The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(14)

“I think your father would hunt Oliver down and drag him home,” Elda said as they walked into the main parlor.

“What has Oliver done now?” asked Henderson, who rose from his seat when the two women entered the room.

“I was just telling Mama how very vexed she would be if Oliver were gone for four years but didn’t bother to visit before leaving again.”

“Ah. I’m being chastised for not being a good grandson,” Henderson said pleasantly. “Neither of my grandparents cares much for visitors.”

“You’re hardly a visitor, you know. You’re their grandson.”

“A visitor, none-the-less.”

“Mama says you’ve come to say good-bye. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Henderson looked a bit discomfited. “I was in the neighborhood. Or rather, not far. I had a meeting in Mayfair with Lord Bellingham. Charming fellow.” It was clear from Henderson’s tone that he was being sardonic.

Alice knew Lord Bellingham and his insipid son and knew they were anything but charming. “I take it your meeting did not go well?”

“It did not.”

“Bellingham is the last sort of fellow who would help any cause that did not involve lining his pockets,” Elda said. She was drawn to a flower arrangement and proceeded to pluck a few dead blooms from their moorings. “Is this about famine relief?”

Henderson stared at the discarded blooms, lined up neatly on the well-polished table, as if he found them somehow repulsive. He snapped his attention to Elda, apparently realizing his distraction. “It is. I have a list of men I plan to appeal to.”

Elda held out her hand. “May I see it?”

“Of course,” he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “A colleague in India helped me to create it, but I fear he’s been away from England so long, he is a bit out of touch.”

He handed over the list and Alice watched her mother curiously; she hadn’t thought her mother was interested in the famine relief cause. Elda read down the list, her eyes widening just slightly, before handing it back. “I’m afraid I can be of no help,” she said. “I’m familiar with many men on the list, but I don’t know their politics.”

“I fear this may be a lost cause,” Henderson said with a weary note. “Bellingham actually accused me of treason, or very nearly so.”

“What did you say to him?” Alice asked, horrified. She couldn’t imagine Henderson saying anything so controversial to be interpreted as treasonous.

Henderson let out a humorless laugh. “I may have implied that the famine was caused by England and our greed and not entirely by the drought, which seems to be the commonly held belief.”

“Oh.” Alice could not imagine Henderson, who had always seemed so laissez-faire, inciting someone to such an accusation.

“I was forewarned by my associate in India, a Dr. Cornish, but I suppose I thought my impassioned speech could sway any man.”

“Ego,” Alice blurted, then felt her cheeks warm when Henderson looked at her rather oddly. “Men and their egos. You should have told him that everyone who supports the cause will get a statue of themselves erected. Or some such thing.” The way Henderson looked at her made Alice want to squirm. It was as if he were weighing each of her words, then rearranging them to see if they made sense. “It’s just that with men like Bellingham, you cannot appeal to their moral integrity. I doubt…” She let her voice trail off because he was still staring at her.

A smile slowly grew on Henderson’s face, and for just a moment, Alice found it difficult to draw in a breath. She’d forgotten how handsome he was, how he affected her.

“You should come with me.” Alice shook her head, rather vigorously, but Henderson persisted. “I get angry too quickly and the thought of stroking someone’s ego does not appeal in the least. You could be a young Florence Nightingale.”

“I’m returning to St. Ives tomorrow morning. And as respected as Miss Nightingale is, her entreaties about India have been mostly ignored. More to the point, I hardly think someone who is a laughingstock in London at the moment could possibly be taken seriously.”

“Alice does have a point,” Elda said, agreeing with her daughter so quickly, Alice was momentarily taken aback.

“Mother!”

“You said it yourself,” Elda said, chuckling. “Do not get yourself all in a tizzy, Alice. But it is too soon for you to go out soliciting aid, and I suspect Henderson, given his schedule, needs to complete his task as soon as possible. And I do not want you to suffer the same fate as Miss Nightingale.”

“I hardly think I could become ill urging men to become involved in famine relief.”

“No, but it could end badly, just the same. It is Miss Nightingale, after all,” Elda said, plucking another brown bloom from the arrangement. “If you have any chance of getting married, you cannot involve yourself in grand causes, my dear. It is not at all attractive.”

“Perhaps I shall accompany you, Henny, as I have absolutely no intention of ever getting married,” Alice said between gritted teeth. Sometimes her mother made her want to scream, and now was one such occasion.

“You would only slow Henderson’s progress, Alice,” Elda said cheerfully, as if she were completely unaware of how very annoyed Alice was.