Page 8 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

She simpered up at Simon, as most unattached females did. “I suppose it is given to women to submit to the men of our families.” She batted her lashes. “I am certain you are most protective of your sisters.”

Lady Isabelle and Lady Rosalind exchanged a glance, both of them wrinkling their noses. They were still young. Only fifteen and thirteen, respectively. Obviously, they were not as admiring of their elder brother as Lady Helen.

Simon only nodded to acknowledge her words, his lips pressed firmly together. Anyone who knew the duke’s heir would recognize the man’s expression for what it was—regret that he had said anything to bring attention to himself.

“The duke will wish to speak to you about what you saw today,” Her Grace said, drawing the conversation back to Andrew, perhaps taking pity on her son’s discomfort. “You will stay for dinner tonight, won’t you, Sir Andrew?”

“If you like, Your Grace.”

Josephine rose from her place on the footstool again. “We are going to the theater afterward, Mama.” Though her back was to Andrew, he well knew she meant to dis-invite him from dinner, since they already had the evening scheduled out. Silly girl.

He knew what the duchess would say before she said it.

“Oh, I had nearly forgotten.” The duchess turned again to Andrew. “Would you accompany us there, too? I am certain Farleigh would appreciate your company.”

Everyone in the family used Simon’s honorary title when in company with those who were not family. That was the polite thing to do. Andrew looked to his closest friend, waiting for an indication of whether he wanted an additional person in their box that night. But Simon only raised one eyebrow, an odd talent that the duke had passed down to nearly all his children.

“It would be a pleasure, Your Grace. I will send for my things at once.” He noted Josephine’s posture, the way her shoulders relaxed. She couldn’t be relieved to have him coming, could she?

Had she ever been pleased by the promise of his company before? He had certainly looked forward to spending time with her. On more than one occasion. And, of late, he’d had to take himself to task for such thoughts. They weren’t brotherly. They were more than friendly, too. And only the continual reminder that he was Simon’s friend, not Josie’s, kept him in check.

A baronet had no right to more than friendship with a duke’s daughter.

Simon gestured to the door. “Come, I will give you the loan of my desk for your note writing.” The triumphant gleam in Simon’s eyes spoke more than words could of his relief to be away from the ladies and the two guests.

The men bowed to take their leave, and Andrew caught Josephine watching him, her dislike for him glittering in her eyes. His fanciful thoughts were nothing more than daydreams. She didn’t care whether he joined them so much as she cared about their verbal sparring. Very well. Before the day was through, they would come to battle, as they always did.

He quite enjoyed their verbal duels, and if that’s all he could hope for, he rather looked forward to the next one.

CHAPTER 4

His Grace, the Duke of Montfort, had sat quietly at the dinner table. Josephine watched him carefully as Sir Andrew told the brief tale of three men entering the Burlington Arcade. She tried, and failed, to guess at her father’s thoughts as he contemplated the irate men’s intrusion in a place they need not be.

“You did the right thing,” he said when Andrew finished speaking, and the rest of the family kept eating their dinner. “Doubtless, many of the people there were frightened.”

“Those men had to have known the Arcade would be full of ladies at that time of day. Unprotected ladies.” Andrew glanced in Josephine’s direction long enough for her to wrinkle her nose at him. “They were cowards,” Andrew added, looking back at the duke.

Simon dropped his fork and leaned back in his chair. “I received a letter from my friend in York, Lord Hartwell. He told me there were Luddite uprisings that began as what we are seeing now. General disquiet. A few brazen attacks in the light of day.”

“The last time anyone acted against machinery was years ago,” Josephine said quickly, bringing everyone’s attention to her. Andrew watched as she sunk slightly in her seat. “It was in Derbyshire.”

“So it was,” her father said. “But using the word ‘last’ might be premature. What we see happening in London—indeed, across the country—at this moment could be another branch of that same disquiet and dissatisfaction. The working class face hardship, Josephine. A hardship that empties their pockets without filling their children’s bellies.” He motioned to the array of food before them. “The cost of food has risen. They see no relief coming, especially in places where there are no members of Lords or Commons to represent their difficulties to the government. The people are angry, but I believe they are as much afraid.”

Silence descended upon the table until the dowager duchess sighed. “Things started this way in France, too. Years and years before you children were born.”

“Surely we are not as despotic as our neighbors across the Channel,” Simon muttered.

“It only takes a few people in power to shift the opinions of the masses,” the dowager declared grimly.

The duke sighed, deeply, the sound matching his mother’s in a way that linked them as parent and child. “Mother. We are not going to have an English revolution. Not yet.”

“You cannot say that,” the dowager argued, “when you do not know. These—these radicals want nothing more than to see men such as you brought low, Montfort.”

“I believe they want fair representation and fair laws,” the duke said, his voice steady and low. “And I believe they should have them. Unfortunately, there are too many people who believe the opposite, and too few willing to discuss ideas of how it might be done.”

Before the quiet after that pronouncement became too uncomfortable, the duchess cleared her throat. “I am all for discussing politics as a family so that we might all understand what you work at in Lords, my dear. But I think we had better speak of something more cheerful. Isabelle, will you tell your father about your idea for a garden party?”

The second of the duke’s daughters immediately perked up as she began to explain her idea for a party of young people, not yet out in Society, that might gather to come to know one another better before taking their first steps into the adult world in the coming years. Andrew tuned out her cheerful explanations, thinking instead on what the duke had said.