“When have you known me to be a gossip?”
“You have always shown unparalleled judgment.” Dunsmuir leaned forward. “Which is why you are about to hear what you are about to hear.”
James cocked his head, intrigued. It was clear his cronies were bursting at the seams to share the news, whatever it was.
“Henry Gosford is retiring,” Friend announced.
“Gosford?” James drew his brows together. “Why?”
One of the Members of Parliament for Reading, Gosford had just turned forty and had served five consecutive terms. His moderate position made him popular with his fellow Whigs, and his jovial temperament had won the hearts of his constituents. He was the sort of politician who visited orphanages and held babies…and made sure the papers got wind of it.
“When Gosford releases the announcement, the reason he will give is ill health. The real reason,” Dunsmuir drawled, “is a certain brunette actress at the Adelphi. Gosford, the fool, was spotted in public with her, and someone leaked copies of the lease he paid for her cottage and other damning receipts from jewelers and the like to the papers. The scandal will eat him—and his wife and children—alive.”
“That is unfortunate,” James said, frowning. “Mrs. Gosford is an amicable lady and her husband’s staunchest supporter. She is undeserving of such treatment. The children, too, are blameless.”
“Be that as it may, the party cannot take any chances,” Dunsmuir went on. “Gosford must go. He has been persuaded that an early retirement from public life is the only way to control the damage.”
“You know what this means, Manderly.” Behind his spectacles, Friend’s forge-dark gaze smoldered. “The opportunity we have been waiting for has arisen. You must take Gosford’s place.”
Although James’s thoughts had traveled in the same direction, he forced himself to take a step back. To consider the situation from all angles.
“It is not that simple.” He shook his head. “The General Election is mere months away. I cannot possibly get ready?—”
“We will help you,” Dunsmuir said. “Friend and I are at your disposal.”
“And you have support within the party,” Friend asserted. “While Gosford was admired, he lacked imagination. A true vision. Your name, however, comes up repeatedly during discussions of the party’s future and who we wish to represent us.”
“I am honored. Truly.”
The possibility of spearheading real reform sparked excitement in James. Yet the proposed task was enormous…and not just because of the short notice. Running for election would put him, and everyone close to him, in the public eye. His chest tightened as he considered Evie’s reaction to this new development. Even before their relationship had disintegrated to its present state, she had avoided the limelight. While she’d played her social role as countess perfectly, she’d done so out of duty. Out of a desire, it had seemed, to please him.
Now that she considered their marriage a bloody mistake, he wasn’t sure what she would do. Whether she would go along with his plans. Whether he wanted her to.
In either case, I need to talk to her. Even if it’s the last thing I wish to do at the moment.
“If this feels like an honor”—Dunsmuir arched his brows—“why the long face?”
James scrambled for a proper answer. One that wouldn’t expose his marriage to scrutiny and, at the same time, would allow him to be honest with his friends. He did not wish to repay their trust with deception.
He cleared his throat. “You know as I do that public office brings attention to one’s private affairs?—”
“By Jove, Manderly.” Dunsmuir blinked. “Don’t tell me you have a bit of muslin tucked away somewhere?”
“Of course not.” James gave his friend a hard stare. “What kind of fellow do you take me for? I would never break the vows that I made as a gentleman—that I gave before God.”
“That is precisely the reason why you must run,” Friend said with satisfaction. “While Gosford’s early departure will reduce the furor, it will not quiet the wagging tongues entirely. Thus, our next candidate must be unimpeachable. He must be a gentleman of high social standing, whose reputation cannot be faulted in any way. In short, he must be you.”
“I am not a saint,” James said dryly.
“You’re close enough,” Friend declared. “Unless you tell us otherwise.”
Caught between ambition and uncertainty, James hesitated. He didn’t know how to address his strained marital relations—no, he didn’t want to. And he was not certain it mattered. Unhappy couples were neither scandalous nor uncommon. If both parties acted with decorum, there would be no issue.
“You know me as well as anyone,” he said at length. “I have no skeletons of which I am aware. Nonetheless, when any man’s life is placed beneath the magnifying glass?—”
“Ah,” Dunsmuir said. “I understand what you mean. Completely.”
“You, er, do?”
