Gellert mouthed the word blether and even looked to the clerk who had been sent to find Alexander. The man sat across the room on a simple, wooden chair, a book open upon his lap and a pencil poised over the page. The man shrugged and Gellert sighed, turning back to Alexander.
“I do not pretend to follow your colloquialisms, Your Grace. I am reminded of the boy I found when I came to Glasgow searching for the heir to a Dukedom. It was as though you spoke a different language. But, I digress. I have found the means by which youcan end the opposition and finally defeat Lord Godstone for good.”
Chapter 31
The carriage arrived at Great Russell Street and stopped before the door of number forty-five. Lillian alighted without waiting for the help of the driver, lightly leaping to the pavement and then hurrying indoors. Violet took the driver’s hand and carefully stepped down. She paid the man and then walked, more sedately, into the house. None of the tasks before her seemed appealing. The only one task that she wished to do was the only one she could not. She wished to get back into the carriage and go in search of Alexander.
I want to run away with him. Elope and find somewhere a long way from London and England. Somewhere that we can be together and not be concerned with the petty machinations of the so-called gentry. They are worse than cave-dwelling primitives sometimes. The mess that we twist ourselves into according to the whims of the Ton!
Inside, after divesting herself of her bonnet and coat, she saw Uncle George putting his head out of the door of the library.
“Violet, the very person. Come in here for a moment, would you?” he said.
Lillian could be seen disappearing around the corner of the stairs. She had clearly run straight in and up the stairs without speaking to her father. Her hat lay on the floor beside the hat stand where it had fallen unobserved. Violet picked it up and replaced it, hand lingering on it for a moment.
Dear Lillian, I pray that one day soon you will see that what I have done is for the best. That I do not hurt you out of cruelty.
“Of course, Uncle George,” Violet said.
She recalled how their last conversation had ended and was surprised at the light, almost casual manner of his address to her.
I will apologize and claim my earlier behavior was feminine silliness. That will appeal to his essentially chauvinistic heart. Then I must write to Lord Godstone and request a meeting. There is nothing for it but to confront him with my mother’s journal and ask the question outright. Are you my father?
She entered the library, deep in thought. Uncle George had seated himself and was turning an envelope over in his hands.
“Take a seat, my girl. And let me say first that everything that was said earlier is forgotten. No need for forgiveness as it is forgotten as though it never happened.”
He beamed at her and she hesitated before taking a chair opposite him.
“That is very gracious of you, Uncle George. I was about to apologize…”
“No need. Actions speak louder than words, do they not?”
“Which actions are you referring to?” Violet asked, glancing at the envelope that Uncle George still held.
“I do not know, I am sure. But, this missive that was handed to me by a certain person after I had completed my peregrination through the division lobby today, speaks volumes for the actions of a certain Lady.”
He used the envelope to point at Violet, then he winked. Violet frowned, perplexed. She wondered if the envelope was from Alexander. But then if it had been, Uncle George would probably have disposed of it, unopened, in the fire. So, who?
“And who is the missive from?” Violet asked.
“Lord Ambrose Devereaux of Godstone,” Uncle George said, “and it is for you.”
He leaned forward and placed the envelope on a small occasional table between them. Then, as though unable to contain himself, he stood and strode to the fire, presenting his hands to it to warm them. Violet stared at the envelope asthough it were a venomous snake. It was as though Ambrose had seen into her mind, preempting her action.
Does this letter contain the confirmation of my suspicions?
“Why should Lord Godstone be writing to me?” Violet said, not picking up the envelope.
“Why? Why should he not? He is a distinguished man and a pillar of our great Parliament. A future Prime Minister I would say. The Whigs are done. At the next election the Tories will carry the Commons, I’ll be bound. And who else to lead them but Godstone. I can think of no-one finer.”
“But, that does not explain why he should wish to communicate with me,” Violet persisted.
“Why does a gentleman ever wish to communicate with a Lady. When they are both unmarried? Why else other than to seek an alliance!”
George was practically bouncing on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and with his back to the fire.
“An alliance?” Violet said, still not ready to pick up or read the letter.
