Prologue

      London—late April, 1831

      ‘So your half-brother is getting married.’

      At his best friend’s comment, Giles Hadley, ostensible Viscount Lyndlington and Member of Parliament for Danford, looked up from the reports he was studying in the small private room of the Quill and Gavel, a public house near the Houses of Parliament. ‘George?’ Giles asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.

      David Tanner Smith, Member from the Borough of Hazelwick, gave Giles a patient smile. ‘Yes, George. Have you another half-brother?’

      Stifling his first sharp reply—that he didn’t care who or whether his irritating half-brother married—he said instead, ‘What makes you think George is getting leg-shackled?’

      ‘It all but says so in the Morning Post. “Lady M., daughter of the Marquess of W.,” David read, “has been seen frequently of late in the company of the Earl of T.’s younger son, the Honourable G.H. The lady has wealth and impeccable connections, the gentleman aspirations to high office, even if he is not to inherit. Might this be a match made in political heaven?”’

      ‘Lady Margaret, daughter of the Marquess of Witlow—if I’m correctly filling in the newspaper’s discreet blanks—certainly possesses the credentials to make an ideal wife for any man wanting to dominate Tory circles,’ Giles admitted. ‘No wonder George is interested.’

      ‘Indeed. With the marquess’s wife in delicate health, Lady Margaret has played hostess for her father for years, ever since she lost her husband—Lord Roberts. Died in a carriage accident, tragically soon after their marriage.’

      ‘Five or six years ago, wasn’t it?’ Giles asked, scanning through memory.

      ‘Yes. Besides that, her brother doesn’t care for politics. Which means the man who marries Lady Margaret will not only gain a wife with extensive political expertise, but also inherit all the power and influence the marquess would otherwise have expended on behalf of his son.’

      ‘A shame she supports the wrong party,’ Giles said. ‘Not that I’ve any interest in marriage, of course.’

      ‘A greater shame, if reports I’ve heard about the lady’s charm and wit are true, to waste even someone from the wrong party on George.’

      Just then, the door slammed open and two men hurried in. With a wave of his hand towards the stacks of paper on the table, the first, Christopher Lattimar, MP for Derbyshire, cried, ‘Forget the committee reports, Giles! The session’s going to be dissolved!’

      ‘Truly, Christopher?’ David interposed. Looking up at the last arrival, Benedict Tawny, MP for Launton, he asked, ‘Is it certain,