’t bring himself to rise from his bed, Frederica wasn’t likely to get much of a protest from him when she married her officer.

But the laughter coming from the drawing room wasn’t Freddie’s. It was distinctly male. The difference in the house was so great Isabella actually stepped back out onto the front step to make sure she’d entered the correct house.

She had.

Easing back into the hall and shutting the door behind her, Isabella debated whether to try to find out what was going on or simply retreat to her room. The very last thing she wanted to do was paste on a fake smile and deal with a roomful of men. She’d done enough of that to last her a lifetime. She didn’t think she had it in her today, especially. Not when she’d received word that Parliament had closed out its session today. Somehow that made everything feel more final. She’d been brought to London to convince the men in Parliament to do one thing. She’d failed, which didn’t sadden her all that much, but somehow that failure hadn’t felt final until now—knowing that Parliament was closed and London would soon empty.

Soon she would have to return home and somehow tell her mother that she’d been a rousing success but hadn’t gotten married.

Before Isabella could make good on her intentions to retreat to her room, Freddie rushed out of the drawing room, an enormous smile spread across her face. “Bella! Come join us. There’s quite the celebration going on.”

Isabella handed her bonnet and gloves to her maid, the change in the house suddenly making more sense. A small smile of her own appeared as she responded to the happiness in Frederica’s entire being. The woman was actually bouncing on her toes in excitement. “Has Arthur arrived home, then?”

Her smile fell into a brief pucker of confusion, a deep line appearing between her brows. “What?” The confusion cleared. “Oh. No. They marched on to Paris after the battle at Waterloo. Another officer reached the shores yesterday, though, and sent word that Arthur was supposed to be on a ship arriving within the week.”

The wide smile returned, and it was Isabella’s turn to be confused. She had no time to ask for more details, though, as Frederica grabbed her hand and hauled her into the drawing room.

In the middle of the room stood Uncle Percy, dressed and groomed to perfection for the first time in nearly six weeks.

Three other men stood around the room, but Isabella only recognized one of them. Mr. Emerson looked at Isabella over Uncle Percy’s head and raised his small fluted glass in her direction with a smile.

Frederica pressed a similar glass into Isabella’s hand.

She lifted the glass to see what was in it, then watched a tiny bubble pop on the surface of the splash of golden liquid resting in the small bowl of the glass. Champagne. They were drinking champagne when everyone else in London would be partaking of tea.

“What—”

“It’s a celebration, my girl!” Uncle Percy threw one arm out, thankfully not the one holding his glass of champagne. “We’ve done it!”

“Done it?” Isabella had very purposefully done nothing of late.

“It passed,” Frederica whispered in Bella’s ear.

“What did?”

Mr. Emerson strolled over. “The Apothecary Act.”

It had passed? But how? A hundred questions flitted through Isabella’s mind, but she couldn’t manage to utter any of them. Her mouth opened and shut with a repeated clank of her teeth.

Uncle Percy emptied his glass and set it on a nearby table. “Earl Stanhope’s pretty speech tried to table the thing, but the lord chancellor knew what was best for this country and led the final charge.”

“Two dukes pushing from behind didn’t hurt,” Mr. Emerson murmured.

Isabella put her glass down, her hand suddenly shaking so badly that she was afraid she’d spill it if she held it any longer. Two dukes?

Uncle Percy continued his jolly tale as if Mr. Emerson had never spoken. “We had to sacrifice a few points, men, but those are the casualties of victory! Today will go down in history as the day we saved England’s wives and children!”

Having only weeks ago been present when the dispatch had interrupted Madame Boehm’s party, hearing her uncle equate his parliamentary mission to a battle made Isabella a bit uncomfortable. It was probably as close to one as the man had ever gotten, though, so she supposed she had to give him a bit of latitude.

Mr. Emerson looked at Isabella. “I’ve always thought it a bit ridiculous when the lords temporal begin debating between their scarlet benches about what the common man needs, but from everything I’ve heard, the speech given with this last proposal was a thing of beauty.”

“Oh?”

“When one of the most powerful men in the land challenges the other lords to put their money to better use and pay for the training of their apothecaries whether the proposal passes or not, I have to respect him. It was bold. And one of the shortest speeches ever made upon a bill’s first reading.”

He’d pushed the Apothecary Act through. Isabella swallowed. And he’d made it personal. He’d made it about more than a law. Many of those men would never follow through on such a nonlucrative investment of money, but she knew Griffith would. Every apothecary under his authority would be given the best opportunities available.

Had he done it for her? Had he known?

“Give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

Isabella felt strange as her gaze found Frederica’s. She felt a little ill, a little light-headed, perhaps even a bit faint. It took more than a few heartbeats to recognize what was happening to her.

She felt happy. For the first time in months.

And maybe, just maybe, God was telling her that she should do something to stay that way.