without merit. Quite the contrary. Howgrave was a man of ambition. He meant to stand for the House of Commons, but confided that his ultimate aspiration was to become Prime Minister. That was not just hubris speaking. A Prime Ministership was not unfathomable. With demands for reform, the House of Lords would soon become as irrelevant as the King—or so Howgrave and his cronies claimed.
Juliette gauged Howgrave’s merit as a husband much as she would have had she been allowed to vote. He was a landed gentleman, knighted for courage displayed in battle (his valorous conduct meriting him several mentions in the Gazette). He owned a hearty laugh and a commanding voice. Despite his short stature (and near torporific gait), Howgrave was, indeed, an imposing orator. He had lacked but one asset to win any election he chose—a handsome wife by his side. The common folk loved to mingle with ladies of class and culture.
As she had nothing to lose and much to gain, Juliette decided that she would forward her husband’s political aspirations in any way she could. His success would be her success; the power he obtained, she would share.
Her chosen path meant pledging herself to the tedious electioneering circuit. It behoved Juliette just then to be in the public eye. For all of her life, circumstances had kept her to the shadows of society, more notorious than famous. As a courtesan, she might be seen on a gentleman’s arm at the theatre or soirees. When he was to be lionized, his wife shared in his glory.
If she was to give of herself, Juliette meant to do more than adorn her husband’s arm. She meant to be the jewel in the crown of his campaign. She would shine whilst Howgrave waved at the unwashed masses. With her first whiff of fame (notwithstanding the stench of those unwashed masses), she was smitten. To everyone’s astonishment, she leapt into the political fray enthusiastically. Wearing velvet slippers and sporting a silk parasol, she flounced into each second-hand store on Monmouth Street, shaking hands and giving out sweets to ragamuffins. Finding that a great triumph, she increased her rounds, inciting wild melees as children fought over candy and shopkeepers and their wives vied for a chance to see Lady Howgrave’s hat.
Whilst this attention was pleasing to Howgrave’s backers, ladies of condition were unamused. They deemed Lady Howgrave’s avid interest in her husband’s campaign unseemly. (As ladies did not vote, they were largely ignored by politicos on all sides.) Others gossiped that the Howgraves’ marriage was not a love match—that each was the other’s prize. This was a conclusion that Juliette encouraged. She did not care to be immortalized as a doting wife. She despised wifedom and those who inhabited it. If she had to play that role, it would not be as a faux dévot —pious hypocrite.
Word soon spread beyond the ton that Lady Howgrave’s past was a tad chequered. Scandalous talk only added to her allure, adding a multitude of followers to Howgrave’s camp. This was just as well, for standing for Parliament was an expensive undertaking. While on the speech-making stump Howgrave laid out thousands of pounds for just beer. Bribery cost far more. Some of the expense he shouldered himself. (Much of it he did not, thus incurring what was euphemised as “obligations.”) Lady Howgrave’s charms were put to good use in persuading others to loosen their purse-strings.
Notwithstanding her vow against it, when her husband stood at the podium and spoke fervently of God and country, she gazed upon him with semi-adoring eyes. So eloquent was his oration, upon one occasion she gave herself leave to be brought to tears. (She had once contemplated a stage career, but doing so would have necessitated a reduction in circumstances and a loss of several social tiers.) By the end of each of her husband’s speeches, the crowd roared with approval for them both. A touch of her handkerchief to the corner of her
Juliette gauged Howgrave’s merit as a husband much as she would have had she been allowed to vote. He was a landed gentleman, knighted for courage displayed in battle (his valorous conduct meriting him several mentions in the Gazette). He owned a hearty laugh and a commanding voice. Despite his short stature (and near torporific gait), Howgrave was, indeed, an imposing orator. He had lacked but one asset to win any election he chose—a handsome wife by his side. The common folk loved to mingle with ladies of class and culture.
As she had nothing to lose and much to gain, Juliette decided that she would forward her husband’s political aspirations in any way she could. His success would be her success; the power he obtained, she would share.
Her chosen path meant pledging herself to the tedious electioneering circuit. It behoved Juliette just then to be in the public eye. For all of her life, circumstances had kept her to the shadows of society, more notorious than famous. As a courtesan, she might be seen on a gentleman’s arm at the theatre or soirees. When he was to be lionized, his wife shared in his glory.
If she was to give of herself, Juliette meant to do more than adorn her husband’s arm. She meant to be the jewel in the crown of his campaign. She would shine whilst Howgrave waved at the unwashed masses. With her first whiff of fame (notwithstanding the stench of those unwashed masses), she was smitten. To everyone’s astonishment, she leapt into the political fray enthusiastically. Wearing velvet slippers and sporting a silk parasol, she flounced into each second-hand store on Monmouth Street, shaking hands and giving out sweets to ragamuffins. Finding that a great triumph, she increased her rounds, inciting wild melees as children fought over candy and shopkeepers and their wives vied for a chance to see Lady Howgrave’s hat.
Whilst this attention was pleasing to Howgrave’s backers, ladies of condition were unamused. They deemed Lady Howgrave’s avid interest in her husband’s campaign unseemly. (As ladies did not vote, they were largely ignored by politicos on all sides.) Others gossiped that the Howgraves’ marriage was not a love match—that each was the other’s prize. This was a conclusion that Juliette encouraged. She did not care to be immortalized as a doting wife. She despised wifedom and those who inhabited it. If she had to play that role, it would not be as a faux dévot —pious hypocrite.
Word soon spread beyond the ton that Lady Howgrave’s past was a tad chequered. Scandalous talk only added to her allure, adding a multitude of followers to Howgrave’s camp. This was just as well, for standing for Parliament was an expensive undertaking. While on the speech-making stump Howgrave laid out thousands of pounds for just beer. Bribery cost far more. Some of the expense he shouldered himself. (Much of it he did not, thus incurring what was euphemised as “obligations.”) Lady Howgrave’s charms were put to good use in persuading others to loosen their purse-strings.
Notwithstanding her vow against it, when her husband stood at the podium and spoke fervently of God and country, she gazed upon him with semi-adoring eyes. So eloquent was his oration, upon one occasion she gave herself leave to be brought to tears. (She had once contemplated a stage career, but doing so would have necessitated a reduction in circumstances and a loss of several social tiers.) By the end of each of her husband’s speeches, the crowd roared with approval for them both. A touch of her handkerchief to the corner of her
Similar Books
