Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(30)

 

He could not deny Emma evoked tender feelings in him. Not romantic feelings. Just tender feelings.

 

By the time they reached at Westminster Abbey he was mired in a morose mood. That she acted like an excited child, flitting from one section to the other, helped him shed his foul humor. He had thought she might be drawn to Poet's Corner, but the final resting place that mesmerized her the most was the plot where Pitt the Younger was buried. She stood there, observing it, a solemn look upon her face. "Our country's youngest-ever leader. How remarkable," she said somberly. "How tragic that he died in office at such a young age."

 

Adam swallowed. "Only six-and-forty. It was amazing that he took the highest office in the British Isles at the tender age of four-and-twenty."

 

She nodded. "I remember when he died, my Aunt Harriett cried. I had never before seen my aunt cry. In fact, I had never before seen her show emotion."

 

He frowned. "She must have been a Tory."

 

She whirled at him. "Whether he was a Tory or a Whig does not signify, sir. He was our country's leader, and his death left a huge void."

 

He held up a flattened palm. "I'm not arguing with you. It just so happens that the Birminghams have always supported Whigs. In fact, Nick has been persuaded by our brother-in-law, Lord Agar, to stand for Parliament as a Whig."

 

A huge smile brightened her face. "Capital! It's thrilling to think I shall be related, by marriage, to a Member of Parliament. We must help in his electioneering."

 

"All of us plan to. See, another good reason for me to marry. One more person to get behind my brother's candidacy."

 

"At least he has the fortune to wage a good campaign."

 

Adam nodded. "And Agar has always controlled the seat in Doncaster."

 

He moved to stand by the tomb of Charles James Fox.

 

"I really think the colonists have done this electioneering thing better than us," she said. "In their country, a man must represent the geographical area in which he lives. It's really quite silly that Nick will represent a district hundreds of miles from his home."

 

He was surprised—pleasantly so—that this young woman knew so much about political theory. The opinion she'd just voiced happened to echo his own. But that in no way diminished his desire to see Nick representing Newcastle in the House of Commons.

 

He nodded. "Perhaps one day our leaders will become enlightened."

 

Her gaze dropped to the final resting place of Charles James Fox. "Such a pity that two of our greatest statesmen ever died the same year."

 

"Yes," she agreed, her voice solemn. "At the time I felt as if a dark cloud hung over our country. I thought we would never again prosper, never again be led by such able leaders."

 

She placed a dainty gloved hand on his sleeve and spoke softly. "But time marches on, and fears subside, do they not?"

 

"They do."

 

"As does heartache," she said in a gentle voice that was barely audible.

 

He wished to God people would quit telling him he'd soon be over the broken heart Maria had inflicted upon him. That just could not be. No woman would ever again own his heart.

 

"I'm in such awe," she said excitedly. "To think I'm standing in the very place where centuries worth of kings have been crowned. I daresay this building looks much as it did during medieval times."

 

Having spent most of his life in London, he was seeing the metropolis with fresh eyes. This young woman was giving him a renewed appreciation of the city of his birth. He'd never realized how fortunate he was to live in a huge, diversified city in which so much significant history had left its mark.

 

"Tell me," she said. "Have you always lived in the Capital?"

 

He shrugged. "Once my father's fortune was secured, he purchased the requisite country estate. We went there a few times a year, though our principal residence was in London. South of the River Thames."

 

"That is not in the fashionable area, is it?"

 

"Not at all."

 

"Does your mother still live there?"

 

He shook his head. "My mother prefers the country. When she's not visiting her children —each of us maintains rooms for her—she lives at Great Acres."

 

He took her hand. "You've now met three of her four offspring. We were all raised to mimic the higher classes, according to my father's wishes. Our parents were . . . are . . . not of the same upbringing. I am preparing you for meeting my mother. Her voice is not cultured. She is far removed from what her children were created to be. She's not even Church of England!"