Page 21 of Deceiving an Earl
“Is it so wrong to be a Chartist?”
He was stymied by that question because no, he didn’t believe there was anything wrong with the heart of the Chartist movement. “I believe that there should be equality among people. I believe that everyone should get a vote. But I don’t believe in the Chartists’ ways of going about it. Violence never solves anything.”
She tilted her head toward him as if she were pleased with his answer. “Mr. Bertrand is not a threat to the Crown, if that is your concern.”
“You know this how?”
“We’ve spoken of it. Yes, he’s interested in resurrecting the Chartist movement, but only on a Parliamentary level. He does not believe in the violence of the past.”
“And he truly thinks he can breathe new life into a nearly dead movement?”
“He’s here to see what can be done.”
The tea arrived and they fell silent as the serving girl set it out.
“I will pour,” Ellen told her. “Thank you, Hannah.”
Without asking, Ellen poured his tea exactly as he liked it. A bit of cream and one lump of sugar. “I’m surprised you remembered,” he said.
Her cheeks colored, and she put the teapot down rather sharply before folding her hands in her lap again.
“It’s still here, isn’t it? Between us?” he asked.
She was staring down at her hands, and he thought he might finally get an explanation of what had gone so terribly wrong that long-ago night.
“Do you hate me?” She looked at him with troubled eyes.
“Now? No. Back then?” He shrugged. Hate was not the word that came to mind. Hurt, despair. Anger, definitely.
Is that why she asked him here? To see if he hated her? Had it bothered her all these years that she thought he did?
“You could have at least left a note,” he said.
“I…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.”
He waited for more, but none was forthcoming. He’d not wanted an apology. He wanted an explanation. It seemed that seventeen years was still not long enough to put it all behind him.
“I know I have no right to ask this, but…” Her shoulders slumped. “I need your help.”
He let that sink in, her need for his help, and realized that still, after all this time, after what she’d done to him, he would do anything for her.
“And you may have it.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I told you once, a long time ago, that if you ever needed anything you only had to ask.”
It had been the night they had made love, the week before her wedding when they had made plans to run away, to get married in Scotland. Plans that she’d never followed through with.
“What can I do for you?” he asked softly.
She drew in a deep breath as if she needed courage to voice her request. “Philip has been suspended from Eton.”
Curiously, Oliver felt disappointment. He didn’t know what sort of help she needed, but his thoughts had not veered toward her son.
“Boys are suspended from Eton frequently. It’s like a rite of passage.”
“This isn’t the first time.”
