Page 11 of One Night of Scandal
“Tavistock, weren’t you just here the other night?” Pennington asked as he moved toward her table. “Don’t typically see you twice in the same week.”
Lady Viola shrugged as she lifted her mug. “I enjoy the Wicked Duke as much as the next man.”
Next man.Jack suddenly felt as if he were in on a private joke, and he supposed he was. Only it wasn’t a joke to her. She had adopted the Tavistock persona for very specific reasons. Reasons that required she wasn’t Lady Viola. It was a crime she had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t in order to write for theLadies’ Gazette.
Mary, one of the barmaids, met them at Lady Viola’s table with two mugs of ale. “I brought you the porter,” she said to Jack. “I know that’s your preference when it’s available.” She winked at him before turning away.
“What news today?” Lady Viola repeated, her gaze fixed on Pennington, who was taking a long draught of ale.
“I was just trying to calm Barrett down,” Pennington said, tossing a grin at Jack. “He’s easily agitated these days.”
“Anyone with an ounce of care should be,” Jack muttered before sipping the porter, which was absolutely delightful and precisely what he needed.
“There is no shortness of agitation, to be sure,” Lady Viola said diplomatically.
“Indeed. Bloody well drove Cobbett right out of the country!” Pennington arched his brows as he lifted his mug for another drink.
The mention of William Cobbett sparked Jack’s concern. He peered across the table at Lady Viola. Cobbett published a radical-leaning newspaper that was popular with the working class and had felt the need to travel to America before he was arrested for sedition. Since he’d already spent time in prison for libel a few years back, he’d likely made a sensible decision.
Jack could only hope that Lady Viola also proved to be sensible. He’d have to make certain of it. She was right that there was no shortness of agitation right now, and it would be far too easy to find trouble.
Pennington leaned over the table and looked from Lady Viola to Jack, then back to Lady Viola again. When he spoke, it was in a low, furtive tone. “Just look at that march from Manchester. Workers are angry, and they want to be heard.”
“And yet we’ve taken away their ability to meet and organize a way to be heard,” Jack said sardonically, which earned him a sharp look from Pennington.
“Careful what you say, Barrett.” Pennington leaned back. “Not with me, of course,” he added jovially. “You may say what you like, and I shan’t repeat it.”
Jack swallowed an answering snort. The entire reason they were here tonight was to coax Pennington to spread gossip more than he already had. But he was right about one thing: Jack had to be careful what he said. He was far more radically minded than he let on, and sometimes he let on far too much.
“Sir Humphrey! Caldwell!”
Jack didn’t join his tablemates and everyone else in the main salon in welcoming the two newest arrivals. Instead, he busied himself pouring porter down his throat. Sir Humphrey and Caldwell were two of his chief opponents when it came to reforming Parliament. They represented boroughs that didn’t need representation—at least not at the current level. Why should Caldwell’s borough have two MPs for seven bloody voters when other boroughs had two MPs for thousands?
Naturally, Sir Humphrey and Caldwell sat down at their table. Jack stifled a groan and this time drained his tankard. Hell, he was supposed to be getting Pennington drunk, not himself.
When Mary brought ale for Sir Humphrey and Caldwell, he asked her to bring a round of brandy for everyone. His gaze met Lady Viola’s, and she nodded imperceptibly.
“That’s mighty generous of you, Barrett,” Pennington said.
“Seems like we might need it after today.”
Sir Humphrey lifted his mug. “I would agree with that, and I’ll add my thanks.”
Pennington frowned and shook his head. “We were just discussing the state of things. Such a mess right now.” He looked over at Lady Viola and put his hand on her shoulder. “Be glad you aren’t an MP.”
Jack froze as he stared at the man touching her. Would he realize? Beyond that concern, Jack had to suppress the urge to smack Pennington’s hand away for daring to touch her.
Lady Viola reached for her mug with the arm extending from the shoulder Pennington clasped, neatly evicting his grasp. “Exceedingly glad, thank you.”
Pennington winced, then looked over Sir Humphrey, Caldwell, and Jack. “I haven’t just reminded you that you’re on opposite sides of several issues, have I?”
“You have now,” Sir Humphrey cracked.
Jack lifted his empty mug in a silent toast but couldn’t drink. Thankfully, the brandy arrived. He was careful to take just a sip. He needed to focus on Pennington. He just wished Sir Humphrey and Caldwell hadn’t come.
Caldwell’s thin lips spread in a questionable smile. “Just because we don’t always agree doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a drink at our favorite gathering place. Isn’t that right, Barrett?”
“Quite.”
