Page 21 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 13

Sir Kennet Douglas bent over Tia’s hand before ushering her into his spacious drawing room, the behavior of a true gentleman.

So, this is what it’s like to be treated like a lady.

Tia tried to remember the last time she and Mama had been welcomed with such polite cordiality. For certain, not since before Papa’s death.

She felt like a princess in her new evening gown of cream silk, a finer garment than anything she’d ever had before, thanks to Lord Ansford’s generosity. She’d even borrowed a set of the late baroness’s pearls, also a sign of his beneficence.

Perhaps it was his way of apologizing for embarrassing his new relations by not accompanying them to this dinner party. He hadn’t given them a valid excuse to offer Sir Kennet and Lady Douglas, so Tia had to fabricate a tale about his fears he, like his steward, might have the quinsy.

How often was she going to have to lie, to cover Ansford’s selfish thoughtlessness?

Further introductions were made to Mr. Peel and his wife, and next to Mr. Brooks and his good lady. These gentlemen, as Tia was to discover, were the Members of Parliament for Chippenham and she soon found herself conversing with the former about Lord Ansford.

She should have expected it since gossip loved a recluse. Especially one who might have contributed to his wife’s death.

Mr. Brooks, however, was fastidious in his efforts not to mention any slanderous tittle-tattle. “He was a bit of a radical in his day. A young hothead, even. He made a fair few enemies when he opposed the Corn Laws, enemies amongst his own kind.”

“Well, I think it good he championed the poor,” Mrs. Brooks interjected from her side of the dining table. “If that mob had carried out their threats to attack Parliament, he would have been one of the few politicians to be spared.”

A younger gentleman, by the name of Mr. Londis, claimed to have been in the capital during the riots and proceeded to tell some hair-raising stories about what he’d seen, until silenced by the arrival of dessert.

The subject of Ansford was broached again later when the company was seated in the music room. Mr. Brooks, who seemed to have taken Tia under his wing, commented, “Ansford was halfway to being hailed as a popular hero. Had he not crumbled when his wife died, who knows what he might have become?”

Tia pondered the question. The Ansford she knew had nothing of the savior about him. “I don’t think being a hero of the populace is a good way to progress a political career, is it? Not after what happened in France last century.”

“I agree.” This from Mr. Londis, who had taken up position beside the sofa while Lady Douglas settled herself at the pianoforte. “Almost anyone who appears to support the poor folk is liable to be called a Jacobin. And if you have anything to say to the distress caused in manufacturing towns by the introduction of new machinery, you are labeled a Luddite. It doesn’t do to champion the lesser man.”

But someone had to. Was that why Ansford had rescued herself and Mama from the poorhouse? Because he understood the suffering to be found there? Perhaps he was still capable of being altruistic about matters of great importance but could no longer bring himself to care about small issues closer to home.

Mama gave a light laugh. “Listen to us, joining in a discussion on political opinions. That I even consider myself entitled to have an opinion is due to Lord Ansford. So many different newspapers and journals are delivered to his door. I declare I’d have no idea at all what a Jacobin or a Luddite might be, had I not read the papers when he was finished with them.”

Another good point in our benefactor’s favor, I suppose. The man is well-read.

Mr. Londis leaned down and coughed politely. “Now, we don’t want to bore you ladies with our conversation, do we, Brooks? The time for entertainment has come upon us. Do you play, Miss Wyndham?”

Yes, she had once played, a little. But the pianoforte at Foxleaze was out of bounds. “I fear my skills are rather rusty, sir,” she replied, with what she hoped was a gracious expression.

“Oh, no one’s a critic here. Lady Douglas plays quite abominably,” he whispered, “and no one minds at all. Surely, you must play something. Allow me to bring you a sheaf of tunes once her ladyship has finished her piece.”

As everyone fell silent to listen to Lady Douglas’s genuinely awful but enthusiastic performance, Tia’s thoughts strayed again to Ansford. He seemed well thought of here, so whence came the vicious rumors about his wife’s death? His political opponents? Perhaps wealthy landowners who didn’t much care for his opposition to the Corn Laws? Rich industrialists, who objected to his comments about the riots? Or, more likely, the wives of such men?

The idea of Ansford being a political firebrand fascinated her. She could well believe it, as she’d seen passion burst out from behind his cold, indifferent exterior. But the passion had only taken the form of anger so far. What would it be like if transmuted into something more positive?

Love, for instance.

She opened her fan and wafted it rapidly in front of her burning face. From where had that thought come?

Aware of Mr. Londis’s eyes on her, she glanced up. With a charming smile, he asked, sotto voce, “Might I have one of the windows opened for you?”

She returned his smile but shook her head. As she composed herself to listen politely to the music, she couldn’t help but think Mr. Londis, or his friend, the shy Mr. Leigh, were exactly the sort of gentlemen with whom she should be spending more time. These were the sort of men she should be pursuing with a view to marriage.

Her perplexing protector must be excised from her mind. She was here to enjoy herself. Ansford, that dismal scourge of everything enjoyable, could just sink into his mire of melancholy, for all she cared.

So long as he didn’t suck his daughter down with him.