Free Love's Harbinger by Joan Smith Page B

a by-election here, you must know. Old George Shaft, the Tory incumbent, has stuck his fork in the wall and his son is up to replace him.”
    “Is that so? I noticed the streets were busy. Who do you think will take it?”
    “There’s no question hereabouts. We always get stuck with a Tory. We’ll get the Shaft again, I wager,” he joked.
    “I thought since the new Duke of Graveston took over, there might be some hope of a change,” Guy said, to let his listener know his own sentiments.
    “They do say the young duke is of a different stripe than his late papa, but the old gaffers have the scrutineering under their care, you see. No matter what goes into the box, what will come out of it is Mr. Shaft.”
    Delamar adopted a sympathetic face. “Like that, is it? Who’s in charge of counting the vote here?”
    “Shaft’s man, a Mr. Irons by name—and an ironmonger by trade—but his avocation is feeding from the Tory trough. He always gets any sort of political job that can be done by an idiot—except that of Member of Parliament, of course,” the proprietor added with a wink. “That plum belongs to Mr. Shaft.”
    Delamar arranged to have Faith taken to her room, and before she had removed her bonnet and pelisse, her aunt came in, shaking raindrops from her pelisse and complaining about the weather.
    “You never saw such black clouds. It looks as though the heavens are in mourning. And the thunder! Loud enough to wake the dead. I barely got in before the clouds opened. Where is Guy?”
    “He is looking up one of his employees in the taproom,” Faith answered brusquely. “Do you realize, Auntie, he has taken us miles out of our way, and we will have to cross a river on a ferry to reach Bournemouth?”
    Her aunt frowned in perplexity. “Has he, indeed? Why would he do such a cracker-brained thing?”
    “Because finding Thomas is only a small part of his reason for this trip. He came here to Fareham to look into the by-election. He suggested you and I continue to Bournemouth without him,” she added, and looked for her aunt’s reaction.
    Delamar was not the only one with an ulterior motive for darting off to Bournemouth. Sharing Guy Delamar’s company had been as much inducement as finding Lord Thomas, in the chaperone’s decision. She hastily considered the matter and decided that laissez-faire was her best option. Who knew what might occur before morning? “We shan’t go far tonight in any case. Did Delamar give a hint as to how long he meant to remain here?”
    “Till his business is finished,” Faith said tartly.
    “Your trip with Guy was less than agreeable, if I am to judge by your sour face,” Lady Lynne remarked.
    “I did not want to join him and he didn’t want me in his rig. I don’t know why you ever suggested such a thing.”
    Lady Lynne plopped down on the bed and leveled a cool stare at her niece. “Then you are remarkably slow, my dear. The Season has less than two weeks to run. The only gentleman who offered for you has turned out to be a thief.”
    “Thomas is not a thief!”
    “He’s under a cloud at least. Your papa will never permit the wedding to take place now. By sheer good luck, a better replacement has dropped in your path and you haven’t the wits to throw your bonnet at him. I have chaperoned some slow lasses in my life, but I must say, Faith, you take the prize. If all the chits were as dull as you, the bells of St. George’s in Hanover Square would be silent from head to toe of the year.”
    Faith stiffened up and glared. “Are you actually suggesting that I should make up to that—that scribbler ? I don’t want to marry Mr. Delamar. I don’t care for him in the least.”
    “Then it will be back to Mordain Hall for you, come June. Now that I have made Guy’s acquaintance, I might attach him for Hope—if Lady Marie Struthers don’t beat me to him, that is to say.” She removed her bonnet and walked to the window to survey the skies and to give Faith time to