Love's Harbinger by Joan Smith Page A

silence fell, she said, “My aunt is slightly acquainted with the Shaft family. Sir John was a Tory M.P., as you know, Guy.” The name slid out unawares, but Mr. Delamar noticed and smiled. She thought his pleasure was in her news and continued eagerly. “If she could talk to him privately—well, I don’t suppose he’d crop out into a confession, but he might speak fairly freely with another Tory.”
    “But would a Tory lady relay her findings to the Harbinger ?” he asked, leveling a conning smile at the chaperone, who cared no more for politics than she cared for higher mathematics.
    Her inane laughter cheered the gentlemen immensely. “Lud, it’s the least I can do after all your help the past few days.” And, with luck, his continued help. The bill for dinner had not been presented yet.
    A waiter appeared and the men ordered their dinner. While Guy and Fletcher attacked beefsteaks, the ladies enjoyed their apple tart and coffee, and they all laid plans to con Mr. Willie Shaft into indiscretion.
    “It’s a pity old George upped and died. Him I could have handled,” Lady Lynne said. “It is his son we’re dealing with now, and I’ve never even met the man, though I can reasonably present myself to him as a friend of his papa. What is Willie like?”
    It was Dick Fletcher who had been busy learning about the candidate. “A bumptious, ignorant farmer who’ll go up to London and vote as he’s told so long as the local patronage is given to him.”
    “Yes, but what is he like?” Lady Lynne repeated. “Is he married? Is he a toper, a womanizer? Is he handsome?” she added, from habit.
    Guy grinned. “Single, not overly abstemious or misogynistic, not a bad-looking gent. About twenty-six or seven,” he added. Such was his opinion of Lady Lynne that he looked to see if she was ready to tackle him.
    “Then it will be for Faith to take him on,” the dame said.
    “Me?” Faith objected. Her protest was hardly louder than Mr. Delamar’s, though it was voiced in a higher tone.
    “It won’t be necessary to involve Lady Faith in anything of the sort,” he said firmly. “A postelection party is no place for a lady like Faith.”
    She noticed the angry flush on his cheeks and the hot glance he shot at her. He thought she’d make a botch of it—that’s what was bothering him. He didn’t think she was capable of enchanting a man just because he didn’t like her. She knew she wasn’t outgoing, but with a provincial like Willie Shaft, she would be able to flirt.
    “There’s hardly a sober soul in the inn already and the results aren’t even in yet,” Mr. Fletcher added.
    “That’s true,” Guy agreed. “In fact, I strongly recommend you ladies go to your room. I’ll accompany you up.”
    “Good gracious,” Lady Lynne said with a laugh, “the provincials of Fareham can hardly be so wicked that you must interrupt your dinner to take us up now.” She regarded the two young bucks and had no desire whatsoever to leave the table. “In fact, I mean to have another sliver of that apple tart.”
    She ladled a five-inch sliver onto her plate and proceeded to gobble it up, before offering at least to make Guy and Mr. Fletcher known to Willie Shaft as soon as she had met him herself.
    “If we happen to meet him on the way to your room,” Guy agreed. “But for God’s sake, don’t tell him who we are.”
    “I’m Dick Fletcher, a shipping magnate in a very small way,” Fletcher informed her.
    “I’m a colleague, Mr. Charles by name.”
    A judicious dawdling till the candidate was heard entering the inn made the introduction possible. By this time, the taproom had flowed over into the lobby and the crowd—all male except for Faith and her chaperone and a few members of the muslin company—was becoming rowdy but not so out of hand that they failed to make a path for the ladies.
    In the distance, Faith could see that there were women in the throng and said to Guy, “We aren’t the only ladies