Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 2A

Garrett shook the blustery dry wind from his curls as he entered the house. It was the middle of spring and there was some very fine weather to be had outside. He'd almost loathed to have to cooped up inside like a chicken. After the cold of 1816, this sunshine was welcome news to him. He'd never dealt well with the cold since he was a child. He much preferred the warm sunshine of summer and all that it embodied. All that lovely heat, coupled with the long hours of sunlight was a boy's dream come true through. Especially since summer also meant no school.

However, nowadays summer meant that Parliament adjourned and everyone would be back at their country estates, rusticating.

And that all political matters and reforms would have to be put on hold till next year when Parliament was in session again.

But he wouldn't dwell on the wait. He had about two and a half months left to try to push for change, and he was determined that he would win over as many of the lords as he needed in the meantime. It was certainly not going to be a quick battle, but a long war. And he would need time to gather his troops and make alliances.

He draped his morning coat carefully over the back of his chair before he took his seat.

He shifted through the correspondence left on his desk by his butler, along with the reports of the tenants' situation on his estate.

The grim words did nothing to elevate his mood, but at least it was something that was within his control.

He dipped his quill into the ink pot and proceeded to write his reply to his land steward, Mr Quail. The harvest of last year had been particularly bad due to the unusually cold weather and prices had been steadily on the rise for months now. There had even been reports of low rainfall and long periods of drought.

The people were starving and if he didn't do something now, unhappy sentiments would surely fester.

As it is, there were thousands, if not millions, who had been struggling ever since the end of the war with Napoleon, even though that had been nearly two years ago now. Not enough work to be found. And now a year without a good harvest. Things seemed bleak.

Satisfied with his letter — though it was unlikely Mr Quail was going to be happy about him doing away with the year's rent for all the tenants — he folded and sealed it wax before stamping the family crest on it.

His coffers wouldn't be hurt just because he didn't collect rent for one year. His man of business had assured him as much that his investments were making money and there was little loss on his part.

And although he knew most of his peers and titled landowners would think him daft, he was of the mind that ensuring the welfare of his tenants was certainly more important than making money off them.

If nothing else, the gathering and subsequent Spa Fields Riots of just five months ago and the subsequent attack on Prinny's coach in London should have taught them the valuable lesson of listening to the ordinary folk. But Parliament, instead of listening had decided to suspend the Habeas Corpus Act, reducing the rights of the people even further. Though it seemed that there were some who did not believe in the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Bill. He was glad that some in the House of Lords had protested against it.

But it wasn't enough. He needed to write to Dover, to discuss about how they could hastened their proposal for reform.

Ever since their two families had been joined in marriage, a political alliance had grown between the two older brothers. It was something he was extremely grateful for. Especially when he took his seat in the House of Lords after his father's sudden passing last year. Never had he been more grateful for the older man's guidance before the entire ritual.

It had been a straightforward enough process, with a walk into the main chamber wearing his parliamentary robe followed by bows made to the Cloth of state, the clerks and Judges.

He still remembered how there was a swell of pride mixed with a tinge of grief as the Writ of Summons was read aloud, for it drove home the fact that his father was no longer with him. And his nerves meant he'd fumbled a little when taking the Oath of Allegiance.

But he had accomplished the entire thing without embarrassing himself.

And he'd been so hopeful that things in the Lords would be different somehow from the Commons after he took seat. However, it had turned out worst than he'd expected. So very few of them cared about the same matters as he did, and because they hardly had a sitting — if fact, from next week onwards, there wouldn't be any sitting at the Lords for the next couple of weeks until the start of June — and not many attended these sessions, things were snail-paced.

Why should a realist be despondent at how things are when he knows they are precisely as they should be? Only a romantic would have hoped for a different outcome.

At the voice of Miss Blackmore once again sounding in his head, he forced his mind from her. It served no purpose to constantly remind himself of her. Their paths would hardly cross any longer, if at all. And if it did, it would be by happy coincidence when he was in attendance at his sister's behest and so was she. But she would lead her own life with her husband as would he with his future wife and the flirtation they shared two years ago would just be a distant memory.

He had no claim over her. One kiss does not a husband and wife make. If it did, there would be many instances of bigamy all over the country.

And he wished her well, no matter what the jealous monster that laid within him demanded. If she were happy in her marriage, then he would be too. If he ever saw her, he would congratulate her with a genuine smile on his face.

It would be better if he could appear with a wife on his arms, to prove that he was no longer pining for her just as she probably never had.

You may kiss well, but you aren't the one for me. May you find another woman to marry.

And he would.

He glanced at the clock, noting that it was time for morning calls, an opportunity to further his acquaintance with other ladies. And since Miss Marlowe had permitted him to visit her, he would.