The Heiress Effect
Page 50

He could almost see her as one of them. Almost, if he ignored the over-long stares the other women gave her. If he refused to admit that her voice carried over everyone else’s.
They sat down to dinner.
She didn’t interrupt anyone’s conversation or insult anyone’s clothing. The twins spoke almost as much as she did.
In the end, it was Lord James who brought up politics.
“So,” he said, “I had a visit from the Countess of Branford. She said the women have been talking about the Contagious Diseases Act, of all things.”
“Ah, ah,” Bradenton said, wagging a finger. “Look about.” He inclined his head an inch to the left, indicating the Johnson twins.
The discussion of politics wasn’t always allowed in polite company, but in a group like this—men who thought of nothing else for much of the year—it was inevitable. More than half the women present were political wives or sisters and were used to such discussions at the table.
Lord James blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he finally said. “I had thought Miss Johnson—but never mind.”
“Oh,” Miss Fairfield interrupted, two feet down the table from him, “please don’t stop on our account. I do so wish to hear everyone’s opinion. Starting with yours, Lord Bradenton.”
Bradenton looked up. Oliver could almost see him weighing the matter. He stroked his chin once, then twice.
“Humor Miss Fairfield,” Oliver said, with a pointed raise of his eyebrow at Bradenton.
Bradenton smiled broadly after a half-second’s hesitation. “Of course,” he said. “We all know how I feel—that the Act must go on, however harsh the consequences—and I gather we are in general agreement. But why don’t you tell us your opinion on the Contagious Diseases Act, Miss Fairfield? I’m sure you have a great deal to say.”
“Why, yes,” Miss Fairfield told him. “I do. I believe we should expand the scope of the Contagious Diseases Act. Radically.”
Bradenton blinked and glanced at her. The entire table was shocked into silence.
“How radical do you mean?” Lord James asked.”
Canterly nodded. “You’d extend it to more cities? Or would you, ah, hold suspects longer? Or—” He stopped, glancing at Jane, at the two sisters who were seated up the table from her.
Bradenton smiled more broadly, perhaps as if he thought he knew Oliver’s plan. Lure her into talking about sexual matters. Start a rumor, perhaps. The gossip would run amuck from there. Young virgins simply did not engage in frank conversations about the government’s policy of locking up prostitutes. The disgruntled mutters about Miss Fairfield would turn into outrage.
“It’s simple,” Jane insisted. “I know just how to do it. Instead of just locking up the women who are suspected of being ill, we should lock up all the women. That way, the ones who are well can never get sick.”
At the foot of the table, Whitting scratched his head. “But…how would men use their services?”
“What do men have to do with it?” Jane asked.
“Um.” Lord James looked down. “I take your point, Bradenton. This is…perhaps not the best conversation to be having at the moment.”
“After all,” Jane continued, “if men were capable of infecting women, our government in its infinite wisdom would never choose to lock up only the women. That would be pointless, since without any constraint on men, the spread of contagion would never stop. It would also be unjust to confine women for the sin of being infected by men.” She smiled triumphantly. “And since our very good Marquess of Bradenton supports the Act, that could never be the case. He would never sign on to such manifest injustice.”
There was a longer pause at that.
Bradenton had listened to this speech in stony silence, his lips pressing more and more closely together. He glanced over at Oliver, a warning in his glittering eyes.
“Yes, well,” he said tersely.
“She has you there.” Canterly smothered a smile.
“Do I?” Jane asked innocently. “Because if that’s so, then I win this round of our game, Bradenton.”
That was met with an even more prickly silence. Bradenton squinted at Jane, leaning forward, as if trying to make her out from a distance.
“Our game?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Jane said. “Our game. You know, the one where I play at ignorance and you play at insults.”
Bradenton inhaled. “Play?”
“It is play, of course,” Jane said. “The alternative is that you’ve been carrying a grudge against me all these months, simply because your fortunes were in a decline and I had suggested that you needed to find another heiress.”
Bradenton stood up. “Why, you poxy little—”
Next to him, another man put his hand on Bradenton’s sleeve. “Come now, Bradenton.” Bradenton looked down and then—very slowly—he sat.
“Good heavens,” Jane said, “you’re not upset about the game, are you? And here I thought it was all in good fun, after all.”
“I don’t understand,” Canterly said.
“There’s only one part I regret,” Jane said. “Mr. Whitting, a few weeks ago, I implied that you were deficient in understanding. That wasn’t well done of me. In my defense, you’ve said worse of me, but…” She shrugged. “I still ought not have done it.”
“A game,” Bradenton said, choking on the words. “A game. You think this is a game.”
“You seem so surprised. Here I thought you all gamesters.” Jane looked around the table. “After all, Bradenton did offer to sway your votes to the newly proposed Reform Act if only Mr. Marshall would humiliate me. Are you telling me the rest of the table knew nothing of this?”
Silence met this—a long, deep, uncomfortable silence. One that Oliver reveled in.
Across the table from Jane, Mr. Ellisford set down his spoon. “Bradenton,” he said seriously, “you know I’m your friend. I’ve known you far too long. You’d never prevail on our friendship for such petty reasons. I know you wouldn’t.” But despite the certainty of his words, there was a question in his voice.
“Of course I wouldn’t,” Bradenton said heartily. “You have only her word for it. She’s hardly reliable. Ask anyone here.” He looked up at Oliver. “Except Marshall. He’s a bastard, and he’d tell any lie to get ahead.”