Page 70 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
Despite how her heart lodged in her throat when she considered what she held, the framework of a plan began to germinate in her mind. She was repulsed by her thoughts, but practical enough to realize how it could solve her problems.
The Townsends were an old, respectable family with connections in not just Parliament, but at Bow Street and in the judiciary. Charlotte could take her modest savings and hire a solicitor to defend her from their unscrupulous charges, but it would all be for naught. They possessed the kind of power that crushed the scale of justice and would relish the opportunity to see her at Newgate, where they long attested she belonged.
With reluctant movements, she opened the locket once more, forcing herself to consider if she had the mentalandemotional fortitude to do what she must to survive.
Because in the end, the only person she could count on to save her from disaster was herself.
…
“Lud, Fin, you almost look respectable.”
Finlay grabbed his lapels and waggled his head mockingly. “Almost? I’d say I lookmostlyrespectable.”
Alethea shook her head in mock disgust even as her mouth stretched into a grin. “Perhaps the standards for such things have become less…discerningin my absence.”
“Or perhaps your memory has suffered in the stifling West Indies heat.”
A dry chuckle drew both Finlay and Alethea’s heads around. Declan Sinclair, Alethea’s husband and the Duke of Darington, considered the twins over a glass of amber liquid. With his elbow propped against the mantel, he looked the picture of elegance. The smile that lurked on his mouth hinted at his happiness.
“You’ve not been here for five minutes, Firthwell, and already you and Allie are back to your old antics.”
Alethea crossed the room to claim a seat near her husband. “It’s obvious no one has been around to take Fin in hand while I’ve been away. He’s probably been running wild.”
Finlay’s lip curled. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I don’t.” Her face softened. “Aside from your letters, Torres has kept us abreast of your happenings. I’m impressed with the strides you’ve made with the estate. It never would have occurred to me to level the old, rotted-out barns in the far west fields and plant hops. That was quite brilliant of you.”
“Of course it was,” he mumbled, looking away. Alethea’s praise embarrassed him even as it warmed his chest. Clearing his throat, he sank into a chair across from his twin. “So, I expect you to tell me all about St. Lucia.”
“I can speak of St. Lucia for hours.” Alethea clutched her hand to her chest, a faraway look in her green eyes.
“She can,” Darington echoed, his tone weary but his gaze affectionate. “Be careful what you ask for.”
Alethea seemed determined to prove her husband correct, for she spoke of St. Lucia and their time in the Caribbean for what felt like days. Or surely several hours. And although Finlay wanted to tease his sister for her loquaciousness, in truth, he was simply content to hear her voice so full of happiness as she spoke of her island home. To see the love shining from her eyes as she looked at her husband. To glimpse Darington, who’d been a childhood friend to both of them, gaze upon his sister with a restrained sort of awe. Although he’d be loath to admit it to Alethea, he’d sit through decades of her chatter to see her so happy.
Thankfully, the butler interrupted to deliver a refreshment tray, and Alethea paused her recollections to pour the tea and allow them to partake of the offering. After settling into his chair, Finlay took a bite of a roast beef sandwich as Darington looked at him with narrowed eyes. “So…Parliament. Tell us about your campaign. Is there anything we can do to help?”
The question caught him unawares. As he coughed into a napkin, grateful tears welling in his eyes, he watched Alethea and her duke exchange a glance.
When his hacking subsided, he took a deep gulp of tea. “So you know.” At Darington’s crinkled brow, he rolled his eyes. “Of course you know. No doubt Torres told you.”
“He didn’t, actually.” Alethea idly stirred her tea while she considered him. “Lockely saved all the papers discussing your campaign.”
“What made you decide to stand for Parliament?” Darington asked.
Placing his plate on the narrow table next to him, he considered what to tell them. Should he recite his political answer? The one he tossed out when others asked about his motivation for standing for Weobley? He met first Alethea’s interested gaze before sliding to catch Darington’s inquisitive one.
“Change is happening. And not just in the hallowed halls of Westminster.” He braced his hands on his thighs. “From the farthest reaches of Aberdeenshire, to Cornwall, to Dorset. The way in which our country has conducted business, has enacted laws, is changing. And I want to be a part of it.”
He told them about the issues that had finally encouraged him to enter the race, what he hoped to accomplish, who his competition was, and what progress he’d made. Alethea and Darington listened quietly, without interrupting, as he animatedly explained the events of the previous twelve months.
“My, Fin, I didn’t expect you to be so…so…passionate,” Alethea said, her gaze bright.
“I suppose the passion has come about over time. It’s hard not to feel such when you’re surrounded by the repercussions of Parliament’s inactions every day.”
“Inactions? Or their deliberate maneuvering to maintain the status quo?” Darington countered.
Finlay scowled. “I think we all know the answer to that.”
