Keating smiled at this, too. Which gratified him, as he’d said it for her benefit.
Dot was pale and thrilled. “What aterribleman!” she breathed.
“Indeed. And you’ll notice that the House of Lords has made it difficult for the king to simply divorce the queen here in England. You’re welcome,” he said to the gathered, ironically. “Thankfully, beheading them has gone out of style. So along comes Scheherazade, a brave, clever girl with a plan. She volunteered to marry the sultan so that no other women would die. And then night after night—one thousand and onenights, mind you, and I am a writer of all sorts of things so I can attest to the gruesome challenge of this task—she told stories that so enthralled him, that left him in such suspense at the end of each night, that were infinitely more compelling thanThe Ghost in the Attic, if you can imagine such a thing, Dot—until the day came that he forgot to tell the executioner to return. And that was the end of the killing.”
There was silence in the room as the audience absorbed this summary in a thrall that was equal parts fascinated and appalled.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” Keating said.
Dominic gave a laugh, then turned the laugh into a cough.
It was clear that despite her fealty toThe Ghost in the Attic, the potential for a fresh influx of drama, gore, and romance was proving difficult for Dot to resist. Her struggle was written all over her face.
“To your question, Mrs. Pariseau—the sultan indulged a fit of pique and solved his problems by chopping them away. A lazy man’s solution. Scheherazade, to save her life and the lives ofother women, used her wit, wiles, courage, and resourcefulness. And often, these are the qualities that come to the fore when you have no power at all. And those who have no power at all are the most vulnerable among us, usually children and women. Abusing power simply because you can is despicable.”
Everyone in the room was raptly quiet, absorbing the words.
“Is that why you wanted to become an MP?” Keating asked shyly. “To change the laws?”
Her eyes had gone a little starry, which made him wary. He was always quick to curtail budding urges in young women to view him as anything like a hero.
“I wanted to be an MP because I like a good fight. And I wanted to finally make enough money so that I could always sleep in my own bed instead of with any of my six siblings, because I never wanted to smell my brothers’ feet ever again.”
Everyone laughed.
He’d in fact been a lawyer at Lincoln’s Inn before he was an MP, but the day he’d bought an excellent mattress with his very own money indeed was embossed on his memory.
“How many brothers and sisters have you, Lord Kirke?” Mr. Delacorte asked.
“There were seven of us children, and we all slept arse to toe, all crammed into one bed, except for the baby in the cradle.”
A silence dropped instantly.
The ladies were watching him with eyes limpid with regret, heads tipped. The men were amused.
Comprehension set in.
He lifted a hand in resigned acknowledgment.“Do forgive me.” He stood, reached into his coat, found and gamely flung a penny into the Epithet Jar.
“It’s harder than it seems, ain’t it?” Mr. Delacorte sympathized. “But it’s good for a man’s character, I think. Like cod liver oil for the soul.”
“Well said, my brother in profanity.” Lord Kirke reached out and Mr. Delacorte shook his proffered hand. “I am living proof that you can only civilize a man so much.”
“You should have heard me when I first arrived. I am improving by the day!” Mr. Delacorte declared.
“And so is that what you are intending to do, is that not so? Pass a law preventing the abuse of children in mills and the like?” Keating pressed urgently. As if this were some magic he could perform. As if he were a genie from a lamp.
“In essence, yes,” he said carefully. “I expect we’ll get there in increments, not all at once. For example, we’ll perhaps achieve stricter enforcement of the weak laws already in place, which has been woefully neglected.”
“Doesn’t it get exhausting to try and try and not win?” Delacorte wondered.
Kirke looked genuinely surprised into momentary speechlessness. “The winning is in the fighting.”
He said this as though he’d thought this would be obvious to everyone.
There was a silence as everyone absorbed this.
Catherine’s heart contracted. It struck her as so valiant.The winning is in the fighting.She admired it so much she could scarcely breathe.
