But in reality, Lady lbourne was herself one of the illustrious social hostesses of the Whig Party, hosting London political salons for many years, and also serving as an informal royal mistress.
She maintained a close relationship with George IV for many years, though George IV himself never publicly acknowledged the relationship, their affairs were like lice on a bald man’s head—everyone could see what was going on. And Lady lbourne fully utilized this connection, long acting as a middleman in George IV’s political circles, smoothing over many matters that were inconvenient for George IV to handle personally, back when he was still a prince.
In return, after ascending to the throne, George IV promoted her husband, Lord Pence, with a noble title—the title of Viscount lbourne ca precisely from this.
Apart from George IV, Lady lbourne had many notable lovers, such as Charles Jas Fox, the soul of the Whig Party and leader of the Fox Faction, and the aforentioned Earl Egremont.
Considering there was a period when Viscount lbourne and his wife were long separated, one cannot rashly conclude on Disraeli’s claims.
These claims, though never officially confird, were never clarified by Lady lbourne either.
Perhaps to her, this uncertain blood relationship was part of her display of social power, raising her son’s political status.
After all, aside from the Earl Egremont, either Fox or George IV could also be the father of young Viscount lbourne.
And judging from young Viscount lbourne’s later developnts, her strategy indeed seed to work.
If one were to ask what the difference is between Lady lbourne and her daughter-in-law, the answer would likely be that the forr is much shrewder than the latter.
Arthur couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the thought: "I had thought Viscount lbourne could remain unaffected in his marriage because of his moderate personality; now I think, it might be because he’s simply had enough."
As Arthur finished speaking, the carriage jolted abruptly, almost throwing Arthur and Disraeli out of their seats.
The next mont, a dull thud was accompanied by the coachman’s exclamation: "My God! This is madness!"
...
At Brodrands Manor, the fog had not yet lifted, the autumn leaves rustled, and a group of gentlen in hunting attire were strolling leisurely along the forest path.
Viscount lbourne, wearing a gray-blue hunting cloak, rode atop a white horse, a mantle draped over his shoulder, holding a hunting rifle, his expression as usual, so faint it seed barely more distinct than the fog, as though he was here not to hunt, but to find a sunny spot to doze off.
To his right, riding a black horse, Viscount Palston appeared much more spirited.
He wore a well-tailored deep brown hunting outfit, with a dark green deerskin mantle, freshly polished tall boots, a powder bag slung at his waist, and a new flintlock rifle with a leather-covered stock over his shoulder.
Palston did not rush his horse forward, his gaze swept over the forest floor, suddenly stopping at a clump of bushes to his left front.
"Shh..." he gestured quietly to the servant, then raised his hand to point to a mossy stone beside the bushes.
Sunlight pierced a line through the fog gaps, a daft-looking pheasant stood by the mossy stone, tilting its head warily at these uninvited guests.
Palston said little, he simply turned the rifle, his shoulder lightly touched the stock, finger pulling gently.
Boom!
The muzzle roared with fire, the pheasant flapped its wings, attempting to fly, but as it rose it sorsaulted, landing back beside the mossy stone, fluttered twice, and quickly lay still.
"Nice shooting." lbourne lazily patted the saddle.
Palston did not imdiately respond to the complint, he put away the gun, waved to the servant behind him: "Go, bring ’Nick’ and fetch it, we’ll have stewed pheasant tonight."
The servant, upon receiving orders, promptly led a sleek, low-eared setter hound to where the pheasant lay.
Palston glanced down, tidying his gloves, casually remarked to lbourne: "Last year, right here, shot a pair, the kitchen ended up cooking them too old, spoiled a good thing."
"Since when did you beco so picky about the kitchen?" lbourne yawned: "I rember when you were young, you even had potato soup for breakfast."
"People change. Especially when national affairs are harder to digest than dinner." Palston saw the hound returning with the pheasant, took the ga with a casual look, then tossed it to the servant: "We’ve all stepped down, but His Majesty the King’s attempt to let the Tories regain power won’t last, this country won’t continue to tolerate it. Soon, Peel’s governnt will collapse. anwhile, I’ll enjoy this leisure as much as possible."
lbourne chuckled lightly, perhaps in agreent, perhaps in drowsiness.
Seeing this, Palston turned to ask: "However, so recent signs do need our attention. William, what do you think about the election situation in London?"
lbourne spoke calmly: "11 seats to 7 seats, we won with difficulty."
"Not 11 to 7, but 9 to 7." Palston corrected: "I suspect Brougham and his faction are no longer aligned with us, before His Majesty dissolved Parliant, Brougham and Dalhousie’s people have repeatedly abstained from voting with the party in the Lower House. Therefore, my view is - the two seats in Westminster cannot be counted as Whig Party."
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