Page 24

For the last fortnight, the man had been impossible to pin down, but word was that Harrington had accepted his invitation to the Bushnells’ ball. If Alexander could corner him this evening, he would secure a commitment from the disobliging peer before the night was over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Lady Emma making her way across the room. The milling crowd was impeding her progress somewhat, but he had no doubt of her final destination. She had the same look in her eyes as he’d seen in barn cats when they’d spotted a mouse. Stepping to his right, he slipped behind a group of gossiping matrons and headed for the refreshment table. He walked with purpose in his step, and although some of his acquaintances offered polite greetings as he passed, none stopped him.

A small group of gentlemen stood near the punch bowl, and as Alexander approached, one of them broke away to refill his glass. His white wig matched that of most of the other gentlemen present, and there was nothing remarkable about his beige coat and breeches. But there could be no mistaking his bulbous nose.

“Well met, Harrington,” Alexander said, stepping right in front of the man.

The baron stopped abruptly and offered a reluctant nod of acknowledgment. “Bloxley.” He attempted an awkward sidestep. “If you’ll excuse me; I’m on my way to the punch bowl.”

“Of course.” Alexander shifted to the right, but rather than allowing the man to pass, he walked alongside him. “I’m headed there myself.”

They walked a few steps in silence.

“Capital evening,” Harrington said, reaching for the ladle.

“Indeed. The Bushnells must be very pleased with the large turnout.” Ignoring the throng behind them, he fixed the baron with a probing look. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you at one of these events, Harrington. I was not aware that you enjoyed them so well.”

“I’ve been up north. Looking to restock my stables. Missed most of the balls this Season.”

So that was the excuse the man was going to use for avoiding him. Harrington obviously considered his responsibilities in Parliament less worthy of his time than choosing horseflesh or attending balls.

“A shame,” Alexander said. “I suppose that means you missed most of the current session in the House too.”

Harrington bristled. “I’ll be there for the vote next week, Bloxley. I’ve heard you’ve been pestering peers over the reform you and Langton are championing.”

“It’s well overdue, Harrington. There are boys who should still be in the nursery being asphyxiated in our chimney flues.” The vision of the sooty child lying in his own fireplace filled his mind, and he swallowed against the bile in his throat. “Your vote won’t cost you anything, but it will save the lives of countless children.”

Harrington snorted. “Not cost me anything? Who’s going to pay for all the licensing you want to force on thousands of sweeps? Or pay for the workers needed to enforce registration? Most of those laborers cannot read or write. You don’t expect me to believe that they will fill out documentation on their own, do you?”

“The bill has already passed in the Commons,” Alexander said.

“Forgive me for being blunt,” Harrington said, “but our esteemed colleagues in the Commons are not the ones paying the wages of others.”

Alexander fought down his anger. “So you would put the price of children’s lives below the price of hiring clerks?”

“No one is arguing against preventing four-year-olds from going up the chimneys, Bloxley.” He drained his glass and set it on the table. “Pull the licensing clause from the bill, and it will pass the House of Lords.” His oily smile was smug and lacked any warmth whatsoever. “Politics is all about compromise, is it not, my lord?” Harrington turned his back on Alexander and walked away.

Alexander let him go. He was too close to punching the man’s nose into a completely new shape to risk continuing their discussion. He flexed his fingers. At some point during their conversation, his hands had curled into fists.

“Good evening, Lord Bloxley.”

The overly sweet voice sent a shudder down Alexander’s spine. Heaven help him. He’d been so preoccupied with cornering Harrington, he’d failed to evade Lady Emma’s indefatigable advance.

“Lady Emma.” He bowed politely. “You look stunning.”

Her gown was so pink and so full and so covered in ruffles that she looked rather like an oversized carnation, and the fact that pink bows decorated her curls only enhanced the effect. Unfortunately, Lady Emma had no way of knowing that his definition of stunning leaned more toward staggering than attractive.

She plucked at the pink fabric until it had puffed out another six inches, then gave him a coy smile. “Thank you, my lord.”

The music started again, and all around them, couples took to the floor. Lady Emma looked at him expectantly, and only by sheer force of will did Alexander prevent an expletive from escaping. He barely tolerated balls under the best of conditions. His recent interaction with Harrington made this moment far from that. The last thing he wished to do right now was take to the dance floor and maintain small talk with this vain young lady who had likely never even noticed the blackened, emaciated young boys cleaning the chimneys in her father’s houses.

“Pardon me for intruding.” Another female voice broke through his churning thoughts, and a hand reached for his arm. “Lord Bloxley, I realize that this is a most inopportune time, but I find that I am suddenly not feeling well. It is so very warm in the ballroom. Would you be so good as to escort me out to take some fresh air?”

If Alexander had not already witnessed Lady Millward’s unorthodox approach to high Society’s conventions before, he would have been astonished by her request. As it was, he grasped at it like a drowning man reaching for a rope. “Of course, my lady. Is there someone here whom we should notify?”

The elderly lady shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. That is why I was so grateful that you were nearby when my dizzy spell hit.” She placed the back of her hand upon her forehead and moaned dramatically. A little too dramatically.

Lady Emma took a small step back, and Lady Millward leaned more heavily on his arm.