Page 10 of A Dangerous Engagement

“Do you like him?”

“I cannot help but like him. His manners are very pleasing, and he seems kind. The most important question is, doyoulike him?”

“I do. As you said, he is very pleasing.”

Auntie plucked at her sleeve. “What shall we do if he makes you an offer of marriage?”

Felicity’s heart skipped a beat. “I am not quite sure. But it seems unlikely a man would ask for my hand so soon after meeting me.”

“It is quick, but just think, he has heard about you from your aunt, perhaps for some time. He probably feels he knows you very well. And he made a point of talking with me and asking many questions.” She raised her brows and stared down at her hands.

“Did you think him impertinent?”

“No, but he certainly wants to know as much about you and your family as possible.”

“I hope Mother will write to us soon.”

“Today would be the soonest we would receive a response.”

“I am anxious to get it.”

Philip moved from his hiding place behind the open door just outside the room after Felicity Mayson and Agnes Appleby quitted it. He needed to get his gun and join the other men, but he was glad he had stayed to hear the ladies’ private conversation. It seemed as if Miss Mayson and her aunt Appleby did not know Ratley very well. And yet, would he show such a preference for a young lady whose loyalty he was unsure of? Could she be unaware of this entire group’s plans to overthrow the government? He couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he did not believe she could be a ruthless revolutionary, except perhaps for the fact that she had such an innocence about her—her expressions, her voice and manner. But of course, he needed real evidence. The Home Office would not approve of him acquitting her of wrongdoing on the sole basis of her innocent expressions.

He should find out eventually, in any case.

Philip took the steps two at a time to fetch his gun and catch up with the other men.

Once the men were all standing in an overgrown field, leaning on their rifles, he realized this was a planned gathering. Lady Blackstone stood on a stump with her fists clenched.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her big floppy hat pulled low over one ear, reminding him of a thief he’d once helped apprehend on the streets of London. That thief had been forcing children to walk the shallow areas of the Thames in bare feet to hunt for coins and other valuables.

Strange that he would think of that now.

“Gentlemen, amongst those devoted to our cause are mill workers in Manchester, weavers in Nottingham, and cotton factory workers in Yorkshire. The downtrodden and oppressed will rise up and fight to overthrow our unjust government, but they need leaders to guide them. That is why I invited you all here. You are the leaders, the very ones the people need to show them how to fight.”

“We are ready,” Simon Beckwith, the illegitimate son of a wealthy cotton merchant, spoke up. “Why should we wait? Let us make a plan and put it into action now.”

Lady Blackstone said, “That is another reason we are here: to plan and discuss all our options and collectively decide on the best course.”

“Have we decided against peaceful reform, then?” That was Perceval Blankenship, the third son of an earl who had disowned him for his gaming debts.

Someone cursed.

“Peaceful? The time for peace is over,” a Mr.Adrian Sproles said. “The only kind of reform that arrests their notice is violent reform.”

“Agreed!” another man shouted. “Tyrants never listen to peaceful protests. They only pay attention when their lives and livelihoods are in danger.”

Others bellowed their agreement.

“I believe we have all realized that peaceful efforts avail us nothing.” Lady Blackstone stared at Perceval Blankenship, not blinking, for several long moments.

“Of course,” he said finally. “So we have.”

“I am glad we are agreed that the Prime Minister, Parliament, and the monarchy have become so corrupt and unfeeling as to warrant drastic measures. We shall be the leadership now. You are the true and loyal sons of England, protecting the people who have been trodden underfoot for generations, men crushed under the heel of an aristocracy that cares nothing for those who work for wages that are not even enough to keep alive themselves, much less their wives and children. We are tired of men, women, and children going hungry, fathers and mothers falling ill due to lack and want, dying and leaving their children to starve in the streets. The true sons of England will not stand by and allow it any longer.”

Another shout of solidarity went up. Philip did his best to shout with them, but his heart was sinking. Would this be the end of the British monarchy? Would these men—and Lady Blackstone—incite riots to assassinate the Prime Minister, Members of Parliament, and even the Prince Regent and the royal family? They could instigate a bloodbath in the tradition of the French Revolution, following the path of Robespierre and his Reign of Terror, in which thousands were guillotined because of their loyalty to the king, simply because they were born into titled families, or because someone accused them of opposing the revolution. Philip’s own family could be in danger.

“We must stir support stealthily at first, so as not to arouse suspicion,” Lady Blackstone went on. “We will assassinate several of the highest people in government—Lord Liverpool, cabinet members, and as many from the House of Lords as possible—then the rest will be thrown into confusion. We can capture the royal family and execute them as well while our armed men from outlying areas will march on London and seize the government buildings and institutions.”