Chapter 3

 

Mrs. Phillips's perceptions about appropriate appearances had been bullseye correct, Harry admitted as they rode through Hyde Park the following afternoon, the men of his acquaintance fairly throwing themselves in his path while clamoring for an introduction to his lovely companion. Such popularity probably would have eluded her in the drab clothes she had worn the day before.

When he had called for her, Harry had nearly lost his breath when he gazed up the marble staircase to see the extraordinary blonde gracefully moving down the steps. Since she was still in mourning, she wore lavender, a thin muslin that draped over the gentle curves of her body. Stirred by powerful emotions, he was almost glad a woman once again inhabited Wycliff House.

Almost. He must not lose sight of his aim in befriending this unusual woman.

Louisa had to be well pleased with their outing today, Harry mused. Lord Seymour himself had chatted with her and invited her to a ball at his home Thursday night. A coup, indeed, since Lord Seymour's power in Parliament was legendary, despite that he proclaimed himself to be a Whig.

It was actually quite remarkable meeting him since a man as powerful as Seymour had no time for idle jaunts in the park. On this particular day, though, Seymour chose to flaunt his notoriety in an effort to introduce his niece to a variety of Eligibles.

The older man had run his eyes over the exquisite Mrs. Phillips, then tipped his hat to Harry. "Wycliff," he had said, drawing his phaeton to a halt.

Harry drew his carriage alongside of the noted Whig.

"I should like to make you known to my niece, who has just arrived in London from Middlesex," Lord Seymour said. Though he appeared to be speaking to Harry, the man's attention was clearly fixed on the woman sitting beside him.

Introductions behind them, Louisa said, "I cannot tell you how very pleased I am to finally meet you, Lord Seymour."

The man's eyes sparkled, but before he could reply, Harry explained, "Mrs. Phillips is a bluestocking who's desirous of expounding her ideas to powerful men in Parliament. Some might consider her ideas radical."

"Then you must come to a ball my house Thursday night," Lord Seymour said to her. "And you, too, Wycliff. I give you my word, Mrs. Phillips, you shall have my ear then." Taking up his crop, Lord Seymour bid them farewell.

Harry took great pains not to drive in the vicinity of his recently settled mistress, Lady Davenwood, though he was powerless to keep the flamboyant woman from drawing the attention of the two young ladies who shared his conveyance.

"Who, pray tell, is that. . .buxom blond lady in purple?" Miss Sinclair shrieked.

Harry obliged her by imparting the information that the woman was Lady Davenwood, then he directed the coachman to drive in the opposite direction.

"I declare," Ellie said, "I cannot believe Lady Davenwood is not blushing scarlet! How can a woman parade about so scantily clad?"

Harry was unable to suppress an amused grin. Indeed, Fanny left little to the imagination. Her low-cut gown only barely concealed her generous bosom — hardly a sight one was likely to have seen in broad daylight in Kerseymeade.

Mrs. Phillips met his gaze, a bemused expression on her beautiful face. "Be careful, pet, or Lord Wycliff will think you are a Methodist."

"You're not?" Harry teased, directing his comments to Louisa.

She gave him a quizzing look. "A Methodist?"

"I would have thought a reformer like you would embrace Mr. Wesley's faith," he said.

"I admit there was a time I examined Methodism closely, but I decided it was not for me," the widow said. “And you must know Mr. Wesley proclaimed himself to be Church of England.”

Harry wanted to give the appearance of being eager to understand her views. "And why did you not embrace Methodism?"

She thought for a moment before answering. Harry found himself watching her intent profile and thinking of her classical perfection. Something about her touched him in a place no woman had ever ventured, in a way he could not begin to explain. She was lovely, intelligent, and totally resistant to his charms. In fact, she was the only woman he had ever known who was unimpressed by his title. When she finally answered, he was struck by the soothing pitch of her melodious voice.

"I am not nearly pious enough. Also, I believe the Bible is literature, that it was never intended to be picked apart and taken literally."

Harry lifted a single brow. "Then you do read the Bible?"

She nodded. "And poetry, and Shakespeare, and political treatises."

"And which political tracts do you find most enlightening, Mrs. Phillips?" Harry asked.

"Though it is nothing new, I find Thomas Paine's Rights of Man exciting, and it has undoubtedly influenced thinkers for the past thirty years. Mr. Wesley, too, has certainly made his contributions. And the body of work by Mr. Bentham is without equal. Hannah More is another for whom I hold a great respect. And there's also a young scholar I admire greatly, James Mill's son."

"Would that be John Stuart Mill?"

"You've read him?" Mrs. Phillips asked incredulously.

Harry chided himself for not quelling his usual authoritarian demeanor. He must remember to behave in a far humbler manner. He shrugged. "'Twas a name that popped into my head. I must assure you, Mrs. Phillips, I truly need your guidance."

She silently watched the passing carriages. "Poor Mr. Mill, the younger, was recently imprisoned when all he was doing was trying to help the less fortunate."

"Pray, what was he doing?" Harry asked, concern in his voice.

"He was instructing the ignorant masses on methods of birth control," Louisa answered matter of factly.

Edward coughed. "Daresay it's a lovely day for a ride in the park."

Ellie, turning scarlet now, avoided eye contact with her companions. "Yes, it is," she said in a thin voice. "I do so thank you for showing me around London. I am enjoying it exceedingly."

As Edward and Miss Sinclair talked of pleasantries, Harry was determined to convince Mrs. Phillips of his sincerity in learning about the liberal thinkers.

"You must direct me to the younger Mill's writings. Your recommendation is a hearty endorsement, to be sure."

A flickering smile played at her lips. "When we return to Wycliff  House, I will make my library available to you."

He studied her profile again, unable to imagine her as the wife of the unscrupulous Godwin Phillips. "Tell me, Mrs. Phillips, did the late Mr. Phillips share your enthusiasm for the liberal thinkers?"

Her face went cold. "While he did not share my beliefs, he allowed me to purchase whatever books I desired. When he was alive, I kept them in my chambers. Now, they are in the library."

He decided to probe further. "Did you have your Tuesday meetings when Mr. Phillips was alive?"

She shook her head, and he detected malice in her expression. "No. I went to many meetings, but in deference to my husband's opinions, I did not bring the bluestockings into his home. Or to what I thought was his home."

"Am I correct in thinking your husband would not have approved?"

She swallowed. "You are correct."

He sensed she no longer wanted to speak of her husband when she said, "I do believe you should start by reading Mr. Bentham."

Harry's carriage pulled up in front of Wycliff House. It was still impossible to look upon his former home without being swept up in powerful emotions. As badly as he wanted to regain the townhouse, he knew that possessing it would not bring back the happy times and familial intimacy associated with it — nor would it ever be the same without his mother.

God, but he needed to reclaim it. He would spare nothing to gain possession of it.

While Ellie and Edward took a stroll through the square's park, Mrs. Phillips took Harry to her library and stripped it of volumes that would enlighten the uninformed aristocrat.

* * *

Two days later, Louisa sympathetically watched a dejected man walk away into the crush at Lord Seymour's ball. She had been there but half an hour and had already turned down half a dozen men who had begged her to stand up with them. Surely young Mr. Dithers would be the last to approach her. She fixed her gaze on Lord Wycliff, who stood at her left, and found him appraising her with an undeniable look of heated desire. It was the same look that had been on his face when he called for her and she had come down the stairs wearing her new lavender gown. At the memory, colour crept up her cheeks, and she broke eye contact.

Perhaps the new dress had not been such a good idea, after all. Though she had made it herself, it had taken a rather dear length to fashion it. She could ill afford to part with the money that went to the linen drapers. At least not until she knew how much was left in Godwin's estate.

The time had come to put her half-hearted mourning behind her. When she had stood in front of her looking glass before Lord Wycliff called tonight, she was almost embarrassed at how the soft silk hugged the curve of her breasts and swept across her other curves in a most revealing way. Even though her neckline was not nearly as low as most other women here tonight, she could not deny that the gown was provocative.

Which wasn't at all what she had intended. All she had wanted was to appear pretty enough to draw Lord Seymour's attention. He was a most powerful man, and she desired nothing more than to channel his power toward her pet projects of reform.

She had to admit Lord Wycliff was becoming sensitive to her views, despite that he was a noble. She detected no embarrassment in his manner tonight when he informed his friends of her radical ideals. In fact, he even spoke of her projects to those men. "Mrs. Phillips opposes the idea of allowing only freeholders to vote," he would say. Or, "Mrs. Phillips promulgates compulsory education," he would tell another. To another, he said, "I say, Mrs. Phillips' suggestions for a hierarchy of criminal offenses — for the purposes of incarceration — have much merit."

To which she replied, "Though I should love to take credit for such brilliant ideas, Jeremy Bentham is the genius who devised the scheme."

Harry addressed his companions: "Consider, if you will, a man stealing a leg of mutton to feed his hungry family, getting caught, and hanged. How can so petty a crime merit the same punishment given a cold-blooded murderer?"

Louisa beamed as she watched Lord Wycliff's friends' faces brighten with enlightenment. She especially enjoyed making the acquaintance of Lord Wycliff’s great friend Lord Jack St. John.

“I believe you are acquainted with my very great friend, Miss Jane Featherstone,” she had said.

“Indeed I am. She is, I must own, the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known. And her father, with her able assistance, hosts what is in my opinion the best salon in all of London.”

“I share your opinion on Miss Featherstone’s significant intelligence,” she said.

St. John eyed his friend. “Is this the reform-mad lady you were telling me about?” Mr. St. John was, she noted, the rare man who did not appraise her as if she were a horse to be auctioned at Tattersall’s—which rather endeared him even more to her. She admired serious-minded men.

Lord Wycliff nodded. “She is trying to entice me to take my seat in the House of Lords.”

“As I’ve been urging you to do ever since you returned to England,” his friend said. “Speaking of returning to London, did you know Alex's brother, Morton, is planning to return from the Peninsula?”

“He’s selling his colours?” his lordship asked incredulously.

“Yes. You may not know because it happened when you were out of the country, but the old duke died, and the firstborn son succeeded. That son died unexpectedly last week of a ruptured hernia whilst playing tennis, so the second son is returning to England as the new duke.”

“Which puts our dear Alex next in line for a dukedom.”

Lord Jack St. John shrugged. “I doubt the new duke will be playing any tennis.”

She was mildly disappointed when Lord Wycliff’s friend took leave of the ball, but her admiration for his lordship was growing. After seeing him every day this week, she was beginning to realize not all nobles were committed to the status quo that was so advantageous to wealthy landowners like themselves. Lord Wycliff's progressive ideas had blossomed like spring flowers under her tutelage these past several days. She was not only learning that all nobles were not opposed to change, but also that not all men were totally selfish. If Lord Wycliff would sit in Parliament next session and endorse the idea of extending the franchise, he would gain Louisa's undying admiration.

Even though he would be shooting himself in the foot.

"Lord Seymour has left the receiving line," Lord Wycliff said. Though it was difficult to be heard over the sounds of laughter and conversation as well as the strains of the orchestra, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "Come, let us speak to our host. Lord Seymour has rather a penchant for pretty young things. You are quite the loveliest woman here."

"Pray, my lord, do you see me as young?"

"You are young."

"How old are you, if I might ask?"

"Seven and twenty."

“I am but three years your junior, my lord.”

She kept remembering that Lord Wycliff had said she was the loveliest woman here. Her heart went to fluttering – despite that she had never before wanted to be the object of men's desires.

And she hated herself for such shallowness.

When his hand rested at her back as he led her to Lord Seymour, she experienced an odd feeling of pride. She had been acutely aware that her escort was the recipient of seductive gazes and gushing flirtations from half the women present.

Their host was a distinguished looking man in his fifties. Though slight of build, his voice was commanding, as was his presence. He had obviously grown a swooping mustache as a younger man to add maturity to his slim person. Now it was his trademark, making him easily identifiable in political cartoons.

Louisa detected a glint in his green eyes when she approached with Lord Wycliff.

"I see, Wycliff, you have brought your charming companion." Lord Seymour turned his gaze to Louisa. "Mrs. Phillips, is it not?"

"It is," Louisa answered timidly. She knew she would have to gain firmer control of her voice if she hoped to merit this notable Whig's favor.

"Mrs. Phillips desires to speak with you on matters of reform," Harry said.

Seymour's brows elevated. "I am always happy to discuss reform, my dear Mrs. Phillips."

She moved closer to the notable Whig and favored him with what she hoped was her best smile just as the orchestra quit playing the set. The relative silence that ensued greatly pleased her. Now Lord Seymour could hear her much better. "I particularly desire to impart to you the importance of extending the franchise."

"What? No plea to regulate child labor? Or to reform the penal system?"

Now her convictions overtook any timidness. She was on firm ground expressing her beliefs. "While I am seriously troubled over the exploitation of children and the unfairness of our penal system, I believe the most serious problems will be solved if the vote does not rest with a privileged few to the exclusion of those most affected by our country's laws. If votes could be cast by those whose loved ones are transported for the most minor infractions, we could be assured the severe penalties of today's laws would be lessened."

"Well spoken, my dear," Seymour said, his eyes twinkling. "You must be influenced by Philip Lewis, a man I greatly admire."

An intoxicating feeling of pride bubbled within Louisa, and she had to fight the desire to shout I am Philip Lewis! Instead, she bowed humbly and said, "I, too, admire him." She fairly gagged on the necessity of calling her alter ego him.

Just then Lord Seymour's excited niece came scurrying up to her uncle and placed a possessive hand on his forearm. "Uncle! He is here. Won't you come meet him?"

Lord Seymour excused himself and left in a flurry on his niece's dainty heels.

After he had gone, Louisa turned to Lord Wycliff. "I am most grateful for the opportunity you afforded me of speaking with Lord Seymour and with Lord Jack—Mr. St. John."

Lord Wycliff smiled. “For a moment I didn’t know to whom you were referring. You see, at Eton, Lord Jack was always referred to as Sinjin, a shortening of his surname.”

“St. John,” she murmured.

He looked down upon her from his considerable height. There was a distinctly admiring look on his face when he spoke to her. "Then I beg you to repay me by waltzing with me."

There it went again. That ridiculous fluttering in her chest as he took her hand within his strong grasp and led her to the dance floor. He had not even allowed her to protest. And when he actually took her in his arms, she feared she would swoon. Unaccountably, he had not seemed a real man until now. He was a nobleman. An inanimate object to be scorned.

But the man whose hands clasped hers so firmly was very real. And very appealing: tall and solid and ripe with masculinity. She blushed as she fleetingly thought of his sexual appetites. She supposed he was a most practiced lover. He had probably had his way with many women in this very room, judging from the jealous stares she now drew.

A pity there was no such thing as a trustworthy man.

* * *

Dancing with Mrs. Phillips filled Harry with an odd sense of pride. Though not dressed nearly so grandly as most of the woman here tonight, she still outshone the others with her simple beauty. Her dress flowed softly from beneath her rounded bosom, clinging to her smooth curves. He found himself wondering what she would look like with her hair long and draping over her smooth bare shoulders.

Putting her beauty aside, he had to admire her. She had not wavered from her purpose in her brief meeting with some of Parliament's leading Whigs. Her knowledge and vast capacity for compassion far exceeded that of all the other matrons here added together.

He looked down at the top of her fair head where candlelight cast a silvery glow over her smooth tresses. "Thank you," he murmured.

She looked up at him. It was difficult for him to get his thoughts straight while gazing into the porcelain perfection of her face. "For what?"

"For directing me. I spent all of last night with Mr. Bentham's writings." God, but he was an insincere lout!

"You found them enlightening?"

"Not only enlightening, but I've discovered that my whole life has been misdirected."

She smiled, and he thought perhaps her slender hand pressed his own a little more firmly.

* * *

Later that evening Louisa was overjoyed to find herself seated to the right of her host. Had Lord Wycliff interceded in her behalf? Or did Lord Seymour himself desire to further the acquaintance?

Throughout dinner Lord Seymour directed a great many comments toward her. "Mrs. Phillips is possessed of a deep concern for equality," he told the guests at the head of the table. "She has expounded with authority on empowering the citizenry with the franchise."

"I declare," Mrs. Aker-Jones said, glaring across the table at Louisa, "is the unfortunate woman mad? The ignorant masses would likely throw open all the prisons, and utter chaos would result."

"I am not an unfortunate woman, nor am I mad," Louisa retorted. "Though you must be possessed of inferior intellect if you imagine such a scenario."

"Well, I..."

"Please ladies," Lord Seymour interjected. "I had no idea my remarks would stir such controversy."

"I am used to being surrounded by controversy," Louisa said. "If I have offended you, Lord Seymour, I am deeply sorry, but I cannot help but speak my mind. As you know, I am most single-minded in my pursuit of justice."

Lord Seymour placed his thin white hand over hers. "A noble pursuit, to be sure, but may I add that life is most unjust, my dear, a fact you will come to understand when you are my age."

As if she knew nothing of injustice! "I hope I shall never be so cynical that I do not desire to help those trodden-upon individuals who have no voice."

Lord Seymour surprised her by squeezing her hand.

"I hope so, too," he said.

* * *

Harry sat across from Mrs. Phillips at dinner. He was unable to remove his gaze from her and strained to hear her smooth voice, which was no easy task since Mrs. Aker-Jones seemed bent on engaging him in conversation and in telling him the merits of her daughter, who bore a strong resemblance to a beanstalk. As he observed Mrs. Phillips's confidence when speaking to the powerful lord about her causes, Harry unexpectedly swelled with pride.

He admired her more than he agreed with her.

Though she should have been like a fish out of water, surprisingly, she was not. Eloquence permeated her speech, elegance her appearance.

One matter did concern Harry. Lord Seymour. Though the man held enormous respect in the House of Lords, his private dalliances with beautiful women were less than admirable. As Harry watched the man paw at Louisa, he vowed he would never allow Seymour to initiate the intimacy with Mrs. Phillips that the Whig so obviously desired.

Oddly, Harry felt unexpectedly protective toward her. Her bravura, he knew instinctively, only masked her innocence.

When he deposited her at Wycliff House a few hours later, she said, "Tomorrow, I shall direct you to the solicitor."

This was what he'd been waiting for. He should be elated.

Instead, he felt like a traitor.