Page 81 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
“Thank you, Mama.” Meg flashed a smile at Flick, then also extended it to his mother, who, Drago noticed, looked quietly pleased.
With a bow to their mothers, without further ado, he steered Meg toward their hostess so they could take their leave.
* * *
Therese and Devlinwere waiting in the foyer of Cambridge House when Meg and Drago arrived, and together, the four went up the stairs, bound for the elegant drawing room.
Ascending beside Meg, Therese looked ahead, then glanced at Meg. “Given you’re both still finding your feet, I would recommend remaining together. Between you, your combined understanding should allow you to avoid the pitfalls, and I warn you there will be several snares waiting for anyone unwary enough to step into them.”
When Meg looked faintly surprised, Therese cynically said, “This is the political sphere after all, which translates to ‘here be dragons.’”
Meg laughed and nodded in agreement.
Once they’d been welcomed—enthusiastically and encouragingly—by Emily, Lady Palmerston, the four moved together in the direction her ladyship indicated; no one gainsaid the wife of the Prime Minister. But soon after, Meg and Drago parted from Therese and Devlin and forged a path of their own around the room, approaching others with whom they’d engaged during her ladyship’s previous soirée.
At the end of the room, they paused to take stock.
Surveying the groups, all busily discussing this issue or that, for Meg’s ears alone, Drago murmured, “Previously, I would have found this daunting. I daresay I would have coped, but”—he captured her gaze—“having you by my side has made taking my first steps into this arena so much more straightforward.” He grinned. “So relatively painless.”
She laughed and tipped her head his way. “I know very little about the political issues of the day, but you seem able to hold your own on that front, and when it comes to social matters, to connections and standing, my ten years swanning about the ton have taught me all we need to know.” She met his eyes. “It seems we make an accomplished team.”
He smiled and raised her fingers to his lips and kissed. “Precisely my point.”
Even though his gaze returned to their surroundings, she still felt a sizzle spreading along her nerves, evoked not just by the pressure of his lips on her knuckles but even more by the unshielded warmth lurking in the depths of his dark eyes that he now allowed her to see.
Bedroom eyes.She now understood the saying.
Unnerved by the prospect that, being so experienced, he might see how sensually affected by him she was, she thrust the thought deep; this really wasn’t the venue at which to explore such sensibilities. Casting about for distraction, she said, “I realize that, on this stage, we’re still feeling our way, but do you have any thoughts as to what”—he looked back at her, and she met his gaze—“for want of a better term, political direction you might take?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Despite assumptions and any appearances to the contrary, since I succeeded to the title and thus to managing the dukedom, I’ve had to grapple with many of the outcomes of government policies. There are quite a few that really need adjusting, while other issues have yet to be addressed.” He started them strolling again; if they stood for too long, they would assuredly be approached by someone wanting to sound him out about something. “I’m speaking of issues that, when taken over the entire country, significantly impact the country’s prosperity and the people’s well-being.” He paused, then went on, “One point my father went to great lengths to pound into my head was that we—the aristocracy of England, by which he largely meant the Lords—should never forget what happened to our French counterparts when they failed to take care of their people. He maintained that the original concept of ‘lordship’ was not to accumulate lordly wealth but to defend and protect a group of people.” After a moment, he added, “Those lessons are ones I’ll never forget.”
Feeling a novel sense of enthusiasm well, Meg nodded eagerly. “So that’s your framework. Your guide.” She met his eyes. “So is there any particular tack you think we should therefore take?”
He smiled. “I’ve been talking with Alverton, and he tells me there’s a group in the Lords—a loose alliance, if you will—who share similar views. Each has their own perspective, their own particular interests.”
“Like Alverton with the railways?”
“And Chillingworth—Antonia’s father—with agriculture, and Devil more with financial management and investments.” Drago looked at Meg. “I’ve been told that Chillingworth is the convener of the group, as far as anyone is, but I haven’t seen him about town this year.”
She nodded. “He and Francesca rarely come to town other than for a specific reason, but”—she grinned at him—“I believe they’ll be down for our wedding, so you’ll be able to chat with him then.”
Drago nodded. “You’ll have to introduce us. I haven’t met him in years.”
“I will.”
“Now”—he looked over the shifting crowd—“is there any particular area represented here in which you have an interest?”
Pleased, indeed impressed that he’d asked, she beamed at him. “As a matter of fact…” She proceeded to tell him of the association of many of her female connections with the Foundling House. “I’ve considered other causes, but the need fulfilled by the Foundling House is the most compelling to me.”
He nodded. “Well, then.” He scanned the heads. “Why don’t we see if there’s anyone here who might be of use in furthering the interests of the Foundling House?”
“And we should see what more we can learn about the issues espoused by Chillingworth’s group.”
With their enthusiasm renewed and specifically directed, they moved once more into the clusters of guests, but this time with purpose, and to their mutual surprise, the hours flew.
* * *
Meg and Dragodutifully attended three events on Wednesday—one luncheon and two balls. Being so very much the cynosure of attention was growing increasingly wearying, but Thursday—finally—brought relief.
