Page 63 of Everything But the Earl
P.S. We’ve worked out that you and Catrin’s husband had the same great-grandfather! Catrin and I joke that, in point of fact, we are cousins.
Owen felt a pang as he finished reading the letter. He missed Grace, of course, but he missed Wales as well. Her last few letters had been full of stories about the people she’d been meeting. Some of them were ones Owen knew well and missed, too, some of them were new friends of Grace’s, but if her letters were anything to go by, she was thriving there, and Owen was sad to be missing it.
His gut told him to go to Wales, with all possible haste. He’d ride through the night if he had to. But his duties and obligations kept him in London.
So, at the end of the day, as a waiter at the club poured him a generous serving of gin—might as well cut to the chase—Owen felt like he was losing on all fronts. He missed his wife, he missed his homeland, and he’d failed to get any of his bills through Parliament, which was the main reason he’d chosen to be here instead of where he wanted to be.
“Clear liquor,” Fletcher said, joining Owen by the fireplace in the club. “Has everything truly gone horribly wrong?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Maybe I should have some of that, too, except I am meeting Lady Louisa for the opera in an hour.”
“Which opera?” Owen asked, mostly as a formality. Fletcher attended the opera about once a month, and Owen rarely did, if he could help it.
“The Magic Flute. It’s her favorite. The tenor is some chap from Italy who is drawing attention on the Continent. And…you do not give a whit about opera.”
“I don’t, no, but I appreciate that you do.”
“Mostly for Louisa. She needed someone to accompany her and I had no other engagements this evening. Unless you wish me to cancel so that I can help you?”
“No, that’s all right. Enjoy the opera.”
“But you are determined to be in your cups.”
“My bill got laughed out of Lords today.”
“The one about the roads or the one about the Luddites?”
Owen was taken aback that Fletcher actually listened to him and knew the bills he was pursuing. He sighed. “Well, both, but more crucially, the Luddites. Why take an approach that could help the people when you could instead just send Wellington’s army to shoot them all.”
“Wait, is that true?”
Owen sighed. “I do not know if the intent is for the troops to shoot the rebels. They may just seek to capture them. But yes, tomorrow we shall be voting on whether to send troops, and most of my colleagues support the idea.”
“Seems like a tragedy to send the army Wellington won with at Waterloo to suppress a few angry artisans.”
“My feelings exactly, but my feelings do not matter. So I’ve just spent several months that I could have spent getting to know my new wife pursuing bills here that are doomed to fail. I’ve wasted my time, and I’m frustrated by it. Thus I am drinking.”
“Well deserved,” said Fletcher. He lifted his glass of wine and gestured at Owen with it.
Beresford, of all people, walked in then. He dropped into one of the chairs and said, “Lord save me from meddlesome women.”
“You could…just not get married,” Fletcher said, probably recognizing that whatever meddlesome woman Beresford was mad about was trying to get him into a church to troth to a potential wife.
“I certainly am trying.”
“Can we…be of assistance to you?” Owen asked. “Because my plan for this evening is to get rip-roaring drunk.”
“That’s an excellent plan.” Beresford snapped his fingers at a waiter. “Whiskey.” When the waiter left to fetch Beresford’s drink, he asked, “Why are you getting drunk?”
“Government business and a wife miles away.”
Beresford nodded. “I heard your bill got scuttled. I suppose now that we’ve run Napoleon out of Europe, the army needed something to do.”
“That’s one way to put it,” said Fletcher.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” said Beresford. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you that sending troops is excessive and that we should probably do something to help the rebels, but the rich folk in Lords will never see the world that way. You’re too much of a do-gooder.”
