Page 52 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
The followingdays and nights passed in a blur of must-attend parties, balls, dinners, and soirées.
On Monday evening, Drago dined quietly with Meg’s family at Half Moon Street, a relaxing meal in preparation for the next event on their schedule.
At nine o’clock, the Alverton carriage drew up outside the door, and Drago and Meg joined Therese and Devlin for the short journey to Cambridge House for Lady Palmerston’s soirée. As her ladyship had promised, Drago and Meg had received invitations, and Therese and Alverton had likewise been summoned. “And no one refuses Emily,” Therese declared. “Aside from all else, she is really such a dear that no one ever wants to dim her happiness.”
Although to date his acquaintance with her ladyship was slight, Drago could appreciate the truth of that statement.
“Really,” Therese said as they rocked down the well-lit street, “given his past, Palmerston is an incredibly lucky man to have won such an admirable and devoted lady to his side. Politically and socially, she’s his best asset.”
“And he knows it,” Alverton drawled.
“What do you mean about his past?” Meg hadn’t really kept up with politics, assuming she would never have to know anything beyond the general facts. Given she and Drago were about to walk into what amounted to the dragon’s lair, she needed to make shift to update her knowledge.
Through the dimness within the carriage, Therese blinked at her. “Well, in his earlier years, Palmerston was nothing less than a gazetted rake, and long ago, when Emily was Lady Cowper, she and Palmerston had an affair. On Palmerston’s side, one of innumerable liaisons, but even then, most who knew them acknowledged that there was a special link between them, and there was no doubt that she held a palm for him, and he, one for her. When Cowper died, they married and have become the very epitome of a devoted married couple.”
Resisting the urge to glance at Drago, Meg arched her brows. “So Palmerston is a flesh-and-blood example of a reformed rake.”
“Indeed. That’s not to say he doesn’t still possess an appreciative eye, but these days, he simply isn’t inclined to do more than approve. Of course, no one denies that in marrying him, Emily came into her own. She’s found her true place as his wife, a role in which she can and does use her innate talents to the full.”
Devlin hummed in agreement. “They’ve created a formidable partnership. Palmerston brings the greater and wider knowledge and a razor-sharp intellect to their relationship, and in balancing that, Emily has a surfeit of all the softer qualities.”
Therese nodded. “You know her well enough to be aware of those, and I assure you they are not merely skin deep. She’s a rock of common sense and native shrewdness, colored by delicate sensibilities, and of course, her beauty has always stood her in good stead.”
While Meg nodded in understanding, Drago drank in the information. Courtesy of avoiding what might be termed the central establishment of the ton over the past decade, he was having to learn on his feet. As the carriage rocked around the corner into Piccadilly, he looked at Alverton. “Is there any particular topic that’s likely to be the focus of attention tonight?”
“Other than the Crimea?”
Drago huffed. “Even I’ve heard about the war, but I imagine there are particular perspectives and views that might be discussed.”
Alverton nodded, and during the few minutes while the carriage turned in to the forecourt of Cambridge House and inched its way to the front steps, he outlined the current thrust of the government, concluding with, “Palmerston is bringing his considerable weight to bear in an attempt to get the execution of the war, as he terms it, ‘back on track.’ By that, he means focused on the critical aspect of protecting British trade and, more generally, our trading routes.”
“You have to remember”—Therese was peering out of the window at those alighting ahead of them—“that Pam was Foreign Secretary for years and then Home Secretary under Aberdeen. His understanding of the importance of our exports to the Ottomans is second to none, and he’s vocal about the necessity of preventing the Empire falling into Russian hands.”
The carriage halted, bringing Drago and Meg’s impromptu lesson on the current state of politics to an end. Drago and Alverton alighted and gave their ladies their hands, then walked beside them up the steps and into the well-lit foyer.
The foyer and the salons opening from it were a hive of activity. A cacophony of voices and a miasma of perfumes and pomades, rising in the warmth generated within the crowded rooms, engulfed them. Looking over the heads, all Drago could see were groups of gentlemen, most groups including a smaller number of ladies, talking earnestly. Wine flowed freely, ferried about by liveried footmen, but everyone’s attention was focused on whichever discussion had currently claimed them. Despite the clamor, there was no idle chatter going on.
He spotted Lady Palmerston holding court at the foot of the stairs and, with a nod, directed Alverton and Therese that way. With Meg’s arm twined with Drago’s, he and she followed.
After greeting Therese and Alverton, Lady Palmerston waved the couple to the salon on the left of the foyer. “Lansdowne most especially wished to speak with you both.”
As Therese and Alverton dutifully headed off, her ladyship turned her smile on Drago and Meg. “Your Grace. Miss Cynster! I’m delighted you could join us.”
Drago bowed over her ladyship’s hand, and Meg dipped in a regulation curtsy.
As they straightened, her ladyship beamed benevolently upon them. “I truly am thrilled to see you here, my dears. In welcoming young couples such as yourselves to our circle, I always feel as if I’m doing my part to guide the country into the future, to ensure there will be safe hands on the reins, so to speak.”
Along with Drago, Meg murmured an appropriate response and suppressed the urge to glance at him. It seemed likely that yet more expectations were about to be heaped on their heads.
Sure enough, her ladyship literally took them under her wing. She delegated her place at the foot of the stairs to her arch-bosom-bow, Lady Elliot, and drew Drago and Meg into the crowd.
They spent the next hour being steered from group to group, being introduced to others, learning of those who mattered most and those who might do so in the future, and also being exposed to various concerns and arguments currently before Parliament, especially those bills passing through the Lords.
“We could do with your vote,” Earl Granville, the government leader in the House of Lords, informed Drago. “We have the numbers at present, but more always helps to make our point, don’t you know.”
Throughout, Lady Palmerston—“Emily” as she insisted they call her—proved a font of knowledge. Soon, she and Meg were trading familial connections and links and insights into attitudes espoused by various older families. Some of those whom Drago and Meg met, they already knew—like the Earl of Meredith and Drake and Louisa—but others were known to them only by name and reputation.
At one point, Emily looked at Meg with approval. “My dear, you know more than I do about your generation. Louisa is amazing, of course, but while your circles will certainly overlap, I suspect you will have knowledge in areas neither Louisa nor I nor any of our other peers have.” She patted Meg’s wrist with a certain satisfaction. “You’ll be a valuable addition to our cause.”
