A comment drew her attention back to Lord Cromwell, who was conversing earnestly with Devlin and those flanking him. The lady on Lord Cromwell’s other side was also contributing.
When a few minutes later, a noisy discussion farther up the table drew all eyes, Child tweaked Therese’s sleeve and, when she glanced at him, said, “I noticed earlier that in this company, you remain by Devlin’s side more than, for instance, at a social event.”
She shrugged. “At purely social events, no encounter is likely to be of major significance with respect to how we live our lives. Here, it’s…I suppose you might say business of a sort, and sometimes, I see and hear things—glean insights—that Devlin, being male, simply doesn’t notice.” She met Child’s eyes. “Being with him and forming an opinion is a way in which I can help him, so I do.”
Once again, the conversation to her right drew her attention.
Child sat back and pondered what she’d said, just then and in reply to his earlier question.
He was trying to understand what was going on between his old childhood friend and his friend’s wife. Knowing Devlin as he did, ever since he’d met Therese, Child’s curiosity had steadily escalated, yet he simply couldn’t figure the pair out, and the more situations in which he saw them together only left him even more intrigued.
He glanced at Therese, then looked across the table at Devlin and, as he had on several occasions, saw an adroit passing of the conversational ball between the pair.
All he had observed that evening spoke of a working partnership, one based on both parties’ strengths, and yet…he remained convinced there was something not quite settled between Devlin and Therese.
Lady Fortescue tapped a spoon to her glass and, when everyone glanced her way, smiled and rose, bringing all the diners to their feet. After graciously reminding the gentlemen not to dally overlong, she led the ladies from the room, leaving the men to pass the decanters and continue their discussions.
Entirely content with what she’d achieved by way of assisting Devlin thus far, Therese strolled with the other ladies, listening to Mrs. Holbrook, who was a firm advocate of schooling for the masses, with unfeigned interest. Therese and Devlin had already set up schools for the local village and workers’ children on the Alverton estates.
As one of the younger ladies attending, she took up a position standing beside the fireplace. Other ladies also remained standing, leaving the chairs to those who needed them. Therese fell to chatting with two ladies of similar age to herself, who were also still finding their feet at social events of political bent. But other than accompanying their politically established husbands, neither lady had much understanding of politics and policies herself.
Therese found that disappointing and rather odd. She couldn’t imagine not learning the details of Devlin’s position on every subject that came up; how could she effectively assist him if she didn’t know and understand his views?
Eventually, she parted from those ladies and crossed to where old Lady Morpeth sat; Therese had known her ladyship virtually since birth.
After inquiring as to Therese’s parents and family, Lady Morpeth patted Therese’s hand. “You are doing very well, my dear. Keep it up!”
Although unclear on exactly what behavior her ladyship sought to encourage, Therese smiled and promised to persevere and moved on. She was drifting around the edge of the gathering when, to her surprise, Lady Kilgardie and Lady Finchley planted themselves in her path.
Both were widows, but had been highly regarded political hostesses in their day. Therese halted and courteously greeted the pair.
Lady Kilgardie nodded approvingly, but her gaze remained sharp. “My dear countess, I wished to mention how heartening it is to see you so actively engaged with political matters.”
“Alongside your husband,” Lady Finchley put in.
“Indeed.” Lady Kilgardie continued, “The government—indeed, the country—needs new blood and fresh ideas and people with energy to carry policies forward.”
“To ensure that the right policies are put into practice such that our nation prospers,” Lady Finchley clarified.
Unsure what—if anything—was being asked of her, Therese nevertheless inclined her head. “I’m sure Devlin will endeavor to support the most helpful policies, and as his wife, I will, of course, stand by his side.”
Apparently, that was the right thing to say; both ladies beamed.
“Excellent, my dear!” Lady Kilgardie tapped her cane on the floor for emphasis. “Be certain we will watch your progress with interest.”
Lady Finchley patted Therese’s arm, much as Lady Morpeth had. “Never forget, dear, that all gentlemen of a political stripe require the assistance of a devoted lady, especially to help them perceive the wider view.”
“Jolly good.” Lady Kilgardie pointed with her cane. “Come along, Emma. We’ve yet to speak with your goddaughter.”
With nods to Therese, the pair continued around the room. Somewhat bemused, she watched them proceed to buttonhole one of the younger matrons with whom she’d previously spoken.
Then a stir about the door drew her attention, and she watched with a certain relief as the gentlemen ambled in to rejoin the ladies.
She spotted Devlin and smiled.
As if informed by some sixth sense, on crossing the threshold, Devlin found his gaze drawn to his wife. He took in the warmth of her smile and, responding to that beacon of welcome, corrected his course and strolled to her side.
She immediately looped her arm in his and, leaning closer, confided, “Several of the older hostesses have gone out of their way to encourage me.” She sent a laughing look his way. “I’m going to take that as a minor triumph.”
He smiled back. “You should. You know as well as I that they don’t bestow approval all that readily.”
The glow in her face delighted him. Then she glanced around the room. “Who’s next?” She located Lansdowne. “The marquess?”
Devlin considered the older statesman. “I suspect we should.”
Together, they approached Lansdowne, and as Devlin had suspected, the government leader in the Lords wished to sound him out regarding his likely voting intentions.
To that end, Lansdowne excused the three of them from the others with whom he’d been conversing and, with Devlin and Therese, stepped back from the crowd, giving them a modicum of privacy.
Discussions of this sort were what dinners at houses such as the Fortescues’ were intended to facilitate.
“Now then, Devlin.” Lansdowne’s gaze went past him to Therese, and his lordship inclined his head. “Countess.” Without further ado, the marquess launched into an outline of several upcoming bills and the amendments already proposed for each.
Devlin paid attention. The planned bills embodied changes that were more than superficial to the mechanisms behind the movement of capital and, as such, would likely have an impact on their family’s wealth and that of most of the upper classes and would ultimately affect the prosperity of those dependent on the Alverton estates and all similar landholdings.
While Devlin listened carefully, he was reassured by the knowledge that anything he might miss or forget, the lady beside him was sure to remember. Honed by the exercise of correctly remembering all the far-flung twigs on the family trees of the noble houses that made up the haut ton, Therese’s memory was, in his opinion, second to none.