Duncan would not have struck him as a tragic figure pining for a lost love.
“Something like that.” Bertie waved a dismissive hand. “Caused the devil of an upset in the family. Mother took the girls to Italy for six months, hoping Constance would get over it. Expect she has by now. Girl that age . . . can't weep forever.”
Max absorbed this in silence, then headed once more for the door. “Well, have a good evening, Bertie.”
“Oh, meant to ask you . . .” Lord Graham laid a hand on his brother-in-law's sleeve. “You think there's a cabinet post for you in the Prime Minister's reshuffle? Heard you were very tight with Campbell-Bannerman.”
“No,” Max said with a laugh. “I'm too new at the business for such an honor, Bertie.”
“Pity.” Bertie sighed. “Cabinet Minister in the family could be useful.”
Max shook his head and left his brother-in-law to the whisky decanter and his reflections. It was a beautiful evening and he walked briskly through the Mayfair streets towards Manchester Square. His brother-in-law's question had not come totally out of the blue, although he had laughed it off. He was very much in the Prime Minister's confidence, but he was still too new a member of the House of Commons to achieve such a promotion. If he played his cards right it would come at some point sooner rather than later during the Liberal Party's reign. And he had every intention of playing his cards right. He had found the issue that would keep him in the forefront of the Prime Minister's mind. Campbell-Bannerman and his Cabinet were not in favor of women's suffrage but they could not afford to alienate those members of the Liberal Party who were. Finding a suitable compromise was going to be Max Ensor's route to the Cabinet. There were many covert ways to draw the teeth of the Women's Social and Political Union without angering its more influential supporters. And what better way to start than by cultivating the acquaintance of an active and passionate member of the Union.
He didn't know that Constance Duncan was a member, but she made no secret of her strong views on women's equal rights. He didn't
know
that she had something to do with
The Mayfair Lady,
but he suspected it. Either she was actively involved or she knew who was. If that newspaper was going to cause trouble, then it would be very useful to know exactly who was behind it. So he was very happy to combine business with pleasure in the cultivation of Miss Duncan.
He had thought hard about issuing tonight's invitation, wondering if it was too soon to suggest an intimate evening, but he'd decided that a full-frontal attack could well surprise her into an acceptance that a more measured approach might not achieve. He would be charming, a little seductive, disarm her. And then, he thought, he would pull back, leave her alone for a few days, and let her wonder about his intentions. It was a tactic that had worked for him before.
But he had to admit that he wasn't totally confident of success in this instance. Constance puzzled him. She didn't seem to fit into any category of woman known to him. She had all the bristly attributes of the bluestocking, the sharpness of the shrew, the face and form of the beauty, the savoir faire and dress sense of the Society woman. And yet she defied all categorization. She and her sisters. And now there was a dead fiancé to throw into the mix. Some bright and heroic scion of a noble family, killed while fighting for his country. If she still carried a torch for him, a pedestrian politician would find it hard to match up in the hero stakes, he reflected as he mounted the steps to the house.
The door opened at the peal of the bell and the butler he remembered from the afternoon bowed him within. “Will you wait in the drawing room, sir? I'll inform Miss Duncan that you're here.”
“Thank you. And would you send someone to summon a hackney, please?” Max followed Jenkins into the drawing room and was taken aback
“Something like that.” Bertie waved a dismissive hand. “Caused the devil of an upset in the family. Mother took the girls to Italy for six months, hoping Constance would get over it. Expect she has by now. Girl that age . . . can't weep forever.”
Max absorbed this in silence, then headed once more for the door. “Well, have a good evening, Bertie.”
“Oh, meant to ask you . . .” Lord Graham laid a hand on his brother-in-law's sleeve. “You think there's a cabinet post for you in the Prime Minister's reshuffle? Heard you were very tight with Campbell-Bannerman.”
“No,” Max said with a laugh. “I'm too new at the business for such an honor, Bertie.”
“Pity.” Bertie sighed. “Cabinet Minister in the family could be useful.”
Max shook his head and left his brother-in-law to the whisky decanter and his reflections. It was a beautiful evening and he walked briskly through the Mayfair streets towards Manchester Square. His brother-in-law's question had not come totally out of the blue, although he had laughed it off. He was very much in the Prime Minister's confidence, but he was still too new a member of the House of Commons to achieve such a promotion. If he played his cards right it would come at some point sooner rather than later during the Liberal Party's reign. And he had every intention of playing his cards right. He had found the issue that would keep him in the forefront of the Prime Minister's mind. Campbell-Bannerman and his Cabinet were not in favor of women's suffrage but they could not afford to alienate those members of the Liberal Party who were. Finding a suitable compromise was going to be Max Ensor's route to the Cabinet. There were many covert ways to draw the teeth of the Women's Social and Political Union without angering its more influential supporters. And what better way to start than by cultivating the acquaintance of an active and passionate member of the Union.
He didn't know that Constance Duncan was a member, but she made no secret of her strong views on women's equal rights. He didn't
know
that she had something to do with
The Mayfair Lady,
but he suspected it. Either she was actively involved or she knew who was. If that newspaper was going to cause trouble, then it would be very useful to know exactly who was behind it. So he was very happy to combine business with pleasure in the cultivation of Miss Duncan.
He had thought hard about issuing tonight's invitation, wondering if it was too soon to suggest an intimate evening, but he'd decided that a full-frontal attack could well surprise her into an acceptance that a more measured approach might not achieve. He would be charming, a little seductive, disarm her. And then, he thought, he would pull back, leave her alone for a few days, and let her wonder about his intentions. It was a tactic that had worked for him before.
But he had to admit that he wasn't totally confident of success in this instance. Constance puzzled him. She didn't seem to fit into any category of woman known to him. She had all the bristly attributes of the bluestocking, the sharpness of the shrew, the face and form of the beauty, the savoir faire and dress sense of the Society woman. And yet she defied all categorization. She and her sisters. And now there was a dead fiancé to throw into the mix. Some bright and heroic scion of a noble family, killed while fighting for his country. If she still carried a torch for him, a pedestrian politician would find it hard to match up in the hero stakes, he reflected as he mounted the steps to the house.
The door opened at the peal of the bell and the butler he remembered from the afternoon bowed him within. “Will you wait in the drawing room, sir? I'll inform Miss Duncan that you're here.”
“Thank you. And would you send someone to summon a hackney, please?” Max followed Jenkins into the drawing room and was taken aback
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