eye was such a success that it became an oft-repeated gesture.
Engaging in such theatrics lost much of its impact if it went without notice in newspapers. The Howgraves could not stand on their laurels. To command more newsprint, Howgrave had to fashion more grandiose promises and craft more scurrilous accusations. At some point, even he knew he was flouting libel laws. Hence, his wife concocted the ne plus ultra of public performances all on her own.
“I shall award each man a kiss in exchange for his vote.”
“No!” commanded her husband. “You shall be called a harlot!”
“I have been called worse,” she reminded him. Then with finality, she said, “I shall do it!”
His advisors were more intrigued than he, but they wanted limitations.
“Only gentlemen should be kissed, of course!”
She replied, “Gentlemen’s votes will not win this election. I shall kiss whoever shall promise their vote, be they dustmen, farrier, or Yeoman of the Guard.”
Thereupon, the beautiful Lady Howgrave, velvet shoes, silk parasol and all the other finery Howgrave’s considerable fortune could afford, set about her mission. Keeping her pledge, she bestowed a kiss upon the cheek of each man she encountered (and their number were legion) in exchange for their promise of support. The tactic was outrageously successful. It also further scandalised society. Notwithstanding a few fisticuffs and free-for-alls in vying for her favours, she excited nothing less than boisterous approval. Hence, any indignation was handily overruled.
Breathless with appreciation, the newspapers reported not only every word Juliette said, but recounted the turn of her countenance and each twitch of her lovely brow as she spoke. Her garb was described carefully, no detail of her hat or button on her coat too trivial to relate. Some writers went so far as to chasten London’s ladies of station, insisting that they follow in Lady Howgrave’s well-appointed footsteps. One might have expected such impudence to be met with expressions of appalled incredulity. It was not. Ladies of the aristocracy were emboldened to copy Lady Howgrave’s sleeves, gloves and shoes. Indeed, parasol wielding women began to appear at Howgrave’s speeches, standing on their tiptoes just to see Lady Howgrave’s latest ensemble.
Such notability was highly intoxicating. It was understandable that when Lady Howgrave’s husband actually won the election it was a mite anti-climatic for her.
Sitting in her London mansion, ennui ruled Juliette’s days. Not only was she bored to tears, she knew that her position as beloved wife was in grave and immediate jeopardy. To secure her situation and have continued access to Howgrave’s fortune, she had to give him a child.
———
Juliette’s fertility was a tenet of their marriage contract.
Howgrave was unforgivably crass when he inquired of her age and questioned her ability to bear a child.
She lied to him, of course, on both counts.
Howgrave’s unblinking acceptance of her fabricated answers told her just how unworldly the little fig-piddler was. A man of experience would have been witting that a lady was not held to the same principles by society as that of her male counterpart. A gentleman was only as good as his word. A lady was only as good as her inventions.
She had to keep him benighted at all cost.
Although no one could say absolutely, she knew there were habitués of the demimonde who would not be loath to betray her. They would not hesitate to lie (or, God help them, tell the truth) about her age. To keep them at bay, Juliette lay out significant bribes of her own. Each well-placed coin assured her that such talk remained hushed. (And did it not, her time within the political sphere meant that she knew more than one man whose occupation included silencing those who would not do so of their own volition.)
Nonetheless, she disliked falsehoods. The truth had a way of being uncovered at the worst possible
Engaging in such theatrics lost much of its impact if it went without notice in newspapers. The Howgraves could not stand on their laurels. To command more newsprint, Howgrave had to fashion more grandiose promises and craft more scurrilous accusations. At some point, even he knew he was flouting libel laws. Hence, his wife concocted the ne plus ultra of public performances all on her own.
“I shall award each man a kiss in exchange for his vote.”
“No!” commanded her husband. “You shall be called a harlot!”
“I have been called worse,” she reminded him. Then with finality, she said, “I shall do it!”
His advisors were more intrigued than he, but they wanted limitations.
“Only gentlemen should be kissed, of course!”
She replied, “Gentlemen’s votes will not win this election. I shall kiss whoever shall promise their vote, be they dustmen, farrier, or Yeoman of the Guard.”
Thereupon, the beautiful Lady Howgrave, velvet shoes, silk parasol and all the other finery Howgrave’s considerable fortune could afford, set about her mission. Keeping her pledge, she bestowed a kiss upon the cheek of each man she encountered (and their number were legion) in exchange for their promise of support. The tactic was outrageously successful. It also further scandalised society. Notwithstanding a few fisticuffs and free-for-alls in vying for her favours, she excited nothing less than boisterous approval. Hence, any indignation was handily overruled.
Breathless with appreciation, the newspapers reported not only every word Juliette said, but recounted the turn of her countenance and each twitch of her lovely brow as she spoke. Her garb was described carefully, no detail of her hat or button on her coat too trivial to relate. Some writers went so far as to chasten London’s ladies of station, insisting that they follow in Lady Howgrave’s well-appointed footsteps. One might have expected such impudence to be met with expressions of appalled incredulity. It was not. Ladies of the aristocracy were emboldened to copy Lady Howgrave’s sleeves, gloves and shoes. Indeed, parasol wielding women began to appear at Howgrave’s speeches, standing on their tiptoes just to see Lady Howgrave’s latest ensemble.
Such notability was highly intoxicating. It was understandable that when Lady Howgrave’s husband actually won the election it was a mite anti-climatic for her.
Sitting in her London mansion, ennui ruled Juliette’s days. Not only was she bored to tears, she knew that her position as beloved wife was in grave and immediate jeopardy. To secure her situation and have continued access to Howgrave’s fortune, she had to give him a child.
———
Juliette’s fertility was a tenet of their marriage contract.
Howgrave was unforgivably crass when he inquired of her age and questioned her ability to bear a child.
She lied to him, of course, on both counts.
Howgrave’s unblinking acceptance of her fabricated answers told her just how unworldly the little fig-piddler was. A man of experience would have been witting that a lady was not held to the same principles by society as that of her male counterpart. A gentleman was only as good as his word. A lady was only as good as her inventions.
She had to keep him benighted at all cost.
Although no one could say absolutely, she knew there were habitués of the demimonde who would not be loath to betray her. They would not hesitate to lie (or, God help them, tell the truth) about her age. To keep them at bay, Juliette lay out significant bribes of her own. Each well-placed coin assured her that such talk remained hushed. (And did it not, her time within the political sphere meant that she knew more than one man whose occupation included silencing those who would not do so of their own volition.)
Nonetheless, she disliked falsehoods. The truth had a way of being uncovered at the worst possible
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