Page 16 of The Gentlewoman Companion

“May I use the mallet?”

“Yes, but not in the customary way.”

He took a mallet from the stand. “Clear back.” He spun in a circle three times before lobbing the ball down the alley, far beyond the hoop.

“You needn’t parade your strength.” Miss Thorpe laughed. “I must fetch my ball and will get yours as well, my lord, my lady.” In graceful, fluid steps, she ran down the alley and back, carrying three balls. She secured her own mallet, spun thrice, and hit the ball over the hedge. She and his mother found this hilarious.

The sophisticated Lady Halverton took Miss Thorpe’s mallet and performed the exercise with more success than her predecessors but with just as much absurdity. Halverton surprised himself by snorting and was rewarded with his mother’s teasing nudge to his shoulder. A great warmth spread through his chest until it burned in his nose. He rubbed it away.

They kicked the ball, threw it with their arms stretched like a bird, tossed it with their eyes closed, and flung it with their left arms. As Halverton played and watched, he took to Miss Thorpe, whose interactions with his mother were both lively and considerate. He almost forgave her for jumping the horse.

In due course, Lady Halverton signaled an end to their game. “I’ve stirred up quite an appetite.” His mother pulled out her watch. “It’s nearly four.”

Four? Lured by laughter, he’d idled away his afternoon. He could not allow such a thing to happen again. “May I escort you back?”

“No, but send us tea, if you please.”

After he returned to the house and sent tea to his mother, he sat at his desk and pulled the unanswered letter from the drawer again. The enjoyment he’d found in Miss Thorpe’s game vanished into the sharp corners of Tilney’s script. His lot was not one of diversion. He must discipline himself, leave behind superfluous pleasures, and complete all that his position required.

During his tour of the continent, Halverton had only once received a letter from his father. It had begged his return home. Instead of heeding his father’s request, he’d gone to Greece, promising that after seeing that country, he would sail for England. Eight months later, word reached Halverton in Crete that his father had died. The letter had been two months old, and Halverton had required as many months to journey home.

Like Lord Tilney, his father had been a proud Tory, and Halverton knew enough about his father’s party to recognize that Lord Denton’s proposal aligned with the party’s principles. He would not fail his father by voting contrary to the views their family had held for generations. But what would he request in return?

He thought of the woman selling flowers, the home she must return to, the children she may not be able to feed. His mind had fixated on her and her haunting poverty again and again during the last weeks.

Halverton wanted to live in a nation that valued compassion. The speech he was preparing regarding the Foundling Hospital was slowly taking shape as he learned more about the institution. Over the past four years, an overwhelming demand for asylum had forced the governors to allow general admission. During that time, more than four thousand children had entered to claim the Hospital as home, depleting resources until the establishment had found it almost impossible to meet the needs of the children in their care.

Perhaps there was something Lord Denton could do for him.

He spent more time than was strictly necessary trimming his quill, took a sheet of paper, and wrote to Lord Tilney. He agreed to support Lord Denton in his tax initiative in return for votes to increase taxes on gin production and enforce stricter licensing among gin retailers as well as to support funding for the Foundling Hospital. As he signed and sealed his response, he hoped his decision had made his father proud.

The next day, Halverton struggled to keep his eyes from Miss Thorpe’s pert nose and full lower lip. Since playing her inventive version of pall mall, his opinion of her had shifted. She rode beside him on Daisy, having completed numerous lessons with Jones, the results evident in her excellent posture and even posting. Watching her now, one would never guess she was used to riding without saddle or bit. She caught his gaze and beamed, duly proud of her progress.

They traveled over a wide path surrounded by trees. Though she’d promised not to, he worried that Miss Thorpe might try a jump. Should anything happen, Graham rode behind, ready to assist. In fact, it was Graham who’d requested to accompany them. Given that his valet possessed more knowledge about horses than most grooms, Halverton had consented. Very likely, his valet was curious to observe the young lady who leaped over fences and had convinced Lady Halverton to throw a ball after spinning in circles with her eyes closed.

He and Louisa had already discussed the weather, and she’d given short replies to his questions regarding her studies. Halverton could think of nothing else to say, so he began blathering about politics to fill the silence, ignoring the inner voice that bid him stop boring her with minutiae. Though his mother was an exception, most women knew nothing of the parliamentary acts that shifted the nation. Like a true oaf, he persisted in describing the proposal concerning the East India Company. Before disclosing his agreement with Lord Denton to support the bill, he concluded his monologue, cringing at the persnickety details his thoroughness demanded he impart.

“That act may be best for England and certainly benefits those members of the peerage who’ve invested in the company, but is it best for the English people or for the common trader?” she asked. It appeared Miss Thorpe had been listening.

Though he harbored the same questions, he felt he had no good answers and thus decided to stand with his father’s party. “Voting in favor of the company is what my father would have done, so I trust it is the best course of action.”

“It’ll encourage smuggling.”

Halverton scoffed. “Really, I hardly think those scoundrels need an excuse.”

“When the imports are taxed so mightily and tradespeople are hindered by steep prices, smuggling will increase. Merchants will declare the maximum they are allowed and smuggle the rest. I am from Cornwall, you remember. Smuggling happens a stone’s throw from my home, and my family has not gone untouched from its evils.”

Halverton gripped his reins. Here was the perspective he’d wanted, but her words infused him with restless tension. He’d made his choice, had already sent the letter. Was he wrong? She spoke with such conviction. Was that confidence founded, and did she understand the issue? “Without a stronghold abroad, other countries may gain an undesirable advantage.”

“How does that help the average Englishman?”

“It increases the wealth of our country.”

“Your wealth, the peers’ wealth. Not mine. Not my neighbors.’ Not those merchants who must become criminals to support themselves.”

Her logic grated. If she was right, he would have to grapple with the possibility that his father either voted ignorantly or selfishly. No. He could not accept that. Without experience, he must rely on his father’s wisdom. “My father was a Tory. I am a Tory. I vote with him.”

“That’s filial of you.”