Marriage of Inconvenience. Cheryl Bolen

can’t remember a time when she didn’t insist that she’d grow up and marry him.”

      “Oh, dear, a mind-set like that is not easy to break.”

      “That’s what worries me.”

      She resumed peering out the window, and neither of them spoke for the next half hour. Then she turned back to him and said, “I should like to learn more of you.”

      That she was thinking of him was his first chink into her stiff formality. He gave her a warm look as he moved from the seat facing her to sit beside her. Her lashes lowered modestly as he drew her hand into his.

      “What would you like to know?” he murmured. Was this to be the breakthrough he sought?

      Chapter Five

      As Aynsley asked his question, his green eyes twinkled in harmony with his dimpled grin.

      “About the reforms you intend to promulgate.”

      “There are so very many.”

      “Indeed there are. It’s hard to know where to begin to eradicate all the injustices.”

      He gazed from the window at a soot-covered old chapel until it disappeared from view. “I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought,” he finally said.

      “Which matter?” she asked.

      “Reforms. The hierarchy of reforms.”

      As much as she had contemplated reforms, she had failed to consider the sequence in which they needed to be implemented. “Go on.”

      “Before the social ills like penal reform and abuses of laborers can be addressed, we need to correct the defects in the representative system.”

      The sheer brilliance of his words stunned her. Why had she never considered reforms in such a light before? Ideas raced through her mind so rapidly she had difficulty isolating one. She was still reeling from the wisdom of ranking the implementation of reforms when he had bedazzled her with his choice for first priority. “Oh, yes, I see it so clearly!” she said. “Under our present system, a handful of powerful landowners like you control Parliament, and they’re not likely to welcome changes that reduce their own power in order to benefit the lower classes.” She looked up at him with awe. “Are you familiar with the Great Compromise in America?”

      “I am. A pity Englishmen would so resist such a perfect democracy.”

      She was impressed—and delighted—that Lord Aynsley was so well-informed on political theories and practices. “There would be great resistance to abolishing the king or the House of Lords,” she said, “but do you not think the House of Commons should be set up along the lines of America’s congressional representatives? One representative for every so many voters? I know Commons now supposedly represents particular areas of England, but you and I both know that’s a complete farce. The geographic areas do not reflect the population, and there’s no residency requirement for the members who serve in Commons.”

      “I do agree with everything you’ve said. We’re now in a transition from an agrarian society to an industrialized one, and our elective system—inadequate at its inception—is sadly outdated.”

      She had never before felt so fully alive, so excited, never before spoken face-to-face with anyone as intelligent or like-minded as Lord Aynsley. John. It suddenly did not seem so very odd to address this man by his Christian name. “There would be a great deal of resistance,” she said.

      “We must remember the 1780s and ’90s in France.” His voice was solemn.

      “You think the English people will revolt?”

      “It’s a possibility. They will certainly want a government that’s more democratic. The manufacturing centers of Birmingham and Liverpool—which aren’t so very far from Dunton—don’t have a single borough in Parliament even though they have large populations.”

      “While some boroughs are inhabited only by sheep!”

      “We must work to change that.”

      We? It was almost as if he knew of her essays, knew she was determined to work to bring about change. She felt wretchedly guilty for concealing her alter ego from the man she had married.

      “In Parliament,” he added.

      She squeezed his hand, surprising herself. “I know I’m just a woman and incapable of influencing political thought, but I appreciate that you do not find me a muttonhead, that you’re willing to discuss these matters with me as you would with a man.”

      He turned to her, their eyes locking. Her heart began to beat unaccountably fast. “And I appreciate that you are not a muttonhead,” he said.

      She giggled. “I’m trying to determine if you just complimented me.”

      His rakish smile returned. “I complimented you, Lady Aynsley.”

      She scowled.

      “Forgive me. I should have called you Rebecca.”

      “Indeed you should have, John, but I forgive you because you are a beacon of light in the dimness that is the House of Lords.” It suddenly occurred to her that marrying a peer came with an unexpected bonus. Her husband, as a member of the House of Lords, was in a position to actually work toward progressive changes.

      She wondered if in the years which stretched ahead of them he would come to seek her counsel. Would he ever solicit her opinion? This marriage business was beginning to sound promising—certainly much preferable to being the peculiar spinster residing in the home of the staid Tory statesman Lord Warwick.

      “Are there any peers in the Lords who could be persuaded to our way of thinking?” she asked.

      “Let me put it this way. There are many who I think could be swayed.”

      “I do hope you can start gathering support for the overhaul of the elective system.”

      He looked at her with flashing eyes and a wicked smile. “You do, do you?”

      She offered a lame nod. “I would be willing to do anything in my power to assist you.” What an impotent offer! As if there was something a twenty-eight-year-old female bluestocking laughingstock could do. How she wished she could tell him she was P. Corpus and would use her pen to enlighten the masses. Despite that she and her new husband shared so many progressive views, she did not know him well enough to admit her authorship. What if he forbade her to ever write again? She was now obliged to obey her husband. To give up her writing would be to nullify her entire reason for marrying him! Admitting her authorship was too great a risk.

      “I shall take that under advisement,” he said.

      “Your statement about the hierarchy of implementation of reforms brings to mind a most interesting essay I read. It was written by P. Corpus. I hope you are in agreement with his ideas, for he seems to me to be a very wise man.” Her pulse accelerated as she gazed up at him, fearing he would not agree.

      “For an idealist, but he lacks pragmatism.”

      “All visionaries lack pragmatism. That can only come with the universal acceptance of their ideas.”

      “A most mature observation,” he said.

      Under her husband’s praise she soared like a phoenix. “I’m rather interested in political reform.”

      “To which of Mr. Corpus’s essays do you refer?” her husband asked.

      “The one about classification of crimes.”

      “Oh, yes, where he proposes that punishment should suit the crime. Lesser punishments for lesser offenses.”

      “That’s the one. His idea is so simple, one wonders why no one else thought of it sooner.”

      He did not say anything for a