Page 92 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
Pressing his lips together, Finlay debated how to respond. Opting for honesty, he said, “Happiness is never a curse. I could have moved up the ranks, as you said, but would I have been happy? Miss Eddington would have been the perfect political wife who hosted dinner parties and planning sessions with aplomb. I very likely would have grown fond of her. But would I have rushed home to see her every night? Would us growing old together have been marked by political victories instead of intimate moments of joy?”
He rose to his feet and crossed to the fireplace, clutching the mantel as he stared at the flames. “My father and mother were a match heralded by theton, and yet they were miserable together. I realized I would have been miserable, too, if I only pursued Weobley and ignored the wishes of my heart.”
Matthews nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re determined, I will do my best to stem the talk, and make no mistake, therewillbe talk. From my understanding, there may be objections to her background. And Abernathy will definitely find a way to exploit this unequal union.”
Finlay planted his feet, placing his hands at his side. “He would be correct that this union is not equal, but that is because Mrs. Taylor exceeds me in intelligence, grace under pressure, poise, and determination. I invite you to join us for supper. I’d like to introduce you to my bride, so you can see for yourself how far above myself I am marrying.”
A tense moment ticked by on the clock, and Finlay pondered if he’d said too much. But the earl stood and extended his hand. “I thank you for the invitation. I find myself looking forward to making the future Lady Firthwell’s acquaintance.”
Stifling a smile, Finlay escorted him out the door.
…
Three months later
“I can’t believe you remembered.”
Finlay scowled, but it didn’t last long before he helped himself to another spoonful of lemon ice. “Of course I remembered. I’m almost offended you doubted me.”
“My love, of course I didn’t doubt you.” The touch of Charlotte’s hand on his arm soothed any ire he felt. “But the last several months have been a bit busy, and I wouldn’t have faulted you if it had slipped your mind.”
“With the Tiny Misses Club intent on reminding me any time I visited the home, that’s hardly likely.”
Even now, Finlay watched as the Misses Fanny, Elspeth, Meg, Polly, and Agnes chatted in between bites of ice, their feet swinging back and forth from their perches on the chairs at Gunter’s. They appeared so innocent, and yet he knew first hand how mercenary they could be.
“Hopefully all their haranguing was worth it.” Charlotte gestured with her chin to the packed interior and exterior of the ice shop. Every table was occupied by energetic children from the Little Windmill House. The little mites were showing impeccable manners, and the few patrons who had not been crowded out by their party seemed to have relaxed.
His eyes fixed on little Polly, who sat a few tables away, her back ramrod straight, a clean white napkin across her lap, and a dreamy expression highlighting her pixie features as she sampled her raspberry ice.
“This will play well in the papers, too.”
A frown darkened his face. “What do you mean?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I tipped off a reporter that you would be here with some children from a local foundling home.”
“All of the children,” he grumbled, scooping a fresh spoonful.
“You won your seat by the narrowest margin of victory ever recorded. I want to make sure everyone knows they benefit by having you as an MP because you have the welfare of the most vulnerable members of society in mind.”
“They’re not members of my district, Char.”
“You seem to think details like that matter to the common reader,” she said, with a flick of her hand.
He snorted, wishing they weren’t surrounded by a gaggle of children so he could pull her into his arms and kiss her impertinent, luscious mouth the way he desired.
Instead, he cleared his throat. “I’m just glad the campaign is over. Those last two weeks were horrendous.”
And they had been. As predicted, Abernathy had used their engagement to cast aspersions on Finlay’s character, and the rumors and claims that had circulated about her had been particularly despicable. He’d tried to shield Charlotte from the worst of it, but he couldn’t stop all the maliciousness from making its way to her ears. Thankfully, she was resilient and a surprisingly shrewd political strategist. She’d made clever suggestions again and again, and Finlay had quickly learned to ask for her opinion on all matter of topics.
“Did you write to tell the earl?” She dropped her voice, knowing the topic of his father was still a sensitive subject.
His chest expanded as he nodded. “I don’t expect to hear back from him.”
“No? Not even to receive congratulations?” Her surprise was evident in her tone.
“He would not have approved.” He placed his spoon down and looked out the window, unseeing. “All my father ever cared about was appearances. He would have found fault in all of my actions these last few months.” His gaze darted to his current surroundings. “And he would have had a thing or two to say about this outing.”
“Do you care that he would have disapproved?”
