Page 14 of Against the Wind

Chapter 6

Martin watched Lady Ormond set down her breakfast roll and pick up her cup of chocolate before looking directly at him. Her expression was bleak. “I’ve been asking ladies of my acquaintance, Martin, and not one has retained a new governess or a woman matching Lady Egerton’s description. I must have been wrong about where she would go.”

Martin set down his coffee and swept his napkin over his mouth. He was now ensconced at the Ormonds as their houseguest, at least for the time being. At some point, he would have to visit his parents, but that could wait. He needed to become re-accustomed to London. For several days he and John had been attending meetings at Westminster, absorbing information about the disturbances that had taken place around the country. What he had learned was most disconcerting.

“Seems we’ve both little to show for our efforts. My own inquiries have turned up nothing thus far, my lady—but I thank you for trying.”

“The thought occurs she may have left London altogether,” said Ormond, setting down his newspaper. “Interestingly, there has been nothing in the Morning Chronicle or The Morning Post that speaks of the incident with Rutledge.”

“And not a single on dit floating about my circles,” added Ormond’s wife.

“If the papers have been silent I am grateful,” said Martin. “Perhaps his family is keeping quiet Lady Egerton’s supposed crime—and what prompted it.”

“Do you think she fled London, Martin?” asked Lady Ormond before taking a bite of her roll.

“Not unless she traveled with friends,” Martin replied. “And, from what Abigail Darkin told me, her friends are in short supply just now.”

“So,” said Lady Ormond, “she is likely still in Town. But you say she has not returned to Willow House.”

“No. I have checked there.” But he had an odd feeling she was near, still somewhere in London. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. And with what he’d recently learned…

“Well, there’s nothing for it, then. The hunt continues. With your skills, you will certainly find her,” Ormond encouraged. “Just allow the matter some time.”

“It seems I’ve no choice—but I worry about her,” admitted Martin. He worried about her all the time. Against his will, the auburn-haired beauty haunted his thoughts. “Particularly with the new development.”

Ormond and his wife abruptly ceased eating and turned expectant gazes upon him.

“The man she thought she killed,” Martin said. “The Earl of Rutledge…”

“Yes?” Lady Ormond prompted, her expressive green eyes fixed on him.

“He’s alive.”

“Oh, my.” She sounded disappointed, and her lips formed a pout. “No wonder the papers have said nothing. I was rather hoping she killed the beast. He well deserved it.”

“Really, darling.” Ormond scowled, though it seemed to Martin he only feigned disapproval. “The fellow may be despicable, but I did not wish him dead. You sound like one of my drinking cronies, ever seeking duels and blood.”

“Ormond, she was attacked. I want to slay the man myself, and I don’t even know the dreadful cur.”

“At least she will not be facing a murder charge,” said her husband. “Though she may have had a valid defense, a trial before the Lords would be most unpleasant.”

“Yes, well, there is that,” Martin agreed. “All the same, being the kind of man he is, based on what you told me, he will likely be seeking revenge at the very least. Worse, he may still think to take her by force. Thwarted once, he will pursue her again, only this time with more vigor.” Martin imagined his kitten fleeing before the crazed earl bent on possessing her, and the thought drove him mad. “I must find her to warn her; I must protect her from him.”

Ormond and his wife exchanged a glance.

“What?” Martin’s eyes darted from one to the other. “I mean only to see the woman remain unharmed.”

“Just so,” said Ormond, a wry smile spreading across his face. “As would any man who cared for a woman.”

Lady Ormond shook her head. “You’re teasing the man, darling. I say, let him alone. Martin’s playing the gallant, and I, for one, applaud his coming to the aid of a damsel in distress. After all, he is an honorable knight of the realm.”

At the reminder of that relatively new honor, Martin smiled inwardly. Only once had he returned to England in all the years he’d been in France: the day George, the Prince Regent, awarded him the Order of the Bath. He remembered the droll smile that crossed the monarch’s face while conveying the mark of distinction. Prinny was a sly dog, phrasing his justification for the grand gesture in suitably vague language. No one observing would have guessed Martin’s real work for the Crown involved espionage, but the award had been presented all the same.

He was a knight, indeed, and a baronet.

A week later Martin found himself none the wiser regarding his kitten’s whereabouts, and his desire to find her had not dimmed one bit as his eyes drifted up to a huge chandelier, one of six hanging from the ceiling above him in the ballroom of the Dowager Countess of Claremont. While this ballroom provided a most elegant setting for what Ormond promised would be a high point of the Season, it seemed an unlikely locale for a woman trying to escape notice. No, he would be surprised to find her here. But then, that had not been his reason for coming.

In the crush of lavishly attired men and women Martin could see little of the floor, but the few glimpses he’d caught displayed an impressive blond hardwood that had been chalked in patterned designs for both beauty and the dancers’ sure footing. All done according to exacting standards, he surmised. Gilded mirrors covered one wall, reflecting a thousand candles. Tall columns stood at one end of the room like giant soldiers guarding a palace. A small palace, perhaps, but a palace nonetheless.