Love's Harbinger by Joan Smith Page B

here after all.”
    “Yes, you are,” he answered firmly.
    “If those persons in skirts are not ladies, pray what are they?” she asked.
    He looked down and smiled quizzically. “How old are you, Lady Faith?”
    “I’m eighteen. Why?”
    “Eighteen? Then the persons in skirts are actresses,” he said, and laughed when the truth dawned on her.
    Guy pointed out Mr. Shaft, a tall, gangly country fellow with brown hair and a sallow complexion.
    Lady Lynne strode boldy up to him. “Mr. Shaft, allow me to introduce myself and to congratulate you on your coming victory.” She smiled brightly. “My husband and I were close friends of your dear late papa. Sir John knew George forever—from the egg. I am the widow of Sir John Lynne.” She went on to qualify herself as a staunch Tory lady. The obvious conclusion was that her companions were also true blue. There was not such a surfeit of “ladies” in Fareham that Mr. Shaft resented her support. His chest swelled in pleasure to be so flattered in front of his friends.
    Guy and Fletcher edged up beside her and were presented as friends. “You’ve heard of the Fletcher-Charles shipping line, of course,” she added. “Mr. Charles is thinking of switching some of his cargo to your port here at Fareham. Perhaps you can do a little something to help him, eh, Mr. Shaft?” she added.
    Shaft’s shifty eyes slid to examine the pair for possible mutual benefit and shook their hands. He next spotted Lady Faith, who stood smiling demurely at him. “You haven’t made me acquainted with this young lass,” he said to Lady Lynne.
    “My niece, Lady Faith Mordain,” she said.
    Shaft stepped forward and made a stiff bow. Faith curtsied and cast a coquettish glance at him. “It’s such a thrill to meet a real M.P., Mr. Shaft,” she cooed.
    “I’m not confirmed yet,” he pointed out, but the goatish gleam in his eyes told her he didn’t object to her assuming him victorious.
    “I’m sure you will be. The voters of Fareham couldn’t vote for anyone else when they have you to lead them.”
    His chest swelled perceptibly, and he placed her hand on his arm to cut her off from the others. “That’s very kind of you to say so, my dear. Do you come to this part of the country often?”
    “I haven’t . . . till now. I never had any reason to.”
    “Perhaps we can find a reason, then,” he said.
    The crowd was closing in on them, which gave him an excuse to put an arm around her waist and help her through. She felt his fingers tighten noticeably and quelled the instinct to call him to order. Instead she smiled sweetly.
    “How long are you staying, Lady Faith? Perhaps we could get together later for a good cose.”
    “And you can tell me all about how you got elected,” she agreed.
    He gave a cynical laugh. “Aye, there’s a story there, right enough.”
    “I bet you did something wickedly clever!” she approved. “Papa says one Tory know more tricks than all the Whigs combined.”
    “There’s something in that.”
    She looked a question at him, but before more could be said, Mr. Delamar was there, physically removing Shaft’s hand from her arm and saying “Your aunt is waiting for you” in a rather imperative voice.
    “Good night, Mr. Shaft. Perhaps we can talk again soon,” Faith said.
    “That we will, milady.” He performed a rustic bow and was soon engulfed by his well-wishers.
    Faith turned a quizzing eye on Delamar. “That was an untimely intrusion, sir. I had him in the palm of my hand.”
    She received no compliment, only an angry glower. “It wasn’t the palm of your hand that concerned me. It was his, the mushroom. Why did you do it?”
    Heady with her small success, she shrugged her shoulders and said airily, “Perhaps to show you that I could bring a man around my finger as well as the next lady if I wanted to.”
    He blinked in surprise. “To show me a lesson, in fact?”
    “It's time someone did, Mr. Delamar,” she bantered. A reluctant