Page 50 of Whiskers and Wiles

“She would have had you not interfered with our love,” Headland insisted.

Waldorf made a sound of disgust and disbelief and stepped back. “You’re as mad as your sister if you believe that.”

“My sister is not mad!” Headland shouted with surprising emotion. “She is a visionary. Her unconventional methods can be alarming, but she is one of the best and brightest women I have ever known. She and Katherine would get along splendidly.”

Waldorf’s brow shot up in surprise. The last thing he would have expected from a predatory snake like Headland was the sort of affection for his sister that he displayed. But then, he supposed even the darkest of villains cared for something.

“Leave Lady Katherine be,” he said turning as if to go. “She does not want you. If it is a second wife you seek, find some other woman who might actually appreciate what you have to offer.”

It was an exceedingly generous thing to say, if Waldorf did say so himself. Headland did not deserve that sort of grace. The only reason he offered it was because he, too, found himself reluctantly liking Lady Walsingham.

Neither Headland nor Lady Walsingham were important to his part of the mission in front of him, though. Lord Walsingham was. Waldorf entered the house, setting off on a search of the ground floor rooms, so that he might locate the man and say what needed to be said.

He searched for an embarrassingly long time, since the halls and rooms of the grand house were so complicated and twisting. The manor house had clearly been existent for centuries and had been built upon by succeeding generations with little continuity of design. What the house lacked in uniformity, it made up for in pure fascination. Waldorf passed rooms with medieval suits of armor and tapestries, salons with decorations that had been antique in his grandfather’s time, and parlors that must have been refurbished in recent years, as they would have made even the most astute members of thetongreen with envy.

He eventually located Lord Walsingham in a small study that was part of the mid-eighteenth century part of the house. The room was cozy and secluded, and Walsingham sat beside a crackling fire with a book in one hand and a pipe in the other.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Waldorf said, pretending to wander into the room searching for something and to notice Walsingham by accident long after he was in the room. “I seem to have lost my way.” He paused, then stepped toward the small table beside the chair where Walsingham sat and asked, “Is that French brandy?”

Walsingham glanced up from his book, chuckled, and said, “You will not tell the constable, will you? I swear, I obtained the bottle legally.”

Waldorf laughed along with him, beyond grateful that Walsingham seemed to be in a genial and generous mood. “Your secret is safe with me,” he said, picking up the bottle to examine it. It was bold of him, but he asked, “May I?” with as sweet an expression as he could manage.

“Of course, of course,” Walsingham said, setting his book and pipe aside entirely, and standing so that he could pour a glass for Waldorf. “I relish the possibility of sane company for a moment or two.”

Waldorf laughed, partially because he felt as though he could do with the same. “I can imagine,” he said once Walsingham had handed him a glass of brandy. He took a seat across from Walsingham and went on with, “I never did like when my father hosted house parties at our country estate.”

“You’re from Wessex,” Walsingham said, narrowing his eyes as if recalling what he knew about Waldorf. “Godwin Castle is on the Isle of Portland, correct?”

“It is,” Waldorf said, a bit of dread in his voice, “but for reasons you may have heard gossip about, we do not reside in Godwin Castle most of the time. Father has been spending more time there of late, although he is in London at present, but no, our main family estate is near Winchester.”

As easy as it was to converse about families and estates, Waldorf was highly aware of the necessity of bringing the conversation around to something, anything, that could provide an opening to divine Walsingham’s thoughts about the Mercian Plan.

“I would stay in the country indefinitely, if I could,” Walsingham said, smiling over the glass of brandy that he’d poured for himself.

“Truly?” Waldorf asked, genuinely surprised. “Even though you are First Minister of Joint Parliament?”

“I was given that position because I was the least controversial of the candidates put up for the job,” he said with a knowing nod. “When and if unification is accomplished, I most definitely would not put myself forward as King of Britannia.”

Waldorf nearly choked on his brandy. That was precisely the opening he needed. But he was too busy swallowing and trying not to gasp for breath to take advantage of it before Walsingham continued on a different tack.

“My dear lady wife does not like London and only wishes to reside here, at Oxwick Park,” he said, smiling at nothing, like a lovesick fool. “I will do anything and everything to make her life as happy as possible, as I’m certain you’ve noticed.” He focused on Waldorf with an abashed look.

The first entry into the conversation Waldorf needed to have had passed him by, but Walsingham had just given him a second.

“I take it you favor allowing women to achieve whatever they dream of achieving?” he asked, already lining up his argument for the Mercian Plan.

“I believe in making the woman I love happy,” Walsingham said. “I know that Maryella is not everyone’s idea of what a lady of thetonshould be, but she is lively and innovative, and she astounds me daily with her philosophy of love.”

“She does have a unique view of it,” Waldorf said, feeling the conversation slipping away. He attempted to wrestle it back by saying, “I am routinely amazed at how competent and thoughtful women actually are.”

“Lady Katherine certainly seems to have a mind of her own and a head on her shoulders,” Walsingham said. “How did the two of you come to be together?”

Every argument in Waldorf’s head poofed out of existence at the simple question. He opened his mouth to answer it, but was assailed by so many memories and emotions that he needed a moment to sort through them all.

“We met in Oxford,” he said, his voice taking on a distant sound. “More than twenty years ago. I was residing there on business, and Kat, that is, Lady Katherine, was in attendance at Oxford University.”

“Ah! Lady Katherine is an Oxford Society lady. I should have known.” Before Waldorf could use that to steer the conversation back to where he intended it to go, Walsingham asked, “Did you love her at first sight, as I did my Maryella?”

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