Page 36 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
“I shall do my best not to step on your feet,” Edgeworth said.
Arabella laughed aloud. It had a bitter tinge to it. The fatalist laugh of someone who realizes they must either laugh or cry. She smiled and took Edgeworth’s hands, bowed to him, and fixed the bravest face she could as they began to dance.
Chapter 21
Aaron walked fire-tainted halls. In places the corridors were open to the sky, only blackened timbers remaining of ceilings and roofs. The stench of char was strong still, several months after the fire that had ravaged the heart of the Parliament of Great Britain.
He knew that of the chambers surviving the fire that had devastated the Palace of Westminster, one in particular was being used by the Lords, so that the business of Parliament would continue in its customary place. That was the Painted Chamber, so named for the paintings that festooned its walls.
Already, he could hear the back and forth of debate within the chamber, voices raised. But unlike the Commons, which was a bear pit of shouting and jeering, the Lords maintained their decorum. The raising voices was simply the skill of an orator, projecting to reach all corners of the room.
He did not care either. Experience of the first reversals of the war against the French, with the War Department in Whitehall bearing the blame in his opinion, had given him a jaundiced view of politicians. He wanted no part of political scheming or manoeuvring.
And now, because of his intimacy with Arabella, he was forced into it. The ultimatum had been given three weeks ago. In that time, he had avoided Arabella as far as possible. He did not want to give his blackmailer any more ammunition.
“Ashenwood! Old chap, how nice to see a face from the past,” said a familiar voice.
Aaron stopped, turning. A man had stepped through a doorway behind him and was beaming, hand thrust out to shake his own. The man was round-faced with thinning hair and of short stature. Since Aaron had last seen him, he had ballooned considerably, becoming almost rotund. But then he had always been predisposed to that.
“Flint. How do you do?” Aaron replied formally.
Lord Malcolm Glendower, Earl of Flint looked puzzled. Aaron took his hand and shook it firmly.
“So, formal, old chap? With me?”
Aaron scowled. “Forgive the rudeness, Flint. But I do not like being here or the business I am about. It has put me out of sorts.”
“Forgiven,” Flint said breezily. “Though it begs the question, why are you here? No…” he held up a hand, “…don’t tell me. It’s the Bill, isn’t it? I don’t need to mention the name of that wretched article, I’m sure we both know it. Well, it’s good to see an old comrade coming out to support his fellows. Jolly good show.”
Aaron blinked, bemused. Flint always did get carried away with himself, talking at hundred miles an hour. An unusual trait in a man who had spent the war as a spymaster. But then the trick with Flint was to spot the truth in the flow of trivia that he spouted.
“I’m afraid, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Flint. I don’t really know the first thing about this Bill, though I’d wager that we’re both speaking of the same thing.”
“Why, old chap, it’stheBill!” Flint cried, putting emphasis to highlight that there could only be one under discussion.
“Come along with me and I will explain. Though if you don’t know about it then Lord knows why you’re here. You haven’t taken your seat since ascending to the Dukedom, to my certain knowledge. Not that it matters, the seat is yours by right. Divine right as it were. If the King can claim it, then so can the aristocracy…”
Flint continued with his babble as he guided Aaron along the corridor.
“The Bill was proposed by Sir William Gove, the Member for Colchester. It proposes to disband several regiments of the Army without any provision for pensions or any form of support to those men thrown on the scrapheap.
Of course, it will save the Exchequer a great deal of money and given that the Whigs are expectant of winning the next election, this is clearly part of a strategy to see Sir William elevate himself to the office of Prime Minister.
Lord Liverpool is smiling on the idea as the government is strapped. Those of us who actually served of course are horrified. Not least because it will open up the way to demonize the poor and destitute of this country.”
Aaron felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Gove was husband to Lady Isabella. This was the item that Gove wished to ensure passed through the House of Lords to be enacted. And the club which Isabella held over his head would be used to force him to betray hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men he had led into battle.
Aaron stopped. Ahead was a door that he knew led to the Painted Chamber, where a debate was still ongoing. Flint paused, continuing to speak until he noticed that his audience had not followed him. For a moment, the little man studied Aaron, every inch the spymaster, eyes narrowing and lips pursing thoughtfully.
“You are not here out of camaraderie. So why are you here?”
Aaron faced his old friend with chin raised. He would not cower before any man nor would he seek to escape the consequences of his actions. It would feel worse than the sabre of the French Cuirassier which had pierced his shoulder at the battle of Talavera.
Physical pain had its conclusion. Wounds heal and pain faded. The pain of betraying a friend though…that would be a searing coal in his heart forever. But what choice was there? Turn traitor or allow Arabella to be scorned, shunned, and humiliated. His face hardened.
“I am here to support Sir William Gove. I received a note telling me that a vote was due to take place after the debate.”
The crestfallen look on Flint’s face was a dagger. It was swiftly replaced by a hardening that Aaron recognized. It was the iron look on the face of a man predisposed to smiles and laughter which always came when he was about to send a man to his certain death.
