Page 56 of A Secret Infatuation
The next day, Felix left the admiral’s house, strengthened in his resolve to confront the gossip head-on. Mr. Edwards had drawn up a list of all the expenses the admiral had incurred on his behalf and handed this to Felix, along with the widows’ petitions, and the subscription list with the corresponding amounts.
A junior member did not generally seek to call attention to himself, but once rumor reached the gossip sheets, it became too important to ignore. Not only did it risk Felix’s personal reputation and all he hoped to share with Lady Sophia, but it discredited the actual reform they were trying to bring about.
When he reached Westminster, his heart was pounding. He entered St. Stephen’s Chapel and was unsurprised by the mix of reactions he received there. Many ignored him in the smoky, crowded bustle. One or two openly snubbed him, which he did not take to heart because he was still building his connections in the Commons and scarcely knew them. But the occasional whispers and snide remarks that caught his ears stung. Foreign Secretary Charles James Fox entered the fray from the corridor leading to the rooms where the clerks sat. He stopped short when he saw him, and Felix braced himself as he strode forward to meet him.
“Harwood, I take it you mean to address the House today about what I am guessing is a piece of nonsense?”
“Yes, sir,” Felix said. “You will have seen the gossip sheets, and I mean to expose them for fraud. It is a distraction from what we are trying to achieve. You may be assured that I have the widows’ petitions here as proof, along with the complete list of patrons for the subscription fund and their pledged amounts, which line up with the expenditures.”
Fox clasped him on the arm. “Then let your voice be heard so we might put this matter behind us. Using your voice for the widows is the only shield you need for your name.”
Heartened by this support from so senior a member, Felix took his place on the benches and waited until the Speaker brought up the order of the day. He listened to the matters put forth, waiting for the widows’ pensions to be announced. When it came time, he caught the Speaker’s eye and was acknowledged.
Felix stood and bowed to the Speaker, then looked around at the august members of Parliament, pausing until the ripple of murmured comments ceased.
“Gentlemen, I beg a moment of your time in which to present three petitions from the widows of seamen who request adequate pensions after their husbands perished in the line of duty for the crown.” There was a swell of murmured remarks, and he raised his voice. “Before I speak on the matter at hand, I feel compelled to address a recent scandal attached to my name. You will not be unaware of the similarities of the paragraph inserted into the Morning Post and my own situation.”
He held up the offending newspaper. “This speaks of a young member preaching reform while pocketing proceeds from the subscription fund set up for the widows, also on a petition list—a subscription list which contained the prominent name of Admiral Mowbray, who purchased my seat. I need not go on,” he added wryly.
In his other hand, he held the petitions and lifted those for everyone to see. “I have for you petitions signed by widows in Exeter, Plymouth, and Dover, which I will hand to the Speaker presently. Attached to these lists are subscription funds managed by clergymen in each of those towns, whose names are also noted. I have no access to these funds, nor have I received anything in exchange for presenting these petitions.
“The attention given to these false claims should be brought instead to bear on a worthier cause. That is, why should only the families of officers be well compensated for their service? Is the loss of ordinary seamen less valuable?”
He allowed that remark to sink in before lifting his voice again above the murmur of speech that spread throughout the House. “It is true that the Admiral Mowbray assisted in my winning a seat to Parliament. Those who know him personally will know he is not a man to be corrupted. You may not know me as well, but you soon will.
“My interest in reform is pure. Yes, the admiral ensured my election to Gatton, but I am not his mouthpiece. The reform I push for comes from my own desires and experiences.”
Suddenly, the memory of all he had seen flashed before his eyes, lending strength to his speech. “When I served in the yeomanry in Brighton, I saw the sailors who came back maimed reduced to begging on the street. I witnessed widows and children seeking alms because they no longer had support sent from their husbands or fathers, who had died at sea.
“These issues motivate me, not money. So I beg you will receive the widows’ petitions and consider them with the respect due to any living soul. These widows ask only that their request for adequate pensions be heard. Attached to the petitions are the subscription lists of private individuals who contribute to their needs until such a time that Parliament will vote on this worthy legislation. The names will speak for themselves of Society’s support for the act.”
“You may bring them down and we will read it,” the Speaker said in a bored voice with a wave of his hand. Felix wove through the benches and brought it to him, then retook his seat, relieved that he had been given the chance to set the record straight.
It had not been a rousing speech, and was met with only polite applause, but he was not a performer. He simply cared that what he was trying to bring about would succeed. The proceedings passed on to other petitions, and Felix was thankful to have the attention off him once again.
When the Speaker declared the House adjourned, Felix wove his way to the floor, prepared to leave. He was intercepted by Lord Henry.
“Fine speech, Harwood. You almost persuade me to cast my own vote for an increase in pensions.”
“I will certainly not dissuade you from doing so,” Felix replied with a smile. If Lord Henry was still willing to speak to him, things could not be as bad as he feared. Perhaps he might even retain his seat, something he had hardly dared to hope for.
“My wife received a visit from Lady Sophia yesterday.” At her name, Felix went still, straining above the noise in the hall to hear the rest. “Lady Henry has offered to give an annual subscription to the asylum, along with Mrs. Wright and Lady Lockwood, who both happened to be visiting at the time. I thought you might wish to know.”
Sophia had summoned the courage to visit Lady Henry? And had applied not just to Lady Henry but to two other women? What was more, she had trusted a recommendation from Felix. He smiled more broadly than was warranted, saying, “I thank your wife for her generous contribution.”
Lord Henry studied him for a moment, a wry smile on his lips. “Apparently, she defended your honor while there, assuring the women you could not be corrupted and that the gossip sheets were wrong. My wife assured me that if such a gentle spirit as Lady Sophia could speak so determinedly on your behalf, the claims must be false. And I trust my wife,” Lord Henry added.
Touched, Felix could only bow. “Thank you.”
As he left Westminster, Felix was conscious of the change that had come over him. He had gone from feeling that all was without hope, impossible to surmount—that he could not approach Lady Sophia, much less offer her his heart and hand—to feeling as though this impossible heaviness had been swept away like dust on a cloud. Suddenly, there were possibilities again. He had not perfectly cleared his record. He supposed such a thing must come with time, as people saw there was no substance to the rumors and the malicious talk died down for lack of fuel. And perhaps, he was in no position to propose marriage to Lady Sophia now when all of this was still so uncertain.
But the winds had brought hope, and his feet moved of their own accord, seeking the first hackney he could flag down to bring him to Grosvenor Square. When he arrived at the earl’s house and knocked on a front door that was becoming familiar to him, he received the gratifying news that Lady Sophia was home and would receive him.
He was shown into the drawing room, and as he was too nervous to sit, went over to the window that faced the park. He stood there with his hands behind his back, wondering how a man such as he might dare approach a woman such as Sophia, then decided that it did not matter. What mattered was that he loved her. He loved her—and at long last he would discover if she loved him in return.
Trembling with happiness and nerves at the thought of seeing Felix again, Sophia slipped through the door into the drawing room. He turned, and their eyes held across the room. She offered him a shy smile, which he returned, as she went to him. He stepped away from the window and reached for her hands, lifting them to his lips.
Sophia spoke first. “How are you?”
