“Do you so na?vely believe that your past will not reflect disastrously upon him? That it will not affect his effectiveness as the chief whip? He will lose Mr. Gladstone’s confidence.”
The dowager duchess studied Verity, her gaze level. “Power is perception, Vera. Mr. Somerset’s power rests in large part on the perception that he is a man who does not make mistakes. In you he has made a disastrous mistake.
“Do you have any idea the prejudice this man has faced and overcome in his lifetime? Do you understand the sheer miracle that he has wrought to rise to his present position, with the portfolio of the Home Secretary to be entrusted to him upon the passage of Home Rule? There are few other men in the party with the reputation, influence, and moral authority to match him. Until he gave in to your temptation, he was on his way to 10 Downing Street.”
“And you think I’m going to be the ruin of all that?” Verity said, a strong dose of scorn in her voice, although her heart was already sinking. The dowager duchess meant to take Stuart away from her.
“You know you will be the ruin of all that,” said the dowager duchess. “But it’s not too late yet. No one else knows. Stop this lunacy now. Leave. And you may yet preserve him for the highest office of the land. You know that is what he wants. That is what he has strived for all his life. Do not take it away from him with your selfishness.”
“I am not selfish,” Verity said, hating the note of defensiveness of her voice. “No more than you are.”
“That is not a good comparison, for I am, and have always been, extremely selfish,” said the dowager duchess, calm, serene. “But my selfishness does not imperil Mr. Somerset’s good name, nor does it undermine his future. Yours will do all that, and more.”
“I don’t believe you,” Verity said, trying to keep her voice level. The dowager duchess would exploit her emotions as weaknesses. “I have left him once already, for his sake. That was ten good years we could have had together. I will not leave him again.”
“You will ruin him, then?”
Verity hated that question, hated the implication of her culpability. “There has always been much at stake. He knows it better than anyone. This is the decision he has made in spite of all the reasons to the contrary. It is not my place to second-guess his choice.”
“It is folly on his part, and you know it better than anyone. You will hide behind his infatuation and be content to let him stumble. Have you no love for him?”
Verity’s anger rose bitter hot. “Don’t you dare question my love, you coldhearted witch!”
“But I do.” The dowager duchess was glacial and implacable. “Your love is detrimental to him. It will bring nothing but dishonor and disgrace upon him.”
“Say what you want. I will not leave him.”
“Very well, then. I had hoped you would see reason, but I must say I did not expect it. I will speak to Mr. Somerset directly—he has always been a man of logic and rationality.”
A black tide of fear rose in Verity. She remembered how respectfully he’d mentioned the dowager duchess’s name. The good opinion of this woman mattered to him. And her influence—the influence of the Arlingtons—carried tremendous weight in Liberal circles.
“I need to know one thing, Vera,” said the dowager duchess. “Will you let him go without further ado once he sees the light, or will you use tears and feminine wiles to make an already difficult situation even more difficult for him?”
Verity had never possessed that kind of feminine wiles. “I do not keep unwilling men about me,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Good,” said the duchess. “Then we understand each other.”
“I will see myself out,” said Verity.
“No, stay. Mr. Somerset will be here soon enough. You might as well listen to what he decides.”
Stuart was already on his way here? Verity barely had a chance to be surprised before tea was brought in, along with sandwiches and cakes. She walked to a window that overlooked the snow-covered square. It was still snowing, but the new snow was no longer beautiful to her eyes, only desolate: a vulnerable canvas to be dirtied and defiled by passing carriages and careless pedestrians.
Three men in top hats and black cloaks trudged across the square in the direction of Arlington House. Her heart arrested, until she realized that none of the men was him. Perhaps the dowager duchess’s minions wouldn’t find him, since he’d gone to neither of his offices. If Verity could locate him first, she could persuade him to leave on an impromptu trip with her—somewhere, anywhere—to stave off the dowager duchess’s grasp for just a few more days. But if the dowager duchess had had the house watched and him followed—
“Is it you who sends a bouquet of wildflowers to your uncle’s gravestone every year?” the dowager duchess interrupted her thoughts.