––––––––

“I THINK ANDRE DELIGHTS in abusing me!” Louisa lamented after dinner as they gathered for cards in the drawing room.

“That is what comes of being the first and only son. He was far too pampered in his upbringing,” Caroline consoled. Then, realizing that Lady Katherine stood near, she added, “I know not what villainy he would have fallen into if not for the influence of our kind aunt.”

Their husbands, not knowing whether to fear their wives or Alastair more, remained silent.

The Abbotts, Lady Katherine, and her son formed one table. Mrs. Cheswith opted not to play. The rest of the men formed another table, leaving Millie to play with Alastair’s sisters and Emily. Millie had been grateful not to have had many words with Louisa or Caroline. She had felt the former’s study upon her since the lady arrived. But now she would be forced to interact with Alastair’s sisters.

“Whist,” Louisa declared. “I will play nothing else.”

She looked to Millie as if daring her to disagree.

“If it pleases you, Mrs. Wilmington,” Millie said in friendly way.

“Now then, Miss Abbott, it seems you have many a political opinion?” Louisa asked as Caroline shuffled the cards.

Millie withheld from saying that she had thus far offered an opinion on one subject only, but replied that she did.

“If I were you, I would not offer them frequently,” Louisa continued. “Men may regard you a bluestocking, and even a dowry of four thousand pounds may not influence them to think otherwise.”

“I should not hold such men in much esteem if they allowed money to sway their true opinions of me, but I am sorry that I spoke when I did. It was perhaps not the best subject for discourse at dinner.”

“Indeed. I mean only to provide the advice of a sister. A young woman who is too outspoken risks being deemed a conceit, and you have no wish to challenge my brother on such matters. Surely you do not expect a member of the House of Lords to consider the thoughts of one less practiced in the affairs of the kingdom?”

“I am not equal to his station,” Millie conceded, certain that is what Louisa meant, “but I have not given up hope that his lordship is so dismissive of his fellow men that he will hear nothing of what they have to say.”

“Oh, but he is!” Caroline cried. She finished dealing the cards.

Louisa narrowed her eyes. “There are not many in this world who would come to Andre’s defense. Most would say he is arrogant, dismissive and discourteous. Boorish, even. No one is spared his disdain, not even his family.”

“Especially his family,” Caroline added.

“Would you not agree with this assessment of my brother, Miss Abbott?”

Alastair sat at the table beside theirs and could undoubtedly hear many a word.

“I am far too indebted to your family to speak ill of anyone,” Millie replied. She could not disagree with Louisa without offending her, nor agree with her without offending the Marquess.

“Is Alastair as generous with others in your family as he is with you?”

“I am not aware of all that he does, but he is better equipped to answer your question.”

Millie lost many a hand at whist, for, having to attend to Louisa’s questioning with carefully crafted responses, she could not concentrate on her play. When they finally called an end to cards, Millie felt as if she had survived several jousting matches. She knew not what Louisa wished she would say. On the matter of the dowry, she told Louisa, “I would his lordship were not so generous. I certainly do not deserve such charity.”

Louisa sniffed. “It is almost unseemly and raises many questions.”

“I would his lordship could be persuaded to adjust the amount to a more appropriate sum.”

That had seemed to appease Louisa a little. She turned to Caroline. “Have you spoken with him?”

“He has even less regard for me,” Caroline replied.

After the card tables were put away, the Abbotts and Lady Katherine declared the hour well past their bedtimes. The Wilmingtons and Brewsters also retired, as the day’s traveling had fatigued them. Mrs. Cheswith went to look in on her children, for Henry would often experience nightmares. Edward chose a book to read, and Kittredge had settled himself on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Millie, too agitated with the prospect of meeting with Alastair later, had no wish for the solitude of her chambers.

“Do you come to rebuke me for my treatment of my sisters?” Alastair asked when she approached the sideboard where he stood.

“I came to pour myself a glass of port,” she answered, “and your relationship with your sisters is none of my affair.”

“Would you agree they merit my insolence?”

“Even if they should deserve it on the grandest scale, and I do not mean to say that they do, must you respond with insolence?”

He returned a wry grin. “You suffered them with grace. I heard their every word.”

Millie sipped the port she had poured.

“You may speak your mind freely with me, Millie. I am well acquainted with the nature of overbearing.”

“I had much rather discuss this bill for the destruction of stocking frames.”

“And I do not.”

“But what think you of his proposal?”

“I am inclined to support Mr. Farnsworth.”

“Death ought to be reserved for the worst of crimes.”

“The destruction of property is a severe crime, and you pursue this discussion at your peril.”

She hesitated, not knowing what he intended, but she could not resign the topic. “Have you no sympathy for the plight of these men?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I do not say that they should go unpunished for their crimes, but it is out of fear for their livelihoods that they resort to such actions.”

“What of the mill owners and the laborers who work the stocking frames? Would you stop industry and the progress of technology?”

“Perhaps the weavers and others of their trade would feel less threatened if they had other resources, such as the ability to combine and negotiate with their employers as a collective.”

“Such actions are illegal.”

“Then repeal the Combination Acts and permit workers to form such societies. What they seek—wages that will prevail with the rising cost of goods—is not unreasonable. But they are rendered unable to help themselves, and the balance of power lies with the mill owners.”

“Now is not the time to encourage Jacobinism.”

“Is it wrong to want better wages and better working conditions?”

Alastair leaned in toward her and spoke softly so that no one else would hear. “Is your backside prepared to take the consequences of your colloquy?”

Her cheeks burned and she finished the rest of her port in one gulp. “Forgive me if I did not think you so heartless that you would acquiesce to hanging a man without consideration for the arguments against such judgments.”

“Such arguments will undoubtedly be made by the likes of Burdett.”

“And the likes of me ought have no opinion of value.” Vexed, she turned to pour herself another glass of Madeira.

He stayed her hand. “One glass will do for you.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but she had no wish to make a scene over an inconsequential glass of wine. Perhaps it was best she retire to her own chambers.

“I will bid you good night, Alastair,” she said, setting down her glass and turning on her heels.

“Midnight,” he told her. “And not a minute late.”

Her heart palpitated. She dared not look back.

Midnight could not come soon enough.