Even when said lady happened to be as formidable an opponent as Lady Selina Balfour.
5
Selina had chosen her first campaigning outfit with great care. Her dress was a sober maroon, as far removed from girlish pastel as could be. She wore a grey pelisse edged with matching deep red ribbon. Atop her hat was a plume of grey feathers that would mark her out in any crowd. She could not be missed.
Nor could she be mistaken for the silly young woman many of the voters would expect her to be.
“Bravo!” she called, clapping loudly as Mr Forrester finished his speech. “Bravo!” She gently nudged Aunt Ursula, who had fallen into a doze beside her.
“Is it finished?” asked the old lady, rousing herself with difficulty. “About time, too. I’ve missed my afternoon sherry. My throat is parched!”
“Lady Selina!” called a portly gentleman, whom Selina recognised as one of the voters of the Twynham borough. He tipped his hat and nodded to Aunt Ursula. “How nice to see young gels taking an interest in politics, eh, Lady Ursula?”
“I am very glad to see you here, too, Mr Griggs,” said Selina, ignoring the phrase young gels. “I thought Mr Forrester spoke exceptionally well.”
“Yes indeed, yes indeed.” Mr Griggs’s attention drifted over Selina’s shoulder, where it caught on something that evidently surprised him. “Ah!” He made a low bow. “Good day, Your Grace!”
“Good day, Mr Griggs.” The Duke of Caversham stepped down from his carriage with a beaming smile. He bowed to Aunt Ursula, winked at Selina, and gestured expansively towards the podium where Mr Forrester was taking questions from the keener members of his audience. “Quite the spectacle. I must say, I was impressed. Mr Forrester does have a talent for public speaking.”
“I should think so, Your Grace,” said Selina stiffly. “He is one of our finest barristers, after all.”
A second man was descending the carriage behind Malcolm – a man with a high domed forehead rising above the wisps of grey hair, and an expression that suggested he had recently trodden in manure. Selina gave him a cool nod. “I wonder if Sir Roderick shares our opinion of Mr Forrester?”
“Naturally he does!” cried Malcolm, throwing his arm about Sir Roderick’s shoulders. Sir Roderick greeted Selina with an oily smile that was not improved by its close proximity to Malcolm’s roguish grin. “In fact,” Malcolm continued, “in order to celebrate, we would like to invite Mr Forrester and his illustrious audience to dinner at my club. There’s a barrel of brandy waiting to be tapped.”
A low cheer went up from a few nearby gentlemen. Mr Griggs rubbed his ample belly in anticipation. “That’s most kind of you, Your Grace! Most kind!”
Martin Forrester was hurrying towards them, hampered by the necessity of exchanging greetings with the gentlemen who stopped to congratulate him. When he reached them, his eager young face was flushed red. He bowed deeply to Malcolm, his back stiff enough to convey his deep suspicion.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Malcolm, extending a hand. “I am the Duke of Caversham.”
“An honour, Your Grace.” Mr Forrester shook his hand firmly, voice carefully neutral. “My name is Martin Forrester.”
“So I hear. Well, I must commend you. You spoke extremely well. Sir Roderick agrees with me, don’t you, Roddy?”
Sir Roderick made a non-committal grunt. Malcolm hesitated a moment, but when no further response appeared, he turned his well-practised smile back on Mr Forrester.
“I do hope you’ll join us both for dinner.”
Mr Forrester glanced at Selina, alarm bells jangling in his eyes. “I…”
“Oh, do come, Forrester,” said Mr Griggs. “I don’t see why a bit of competition should prevent us all sharing a tot of brandy. Besides, it’ll give us the chance to talk about your schemes for relief for the poor. Or was it the needy? I admit I didn’t follow the finer points.” He let out a bray of laughter.
“Sounds fascinating,” said Malcolm, his glittering eyes fixed on Selina.
“You are very generous, Your Grace,” said Mr Forrester. Selina gave him a subtle nod. He straightened his shoulders. “I would be delighted to join you.”
“Excellent. My men will flag down a hackney for you.” The corner of Malcolm’s mouth edged upwards. “A pity the ladies can’t join us.”
“I’m sure there will be other opportunities for us all to discuss important matters in a more suitable location,” said Selina airily. Her pride would not let her reveal quite how much Malcolm had irked her, but she was certain that he knew it all the same.
“Yes, but I’m afraid there won’t be quite so much brandy and japery at the refined event you have in mind.”
“Brandy?” said Aunt Ursula, cupping a hand around her ear. “No, Your Grace! It’s sherry I’m after! Sherry!”
Selina smiled, despite herself, and took Aunt Ursula’s arm. “We mustn’t keep you gentlemen any longer. Congratulations, Mr Forrester. You put your position across marvellously today.” She nodded her goodbyes to the rest of them – a very curt nod for Malcolm – and swept away as elegantly as she could with Ursula pottering along beside her.
Her graceful exit was marred somewhat by the groom’s mournful expression as they reached the carriage. “We can’t leave yet, my lady. One of the horses has thrown a shoe.”
Selina battled down her irritation. It was not the groom’s fault that Malcolm had swept in and taken over her rally. It would not be fair to take out her frustrations on him. “How unfortunate. Have you sent for another horse?”
“Yes, my lady. But it may take a while to arrive.”
A large spot of rain landed on Selina’s nose. She wiped it off delicately and turned her eyes to the sky, where thick grey clouds were turning the afternoon prematurely to night.
“We will wait inside the carriage,” she decided. “In you get, Auntie. I don’t want you to get wet.”
Another raindrop splattered down on the cobblestones, followed swiftly by another,
