To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa
Chapter Two
At the table in the breakfast room the following morning, Alicia idly stirred her tea while she read the morning’s paper, and her heart cheered when her eyes traced over the headline, “Slavery Abolished Across the Empire.”
Out of habit, she glanced up to the chair across the table from her. Lindsay’s chair. The seat that had sat empty for the last two years. The one she had been trained to look to when she wished to talk.
It felt like it was only yesterday when her maid had come rushing into her chambers to tell her the earl had not awoken from his sleep, yet to Alicia it was as if a thousand new days had dawned since she’d learned the news.
Their marriage had been born of desperate circumstances, and while she could never hate Lindsay for saving her from an awful fate, she had never loved him. But with a brevity born of time, Alicia could admit that the earl had inadvertently shaped the issues she now championed as a widow, and she had grown in confidence and poise during their marriage.
Despite everything, Alicia would be grateful.
“The post has arrived, your ladyship,” her butler, Jones, intoned quietly as he set a stack of letters at her elbow.
Alicia blinked back to the present. With a polite nod, she filtered through the stack absentmindedly, her eyes glazing over the various letters and sorting them with rote movements. Until she noticed a letter penned in elegant script.
Lady Firthwell had written her.
A smile curved Alicia’s mouth as she reflected on the quiet and serious viscountess with the warm laugh. Plucking the seal free with impatient fingers, she quickly read the letter. The young woman thanked Alicia for her kindness at the soiree the previous night and invited her to join her and Firthwell for dinner the night after next.
Alicia glanced up at Jones. “Please have my calendar brought down to me.”
The butler immediately slipped out the door to see to his task.
Alicia fiddled with Lady Firthwell’s letter as she watched traffic on the street outside. She had received several letters and invitations since her arrival to London, all from the wives of Lindsay’s old friends, but never had Alicia been this anxious to respond. She genuinely liked the viscountess, and saw so much of her younger self in the woman as she adjusted to her new role as a countess and political hostess.
Lindsay had never concerned himself with hosting political dinners whilst he was in Town, but he had expected her to play hostess for grand dinners at the family estate. Alicia had been forced to learn so many things on her own.
Alicia chewed her lip. Oh, she knew Firthwell’s sister was a duchess and no doubt would serve as a better tutor to the new viscountess than Alicia ever could, but a genial smile and friendly encouragement was never amiss. If that was all she could offer to help make Lady Firthwell’s transition smoother than her own, she’d do it happily.
And if the viscountess, as a patroness of Lord Inverray’s foundling home, could assist Alicia in her quest to learn about the marquess’s charitable activities, more the better.
Opening the nondescript notebook that sat at her elbow, Alicia spread the pages flat with the palms of her hands and studied the words she had written there the night before.
To Investigate:
1. Lord Inverray’s foundling home. Other charitable works?
2. Medlinger’s charitable works?
3. Key bills stalled in committee?
4. Those MPs who have expressed an interest in retiring
Alicia had chosen to focus on the platforms for each candidate for Prime Minister as the topic for her next essay. She was determined that her critique be fair, and while her conversation with Lord Inverray had made her hyper aware of his taciturn charisma, she had also learned a few things about the man that bore some further research, foremost his work with his foundling home.
Snatching up her pen, Alicia scribbled notes all over the margins as she worked through each item and determined the best way to accomplish the tasks. When Jones finally returned with the item she requested, Alicia sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes traced over her writing one more time, committing the details to memory, before she shut the book. Yes, she knew exactly what to do now.
Taking a moment to review her calendar, she extracted a sheet of stationary, and set pen to paper to write an acceptance letter to Lady Firthwell’s gracious invitation.
Pleased with how this morning had started, Alicia raised her tea to her lips for a sip before she got to work on her essay.
…
Niall had been ensconced with Firthwell at their regular table in their preferred coffee shop for the last hour and he’d yet to request a refill. He’d been distracted by details of a proposal before his committee, until the viscount mentioned a rumor that had been circulating through Westminster regarding the identity of the author behind the political tracts critiquing him and his platform.
“It can’t possibly be Edwards. The man is an idiot,” he grumbled.
Firthwell chuckled. “You’ll hear no argument from me on that point. But truly, it does make a bit of sense. After losing his seat in the last election, he’s taken it upon himself to critique all and sundry.”
“But he can barely utter a coherent, intelligent sentence, let alone write enough of them to fill a page.” Niall shook his head. “Plus, this author is clever. His opinions, his stances, are nuanced and well crafted, even if I don’t always agree with them. I doubt Edwards even knows what nuance means.”
Leaning back in his chair, Firthwell crossed his arms over his chest. “So if not Edwards, do you have any guess on the author’s identity?”
Tossing his pen onto the tabletop, Niall snatched up his coffee cup and took a sip. “Not a clue.”
Which was unbelievably frustrating. If they could discover who the bastard was, they could put a stop to his campaign to paint every one of Niall’s efforts as weaknesses.
“Will you come?” Firthwell asked, suddenly.
Niall blinked at the interruption, unsure of what his friend was referring to. “I’m sorry?”
Firthwell snorted and shook his head. “I said, Charlotte and I would like to invite you to dine with us tomorrow night.”
Niall set down his cup, stifling a jolt of surprise. “That’s kind of you.” He frowned. “Is it a special occasion?”
“There doesn’t need to be a special occasion to invite you to dinner, Inverray.”
“Are you certain?” When Firthwell rolled his eyes, Niall chuckled. “Who else will be attending?”
The viscount raised a shoulder. “Charlotte has extended an invitation to Lady Lindsay.”
“The Countess Lindsay?” He hated the way his muscles clenched at the sound of her name. Really, it was quite unlike him to be moved by a pretty face. And really, was she that pretty? He argued with his memory of her beauty, because with her blond hair and porcelain complexion, she looked like any other English miss who’d been dangled before him like a carrot to the trap. He’d never been tempted by flaxen hair and insipid smiles before, and he refused to be now.
But the idea of dining in such an intimate setting with Lady Lindsay, listening to her melodious laugh, ruled his thoughts. Which would not do.
Niall took a moment to clear his throat. “Why is Lady Firthwell so keen on inviting the countess?”
Firthwell shrugged. “You witnessed their discussion last night. Charlotte needs friends, allies, and the countess seems like the sort who could be just that.”
And from what Niall learned about the countess, she was probably covetous for friends and allies, too.
“Charlotte wanted to keep the gathering intimate,” Firthwell continued. “And since you are both of a politically minded bent, she thought perhaps you and the countess would have plenty to discuss.”
Niall grasped his coffee cup and brought it to his lips to keep from responding.
Undeterred, his friend added, “You must admit her advice about Hanover was quite clever.”
“I admit nothing.” Niall arched a severe brow before glancing down at the tabletop. “But since you mentioned Hanover, have you considered her suggestion?”
Firthwell rubbed his jaw, his green gaze speculative. “I’ve been thinking about it since the countess suggested it. I have some ideas.”
For the next half hour, they discussed how to goad the old MP to finally relinquish his stranglehold on his borough. Hanover had served in Commons from the time Niall’s father had still voted his seat in Lords, and had always been a cantankerous, mean-spirited fellow. He’d also become more content to sip brandy at his club than to attend committee meetings or pivotal votes at Westminster over the years. His retirement would allow for a younger, responsible, driven man to take his place, and Niall was determined to see that happen. His very bid for party leadership could depend upon it.
“So what do you think?” Firthwell asked.
Niall scrubbed a hand across his brow. “I…think it’s a solid plan. I’ll discuss it with Matthews, because the old dog will probably see something we didn’t.”
“Good idea.” Firthwell suddenly pointed a finger at him. “We should mention it to the dukes, as well. They can spread it amongst their contacts, and who’s going to dare contradict two dukes?”
“Not me, that’s for certain,” Niall said on a laugh. His sister Juliana’s husband, the Duke of Ashwood, and his close friend, the Duke of Darington, were the exact sort of allies one could only hope to have.
“Although if anyone were to challenge them, it should be you. You’re a future duke, after all,” Firthwell pointed out.
“A Scots duke.”
His father, the Duke of Kilmorrow, also claimed an old English viscounty, which gave him a seat in Lords, but there was always some snobbish, turned-out English lord determined to look down on him despite being one of the wealthiest peers in the realm. And his career in Commons had made him one of the most well-connected.
Yet…try as he might, Niall was painfully aware that others would always think less of him and his abilities.
Coughing into his fist, Niall forced his thoughts from memories to the present. “I’ll speak with Ashwood and Darington.”
“Excellent.” Firthwell rose to his feet with easy grace, donning his top hat. “Until tomorrow night, my friend.”
Niall watched him weave his way through the coffee shop afternoon crowd, his thoughts already on the next item on his to-do list and decidedly not on the pretty countess who would be his dinner companion.