A Baron for Becky

Chapter twenty six

On the day of the final vote, Aldridge and his mother waited with Becky in the Overtons' town-house. The numbers were tight. The vote could go either way.

They had spent weeks lobbying those who would be considering the Duke of Winshire's bill to change the Letters Patent. Becky had visited the wives, mothers, and sisters of every member of the House of Lords, and many of those in the House of Commons, accompanied by Her Grace, or the Countess of Chirbury, or Winshire's niece the Dowager Marchioness of Barchester. Overton, Aldridge, and Winshire himself canvassed the menfolk. And Her Grace of Haverford directed all, keeping track of the supporters, the waverers, and the adamantly opposed.

Overton had taken his seat today, of course. His presence might convince some of the waverers, though he would abstain from the vote.

"If the bill passes, it still needs the Prince Regent's seal," Becky said.

"Winshire says he is in favour," Aldridge said.

"Even knowing he will lose the barony?" Becky asked, as she had a dozen times before.

Her Grace repeated again. "A small barony, far in the future, when Overton and His Royal Highness are both dead, compared to a large and valuable present from the Orient, here and now."

"Rugs, lamps, and furniture from His Grace of Winshire," Becky agreed. "He has been very generous. And I'm grateful, too, that His Grace of Haverford has withdrawn his opposition."

Aldridge and Her Grace exchanged glances. Aldridge had no idea what his mother had said, but His Grace had taken himself off to Margate, after telling his supporters to vote in favour or abstain.

"You and Winshire are old friends, seemingly," Aldridge said to Her Grace, expecting the comment to be ignored, as it had been every other time he'd made it these past weeks.

But Her Grace surprised him. "It is not a secret, Aldridge. Enough people must remember. We met when I was seventeen. He danced with me at my first ball, and from that moment, I had eyes only for him, and he for me.

"But he was a second son. My father accepted Haverford and rejected James... Lord James Winderfield, he was then. James, foolish man, challenged Haverford to a duel. Swords. They were both wounded, and it was thought Haverford might die. Lord James's father sent him overseas. There was a great scandal."

She paused. Aldridge thought she had finished speaking.

"James... we were told he had been killed by bandits. So I married Haverford, and I have you and Jonathan, Aldridge, dear, and you have both been a great joy to me, so no doubt it has all been for the best."

And now the rejected second son had come home and was Winshire. No wonder he and his successful rival had barely spoken to one another these past two years.

The door was flung open, and they didn't have to ask Overton for the news; it was written boldly on his face.

"We won!" Aldridge said, beaming, but Overton disagreed.

"You won," he said to the duchess, and forgot himself enough to give her a great hug. "Thank you, thank you." He then recollected himself and stepped back, shifting from foot to foot as he apologised. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace."

The duchess, though, was flushed and beaming. "Not at all, dear Overton. I quite think of you as a son, you know. Which is to my advantage, of course, since if you and Becky are my adopted children, then your daughters are my grandchildren, just as it should be. And our dear Belle will be a baroness." She smiled with great satisfaction. "Who would have guessed that, Becky, my love, when we first met?"

"Not I, Aunt Eleanor, certainly," Becky returned. She had only part of her attention on the duchess, stealing looks at Overton, who was not even pretending to listen, simply grinning at his wife like a fool.

The duchess laughed at them both. "Go and kiss your husband, child. It does my heart good to see you together."

Becky needed no further encouragement, and she and Overton were soon locked in an embrace that did Aldridge's heart no good at all. It made him maudlin. He'd need to be either drunk or properly bedded, and soon. Both, probably.

He started when his mother touched his arm. "You did a good thing, Aldridge, putting the two of them together. Overton needed her, and she needed him. You did well."

He smiled, then. Yes. Mama was right, as always. Overton and Becky were good for one another, and his daughter—his goddaughter, he corrected himself, careful even in his thoughts—would grow up heiress to a barony. And all because Becky had dared to dream, and Aldridge had made her dream come true.

Suddenly much happier, he grinned. He had a dream of his own, the same one Becky had outlined for him long ago. If he dared reach for it.

Meanwhile, the world was full of beautiful women just waiting to be pleased—or at least pleasured—and the Merry Marquis was the man for the job.