12
Old books. Worn leather. The last orange light of day seeping through the windowpanes. Edmund always loved this particular hour to visit Price House’s library.
But not this evening.
He retrieved the humidor and held it out to the viscount. Truth be told, he’d been on edge ever since the Woolseys arrived. Could be because he had yet to find out what Bastion wished to discuss, but more likely the tightness in his neck was because of the possessiveness of a certain brown-eyed blond who assumed she already owned him. Not to mention her veiled rudeness toward Miss Dalton. In hindsight, his decision not to marry Violet had been spot-on. And then there was the matter of Gil. Would the man behave himself during their visit? It could prove to be very awkward indeed to try to manage the fellow. If Gil were any regular employee, he’d terminate him on the spot, but there was nothing regular about him. In addition to their friendship, his reputation in the business world was stellar, not to mention his knack for brokering lucrative deals.
The rich scent of tobacco filled the air as the viscount chosea cigar. “I suppose you’d like to know what my urgent business is, eh, Price?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.” More like the thought was stuck in a deeply ground wagon rut. He closed the lid without taking one of Cuba’s finest.
Bastion ran his fat cigar beneath his nose, sniffing it from end to end. “Your patience will serve you well in Parliament.”
Pleasure warmed his gut as he took a seat across from the man, leather squeaking. “I like to think my background in business will also be a virtue.”
“Mmm,” Bastion rumbled.
Edmund sank back in his chair, waiting the man out as the viscount clipped the end of his cigar onto a small tray on the side table. Then he waited some more as the man lit the thing, cheeks sinking with each puff.
At length, the viscount finally quit fussing with his smoke and eyed him. “The thing is, Price...”
The unfinished sentence dangled in the air as he took a few more draws.
Sweet, blessed mercy! They’d be called in for dinner before anything was said. He wished now he had taken a cigar just to have something to do with his hands.
Bastion blew out a cloud of smoke. “I have it on good authority that William Mallory is going to resign next week. Apparently he’s battling a dire health issue.”
“I wish him well, of course, but what has that to do with ... Ah, an unexpected opening for the Oxford seat, eh?”
“One that will move the election much sooner than you or I expected.” Bastion rolled his cigar between his fingers. “It’s an opportunity we must mount and ride hard.”
His pulse took off at a run. If he could get elected and roll back that tariff due out by the end of next month, then Sanjay wouldn’t need the money from the Egyptian cargo, nor would countless other men in the same situation be facing business failure. “When?”
“Mid-September.”
“A little more than a month away,” he murmured, calculating the odds. It would be a stretch—an all-out contortion, really—but with God’s help it could be done.
“And that is exactly why I’ve come. We must move quickly.” Bastion set his cigar on the ashtray and leaned forward. “While I am here, we must craft your campaign platform. I’ve taken the liberty to jot down a few ideas.” He produced a paper from his pocket.
Edmund glanced over the list, struggling to make sense of the words. While it would take some time to comprehend the whole document, with some pointed concentration, a few items sank in. Investment in infrastructure to facilitate commerce he could get behind. He also agreed with funding institutional initiatives for education reform. But the third point instantly raised his hackles. Imperialism was a rabid dog as far as he was concerned, one an Englishman would do well to avoid.
He set the paper on the tea table between them. “Tell me more about this acquisition of territories. Surely the people of Oxfordshire don’t have a keen interest in overseas conquest.”
“Any good conservative does. It is our duty to expand our colonial landholdings in order to end lawlessness in other lands. Why, it’s our duty as Christians, is it not?”
“I respectfully disagree, my lord.” Edmund held up a finger, warding the man off. “I understand the importance of maintaining peace beyond our borders. Still, I believe acquiring territories through force is not the way to achieve that peace. It is better to respect the sovereignty of other nations, to work with them in cooperation and mutual benefit instead of wielding the mighty arm of the British military. Has history not shown such conquests come at great cost, both in human lives and resources? No, imperialism can lead to nothing but conflict and resentment.”
The viscount picked up his cigar and took a long draw, blowing out a stream of smoke like a dragon. “I didn’t realize you held such a liberal view, Price.”
He stiffened. He’d played the wrong card—and this was tooimportant of a game to lose. He curved his lips into what he hoped was an easy smile. “I prefer to think of it as a personal view, but let us not dwell on our differences, my lord. Our common goal is to better the lives of the people of Oxfordshire, is it not? It is imperative we work together toward achieving such a purpose. And in light of that...” He swiped up his glass of lemon water and held it aloft. “Here’s to a successful campaign.”
Bastion hesitated a moment before grabbing his tumbler of brandy, not particularly enthusiastic, but neither did it seem he’d take any more issue with Edmund’s stance on imperialism.
“Hear, hear.” The viscount tossed back his drink, then set his glass on the table. “Now then, it will take some doing on such short notice, but I shall arrange a house party as soon as possible, inviting men who will be key in helping you get elected. Attendance could be sparse, considering it is summer recess. Nevertheless, it’s important to get your face in front of England’s powerhouses to gain their endorsements. While it’s true you are the darling of Englishwomen, these men won’t care about your handsome face. What they fancy is what you can do for them and the country, and your ties to mighty moguls—such as me. That’s why it’s crucial we pin down your message and a plan to execute it. Are you up for the challenge, Price?”
“Without doubt.”
“Good.” Bastion inhaled one last drag on his cigar, then ground it out. “The only other matter remaining is an engagement announcement for you and Violet.”
