“Damn and blast.” He kicked the horse’s flanks and sped off. Towards the offices ofThe Times. It wasn’t Amanda’s fault she’d riled up Lord Hanford. Julius had plans to speak with him and he’d just add in the suggestion that he stay out of the papers for the time being. It was the marquess’s letters that were the problem for his investigation, not Amanda’s.
How could he take away the one thing that renewed her interest in the world?
The editor nearly ripped the papers from his hands when he arrived at the newspaper’s office. “’Bout time she wrote something more.”
“Lord Hanford’s response was published only yesterday.” Julius sucked at a papercut on his thumb.
“And this morning I got five hundred new letters to the editor weighing in about this controversy.” The man flipped through the pages Amanda had written. “The papers have been selling faster than a harbor whore on payday this past week.”
Julius raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll publish Miss Wilcox, even under her true name?”
“Damn right it does.” The editor rubbed his jaw, leaving a smear of ink. “With this new steam printing method, we can now print a thousand sheets an hour. You tell her to keep ‘em coming as fast as she can. We’ll keep up.” He chortled. “Old Tobias down atThe London Chroniclenever had an escaped prisoner writing for his pages.”
Julius clenched his hands. “Her conviction was overturned.”
“Sure, sure.” The man waved him off. “I’ve got to go give this to the typesetter.” And without a farewell, he hurried into the bowels of the office.
“Well.” Julius tugged at the hem of his waistcoat. “I guess that settles that.” One task done, he left the newspaper and climbed back on his horse. His next chore wouldn’t be nearly so effortless.
Across town, he was shown into a tidy study decorated in brown leather and hunter greens. Julius guessed this was the one room that Lady Hanford did not control.
“Lord Rothchild.” The marquess clapped his hands together. “What a delight to have you call. Just wonderful.”
Tufts of silver hair threaded through with snow white threads stuck up in a wind-tossed halo around Hanford’s head. Light blue eyes twinkled from under bushy eyebrows. He rocked onto the balls of his feet, the top of his head just reaching Julius’s chin. “Shall we sit?”
Julius settled across from the older man. “Thank you for seeing me. It’s been some time since we’ve last spoken.”
Hanford clasped his hands at his belly and leaned back. A button on his waistcoat struggled valiantly to cling to its hole. “We had quite the debate about government pensions during session when that funding bill came up. ’02 wasn’t it?” The marquess pursed his lips, his gaze losing focus.
“You have a good memory.” That bill had come up for vote in ’12. Julius hadn’t even been a member of the House of Lords in ’02. But they had thrown a couple of volleys back and forth when the bill had been up for debate. On that point, the marquess was correct.
Hanford tapped his forehead. “The cranium might have a few wrinkles on it, but it’s still in tip-top shape.” He glanced around and frowned. “Boy!” he hollered.
A footman melted away from his position by the wall. “My lord?”
Hanford started. “Oh. Didn’t see you there. Pour me and my guest a drink. Brandy?” he asked Julius.
“Thank you.” Julius took the glass and lifted the snifter to his nose. Smelled good. He took a sip. Tasted even better. The marquess knew his brandy. He rested the glass on his armrest. “I read your piece in the paper yesterday. You seemed to have knocked over a hornet’s nest.”
“Have you come about that?” Resting his snifter on his belly, Hanford sighed. “Reforms to that law were discussed and rejected. No need to bring it up again.”
“Reforms can be raised every year,” Julius said dryly. “Besides, I thought Miss Wilcox made some good points.”
Hanford grumbled. “Miss Wilcox. Tried to pass herself off as a man, did you know that?” He tapped a finger to the side of his nose. “But I was on to her. Can’t get much past me.”
“Indeed.” Crossing one leg over the other, Julius plotted his attack. “I was at Simon’s and heard talk of it. It seems that having her identity revealed has made her a more sympathetic mouthpiece. Viscount Ashworth was saying no woman should have to go through what she has.”
The marquess snorted. “Viscount Ashworth is a blockhead.”
Julius shrugged. There really was no arguing that point. Although in a competition between Viscount Ashworth and the marquess, it was anyone’s guess whose mental capabilities would come out on top.
“By responding to the article you’ve only fanned the flames of the debate higher.” Julius swirled the amber liquid, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.
“And why shouldn’t I?” Leaning forward, Hanford punched at the air, brandy slopping over the rim of his glass and falling onto the carpet below. “She mentioned me and others by name. Accused us of being unfeeling.” He sniffed. “I can only do what I feel is right for our country.”
“Of course,” Julius said as soothingly as possible. “Your many years of service do you credit. But perhaps if you didn’t respond to Miss Wilcox’s next letter, if you just let the furor die down naturally …”
Hanford scrunched up his face. “I can’t let her have the last word. The public is fickle. They’ll believe whatever anyone tells them to.”
