Pam Rosenthal - The Slightest Provocation

Which was exactly why he hadn’t been disturbed by it. Kit had spent enough of his own life annoyed, antagonized, insulted, or incensed, to have a certain familiarity with anger’s themes and variations. In the army, moreover, he’d heard plenty of talk that flattered itself on its audacity but left off short of mutiny.

Whereas in these more recent reports… suddenly one could discern a different order of reality, of confidence, of resolution, of detailed planning and disciplined organization. And although it seemed entirely ridiculous for the several dozen members of Grefford’s little local Parliamentary Reform Society to think they could take London, the disturbing part was that they weren’t planning on doing it themselves.

Sheffield would be sending ten thousand men; Birmingham a great many more than that. The speaker had it from a Mr. Oliver, whom he’d met at Derby. “He’ll be here with us next week, and then you’ll hear some speechifying. A fine man, imposing in his brown coat and Wellingtons.

“For the lads from Derby will be marching, you can bet. The London Committee expects to raise fifty thousand.” Evidently, the Oliver fellow had been delegated by his London confreres to come and speak up north. And so the weavers and stockingers, joiners and carpenters, puddlers and bellows makers-all manner of laborers from Grefford-were swilling down mental poison bottled in the metropolis.

Another London delegate, named Hollis, had spoken at Manchester, according to a man who had a brother-in-law there. Told the Manchester crowd that the Leicester-Derby-Nottingham area would be sending thirty thousand.

How had the Committee of Secrecy put it? A system of clubs… to include every village in the kingdom.

And all taking their orders from London-the level of coordination and discipline most impressive indeed.

He wrote his note to Traynor to tell him he’d be acting in behalf of the marquess for the next while. Yes, continue sending your correspondence; you’ll be receiving your pay and orders from me now.

It would be more important than first he’d thought to talk to Benedict in Nottingham, share information with a fellow magistrate. Which meant another letter explaining his newly assumed position and asking if he might hope to find him at home on Tuesday.

Folding the letters, sealing them-the one to Traynor to be deposited in its hiding place; too bad he’d have to pay to post the one to Benedict. But it would be worse to risk finding out if Wat could sign his name well enough to frank the letter.

All right, let’s see now. Once he was started on a task, he liked to keep going. He’d organized the filing system, the correspondence neatly divided into separate portfolios-to and from Traynor, to and from the Home Office-and sorted by date. He lined the portfolios against the edge of the desk and drummed his fingers alongside them.

But absent a next communication from Traynor, or additional information from Benedict, there was nothing to do but wait.

Or take a walk in the forest. See the old places. Why not?

Upon her return from church, Elizabeth announced that she might add an inch of the Belgian lace I brought her to the neckline of the gown she’d be wearing to the Cauthorn assembly. It would be much more proper, didn’t Mama and Aunt Mary think so?

After Jessie and I have talked ourselves silly for a week, trying to convince her of precisely the same thing. But now it seems there’s a very proper gentleman next door, who might disapprove of anything too forward or Penley-ish-or so she’s convinced herself.

Provoking, but Jessica was pleased with the result-enough so to promise to preside over the cistern committee. Too bad I didn’t need anything else-with her son Fred due to arrive so soon, she’d have promised away a kingdom.

Still, once he did arrive, I could see why. How like Arthur he is-easy smile, comfortable manners, knack for making everyone seem likeable. Whereas his friend, the tall and polished Lord Ayres, is a bit of a walking cloak rack, though perhaps that’s just the effect of the startling number of capes his greatcoat boasts.

Handsome, in a rather killingly Byronic way, with large, damp violet eyes and enough carefully waved hair to make up for the smallish size of his head. Offered a low bow and a studiously deep gaze to each of us ladies, each gaze calibrated to a different vibration on the spectrum of sensibility.

Elizabeth standoffish with him, her imagination monopolized by our neighbor, I expect.

Wrote to Halsey: Confirm drilling the Militia, next week, June 4, Rowen’s fallow fields, north. [They could go over the details, at the Cauthorn assembly next week.]

More from Traynor (received this morning):

“The Leicester chaps are to retreat upon Nottingham, there to await the Yorkshire men, & when a junction is formed, they are to march to London. At stated places in the road the Lancashire and Derbyshire men are to join them. At London to contend for a change in the government.” [Whew. So there you had it.]

Fannie Grandin and Miss Kimball arrived after breakfast. Fannie’s a delightful-looking girl-rich auburn hair and knowing hazel eyes; Miss K. a nonentity whom Fannie’s mama was doubtless sick of having about her.

Jessie predicted they’d send Fannie to us, and I can see why. If I had a plain older daughter making her come-out, I’d pack this one off to the country too. Not so heart-stoppingly lovely as Elizabeth, but that’s as it should be. Fannie’s papa is a baronet; sometimes providence plays fair with its gifts. She received Lord Ayres’s attentions with good grace and much sense of entitlement, but was mostly happy to see Elizabeth. Lifelong friends, much hugging and squealing-giggling too, and whispering, some of it obviously about me. Which is to say, of course, about Kit… I overheard the words Rowen, divorce, Cauthorn, and so elegant .

I expect one could say that about him nowadays. Indeed, with the military bearing he’s picked up, he’ll do very well at Almack’s.

The young ladies and Miss K. called on our neighbors this afternoon, while Fred and Lord A. did some shooting. Lady Grandin would want her daughter to dance attendance upon the young marchioness. And if Lord Christopher happens to be there too, well, what of it?

Jessie and I stayed home to welcome an entirely different group of young people into our house-the village boys and girls who’ll be helping us prepare for the house party. A chance for us, of course, to reduce unemployment in the district, and fill some of their bellies as well. And a day’s work for us, the butler, and the housekeeper too, to get them settled in.

Though I did wonder about that striking-looking boy-Nicholas Merton-odd, he almost reminds me of Kit at around sixteen, but it’s probably the standoffish look. We were told during a charity visit that Nicholas’s father has disappeared, for fear of being arrested for sedition. So we could hardly refuse to hire the poor boy-it’s not his fault, after all, and he’s Cathy Williams’s nephew into the bargain; I’ll ask Peggy to look after him.