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Gerard’s gaze turned suspicious. “Does this have something to do with that woman you were found with?”
“Keep her out of this.” The vehemence in his voice surprised him, and even Gerard raised an eyebrow at his sudden growl.
“You needn’t worry. Bernard Hughes has already spoken on her behalf.”
“What?” Rafe practically shouted, irrationally irate at the very idea of anyone else speaking for Sylvia, let alone the former lover who had so coldly deserted her. He had already taken steps to minimize her involvement as much as possible and had been prepared to do more, if needed.
“He’s an MP,” Gerard explained, unaware that Rafe already knew exactly who the cad was. “A member of the opposition, but he comes from a respectable family. Married one of the Holloway girls.” Based on Gerard’s impressed tone, they were aristocrats, or close enough. “I can’t imagine why he is so taken with a self-righteous little harridan. She sounds absolutely exhausting. But I suppose we all have our quirks.”
Rafe’s breath caught. He had no right to feel so jealous that her former lover had come to her aid. Gerard watched him carefully, no doubt cataloging his reaction, but Rafe couldn’t speak. Not about this.
“In any case,” he continued, “you don’t need to make a decision now. Talk to them. See what they have to say.”
There was little harm in that.
“And if I decline their offer?”
“I know you probably don’t give a damn, but you’ll have my blessing.” Gerard held out his hand. “Whatever you decide.”
Rafe stared at his outstretched palm for a moment before taking it in his. “I plan to hold you to that,” he grumbled.
Gerard cracked a smile. “I certainly hope so.”
***
Sylvia exited a nondescript building in Bloomsbury, having just attended her first meeting of the newly formed Union for the Advancement of Women. When she had arrived earlier, she’d hesitated for a moment before signing the ledger as Sylvia Wilcox. But the young Indian woman manning the desk hadn’t screamed in horror, hadn’t called her a harlot or demanded she leave. She simply smiled and said, “Welcome.”
Welcome.
Sylvia had forgotten how one little word could hold so much power.
She had then taken a seat in the back, intending to spend this first meeting silently observing. But as she listened to the other speakers, ideas began to form in her head. By the time the meeting ended, she had spoken up three times, to both offer her support to others’ suggestions and to make her own. The moderator seemed impressed and sought Sylvia out afterward.
“Where have you been hiding all this time?” she had teased, after introducing herself as Mrs. Henrietta Wakefield, the union’s vice president and a well-known advocate for social reform and universal suffrage.
Sylvia gave her a smile. “In plain sight. But I won’t hide any longer.”
Mrs. Wakefield nodded. “We need more women, especially those of us in the middle and upper classes, who are willing to make their voices heard. Our silence helps no one.”
“I agree.”
They talked for a few more minutes, and when Sylvia admitted her past involvement with the Aurelias Society, Mrs. Wakefield didn’t even blink.
“We have a few members who used to belong to that group, but they became disillusioned by the leadership.”
“Yes, so did I.”
“I hope you’ll find us more welcoming. We try to operate as a collective and encourage people from all classes, creeds, and races to join. Here everyone has a vote and a voice. We encourage dissent and spirited debate on all issues brought forward, but any kind of abusive rhetoric is not tolerated.”
Sylvia nodded gravely. “Of course. I understand.”
“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you at our next meeting.”
As Sylvia walked down the street, she buttoned her coat against the chill November air and tilted her face up to feel the fading afternoon sun on her face.
This was the closest she had come to feeling happy in weeks.
After their return to London, Georgiana had dutifully entered her mourning period for the viscount. Mrs. Crawford insisted they stay with her to provide support, and Georgiana and Sylvia decided it was time to reveal her true identity. Remarkably, the old woman took their duplicitousness in stride.
