Page 8 of Romancing the Rifleman
He suddenly recalled what she was talking about.Their local M.P., a man named Andrew Milner, had recently been convicted of kidnapping.The matter was somewhat personal, as the person he had attempted to kidnap and ship off to New South Wales was Harrington’s sister, Izzie.
The trial had been delayed for an age, but Milner had eventually been found guilty, and now he was the one on a ship bound for Sydney.
The problem, according to Harrington’s father, was that the frontrunner to win Milner’s vacated seat, one Jacob Digsby, was “a man utterly without honor.”Which sounded dramatic but boiled down to a horse race on which his father had lost money.
The Earl of Cheltenham’s reasons for wanting someone else to win that seat may have been trivial.But, as Harrington’s older brother, Edward, had noted, Digsby’s brother owned a large sugar plantation in Jamaica, and he was staunchly pro-slavery.There were reasons to hope Digsby lost the election other than whether Battersea had been deliberately held back at Epsom.
But the man his father had proposed to stand against Jacob Digsby wasn’tHarrington.
The mere notion was ridiculous.
“I believe you’re thinking of my brother,” he said.
She raised one eyebrow.It made her look haughty, which Harrington liked.“I assure you, I am not.”
He laughed.“I think I would know if I was running for Parliament.”
She shrugged.“According to the papers, you not only ran, but won.”
His hands were growing clammy inside his gloves.“It was probably a typographical error.They printedMr.H.Astleyinstead ofMr.E.Astley.”
“They would have referred to your brother as Lord Fauconbridge, not Mr.Astley.”
Shit.She was right.
“And besides,” she continued, “the article specifically mentioned that you had been electedin absentia, as you were currently deployed to Hanover while serving as a lieutenant in the 95thRifles.”
Bloody hell.Now his hands were trembling.“There’s been a mistake.Edward’s the one my father wanted to run for the open seat.He said…”
He trailed off, struggling to remember.The truth was, he’d been extremely hungover when this conversation had taken place.It had been the eve of his deployment to Germany, so his friends, Henry and Peter, had taken him out for a night on the town.
Diana’s blue eyes were piercing.“What, exactly, did your father say?”
Harrington screwed up his face, trying to dredge the memory from the recesses of his brain.“He said we didn’t want Digsby for the seat, on account of him being a wastrel.But he knew someone who could beat him handily—his son, the most popular man in the county.”
He looked at Diana, waiting for her to agree that this meant Edward.She blinked at him once… twice.“Which is you,” she finally said.
“Which isEdward,” Harrington insisted.
Diana crossed her arms.“I would agree, had your father said the most erudite man in the county, or the most respectable.But he said the mostpopular, which sounds like the fellow you could have a pint with down at the pub.”
He hated that she had a point.He laughed nervously.“But he couldn’t have possibly meantme.I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Based on her blank expression, Lady Diana did not find it obvious.Which just went to show that she didn’t know him as well as she supposed.“What happened next?”
“Er.”Harrington racked his brain.“Edward said, ‘I think it a splendid idea.’And then I noticed they were both staring at me, as if they were waiting for me to say something.”
Diana gave him a pointed look.But surely,she wasn’t right.The notion that his father would wanthimto run for Parliament was absurd.
She prodded him with her elbow.“And what did you say?”
He squinted, trying to recall.“I said it was fine by me.Because the plan—forEdwardto stand for Parliament—was a good one.”
Diana rubbed her brow.“What happened after that?”
“My father already had the papers drawn up and ready to go.He had both Edward and me sign them.”
“And what did the papers say?”
