“I don’t mind.”
“Sensible fellow, like I said. It is because I like you that I wish to give you some advice.” Gosford leaned forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “Principles are all well and good, but people don’t vote for principles.”
James frowned. “Surely that is untrue?—”
“Allow me to finish. They believe they are voting in accordance with their conscience, but it is the man delivering the message and how he does so that has the greatest influence on their decisions. Take me, for instance. I am neither an intellectual nor a devoted reformer, yet I held that seat for five consecutive terms. Do you know why?”
“People like you.”
“Bull’s eye. Because they like me, they gave me credit for being a better man than I am. Now take you, Manderly. You are, objectively speaking, a better man than me, but are you as well liked?”
“Popularity has never been my concern,” James said indifferently.
“And that”—Gosford stabbed a finger at him—“is your problem. Lofty ideals alone will not win you the seat. Ordinary folk want to feel as if they know the man behind the politician. I portrayed myself as a devoted husband and father—which worked well until it didn’t. My point is, when you are out there, don’t merely speak about policy. Hold babies, pat children on the head, compliment ladies on their needlework. Voters appreciate the personal touch. And don’t forget to use your lady.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your countess—she is an asset. Her quiet charm has a way of drawing people in. More importantly, she has stars in her eyes when she looks at you—as if you stood on a pedestal and could do no wrong. You want people to share her opinion.”
“I am not sure that is her opinion.” Reminded of how Evie had compared him to an aloof god, he felt vaguely uncomfortable. “But I am grateful for my wife’s support.”
Gosford stared glumly into his empty glass. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
James planned to be deserving of Evie until death did them part.
“As for focusing less on the message and more on its delivery,” he said, “perhaps you have the right of it. Lady Vernon counseled me in a similar fashion.”
“Morgana Vernon is a shark.”
James was taken aback by Gosford’s bitter tone. “On the contrary, she has been a key supporter.”
“Once upon a time, she was mine as well.”
Tossing back the last of his whisky, Gosford came unsteadily to his feet.
“Here’s my parting advice.” He executed a tipsy bow. “Keep your enemies close and your friends closer.”
Frowning, James watched the fellow stumble off, wondering what the devil he meant.
James returned home by early afternoon. Despite the strange malaise that had plagued him since the talk with Gosford, his lips twitched when he found Evie exactly as he’d left her. Bent over the escritoire in her sitting room, her spectacles perched on her nose, she was jotting notes and mumbling to herself. At the warm greeting that lit her whisky eyes, his disquiet dissipated.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to kiss her cheek.
“Still busy as a bee—or moth—I see.”
Removing her spectacles, she smiled at him.
“You are a sight for sore eyes. How was the club?”
“Fine.” He paused. “I saw Gosford.”
“Oh. How did that go?”
“It was awkward. To say the least.”
“Why don’t I pour you a drink and you can tell me about it?”
He decided that some of life’s greatest pleasures were the simplest. Or perhaps he was just a simple fellow who enjoyed basic comforts like coming home to his wife and being able to tell her about his day. They settled on the settee, and with his arm around her, he described the interaction with his disgraced colleague.
