Chapter Two
Edward Remington, the Marquess of Whitely and recently nominated MP to the House of Lords stood at the roaring fireplace of his dear friend Charles’ home.
“Care for whisky?” Charles called behind him as he poured himself the amber liquid in a small glass.
“Certainly,” Edward replied. He was also his first cousin by birth as their mothers were sisters. The boys had grown up together and had become steadfast friends over the years. Today he was there advising him on the upcoming election for a ticket to the new seat in the House of Commons. His cousin had developed a sudden interest in politics and since he didn’t have an official title bequeathed upon him yet, he would have to fight for his place.
It was different for Edward. His family had produced outstanding MPs for as long as society could remember. So when Edward’s father had decided to retire, Edward was nominated to replace him by the writ of acceleration.
“Invited to take the seat by the King himself,” Charles murmured as he took a sip of the amber-colored liquid. Edward didn’t care much for spirits but he partook it in just for his company’s sake. The liquid fogged his mind as he settled back on his plush chair.
“Is that envy I trace in your voice?”
“A tad,” Charles said.
Edward chuckled. While politics was a new whimsy for his cousin, he had been brought up for this his entire life. His father had told him about the members of parliaments in the previous generations, all of who had brought great honor to the family while being part of the changing socio-political landscape of Britain.
“It’s a great responsibility to be able to mold the very face of our country,” his father, the Duke of Bromswell, always told him. It was his way of reminding Edward that not only was he an heir-apparent to one of the most important dukedoms in the country, but he also had his ancestor’s expectations resting square on his shoulders. And while so far Edward hadn’t brought in any exciting reforms or ideas to the Parliament, he was confident he would soon enough.
“How’s your betrothed?” Charles asked. He was speaking about Jane, the lady with whom Edward was engaged to be married the following year.
The truth was that Edward didn’t know her, not truly. His marriage to the daughter of the Viscount of Bynthrope was decided when she was just a babe. It was another clever means to secure a political alliance between the families. It was no different from the marriage of Edward’s parents themselves. Arranged matches like this rarely awakened passion and Edward wasn’t foolish enough to expect or even go looking for love.
“She’s fine,” Edward replied. He was expected to marry her and he would. He felt nothing for her beyond his obligations to his family. The last time he had seen her was at a family dinner. They had discussed the latest piece of jewelry and a hat that she had bought at the King’s market. The conversation had been exceedingly boring, partly because he had no idea about women’s fashion and she had no apparent interest in politics. And at eighteen, Edward felt she was much too young for him. But he would never voice these thoughts aloud. She was a Viscount’s daughter and would make a fine duchess and an MP’s wife.
“I met with the King during the last session. Next time I see him, I’ll put in a good word for you,” Edward said, steering the conversation back to things that were of concern to him. He imagined the King had been much impressed with his vocational theories and had even invited him to summarize at the next session of the Parliament. That was a great honor, one that had pleased his father too.
“Thank you, cousin,” Charles said gracefully. “That means a lot to me.”
“Meanwhile we put together your political alliance. You’ll have my support, of course, and our friends at the Gentleman’s Club can be counted in as well.”
“That’s all very well, but I want more than that. I want to appeal to the masses. My ticket is from the House of Commons, not the Lords.”
Edward brushed away his cousin’s concern. “That wouldn’t matter once you have enough influential backing.”
Charles still didn’t look convinced.
“Save what we shall discuss this elaborately tomorrow night at the Gentleman’s Club. You’ll have a clearer perspective once you talk to some of the other members of the House,” Edward said.
“Men, who spend most of their days away in vice and then show up at the Parliament barely coherent?”
Edward cleared his throat. While he had his thoughts about such incompetent nincompoops, this was the King’s business. It was, after all, he who decided who would get to sit on the Parliament and who wouldn’t. He didn’t want any conflict with him.
“What about Mr. Kent? He is a business shop owner who won the ticket from Trentdike to the House of Commons last year. I wish to speak with him too,” Charles said. “He’s a fine fellow.”
“He’s not a Lord,” Edward objected. “What solution might he have to give for this? If you hope to win the seat at the Commons, you will need the help of house titles, not a common man.”
“He has worked with people, for people. I have much to learn from him.”
His popularity is the sole reason why he won the seat. I don’t see any reason why he should even be there.”
“By your logic, you’re in no position to hold the seat either.”
Edward maintained his composure and said, “You’re forgetting who I am, where I come from.”
“On the contrary, I haven’t at all,” Charles said. “You’re the future Duke of Bromswell. You’re expected to be on the Parliament and that is that. What if your grandfather hadn’t held the seat or his father before him?”
“Someone needs to fight for this country. Someone needs to make the decisions on behalf of the uneducated masses who might do more harm to themselves than good if left to their wits.”