“Worthington and Endicott.” Stanwood accepted a cup of tea. “We were waiting for him to arrive in Town.”

“Excellent.” John had only heard of Earl Endicott and was looking forward to meeting him.

Merton sat behind his desk and stared at a sheet of paper for a few seconds. “I have a note here that suggests we discuss nongovernmental ways to mining reform.”

“Interesting and probably necessary,” Kenilworth muttered.

The rest of the gentlemen frowned but appeared to agree. The chances of getting mine reform through Parliament with the Tories in the majority were slim. Then he recalled the papers his sister had that addressed the issue. “I believe in some areas of the country there is already interest in the subject.”

Merton tapped his forefinger on the desk. “To do it without government reform would take owners agreeing to the changes.”

That meant finding the owners. Something they’d discussed previously. “There must be a list of mines and their owners.”

Rothwell grunted. “It will be at the Home Office. I’ll request the information.”

“You do know that the only ones interested in reform will be fellow Whigs,” Exeter pointed out.

John agreed. “Very true, but there is no harm in starting with the members of our party first. In fact, it might be to our benefit to do so, considering the violence we’ve seen against reformers from those resisting change.”

“Very well.” Merton nodded. “That is where we’ll begin.”

“I advise we keep our plan to ourselves for the time being,” Kenilworth commented. “Any change at all has the potential of being forcefully challenged.”

The back of John’s neck prickled. If his sister and mother were not going to do anything about the mines, who was the information for? Could it still put them in danger? He didn’t believe either their status or their sex would protect them if the wrong people discovered their plan. He needed to get to the bottom of whatever they were doing. He glanced around the room, wondering if he should mention it, but what would he say? He didn’t even know to whom the papers were to be delivered.

The door opened. Merton’s daughter, Lady Vivienne, closed it softly, curtseyed to them, and flashed her father a sly smile before walking across to the door to the garden, and taking off at a run. Everyone’s attention was riveted on the door.

Several moments later, Worthington’s son, Gideon, dashed through, glanced around, and huffed. “Why is it ladies never stay where you think they are?”

“If you work that out,” Kenilworth drawled, “let the rest of us know.”

Gideon gave his uncle a look of disdain. “She must be in the garden.” And rushed through the door.

“At least he’s learning early,” Rothwell commented as the rest of the men chuckled.