Page 70 of How to Capture a Duke

His face grew serious, and he pushed away from the desk and walked over. Sitting beside her on the settee, he cradled her hands in his. “Shall we practice then?”

The heat of his hands comforted her. He may not trust her in everything, but the admiring look in his eyes made her hopes soar.

“You mentioned speaking in the House of Lords. Is it for the Soldiers Bill?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Why is the bill so important to you?”

“I never served in the army, but since meeting Gordon and many of my tenants who’d enlisted, I realize we have some things in common. I was d…d-rawn to their plight.”

“You employ them and give them purpose as tenants on your land.”

His thumb traced a circular path on her hand. Her knees felt weak, and she was relieved she was sitting. Did he know what he was doing? Looking into his handsome face, she felt a surge of excitement.

“I did little. Gordon is a superb butler. Those who turned him away, believing him incapable of service in their households, are fools. I understand a man’s need to feel wanted, no matter his physical setbacks.”

She imagined he would. His explanation revealed another layer of his character, one she found very compelling.

“Would you like a drink before we begin?” he asked. “I had planned on having a wine before you arrived.”

She nodded and watched him walk to a sideboard in the corner and pour two goblets. He returned to sit beside her, handed her a glass, and raised his.

“A toast,” he said. “To a successful evening practicing with my beautiful wife.”

Her heart leaped in her throat. Why would he say this if he didn’t mean it? Was he being kind because he found favor with Mr. Higgins and he felt indebted to her somehow? Or was there more?

Dare she hope? Suddenly nervous, she changed the topic. “Tell me about the proposed amendments to the bill.”

“Many of the amendments are not needed,” he said with a frown. “Pensions are distributed by the Royal Hospital in Chelsea. Some pensioners live in the hospital and are called in-pensioners, but the majority of discharged soldiers do not reside in the hospital. They are called out-pensioners. The Lords and Commissioners of the Affairs of Chelsea Hospital oversee each soldier’s petition. They try to be efficient, but they are a small board, and they examine thousands of new applicants every year while managing the pensions of thousands they had already administered years before.”

“I see. They cannot handle the sheer numbers.”

“Yes, the process of being discharged from the army and recommended as a candidate for out-pension takes months. Meanwhile, soldiers, many of whom are wounded, are left to fend for their own. Gordon spent twelve years in the prime of his manhood serving England, and he lost his trade and, worse, lost a limb. In exchange, he was rewarded a pitiful pension of one shilling per day.”

She blinked. “That’s unconscionable.”

“Gordon did not wish to spend the rest of his days in Chelsea Hospital. I now have the benefit of his service.”

“But most would not hire a man such as Gordon as a butler. My father would not have.” She didn’t mention that her disciplinarian father, the former Earl of Castleton, had dismissed a young maid who’d stuttered like Tristan.

He nodded as if he weren’t surprised to hear of her father’s callousness. “One amendment in particular weakens the purpose of the bill by not specifying a shorter time period to process a soldier’s petition for his pension. I want that particular amendment modified. There are other objectionable amendments as well.”

She sat on the settee, sipping her wine, as she listened to him speak. He stood and paced before her, laying out his arguments against each amendment he found disagreeable. He had a commanding air about him, and she was fascinated by his keen intelligence and strategic political ingenuity. He faltered twice, regrouped just as Higgins had taught him by focusing on his breathing and easing the tension in his jaw, then continued. They worked together for over two hours. She offered additional arguments and was pleased with Tristan’s positive response to them.

“You have not stammered at all,” she said.

Admiration crossed his features. “That’s because I’m relaxed with you and not under stress, not under pressure, and not exhausted from a restless night. I’ve taken my place in the House of Lords since I turned eighteen, and never, not once, have I argued on behalf of a bill or voiced arguments toward amendments. All I’ve done is vote ‘aye’ or ‘nay’ for a final vote. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

She could only imagine. A dominant male like the Duke of Keswick was born to take charge, not to sit aside and watch as others argued on the floor. “I consider voting an important part of participating, but it will be different from now on.”

He refilled her wineglass, and they continued to work for another half hour. The wine heated her blood, and Tristan’s voice eased the tightly coiled knot in her stomach that had been present when she’d first knocked on his study door. They worked until he was confident that he hadn’t overlooked anything.

“You have not mentioned Lord Ware,” she said. “Are you worried he will change his mind and argue against the bill?”

He returned to sit beside her. “No, you have seen to that quite efficiently.”

“What about Lord Dumfries? Do you believe he will eventually side with Lord Ware and support the bill?” she asked.