The only one who didn’t step forward to shake Charles’s hand was a very distinguished man I recognized as Lord Ralston, a grizzled old warhorse in a top hat and tails. Charles didn’t move to greet him either.
Beside me, Harriet whispered, “Don’t they remind you of a couple of stallions fighting for control of the herd?”
Lord Ralston stood very still, taking the measure of the up-and-comer. I could see that he was reluctant to cede the turf Charles was moving into, but after a moment, he tipped his hat and Charles acknowledged the gesture with a slight, smug nod.
Harriet fit well into Charles’s political circles, looking every bit the part. Her gold taffeta gown fell in soft folds over her statuesque figure and set off her pale, patrician face with its high cheekbones, square jaw, and long, thin nose. The final touch was a tiara expertly entwined in her artfully constructed blond curls. Our mother would have been so proud. Harriet was everything I was not, and I suspected people thought that she was the one beauty of the family.
“Poor, dear Charlotte,” I could imagine them saying. “Her star can never hope to burn as bright as her sister’s. Such a pity she didn’t inherit the tall, willowy frame and the taste in clothing to show it off.”
I caught sight of our destination, a group of men engaged in an animated discussion, and my throat went dry. I knew I would be expected to make witty small talk, something I dreaded. As we neared the men, there was a burst of raucous laughter at some shared joke, but it faded when Harriet held out her hand. The group parted to make room for the three of us, and each man gallantly took Hari’s hand, bestowing a small kiss, an homage to her beauty and to her place in society. I tried to stay back, but Charles pushed me forward once again.
“Gentlemen, I am sure you all know my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Harding?” he said.
George was the only one to reach for my hand. His was large and fleshy with surprisingly soft skin.
“Of course, the lovely Miss Harding,” he murmured as he held my hand to his lips and brushed it with his sticky-wet moustache. “A delight to see you again. I hope you’ll do me the honour of stepping out with me tonight. Perhaps a walk along the shoreline to admire the lanterns?”
“Charlotte will be flattered to join you, George,” Charles said with an ingratiating smile.
“Yes, I’m sure I should enjoy that,” I murmured dutifully.
George seemed pleased, and Charles nodded to Sandwell. His butler snapped his fingers at one of the servants carrying champagne, and within seconds, we were offered fresh glasses.
I took a glass and held it to the light, pretending to examine the colour and lustre of the wine, while I looked anew at the man with whom I might spend the rest of my life. He was clearly beginning to show the first signs of oncoming middle age. His gold hair was thinning but still no sign of grey. The cheeks of his jovial face were rounding, the neck thickening. A slightly bulbous red nose was crisscrossed with spider veins, the telltale signs that he drank to excess. His throat bulged over the tight, high collar of his dress shirt, while his stomach strained against the confines of a cummerbund. Clearly not the Prince Charming of most young girls’ dreams, but he had a comfortable, solid look.
As the servant bent forward to offer a delicate flute of champagne, I heard George quietly mutter, “Have you got anything more substantial? I’m not a big fan of the bubbly.” The man nodded and headed off discreetly.
“I distinctly heard a peal of laughter as we approached your group,” Harriet said, commanding the group’s attention. “And I demand to be let in on your joke.”
“Ah, that. We were making light of the petition brought to the House of Lords demanding the vote for women,” George explained on behalf of the group. “Someone suggested that getting the vote would surely encourage women to become involved in politics, a soul-destroying enterprise if there ever was one. Another countered that it wouldn’t be a problem because he wasn’t sure women actually have souls.” He sputtered with laughter and the rest of the group joined in. The servant returned with a tray carrying a large tumbler of Scotch for George, who drained it within a few seconds.
What a bunch of buffoons, I thought, but I kept a polite smile on my face. Charles would not appreciate me looking at George like he was an unbridled idiot.
Harriet fluttered her ivory-and-feather fan. “I am more than happy to leave the politics in the family to my husband. It’s his passion, not mine. My one role is to be his hostess.”
“But you’re forgetting your other, more important role, that of a wife and mother,” George said.
A shadow seemed to flit across Harriet’s face.
“My wife would never forget those obligations, would you, dear?” Charles’s look held little affection.
I felt embarrassed for Harriet and struck up the courage to change the topic. “Charles tells me you are the government’s whip, Mr. Chalmers. I know little of what that role entails. I imagine it’s very challenging?”
“Yes, indeed. It seems the prime minister doesn’t wish to make a single decision without my input, and on the other end of things, I have to ride the junior members of Parliament very hard to keep them in line. Long hours with no time off, but I don’t complain. It’s for the good of the nation and the empire.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Charles interrupted. “I’ll leave you to get better acquainted while I attend to some of the other guests.”
As he moved off, the conversation
