Page 141 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
The duke, though, was not done with his prior topic. “In the world’s eye, Mary Bennet is the sole great wyfe. How amusing that only your identity became public knowledge.”
“Amusing,” I agreed sourly.
“Cheer up, Mary. You must embrace the politics of the thing. The Prince had to reward someone. And he had to secure your loyalty, or appear to. You bound a dragon.”
I settled my spectacles. “I have never commented on that.”
“Your pardon.” The duke bowed. “It isrumoredthat the Baroness Bennet of Derbyshire is bound to a dragon.”
“Dragons—and wyves—do not seem very valued. He rewarded you more handsomely.” That sounded petulant, and I regretted saying it.
The duke smiled, not the slightest bit abashed. “Shall we proceed?” He led me around stacked tools and paints into the longest room of the house. The sides had tall scaffolds for installing gilt filigree on the roof and walls. “I think I shall call this room the Gallery. That wall can be paintings depicting the battle. And then down the center, we will put a long table where, once a year, friends, soldiers of every rank, gather to reminisce. We shall toast the future and remember the absent.”
His voice roughened at the end. We had our political disagreements, but I respected his love for his men.
We sat at a plain workman’s table in the center of the room. The duke noted, “I see you still wear black and scarlet,” as a pair of footmen brought platters with silver covers.
“I am mourning the unjust death—”
“—of our fellow sentient animals,” hefinished with me. The footmen removed the covers, revealing pork chops and pâté. He hastened to explain, “There is no meat. Mushroom pâté, and the pork chops are made from some sort of Chinese bean pudding. If I must eat vegetables when you visit, they may as welllooklike food.”
I fiddled with a silver spoon. “I sometimes imagine telling Mamma about being a baroness. She had quite given up on me beinganything. Her feet would have floated for a day. She adored titles.”
“She was your mother. She knew you would achieve great things.” The Duke of Wellington lifted his glass. “To Mrs. Bennet, who raised a remarkable cadre of daughters.” I had to fumble my spectacles aside to dab my eyes while the footman served the food.
The duke continued, “I did not see you last week.”
“I traveled. To America.”
The duke gave me a sidelong glance. “An eight-week trip, according to the shipping schedule. Be careful, or you will confirm certain rumors. But why America?”
“I have always been curious about it. It was peculiar to see. Huge plains that are tremendously flat, and only now thawing from winter. I had several meetings attempting to comprehend the politics. The slave states of the Southern Confederate Alliance poured immense funds into the French alliance to conquer England. Defeat weakened them, but also embittered them. They will secede, and civil war is imminent, south against north, earlier than it would have been otherwise. But I think that haste will shorten the conflict. Slavery is more reviled than ever. The abduction of English wyves proved the lie in the slavers’ claims of racial entitlement. And the south spent much of their political capital fanning the war with England and Canada, to the cost of everyone.”
In my mind’s eye, I returned to a street corner in Manhattan. Two American ladies were handing out abolitionist pamphlets. They wore red-ribboned dresses, copying the fashion in London, but in America the style was calledcicatrices à l’esclave, scars of the slave.
The duke spread mushroom pâté on a slice of rye bread. “If only the government analyzed foreign policy as succinctly as you. I have long held that women are more observant and practical in these matters.”
I cut a bite of faux pork chop. “Then you will be pleased tomorrow. I am taking a seat in the House of Lords.”
He put down his knife. “You cannot be serious.”
“A life peerage entitles one to a seat,” I observed mildly.
“Not for women! How do you dream up such modern nonsense?”
“The law does not stipulate gender. And the concept is hardly modern. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, countesses and abbesses served.”
We argued about that until the duke was frustrated by the facts and fell into a moody silence.
I, on the other hand, felt invigorated. “There will be objections when I arrive. Will you support me?”
“A woman in the House of Lords…” He stabbed his pork chop with his fork.
“Think of it as a great wyfe rumored to have bound a dragon. The Prince supports me, but privately. He cannot say so publicly.”
“ThePrince?” The Duke of Wellington’s brow beetled.
“He chose to ‘embrace the politics of the thing.’?Is that how you put it?” Mentally, I reviewed the list of lords I had spoken with. “I have support from liberal members, but a word from you would make a difference. The Hero of Highbury would sway die-hard conservatives.”
