Page 5 of Whiskers and Wiles

“I think you need to put your foot down firmly, father,” Waldorf’s cousin, Prince Cuthbert, said with his usual petulance as the king presided over a small meeting of key ministers and counselors a fortnight before the Joint Parliament of the New Heptarchy was to convene. “We need to show those Mercian bitches their place in no uncertain terms.”

Mumbles sounded from around the table where the twelve men King Swithin sought council from were seated, some of them approving and some, like Waldorf’s, muttering about how much of an ass Cuthbert was.

Waldorf regretted that his uncle, the king, had insisted he attend the meeting and sit next to Cuthbert.

“Yes,” Lord Jeremy Liskeard agreed, banging his fist on the table. “Those Mercian cats must learn their place like every other woman.”

Waldorf sucked in a breath at the unexpected reminder of the greatest regret of his life. A sizzle of sharp, conflicted emotion shot through him, as if he’d been struck by lightning. Lightning wasn’t supposed to strike twice in the same place, but he rather felt as though that particular bolt coursed through him, causing pain and frustration, nearly every day of his life.

But now was absolutely not the time to think about such hopeless, long-passed things.

“Those Mercians are some of the strongest and cleverest people in the New Heptarchy,” Lord Desmond Andover, Waldorf’s cousin on the other side of his family, said in much more measured tones. “They cannot simply be ignored, as so many Wessex gentlemen are inclined to ignore their female kin.”

Lord Desmond glared at Cuthbert in particular as he spoke. It was no secret to any of the important gentlemen at the table that poor Desmond had been in love with Cuthbert’s wife, Lady Kendra, before Cuthbert had bullied his way into marrying her instead, or that Cuthbert cared little for Lady Kendra, now that she’d given him an heir and a spare. The poor woman would have had a much happier life if she’d been allowed to decline Cuthbert’s suit and marry Desmond, the man she actually loved, instead.

“Female or male, Mercians are some of the brightest and most innovative people in all of Britannia,” Desmond finished.

Cuthbert snorted in derision. “They are women, damn them. How clever can they be?”

“I hear that a team of Oxford Society ladies have been developing a means of using steam power, such as is currentlyemployed in textile mills throughout Mercia, to provide propulsion and power to mining carts,” Lord Gideon Taunton said, his face lighting up. He turned to King Swithin and said, “It is said that if they succeed in their endeavors, they could revolutionize transportation.”

The king grunted, but before he could speak, Cuthbert rushed in with, “Balderdash! No such thing is possible. Besides, they’re women. They’re probably lying about their accomplishments in any case.”

Another burst of emotion that felt a great deal like the steam that powered machinery blasted through Waldorf. Yes, women could be liars, alright. The course of his life had been changed by a single lie.

The trouble was, twenty years later, he still could not work out whose lie it had been, Kat’s or Mary’s.

“Steam power is beside the point,” Lord Jeremy said, pinching his face, like someone at the table had broken wind odiferously. “If those Mercians continue to hold Britannia hostage with their demands of unity under the Mercian Plan, then we will all suffer for it.”

“Hear, hear!” a few of the councilors called out in support.

“There is nothing inherently wrong with the Mercian Plan,” Waldorf said, stroking his ridiculously oversized sideburns. That was another major regret of his. He regretted having joined a secret society whose members were required to grow their whiskers long in order that they might identify each other.

“Everything is wrong with the Mercian Plan,” Cuthbert protested so violently that his voice cracked as if he were a chorister reaching the end of his career. “It grants ridiculous rights and freedoms to women, for one.”

“And it contains contingencies for the American colonies to separate from Britannia entirely,” Lord Jeremy added, nodding at Cuthbert, like the two of them were in accord.

“The American colonies should have been granted separation decades ago,” Desmond said, keeping his voice at a level, as if he were trying to be reasonable about a matter that had upset a great many people. “Their economy and self-governance is equal to any of the kingdoms of the New Heptarchy, and disputes over which of the colonial kingdoms belongs to which of the New Heptarchy Kingdoms threatens to damage our attempts at unity.”

“It is clear that the Plymouth Kingdom should fall under the Purview of East Anglia while the Kingdom of Virginia should?—”

“That is not what we are here to discuss,” King Swithin cut Lord Jeremy off before he could take the side discussion too far. “We are here to discuss whether to encourage the First Minister, Lord Walsingham, to introduce debate about the Mercian Plan or whether we should align with Northumbria to block any consideration of the thing.”

“Clearly, we should side with Northumbria on this matter,” Cuthbert said, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms, and sniffing like a spoiled child.

Waldorf was just about to roll his eyes at his cousin when he subtly noticed the king doing that very thing. It was a surprising enough show of emotion and the king’s true thoughts about his son that Waldorf held his tongue instead of joining the discussion.

“I say we should encourage debate about the Mercian Plan,” Lord Gideon said.

“And I say it would be a disaster,” Lord Jeremy snapped, not letting Lord Gideon say anything else about it.

“I think we should encourage debate on the plan,” Lord Edward Winchester, who had been silent up until that point, said. Waldorf was on the verge of smiling and agreeing with the old man, until he said, “That way, we can have the whole thingstruck down, and we never have to hear a word from those Mercian upstarts again.”

Another round of murmurs of both agreement and disagreement went around the table. Waldorf clamped his jaw shut and frowned at the gentlemen around the table. Every time he and his fellow members of the Badger Society thought they were getting somewhere in the cause of uniting the New Heptarchy into one Britannia, something came along to push them back to where they’d started. Last time, it had been the interruption of Bonaparte’s wars. Now it was simple misogyny. At the rate the kingdoms were going, they would never unite.

If they didn’t, Waldorf’s entire life would be a complete waste. From the moment he’d grown into his title as Viscount Amesbury and joined the Badger Society, his sole aim in life had been to bring the kingdoms together and to unite Britannia under one banner. It had been clear to him from his earliest days of study that Britannia would be able to be more and achieve more as one nation.

Separate kingdoms had worked in earlier, simpler times, but it had become clear a hundred and fifty years ago, when Oliver Cromwell had attempted to wage war and force the kingdoms together, and through his spectacular failure, that Britannia would not effectively advance unless it was one nation.

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