Page 72 of To Tempt a Scandalous Lord
The weight of his responsibilities had his shoulders sagging further. There was a choice he wished to make, but it was not the one hehadto make.
“How many outriders departed with her?”
“Two, my lord,” Murray said.
“Send two more. I’ll follow her ladyship after my meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
The man nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
After the man took his leave, Niall sank down on the chair and lowered his head to the desk.
He had no desire to retire to his chamber knowing Alicia would not be there to welcome him. In just a few short weeks, she had brought life to his home, and already it felt dark and dreary without her. Turning his head, Niall considered the decanters lining the sideboard and weighed which would usher him into a dead sleep the fastest.
The next day, Niall lingered outside the Earl of Winter’s townhouse, nursing a headache and a desperate sort of frustration. He did not want to be there. That he wasn’t already on the long road to the Highlands made his skin prickle with suppressed energy, and he rocked on his restless legs.
Still, he had much to accomplish before he and Alicia could possibly find a way forward…if there was a way forward. While he nursed his whisky the night before, he’d pondered his wife and her alter ego. Spreading the tracts he had saved over the long months across his desk, Niall had studied each one. The more he read, the more Alicia’s past words ran through his mind:I never maligned you. I only wanted you to do and be better.And with the aid of prime Scottish spirits, Niall finally understood she was right. Alicia’s critiques had always been fair and objective, allowing for nuance when he, himself, often only saw things in black and white.
Niall had also noticed Alicia’s latest tracts were dominated by discussion of child labor reform and how such legislation would benefit the country. And of the two candidates for party leadership, Alicia had stressed that Niall, with his background working with children, would be best equipped to champion such reforms.
Even the burn of whisky could not numb the devastation he felt for not granting his wife the grace she deserved.
Flipping his pocket watch open over and over, Niall debated how much longer he should dawdle before he had to enter. Several electors offered greetings as they passed him before disappearing inside the house, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to follow in after them. And he knew why. Instead of charming a group of men more concerned with their own consequence and power than the welfare of the empire, he wanted to find his wife.
“How long do you plan on tarrying here?”
Pivoting, Niall met the curious gaze of his brother-in-law, Ashwood. Firthwell and the Duke of Darington stood just behind him. He should have known his friends would be here, and their presence lifted his spirits. Somewhat.
“We’ve been watching you pace back and forth out here from Winters’s sitting room, and I have to say, I’m exhausted just from watching your exertion,” Darington said, a smile in his voice.
Niall cleared his throat and looked to his feet. “Yes, well, I wasn’t quite ready to enter.”
“And when will you be ready?” Ashwood inquired.
“Exactly when it turns eleven on the clock.”
The men laughed, but Firthwell sobered quickly. “I would think you’d be eager to speak with these men. You’ve been courting many of their votes for months. Yet you don’t seem keen at all.”
He wasn’t. But Niall didn’t dare say so. This was what hewanted. What he had worked for. If he was feeling disenchanted, well, the feeling would pass.
Instead, he murmured, “Of course I am. I simply have a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure you do.” His brother by marriage studied him. “But if you’re going to do this, you need to tend to the task at hand.”
Sucking a breath between his teeth, Niall nodded, and turned to climb the front stairs with reserved determination.
The Earl of Winters’s parlor revealed about a dozen men milling about, casually enjoying cups of tea and munching on biscuits. The men comprised the most influential members of the party. They had worked hard to push through major reforms two years prior, and their support would guarantee he’d be tapped for the top position. Niall needed to prove he was competent and worthy of the job.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he looked about until his gaze locked with a familiar pair of blue eyes. Viscount Matthews. Although the older man’s expression did not change, Niall sensed he was as guarded as himself. They had been allies since Niall had arrived in town after university, and the viscount had taught him a great deal about politics and what was expected of a man about London.
Suddenly all those lessons rang false. Rather than focusing on how their position in Parliament was meant to serve the citizens of the empire, Matthews’s lessons had been about garnering and maintaining power. And he had been willing to exploit Alicia’s tenuous position to do so.
Niall had done everything to fall into line. He’d attempted to craft himself into the perfect candidate, a candidate the viscount could find no fault in. A candidate electors would be proud to stand behind. And in his quest to twist himself into whatever shape Matthews decreed he needed to take, Niall realized he was not happy.
Happiness had always been something he could push aside, just as he had pushed aside his father’s recriminations or the jabs he received for his Scots ancestry.
But it had taken just one incredible and fierce woman and five weeks of her tender touches, warm smiles, heated kisses, and shrewd opinions for him to understand what happiness could be, by her side.
In his quest for political power, he lost sight of the very reasons he stood for Parliament in the first place. While he had engaged in all manner of political machinations, children like Edith and Eunice continued to suffer. He’d twisted himself into knots to conform, to undercut any prejudice for his Scots heritage, to be the perfect gentleman. And in the end, it hadn’t mattered because for all he had done to make himself more agreeable, he was no closer to grasping the political goals he so acutely sought.
