That afternoon Hetherington kept bothering him about the forthcoming descent of ravening hordes of politicians. “Ask Her Grace,” he said as often as possible. His secretary was usually happy to do so. He had developed quite a tendre for Minerva as well as respect for her perspicuity.
“We’re getting perilously close to full up,” Hetherington told him. “Some of the single gentlemen will have to share rooms. We’d better make sure we know which groups they belong to.”
“Ask Her Grace. She’ll know,” Blake said. Then added, with a touch of malice, “Put them in rooms with people they disagree with. Either they’ll come to an agreement or they’ll kill each other. Either way we’re better off.”
Sharing of rooms was a sore point since he was not sharing one with his wife.
“Tell me, Hetherington,” he said. “What did my father think of this reform business? He can’t have wanted to give up the control of so many parliamentary seats.”
“His Grace took some time to come around, sir. But in the end he saw the future of the country was more important than his own interests. Even the interests of the Vanderlin family.”
“Fancy that.”
“And if I may observe without disrespect . . .”
“Be my guest.”
“His Grace, being no fool, saw which way things were going. Knowing that change was unavoidable in the long run, he preferred to influence its course.”
“An astute observation on my father’s character, Hetherington, and not one he’d object to.”
Blake could imagine his father’s response to the game Huntley was playing. He’d tell the scoundrel to go to the devil and then use his influence to crush him into the ground.
What a weak fool he’d been, to let Huntley play him. By giving in without a fight he’d shown himself unworthy of his father’s respect, and of Minerva’s too. It was time to take control of his own destiny.
“Hetherington,” he said before he could talk himself out of it. “I’d like to dictate a letter. To Mr. Geoffrey Huntley.”
Half an hour later he entered the duchess’s sitting room and found her seated at her desk, writing. She looked an ideal of feminine serenity, her golden hair swept back from her face, her posture straight as she covered a sheet of paper with her neat, effortless script. The contrast between her fair beauty and her clever, unpredictable, sometimes cantankerous character never failed to intrigue him.
“You win, Minerva. I’ve written to Huntley to tell him he can’t have the seat.”
“Why?” she asked, without looking up. She didn’t even put down her pen. Cantankerous.
“First you want to know why he should have it, and now you want to know why not. Can’t you just accept that you are getting your way?”
“Are you doing it only to please me?”
“What would be wrong with that?”
Minerva stopped writing and stood up. “This is a serious decision that should be made from conviction, not to get into your wife’s bed. You said you don’t want me to lie with you out of duty. Well, I don’t want you to agree with me out of lust.”
He strode over, took her shoulders, gave her a quick hard kiss, then let her go. “You know what, Minnie?” he said. “Sometimes you give me a pain in my belly. You just got your way. For once could you say ‘thank you, dear husband’ instead of arguing with me some more?”
He took a step back for her eyes were stormy, then turned to sky blue summer. She nodded.
“You were right about Huntley. He shouldn’t be in Parliament.”
“Thank you, dear husband,” she said. “And I’m sorry for my own behavior. I had no right to be such a Tartar.”
Like a man making an apology she held out her hand, but he caught both of hers and they stood for a minute regarding each other in rare harmony. Blake felt a surge of optimism for the future of the challenge he’d set himself that morning: to prove to his duchess that he was capable of fulfilling his inherited duties with honor, and to win her admiration. When Huntley began to talk and the truth came out, perhaps she wouldn’t despise him too much.
“Come and sit with me,” he said, drawing her over to a sofa. “I want you to help me understand the politics of reform.”
“Really?” Her eyes gleamed as though he’d given her a wonderful present.
“I’m going to have to listen to dozens of people talking about nothing else over the next week, so I may as well know what they’re saying. I gather no one can quite agree on what a reform bill should contain. Let’s start with you. What would you like to see?”
“Oh, I’ll never get my way. My sympathies lie with the Radicals. Nothing less than universal franchise for all adults.”
“No property qualification at all? You’d allow even the poorest men to vote?”
“Not just the poorest men. Women too.”
Blake let out a shout laughter. “And why not? Look at us! You’re far better able to make an informed decision than I.”
She was smiling at him now and he felt like a genius. “Perhaps it’s as well, Your Grace, that you don’t have a vote.”
“Merely a seat in the House of Lords. Dear me, how will England survive?”
“Because you are a good man and good men are always needed.” He felt like a god. “And,” she added with a naughty little grin, “because you have me to advise you.”
He lifted her hand, turned it over, and pressed a lingering kiss into her palm. “Nonsense, my dear. You’ll destroy the very fabric of society if you get your way, and plunge us into a French Revolution. I’ll end up hanging from a lamppost and you will go to the guillotine.”
“I have no worries. I’ll be knitting while heads roll.”
“Do you know how to knit?”
“No, actually.”
“I knew there had to be an end to your accomplishments. No knitting, no mercy. And all because, through no fault of your own, you ended up a duchess.”
She didn’t appear too sorry about it. She looked at him with a naughty little smile. “Shall we share a tumbril, do you suppose?”
“What exactly is a tumbril? I’ve never been quite sure.”
“I believe it’s some kind of cart.”
“Pity. I was hoping it was some kind of bed.”
“I could be wrong.” Her voice emerged in a bare whisper, which he took to be a very good sign.
“You know, Minnie. There’s a tumbril in my quarters. A very large one. Would you like to see it?”
“That would be very educational. Never let it be said I cannot admit when there’s something I don’t know.”
Under the circumstances he was more than happy to let her have the last word.