A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(79)
I lifted my hand to his chin, urging his gaze to meet mine. “Then what’s troubling you?”
“It’s nothing,” he insisted with a shake of his head.
But it clearly was, and I arched my eyebrows to tell him I knew it.
“It’s only that . . . Philip thanked me again for my willingness to assist the Whigs in pressuring the king and the Tories, and apologized for raising any hopes of my receiving a title.”
Earlier that spring, when it had appeared the Tories were going to prevent a third attempt at the Reform Bill from passing, even though the failure of the second bill had caused widespread unrest and rioting throughout London and other parts of Britain, the prime minister—Earl Grey—and his cabinet had decided they needed to find a way around them. So they had pressured the king to create a large enough number of new peers, all of whom would be Whigs, to push the act through the House of Lords. However, when King William IV had balked at the suggestion, Earl Grey and his cabinet had all resigned, forcing the king to turn to the Duke of Wellington to form a Tory government. When that had led to the tumultuous week of revolt and unrest that had me so frightened about Philip and Alana’s safety, Wellington and the Tories had been forced to concede to the Whigs. Facing the prospect of seeing the House of Lords flooded with new Whig peers after Earl Grey’s government was reinstated by the king, the Tories capitulated by refraining from voting on the measure, allowing the Reform Act to finally be passed.
Gage was to have been one of those new peers, but when he’d agreed to assist the scheme, he’d already known the matter was unlikely to progress that far. Everyone had expected the king to balk. So Philip’s repeated apologies were unnecessary, though I didn’t think that was what had brought such an unhappy look to Gage’s eye.
“And?” I prompted gently.
He sighed, but I could tell his vexation wasn’t directed at me. “And it reminded me of my father’s last letter. How he crowed over the failure of the plot and how ridiculous it had been for the Whigs to think it would succeed. As if most of the Whigs, myself included, hadn’t anticipated just such a thing.”
“He is friends with His Majesty,” I ruminated. “Perhaps he felt affronted on his behalf.”
“Yes, but why does he never feel affronted on my behalf.”
The words were spoken evenly, almost blandly, in fact, but I sensed the pain and disappointment roiling behind them. It was my turn to embrace him, offering him what comfort I could while standing in the middle of the library when anyone could walk in on us at any moment. “Then you haven’t heard from him since the Reform Act passed?” I asked, wondering how he’d broached the subject or if he’d simply pretended it hadn’t happened.
“No, I imagine he’s still licking his wounds.”
Then he’d not addressed Gage’s questions about his affair with the Duchess of Bowmont and the existence of his half brother, Lord Henry Kerr either. Their correspondence since Gage had learned of Henry had been strained and not altogether encouraging, and I knew Gage was still struggling to accept what his father had done, was still doing in practically denying wrongdoing and threatening to reveal certain secrets about the duchess in retaliation. Gage and his father had not been close to begin with, and this had damaged their relationship nearly beyond redemption. Whether Lord Gage realized this, I couldn’t say, but he certainly wasn’t making any effort to fix it.
Anderley appeared in the doorway to tell us the horses were ready, preventing me from saying more, but I arched up onto my toes to press a kiss to Gage’s cheek, smelling the bay run of his shaving soap. Then I draped the train of my plum riding habit over my arm and followed the valet out to the portico.
Lord Alisdair’s cottage stood in a glen between two ridges to the east. The road which wound its way south from Barbreck to the village of Kilmartin and beyond passed not far from the cottage, but Gage and Henry had learned of a shortcut which snaked over the nearest ridge at its lowest point. It was toward this trail that Gage led me and Anderley.
As we crossed the bridge over the River Barbreck, I found myself searching the line of trees at the base of the ridge for any sign of the woman in the blue cloak but then dismissed her from my mind as we turned north. Passing through a sheep pasture, we came to a burn which boasted two cascades as it weaved down toward the river. Had we continued to the north, we would have soon reached the riverbank opposite Mr. MacCowan’s cottage, but we veered south to follow the path paralleling the burn instead. It was narrow and steep at points, forcing me to concentrate on keeping my seat and not causing my mare to lose her footing, but the countryside surrounding us was lovely.
I was impressed again by its wild beauty. As we followed the course of the winding burn, the ridge to the west entirely blocked our view of the sea loch and its scent that was normally borne upon the breeze. This allowed the crisp smells of the stones and earth, as well as the scrubby vegetation that clung to its slopes, to tease at our nostrils. The ripple of the water over the rocks formed a low accompaniment to the strikes of our horses’ hooves and the occasional grating call of a stormy petrel.
The trail took a sharp turn, making a rapid descent, and then emerged in a wooded glen. A short distance ahead, I could see the roof of a building emerge through the downy birch and pines as we rode toward it. This was Lord Alisdair’s cottage. Though cottage was always a bit of a misnomer, for this home was nothing like the small crofts dotted here and there which boasted rough stone walls and two or three rooms. This building was also built from stone, though the surface had been smoothed and whitewashed, and was large enough to contain at least eight rooms, if not double that.