“Heavens, no!” He brushed his sandy hair back from his face. “Although one could argue it’s time society had a good shaking up. That it lose some of its hypocrisy.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “But there must be a better way to do it.”
“I’m certain there is,” he said. “There are times, though, when the final result merits an unconventional approach. Even one that hurts people.”
Days passed before I had occasion to think of Mr. Foster again. I’d spent a relatively tedious afternoon at home receiving callers, when relief came in the form of Ivy and Jeremy. They’d arrived late, as close friends do, and we were all laughing as I described for them my adventures in Westminster.
“But isn’t Mr. Foster the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” Ivy asked. “Other than Colin, of course.”
“Colin is much more handsome,” I said. “I grant you Mr. Foster is extremely easy to look at, and quite distinguished, though one does wish he was a little taller. He’s also smart, which more than makes up for any physical drawbacks. He quotes Byron with such finesse it’s almost unnerving.”
“Unnerving?” Jeremy asked. “The only unnerving thing I see here is discussing the repulsively perfect merits of some other bloke. Have you ladies no hearts?”
“You know we adore you, too,” I said. “But I do like Mr. Foster very much. He’s the closest thing we have to a modern Alexander the Great. Except, of course, that he hasn’t conquered anything yet.”
“Wait until he’s prime minister,” Ivy said.
“I don’t know how these bloody Etonians do it,” Jeremy said. “It’s bad enough they’ll walk over fire for each other to ensure they run the empire. I’ve learned to tolerate that with equanimity, because I’ve no interest in running it myself. But I won’t have them winning the hearts of all the ladies as well.”
Davis opened the door. “Simon Barnes, madam.”
“Thank heavens,” Jeremy said as the new arrival entered the library. “I’m in desperate need of reinforcements, Barnes. You’ve saved me.”
Simon Barnes stood taller even than Jeremy. His black hair, oiled and combed back in a rather old-fashioned manner, made him look older than his age, as did the heavy creases on his forehead. It was hard to believe he and Mr. Foster had been at school together.
“What a lovely surprise,” I said, raising my hand to him. “We’ve just been discussing the countless merits of your friend, Mr. Foster.”
“There’s not a better man in Britain,” Mr. Barnes said. “He should be prime minister someday.”
“I told him just that a few days ago,” I said. “His response was all modesty.”
“Bloody bore to be prime minister, I’d think,” Jeremy said. “I say, Barnes, enough of this. I want to hear about your days in the West Indies. Surely you’ve troves of stories of pirates and hidden treasure and I know not what else. Anything, really, that gets us off the topic of Foster.”
Simon Barnes had spent his childhood in the West Indies, where his grandfather was governor of one of the islands. Barnes’s mother had been her father’s favorite, and he indulged her every whim. Strong-minded and determined, she’d insisted on marrying a local boy from a well-to-do family. Going native was not something of which English society was much fond, but her father did not object. He had no taste for being the instrument of his daughter’s heartbreak. When she died in childbirth a mere eighteen months later, he took her son, Simon, into his house and gave him his name. The boy’s father protested not at all. The islanders accepted mixed marriages as little as the English, and he slunk back to his family to beg forgiveness for his choice of bride. Within a month, he was remarried to someone deemed more acceptable.
Barnes’s grandfather doted on him, sparing no expense to give him the best. He sent him to England for his education, where the boy excelled academically. Barnes sailed through Cambridge, and had spent the subsequent years working in politics. He’d made himself indispensable to nearly every prominent liberal in the past twenty-odd years, spending all his time in London save a two-year return to the land of his birth when his grandfather died.
“It’s not so romantic as you think,” Mr. Barnes said. “Unless you’ve a fondness for muggy nights and enormous insects.”
“I shouldn’t think I’d like it,” Ivy said.
“It can be hard for a delicate constitution to adjust to the extremes of island weather. England does not well prepare one for heat.” Mr. Barnes’s smile was wide and bright, his voice soft. He didn’t quite look English, but neither did he look like a native West Indian. It was as if the familiar and the foreign lived side by side in him. “I’m sorry to be calling so late, Lady Emily. I’ve no right to intrude in so intimate a gathering.”
“There’s no need for apology,” I said. “We’re delighted to have you join us.”
“I confess I was hoping to see your husband,” he said. “This red-paint business is causing quite a political stir. I’d like to speak to him about it.”
“You don’t think Mr. Gladstone will find his house vandalized, do you?” Ivy asked.
“No,” Mr. Barnes said. “I think we’re all aware of the prime minister’s quirks and eccentricities. I don’t think there’s much left for him to hide. But to see so many families under the threat of whoever is behind this smear campaign is disturbing. The government are taking it quite seriously. They feel no one in London is safe at the moment.”
“Safe?” Ivy said.
“From scandal and rumor,” he said.
“My husband’s not home at the moment, but I shall tell him you called,” I said. “Will you be at the Fannings’ ball tonight? If so, you’re sure to see him there.”
“I’ll look for him,” Mr. Barnes said.
“I worried Mrs. Fanning wouldn’t soldier on,” Ivy said. “Her house was covered with red paint yesterday. Not just the steps and the door, either. The whole front, including the windows, was splashed. She’s a brave woman not to cancel the party.”
“If I were going to be exposed for some grim deed I’d rather it be in the comfort of my own home,” Jeremy said.
“Would you go on with the party, Mr. Barnes?” I asked. “If you found yourself in Mrs. Fanning’s position?”
“A person can’t be daunted in the face of adversity. One must go on. And if one is to be taken down, one may as well do so in excellent company.”
“I always knew I liked you, Barnes,” Jeremy said. “We really must dine together more often. Generally I avoid you Old Etonians. You’re such an insular lot. But you’re different. Bearable, even.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Mr. Barnes said, his voice low and melodic.
“I like you very much, Mr. Barnes,” Ivy said. “Have you promised away all your dances tonight? I can think of several young ladies to whom I’d like to introduce you.”
“Don’t bother to make me your project, Mrs. Brandon,” he said. “Much though I appreciate the gesture, you’d find yourself quickly frustrated. Wealth and political influence are not the only things required by the parents of society brides. I shan’t disturb the lot of you any longer, but will look forward to seeing you all this evening.”
“He’s a good man,” Ivy said after he’d left. “And so open about his past. Never apologizing for it, never hiding from it.”
“It would be impossible for him to conceal it,” Jeremy said. “He might look English enough, but there’s too much of the exotic in him to pass as one of us. Even his voice sounds magical.”
“We must help him find a wife no matter what he says,” Ivy said. “I can’t think of anyone more worthy of a good partner.”
“Not even me?” Jeremy asked.
“Especially you, Jeremy,” Ivy said. “I shudder at the thought of what your wife will suffer.”
