Virginia Heath - The Discerning Gentleman's Guide

‘Miss Mansfield is not currently looking for a husband,’ his aunt interjected, looking decidedly amused. ‘So I dare say your advice is wasted on her.’

‘It is a very long journey from Bath to London and I had finished the book I had brought with me. Lady Worsted gave me her copy because she thought that it might help to pass the time.’

‘I see.’

Although he really didn’t. Bennett had the distinct impression that he was missing something. There was the merest hint of censure in the word thought, as if it contained some hidden message that he was not receiving and nor was he meant to. Was she suggesting that she found his writing boring? And who was she to judge him, anyway?

Perhaps sensing his unease, Uncle George changed the topic to a more comfortable subject. ‘Have you made any progress with the House of Commons on taxation?’

Bennett shook his head, instantly frustrated. ‘They are still resolutely against extending income tax to pay for the war debts and are far more interested in shouting at each other to make any progress on anything. Those fools cannot see further than their noses. It is preposterous to think that the nation can continue to borrow vast sums of money when we are not making enough to effectively pay it back.’

‘It is grossly unfair to expect honest working men to pay even more money into the government’s coffers when many struggle so hard to make ends meet as it is. Already they are taxed to the hilt. To add to their burden is unjust. The Members of Parliament are right to oppose it.’

To Bennett’s complete surprise, those words were uttered by Miss Mansfield. And quite vociferously too. Typically, like most people, she was completely missing the point. ‘The bulk of taxation should not come from the poorest, Miss Mansfield, and under my proposals nor should it. It should come from land and from the profit from trade. The Members of Parliament are voted into office by the wealthy landowners and merchants who would pay the most under the scheme, and so are naturally resistant to it. Therefore, the MPs continue to oppose it merely to secure their own political futures.’

She blinked at him and then her dark eyebrows drew together as she contemplated his words. ‘Whilst I do agree that those who have more should pay more, you have to understand that the costs of taxation are unfairly passed down to the poor by their unscrupulous masters regardless. Wages are cut, workers are forced to work longer hours and the prices of essential commodities, like flour or sugar, are raised as the merchants try to recoup their lost profits. Without proper legislation to protect the most vulnerable in our society, all that income tax did was make the rich want to stay richer whilst it forced the poor to become poorer. We cannot repeat that experiment.’

Bennett tried to moderate his irritation at her emotional grasp of politics. ‘They might do those things in the short-term, Miss Mansfield, but things will level out eventually, you will see. Income tax is a necessary evil, I’m afraid.’

‘And in the meantime would you doom thousands of people to suffer unimaginable poverty? That is indeed evil.’

Chapter Three

Marry a woman who thinks before she speaks. It will save you a great deal of time having to correct her...

Amelia had been too forthright. She was prepared to concede that at least. She had clearly insulted the pompous Duke over dinner, although his politeness was too ingrained for him to have chastised her for it. Instead, Lady Worsted had stepped in and changed the topic to the Renshaw ball and both Amelia and their host had remained seething and silent for the rest of the meal, their difference of opinion hanging like a dirty sheet between them for all to see. Afterwards, Lady Worsted had given her a lecture on keeping her thoughts to herself and had insisted that Amelia apologise for her outburst once his aunt had smoothed the way. That was just as well because Amelia really could not bring herself to do so quite yet, especially when she was not even slightly sorry for challenging the man on his narrow-minded views. How typical of an aristocrat like him to have no concept of how his decisions would affect the masses! Just like her father, the Duke expected everyone to blithely accept his laws and decisions, no matter how bad the effect.

However, calling him evil was a step too far. Even for her. If he wanted to, he could send her packing immediately and she would not be able to do any of the things in Town that she’d planned. Worse, if Lady Worsted had dismissed her for her impudence, she would not even be able to scrape enough money together to survive for a week. Most of her wages went straight to the soup kitchen because Amelia did not need them. As Lady Worsted’s companion, she was amply fed, had a roof over her head, fresh sheets on a comfortable bed and enough hand-me-downs to clothe herself more than adequately. Why would she need the money?

However, her lack of it and what that might mean should her current circumstances be brought to an abrupt end was certainly food for thought. The very last thing Amelia ever wanted was to be homeless again. Or dirt poor. She really needed to learn to hold her tongue, no matter how hard that might actually be in practice. She might not like her employer’s nephew, but she thought the world of Lady Worsted. Lady Worsted had taken a chance on her when nobody else would, plucking her from a life of poverty and giving her a home. Lady Worsted found her pithy comments and sarcasm entertaining and was gracious enough to gloss over the unfortunate stains in her past. If her employer wanted her to hold her wayward tongue in front of her nephew and apologise to him for her perceived insult, then Amelia was duty-bound...no—honour-bound...to do that.

It made no difference that the pompous Duke clearly had limited, if any, experience of what life was like for the majority of the nation’s subjects. It was not Amelia’s place to educate him. Even if she tried, she doubted he would listen. His hereditary beliefs were too ingrained and he clearly felt, like all aristocrats, that they had a divine right to govern the rest of the country simply because they had been born. This evening he had given her that look when she had dared to question him. That look that men always gave women when they wanted to put them back in their place. That look that said that she was incapable of understanding his line of argument, based solely on the circumstances of her sex. As if being in possession of a womb rendered her somehow more stupid than all humans who were born without one.

Ha! Amelia was better informed than most men and probably cleverer than them too. Not only had she read every learned treatise she could get her hands on, she had also experienced life from both sides of the same coin. She had been rich and cosseted and she had been poor and insignificant. Both states had shaped her personality and had given her more insight into the human condition than anyone else she could think of. His Royal Highness the Duke of Pomposity could not compete with that hard-won knowledge. If she had been born a man, she would run for Parliament herself. If ever an institution needed more wisdom, more empathy and more vision, it was that one. Just thinking about all of the injustice they perpetrated in the name of governance made her livid.

Too agitated to even think of going to bed, Amelia decided to head for the kitchen for some warm milk to help her sleep. Then she carried the steaming mug back out towards the deserted palatial hallway and allowed herself a few minutes to simply take it all in.

Although she had not set foot in her father’s London residence in a decade, she had a clear, indelible memory of the place. She only had to close her eyes to see the highly polished wooden banisters that she had surreptitiously slid down when nobody was watching, the sparkling chandelier in the entrance hall, the comforting smells of beeswax and polish that always reminded her of happier times when they had lived as a family. Back when she was little and her father still adored her mother—before he had found a way to annul their marriage in order to get a son—she had thought their house in Mayfair the loveliest house in all of England, but it paled in comparison to this. This was a level of luxury that Viscount Venomous would truly envy.