Page 25 of Becoming Wanton (Trade Wind 3)

“You didn’t invite me to dine and debate with the pure moralists—like Lord Brougham.”

William nodded. Pure and eccentric indeed, Lord Brougham had dedicated his public life to moral causes, including the abolition of the slave trade. As the Earl had guessed, that particular evening with the clergy in the House of Lords and others whose ethical indignation could be stoked, had focused strictly on moral arguments indeed.

Lord Anterleigh sniffed. “My ancestral lands produce a great deal of barley. My tenants and I stood to gain from protecting the Corn Laws. You hosted similarly situated peers, but you didn’t extend an invitation to methatevening, either.”

“That night, my arguments were…not based on morality,” William conceded.

“No, they were based on fear, and rather persuasive, I take it. You convinced men to vote against their own immediate interests in the name of preventing a violent revolution that would pull the rug out from under everything.”

“In formal debates, those are not the views one may articulate—but behind the majority’s vote, yes, that’s precisely what motivated so many.”

“Hunger breeds revolution. Ask the French, eh?”

William inclined his head in agreement before returning to the main topic. “Nor did I invite you to the dinner attended by government loyalists. Men not only dedicated to protecting the peerage but the monarchy. Nay,” he corrected, “Britainitself.”

“Ah, yes, those of the Duke of Wellington’s ilk.” The Earl’s languid blink spoke volumes, but he surprised William by opining further. “Born in Ireland, yet apt to blame the Irish themselves and their way of life for the famine. It’s no secret he voted for repeal to save Her Majesty’s government and not the hungry.”

This time, though he agreed in full, the Marquess held back any reaction. For decades, the substantial majority of the peerage had wanted to uphold the Corn Laws, yet this year, pragmatism had changed their minds. They didn’t support reform itself but understood if they did not yield, public sentiment would swell violently and devour them.

Glancing out of the window once more, William noted they were precisely where he expected at the moment—in front of the Sportsman Club. There, he would work further toward his aim of the day. “You’re right, Anterleigh. You were invited to my home as a very particular species of peer of the realm.”

Housed in a white neoclassical building, the social club offered additional clues about the Earl’s nature. Its elite membership was comprised not only of peers and gentleman, but had the additional angle of requiring substantial achievement in a sport.

Being mid-day, the drawing room was sparsely occupied; once they were ensconced in the bottle-green leather chairs, they had the privacy William needed to move the discussion in the intended direction.

“Do you wish to know why I invited you to my home the evening I did?”

“Not particularly.”

Sinking back into his chair, William understood the Earl lacked neither motivation nor curiosity. He had them in spades, which is how he’d gone from inheriting an indebted earldom to building a commercial empire. Lord Anterleigh was no social mastermind and had the taint of trade on him, but he had managed to operate his business with enough deniability to remain minimally acceptable in theton’seyes. Most hereditary peers in the House of Lords did not bother to show up for votes. The Earl, however, did.

William sighed inwardly, abandoning any pretense of an indirect approach. “Britain needsmoreof you. Change the direction of your considerable efforts. Apply them at the highest level—in politics. Join forces with me in Parliament.”

David Chadbourne tapped his own chin lightly with a knuckle as he processed what was, evidently, a surprising turn for him. William bit his tongue against further persuasion.

After a full minute, the Earl’s hand dropped to his leg. “I thank you, but no. You were correct to group me as you did for your Corn Law dinner parties. But you’re off the mark here, I’m afraid.”

Indulging his instincts in a way he wouldn’t in a different peer’s company, William admitted the truth. “You credit the wrong Dalfour. It’s Lady Candleton who not only had the idea for the parties, but made the groupings and suggested the strategies that worked so well.”

One side of the Earl’s mouth lifted, and his eyes warmed a fraction. “It’s no wonder she and Clara are friends.”

“Indeed. Now, imagine what we can achieve for our countrytogether. The dangers to Britain are only growing. The repeal was necessary, but it brought down the Prime Minister. Lord Palmerston is back as Foreign Secretary after all these years.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “The Queen doesn’t trust him. The political leadership doesn’t trust him.Idon’t trust him.”

“Yet he’s popular with the press. With the people.”

“Precisely, which is how he returned to power. I don’t doubt his sincere allegiance to Britain—I take issue with his methods. You and I both opposed the war with China. We know the evils of opium and what our country did in the name of forcing China to open its doors to trade.”

“You haven’t erred in characterizing my politics. I’m as aware as you—revolution is in the air all over the continent. We could have guillotines in public squares across England if we aren’t careful. What happens in the coming years will change everything. Free trade is coming, Candleton, one way or another, slowly but surely.Thatis what will save us, not politics—and that is where I will apply my efforts.”

“You believe you can save Britain with trade? With your factories?”

Rather than showing offense at the calm question, Lord Anterleigh looked reflective. As ever, he took his time in replying. “The way of life of our ancestors is over.” His eyes roamed the room briefly. “Everyone knows it, though many pretend otherwise. On any busy night in this very club, half the room is behind on their dues. In debt to their tailors. To their gaming hells. All the while, they press their hungry tenants for more work and higher rents. It’s foolish to believe that’s tenable. Change is afoot. Not everyone is going to survive it. But I shall—and those on my estate shall.”

The muscles pulled along William’s temples, and he rubbed them, warding off a headache. He wished he could disagree with the man’s predictions about what lay ahead for their country and their way of life, but they0 held the ring of truth.

Lord Anterleigh eyed him. “Fields of cereal grains fill my estates—good English agriculture of the sort the Corn Laws sought to protect. The Candleton estate, however, produces cattle. You buy grain. Lower prices benefit you.”

With surprise and offense, William’s jaw retracted toward his spine. “You believe I voted as I did because ofthat?”

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