Page 90 of The Rogue’s Embrace

St. James's Park felt far cooler than Cece thought it should for early May when she arrived at the rally several days later. Grey clouds skittered across the sky, matching the gusts of winds that blew at Cece's sturdy, caramel-colored walking dress. She'd had no idea what one wore to a rally about Irish Home Rule in St. James's Park, but since a bouquet of cream-colored orchids had arrived at her house that morning, signaling a change in decoration for the May Flowers, Cece had dressed to match.

"There are so many people here,"

she commented to Henrietta shortly after arriving and glancing around at the increasing crowd.

"Yes, isn't it marvelous?"

Henrietta said with an excited smile. "It shows that people care about the Irish and about the issues that face them."

"Or that they believe those of us defending them are ridiculous and they want to see our downfall,"

Cece replied in a barely-audible voice.

There were quite a few fashionably-dressed women with orchids pinned to their bodices, which indicated she wasn't alone with Henrietta in the cause. Not all of them looked pleased, though. Several glanced up at the cloudy sky, murmuring to their friends about rain. Some eyed the growing crowd of middle-class men who had come to observe the debate with wary looks. And a few studied Cece with disapproval.

One of those was Lady Claudia Denbigh.

"I thought we had decided the entire group must approve of any new members,"

she said, gripping the handle of her elaborate, French parasol so hard Cece was surprised the ivory didn't crumble in her hands. With the sun behind clouds, there was no reason for the woman to carry the thing except to show off how terribly expensive it was.

Henrietta's smile didn't diminish by a hair as she greeted Lady Claudia. "I felt as though we could make an exception,"

she said with a simple gesture, as though it were obvious. "Lady Cecelia has shown herself to be a powerful voice in London society."

Lady Claudia barked an ugly laugh. "Lady Cecelia has shown herself to be a scandalous harridan."

She sniffed and looked down her nose at Cece.

Cece gulped, scrambling to find a way to handle the situation with the sort of grace Henrietta displayed. She settled on smiling and saying, "You look quite lovely today, Lady Claudia. And what a beautiful parasol."

Lady Claudia's face pinched, as though she had no idea what to do with a compliment when she'd expected confrontation. "Thank you,"

she said with a superior air, giving her parasol a twirl. "My brother, Charles, the Earl of Basingstoke, gave it to me. It cost five pounds. But then, Charles always was generous. I'm his favorite sister, you know. And his Irish estates have been so profitable since he hired that new man, Johnson or Jameson or something like that, to manage them for him."

She fixed Cece with a smile as if daring her to top that.

Cece kept her smile in place and said, "You're so very fortunate."

She was spared having to make further conversation with Lady Claudia as a well-dressed man who didn't quite look like an aristocrat stepped up onto a small dais and announced in a booming voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?"

"This is it,"

Henrietta whispered, resting a hand on Cece's arm. Her eyes glowed with excitement as she watched the man on the dais. "That's Mr. Henry Shaw. He's a close friend of Charles Stewart Parnell himself."

"What is the Irish Question?"

Mr. Shaw asked as his increasing audience quieted. "Is it the question of whether our Irish neighbors should govern themselves?"

A few voices in the crowd shouted, "No!"

They were largely ignored as everyone continued to focus on Mr. Shaw.

"Is it a response to the dreadful situation in Ireland in the last decade, in the forties, and now? Is it a pesky annoyance that takes up Parliament's time with endless filibusters?"

"Yes!"

someone in the crowd shouted and was met with a round of laughter.

"No,"

Mr. Shaw went on. "The Irish Question is the defining moment of morality in the British Empire. It is the kernel at the heart of our duty toward our subjects. It is the single most important issue that faces this nation today."

"It's a bloody nuisance,"

someone else yelled. They were met by cheers of agreement.

Mr. Shaw continued to ignore them. "Today, we will hear from representatives of the core of British morality. For who better to guide our consciences and show us the way than the women which form the backbone of everything we are?"

His question was met by a combination of derisive snorts and cheers of approval that made Cece's blood feel as though it were rushing through her in a cold panic. That feeling only intensified when Mr. Shaw went on.

He glanced briefly at a paper in his hand, then announced. "Our first speaker this morning will be a new voice of reason and sensibility, Lady Cecelia Campbell."

He gestured toward Henrietta, who pointed subtly to Cece.

Cece's heart shuddered within her as a smattering of applause broke out in the crowd. Her mouth dropped open as she glanced to Henrietta with wide eyes.

"Go on,"

Henrietta encouraged her, hooking a hand under her elbow and escorting her forward. "You have so much to say."

"I can't say it,"

Cece whispered tightly. "I'm not prepared. I haven't written a speech or anything."

"You don't need a written speech,"

Henrietta assured her. "All you need is to speak your mind. You're only expected to say a few words to warm the crowd up for Mr. Dillon."

Cece had heard the name Dillon before, but her mind was scattered into too many pieces for her to match the name to how she had heard of him. Henrietta ushered her up to the dais, and when they reached it, Mr. Shaw offered a hand and helped her to step up.

The moment Cece stared out at a sea of faces from the dais—some curious, some hostile, some leering—her throat squeezed so tight that she didn't think she could whisper a prayer, let alone speak out in favor of Irish Home Rule. Up until the disastrous ball the week before, she'd never so much as stood in front of a group larger than her family and close friends to sing or recite. The task Henrietta had pushed her into was daunting, to say the least.

"What do you think of the Irish being granted the ability to govern themselves, Lady Cecelia?"

Mr. Shaw asked, prompting her to say something.

"I—"

The single word came out as a croak. Prickles broke out down her back, and her hands went completely numb.

But then she saw him. Rupert was standing at the far edge of the crowd, Lord O'Shea by his side. He wore a look of surprise that bordered on disbelief. And it rankled.

Cece let her shoulders drop as she let out a breath. How dare Rupert just stand there, waiting for her to fail. Did he think her incapable of speaking to a crowd? Did he, like too many of the other men arrayed in front of her, think that a woman's opinion meant nothing? Did they think that women had no opinions at all? Her father hadn't raised her to be a weak and simpering mouse. She was the daughter of Lord Malcolm Campbell, and she would behave accordingly.

"Thank you, Mr. Shaw,"

she began in a loud, clear voice, turning to nod at Mr. Shaw. "You are quite right when you say that the Irish Question is at the very heart of our nation at this moment. And I will answer the questions you posed."

She turned toward the audience, glancing across the expectant faces staring back at her. She caught sight of Henrietta's encouraging smile out of the corner of her eye and Rupert's dazed look of shock.

"It is absolutely essential that Ireland be given control of its domestic politics,"

she said, her confidence rising. It was a revelation to have so many people, so many men, listening to her. "On the one hand, as great as our nation is, we have been woefully inadequate in our reactions and responses to crises so close to our own shores. If we cannot respond with speed and efficiency to our closest colony, how can we effectively administrate the rest of our empire? On the other hand, who knows the needs and concerns of the Irish people better than they do?"

"The Irish are incompetent,"

a middle-class man shouted from the crowd. "They're illiterate animals without the mental faculties to govern a potato, much less a nation."

On instinct alone, Cece answered, "And you know this from personal experience of speaking to every Irishman?"

A few chuckles followed before she went on with, "If the men are as incompetent as you believe them to be, perhaps we should allow Ireland to be governed by its women."

An even louder chorus of laughter rose from the crowd. It wasn't entirely mocking either. Quite a few of the men listening to her appeared to like what she was saying. It filled Cece with a sense of power, a sense of possibility. It made her feel as though she truly did have a voice. Now all she had to do was use it.

* * *

Rupert stared at Cece as she handled the heckler far more deftly than most men he'd seen give speeches in the House of Lords. His heart thrummed in his chest as she went on.

"Home Rule is a solid concept,"

she continued, her voice strong and clear. He could see her relax into her speech with each new idea she spun. "It has worked brilliantly with Canada, for example. The Canadian people were granted self-rule in eighteen sixty-seven, and for nearly twenty years now, they have continued to be productive, efficient, and forward-thinking."

"They're not Irish,"

another heckler bellowed from the fringes of the crowd.

Cece turned to him and blinked as casually as if he'd attempted to sell her rotten apples in the street. "On the contrary,"

she said. "I believe a great many Canadians emigrated from Ireland in the last few decades. Or does your ridiculous belief in the inferiority of the Irish mind spring from an insistence that there is something in Irish waters which addles the brain."

"It's called whiskey,"

the man shouted. He was greeted by rude laughter from his friends.

"Well, if whiskey is what makes men weak of mind and incapable of self-governance, I can think of quite a few Englishmen who should be removed from their positions of authority at once."

An even larger burst of laughter and applause met Cece's words.

Rupert wasn't sure if it was the response she was getting, the confidence that glowed from her, or the brief, superior smile she flashed suddenly in his direction, but his reaction was complete and encompassing. His heart wasn't the only thing that throbbed at the scene playing out in front of him. His trousers were suddenly tight. This was a side of Cece that he'd never seen before, and it was magnificent.

"I do not believe the commonly-held assumption that if Ireland were to be granted its own parliament, the entire empire would collapse,"

Cece went on. "Though I know that is the backbone of the argument against Home Rule. What I believe is that?—"

"Lord Stanhope, you must put a stop to this horrific display at once."

Rupert's attention was shattered and his state of growing arousal doused as thoroughly as if he'd been thrown into an icy pond. Lady Claudia Denbigh was standing right next to him. The ridiculously ornate parasol she carried came close to poking his eye out as he turned to her.

"I beg your pardon?"

he asked, irritation flaring.

Lady Claudia stared up at him with a look of superiority and interest. "You must stop this, my lord."

"Stop what, Lady Claudia?"

Rupert asked.

"That."

Lady Claudia threw her hand out at Cece, who was continuing to speak with a vigor that lit her face and made her blue eyes sparkle. "Lady Cecelia is your would-be bride, is she not? You and you alone have the power to halt her ridiculous show this instant, and you should exercise that power."

Rupert chuckled, sending a fond look Cece's way. "Lady Cecelia has made it quite clear that I have no power over her whatsoever," he said.

"Then your engagement is not final?"

Lady Claudia asked.

"Not at present,"

he said, suddenly wishing it weren't so. He would have given anything to lay claim to the magnificence he was witnessing. A new part of him wished he had the right to sweep Cece into his arms to express just how intimately her newfound boldness ignited him.

"So you and Lady Cecelia are not together?"

Lady Claudia asked.

Rupert almost spoke his thoughts aloud, but at the last moment, he realized just how pointed Lady Claudia's question was. The cat was actually fishing for cream. He faced her again with what he hoped was a mysterious grin. "I honestly couldn't say, my lady,"

he answered.

Beside him, Fergus snorted.

Lady Claudia burst into a mercenary smile. "What a curious development,"

she said. Her smile hardened, and she went on to say, "So do you plan to put an end to Lady Cecelia's embarrassing display?"

Applause broke out before Rupert could answer. He turned back to the dais just as Mr. Shaw was shaking Cece's hand and helping her step down and return to Lady Tavistock's side.

"It looks as though my intervention will not be needed,"

he said. "Lady Cecelia has come to her senses on her own."

Lady Claudia pursed her lips, looking thoroughly displeased that Rupert didn't have the opportunity to cause another scene. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Rupert had no interest in it.

"Excuse me, my lady,"

he said, nodding slightly, then marched past her toward where Cece and Lady Tavistock were moving to the edge of the crowd.

He dodged his way through several men who had given their attention to the next speaker—an Irish laborer who instantly launched into a tirade about the abuses working class Irishmen were facing—his eyes fixed on Cece. She noticed him well before he reached her and already had her arms crossed when he made it to her side.

"Well done,"

he said anyhow, smiling and brimming with arousal at his proximity to her.

Cece blinked, her defensive stare softening. "I would have thought you would disapprove," she said.

"He most certainly does disapprove."

Rupert winced at Lady Claudia's statement from directly behind him. He pivoted to see that she had followed him closely. Fergus had followed as well and stood a few feet behind, looking as though he were watching a particularly entertaining circus act.

Fergus might have been on to something. The air between Cece and Lady Claudia crackled with tension. Clearly, there was no love lost between the women. Rupert handled it the only way he knew how.

"Lady Tavistock,"

he said with a generous nod. "Have you been introduced to my friend, Lord Fergus O'Shea?"

"I don't believe I have been,"

Lady Tavistock said with a knowing grin, taking a half step forward and extending her hand, both as a greeting for Fergus and to serve as a physical barrier between Cece and Lady Claudia.

"The pleasure is all mine, my lady,"

Fergus said, taking Lady Tavistock's hand and bowing over it. From his bow, he glanced up at her with the sort of rakish grin that ladies loved. Indeed, Lady Tavistock's cheeks went pink at the cheeky look.

"I shall be lodging a formal complaint about this, you know,"

Lady Claudia broke the silence that followed in a peevish voice.

Lady Tavistock withdrew her hand from Fergus's and turned to her with a brief flash of annoyance before assuming a neutral look. "A complaint?"

she asked, managing to sound far more mature than Lady Claudia. "What sort of complaint, my dear?"

Lady Claudia's jaw went hard. "About her."

She inclined her head toward Cece. "At no point has our position on the Irish Question been discussed."

"The May Flowers is a political organization,"

Lady Tavistock said with a slight shrug. "We make our voices heard about the issues that matter the most to this country."

"We do,"

Lady Claudia agreed. "But only on the proper side of arguments."

"You do not believe in Irish Home Rule?"

Cece asked.

Lady Claudia looked at her as though she'd suggested she believed in rolling back protections on child laborers. "I most certainly do not, and neither should the May Flowers."

She stared at Lady Tavistock once more. "It is an outrage that you should set someone to speak on our behalf who holds such counterproductive points of view."

"I support Irish Home Rule,"

Lady Tavistock said, as if giving a reminder.

"Well, I do not,"

Lady Claudia snapped. "The Unionist viewpoint is the only one that decent people should hold. And if you persist in flouting your radical views in public, believe me, there will be consequences for the May Flowers as a whole."

Lady Tavistock looked as though she would quell the whole argument, but Lady Claudia didn't give her a chance. She tilted her chin up and whipped around, smacking Fergus with the side of her parasol as she did, before marching away.

"Well,"

Lady Tavistock said. The single syllable summed everything up as well as could be expected.

Rupert shook his head, glad that he wasn't a woman or subject to the furies of a woman scorned. Although, in fact, he was. He turned back to Cece, determined to launch his plan to woo her back to his side.

But before he could so much as smile at her, she looked him up and down and said, "If you will excuse me, Lord Stanhope, I really must be getting home now."

She turned and walked away without so much as a "by your leave", leaving Rupert stunned in her wake.