“And why did you wish to lure me away from the others?” she asked with a wicked spark in her eye.
Oliver replied with a single arched brow. “Need I have an excuse to lure you away? We’ve hardly had a moment to speak since you arrived.”
Miss Caswell bumped against his shoulder. “We have an entire month in which to steal moments like this one. If I might be so bold, I’ve missed you.”
“We saw each other in London not long ago,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Yes, but it’s felt like an eternity, Mr. Kingsley.”
Oliver patted her hand, though he was not so audacious as to leave it there. Instead, he contented himself with smiling at her, for it was as though the vice around his lungs loosened, and he could breathe once more.
Miss Caswell slanted him a sly grin and leaned closer. “The Nelsons have a rather odd approach to guest lists. I am not sure if we are in for rousing political debates or ruined reputations. Though Miss Banfield seems a charming young lady, her family has a rather colorful reputation.”
“Oh?”
She gave a vague wave. “Nothing terribly untoward. Or at least nothing that can be proven. But I’ve heard whispers about them and the company they keep. And then the Nelsons rounded out the group with Mr. Flemming and Mr. Dosett—both of whom are influential in the government.”
The vice tightened once more, constricting Oliver’s chest until his innards felt liable to burst. Ignoring the first part of her statement, he focused on the second. “Mr. Nelson fancies himself an armchair politician.”
Miss Caswell would never be so impolitic as to roll her eyes (even when the situation warranted it), but Oliver felt it lingering beneath the surface, begging to be let loose as she slanted a look in his direction.
“The majority of gentlemen believe themselves political, yet few stir themselves beyond reading the odd newspaper article and expounding upon subjects at great length and little substance,” she replied.
Oliver met that with raised brows. “Ought I to be offended?”
But Miss Caswell merely bumped him with her shoulder again. “I suppose I am being unfair to them. It must be difficult to bear the burden of omniscience, for those gentlemen also boast expansive knowledge on the law, economics, warfare, medicine, business, agriculture, philosophy, architecture, welfare and social issues, and any other subject broached within their hearing. It is a wonder their necks keep their heads upright with that vast amount of expertise weighing their minds.”
Oliver could give no other response than a hearty laugh to that, for Miss Caswell spoke with such earnestness that anyone listening would think her words a compliment. “And what would they say if they knew what a wicked tongue you have, Miss Caswell?”
She sighed, leaning into his arm. “It is an unfortunate fact that such men hold the power, for they hold the purse strings. They may not understand the complexity of economics, but it is their money that propels the economy forward. So, I must flatter and cajole them, guiding them along without their knowledge. It is exhausting at times.”
“But you do it well, and for good causes,” said Oliver.
They drew up under a vast oak tree, and Miss Caswell pulled free of his hold to pluck a leaf from the ground. Wandering around the trunk, she said in a low voice, “It seems so unfair that some gentlemen are born with all the wealth and connections but no intellect or passion to do anything with it, while others are forced to languish in obscurity and poverty as they fight to climb the ranks.”
Miss Caswell paused, turning to stare out at the party. “There are so many fine gentlemen of worth and ability that struggle for years to gain a particle of the power that so many are given unworthily.”
“That is revolutionary talk for the granddaughter of a baron and viscount,” replied Oliver.
“Much good it has done my family,” she said with a stern look at him while tossing the leaf aside. “But I find I am quite swept up in this new philosophy of merit and effort determining one’s place in society. I have watched far too many gentlemen like Mr. Dixon who have all the skill, talent, and drive to go far in politics but are forced to spend years slaving away as clerks and personal secretaries, hoping that some well-connected patron will notice and assist them. Whereas others, like Mr. Dosett, are handed power and influence and do little with it.”
“Mr. Dixon seems a fine gentleman, and I am certain he will go far,” said Oliver.
“But how long will it take?” she said, turning away and continuing to stroll along the edge of the group. “He will spend years scraping by with hardly enough income to feed himself.”
“From what I know of him, it sounds as though he is positioned for a very bright future,” said Oliver as he came up beside her.
Miss Caswell took his arm and held it tight as they continued their turn about the grounds. “Have I ever told you how much I admire you? You are such a wonderful man.”
Oliver’s brows rose, and he gave her a smug grin. She bumped him again with a mock scowl.
“I must amend that statement,” she murmured. “You are just as irritating and condescending as all the rest.”
Chuckling, Oliver patted her hand and urged her to continue.
“You were born with so many advantages, yet rather than sit back and live off your estate’s income, you are driven and work hard to improve the lives of not only your tenants but the rest of Bristow.”
“That is a product of being a Kingsley. We’re meddlers.”
