Page 16 of Against the Wind

“Ormond,” Mary interrupted excitedly, and to Martin’s thinking it was strategic. “You must tell Huntingdon about your success with the breeding of Thoroughbreds.” To Huntingdon she added, “There is a splendid three-year-old chestnut colt from my husband’s breeding stock running in the Epsom Derby at the end of the month, this very May. Azor may not be as fine as my Midnight, but all the same he’s quite a worthy piece of horseflesh.”

Ormond looked heavenward. “No horse will ever compare in my wife’s mind with that black Friesian stallion of hers. And I suspect she is needling me because, now that we’re expecting our next child, I won’t let her ‘ride with the wind’ as is her wont.”

Emily Huntingdon gasped. “You two are expecting another child? So soon?” Turning to Ormond’s wife she inquired, “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“I feel wonderful, Emily, really I do. Do not be anxious, or my husband will tether me to our home.”

“A playmate for our godchild,” announced Lord Huntingdon with obvious delight. “Good job, you two!”

Lady Ormond darted a glance at her husband, chagrined, then patted her flat stomach and smiled. “Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, I expect I should qualify my dear husband’s announcement by saying our next little one won’t arrive till Christmas. I’ve months to ride Midnight yet.”

Ormond rolled his eyes.

Lord Huntingdon laughed.

Martin enjoyed the banter between Ormond and his wife all the more for having been there at the beginning of their love affair. But the warmth reflected in their many glances and furtive touches brought again to mind the woman he’d been thinking about since Willow House. Where in England was she? She had entirely eluded him, and it was unusual for him to run into so many blind alleys in a concerted search. His frustration knew no limit.

“Darling,” said Ormond, “may I leave you with our good friends for a short while? I’ve just spotted someone I need to introduce to Martin. It concerns his business affairs.”

Speaking for Mary, Lady Huntingdon said, “Of course we’ll be delighted to spend some time with Henry’s mother.” The older woman looped her arm through Lady Ormond’s as if to claim her. “You two go off on your mission and leave her to us.”

Martin and Ormond made their exit, and when Martin shortly thereafter asked why the sudden departure, his friend was quick to explain. “I saw Castlereagh and Eldon repair to the card room just a bit ago. It would be best to encounter them there, where we can share a brandy away from the crowd.”

They made their way through the crush to the card room, which seemed more the province of men than of women though a few old dowagers lingered there. Small tables were artfully scattered about an expanse half the size of the ballroom, and the lighting was more subdued, reminding Martin of a men’s club. Well-attired servants scurried about efficiently refilling drinks for the guests engaged in games of chance.

“Just there, Martin.” Ormond gestured with a nod of his head to two men standing in the corner. “Viscount Castlereagh and Baron Eldon sharing a drink and conversation. Let us join them.”

Accepting a brandy from a passing waiter, Ormond sallied forth with Martin in tow. Soon they drew up in front of the two men, and addressing the more senior man, whose bushy white hair gave him a distinguished look, Ormond courteously interjected, “Eldon, may we join you? I’ve someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Why, of course, Ormond. Haven’t seen you around the club much of late. You know Castlereagh, of course.”

Martin studied the viscount as Ormond acknowledged him. Castlereagh was somewhere in his fourth decade but still quite young-looking with dark eyes and wiry red hair tinged with gray. So, this was the leader of the House of Commons who had introduced the bill to suspend habeas corpus at the urging of the Home Secretary. Perhaps Castlereagh had also been the one to send out spies at Sidmouth’s biding. Martin had a hard time believing such actions of the older man. Lord Eldon had been a distinguished barrister and member of the House of Lords long before he accepted the role of Chancellor. However, Martin knew well the lengths to which some men would go if asked to preserve the government.

“Allow me to present my friend of many years, Sir Martin Powell.”

“Powell…” Eldon drew his brows together. “The name is familiar. Are you any relation to Simon Powell? Captain Simon Powell?”

“My father, my lord.”

“Ah, yes.” The older man’s eyes gained a sudden light. “His Majesty’s government employed your father with great success during the war with France. As I recall, he made some excellent raids as a privateer in His Majesty’s service. Were you a part of that, good sir?”

“My father and older brother, I suspect, my lord. I have been away for many years. But in the last few, I believe Powell and Sons has confined itself to the work of merchants on the high seas.”

“To earn that knighthood,” interjected Castlereagh, “you must have served on the Continent.”

“Yes, my lord, I was employed opposing Napoleon for the Crown.” That was the most Martin could say. They would assume, of course, that he had been a soldier or a naval officer, not a spy for Prinny living as a Frenchman in Paris. Few in the government had any idea of Martin’s role. Fewer still would know his face.

As Castlereagh opened his mouth again, Martin was spared further inquiry by Ormond’s timely comment. “I hear you are working with Sidmouth to stem the tide of protests that have arisen this spring.”

Seizing on a subject that obviously stirred his passion, the red-haired statesman plunged in. “Quite right. That bit of bad news is causing us all much worry. We don’t want the fires of the French Revolution to spread to England, now do we?”

“Is that really something the government fears?” asked Martin, hardly believing it. “The political climates are quite different.” Personally, he believed England had suffered her revolution under Cromwell, centuries before, and was in no danger of another.

“Unfortunately, the fear is sufficiently real to clamp down on the freedoms the populace would otherwise enjoy,” said Eldon, regret showing in his dark eyes. “I, for one, hate to see the gains of the past lost, but it appears it must needs be for now.”

“The press is contributing to the unrest with their articles glorifying the protestors and printing caricatures criticizing the leaders of government,” Castlereagh growled in his own defense. “They are only reminding the rabble of the current economic situation. I assume you heard about that appalling incident in Manchester they are calling the ‘March of the Blanketeers’?”

“Yes, I’ve heard the story,” said Martin, “though I was not in England when the events transpired.”