Page 15 of Against the Wind

He’d already located the four exits, including the one to the terrace with stairs leading down to the gardens. Several hiding places off the main ballroom had caught his trained eye, and though no one else would notice, he’d identified each of the armed footmen scattered about the room. Old habits of his days as a spy would be with him forever.

“You are certain they will be here?” he whispered to Ormond, who was standing next to his wife. The marquess had taken care with his appearance this evening; even his dark brown hair, usually a bit tousled, had been tamed. Martin assumed this was owing to Lady Ormond’s influence, just as was Ormond’s claret brocade waistcoat. Ormond’s wife was herself a vision in silk the color of her sparkling green eyes.

“I was assured Sidmouth’s cohorts would be attending. Neither Foreign Secretary Castlereagh nor Chancellor Eldon should be terribly difficult to find. They might not attend all the events of the Season, but they would not fail to be seen at this one. The dowager countess can be a formidable ally or enemy, and neither would dare offend her.”

Martin waited as Ormond scanned the room, but before either could sight their quarry, their hostess approached like a ship under full sail. Clothed in a cream brocade gown with matching feathers shooting up from her silver hair and a long strand of pearl hanging from her neck, the buxom countess reigned as a veritable queen.

“Good evening, my lord, my lady.” The dowager countess smiled graciously at the Ormonds, and Martin thought her voice quite deep for a woman. The voice of authority. But those soft gray eyes suggested a kind heart beneath the finery and formal greeting. “So good of you to attend.”

“Countess,” Ormond said, bowing. “My wife and I were most pleased to accept your invitation.”

The woman paused for Ormond to finish then quickly turned her attention to Martin. Raising a bejeweled quizzing glass, she slowly perused him, as if inspecting a new horse for her stable, while directing her words to the marquess. “Who is this dashingly handsome man you’ve seen fit to bring with you tonight, Ormond? And where”—she paused with dramatic emphasis, allowing her quizzing glass to drop on its chain—“have you been keeping him?”

Martin chuckled. “Sir Martin Powell at your service, Countess. And, to answer your question, I have been living on the Continent. However, I am most grateful to be included in your lovely soirée this evening.”

“We can always use another knight to attend our many damsels, Sir Martin. I’m delighted you’ve come.” The countess raised a silver eyebrow. “Do I detect a hint of the French in your voice?”

“Very perceptive, my lady.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Yes, you might.”

He said no more, and when it was clear he would not, the countess offered her hand. Without a word Martin took it and bowed low. When he glanced up, it was to see her eyes shining with apparent delight. He really did love older women of great character, and he suspected that the countess was one of these, formidable in all things with a well-hidden soft heart. The smile he gave her was sincere.

Straightening, he gave her a wink, to which she returned a “Humph.” At least, that’s what it sounded like. But the older woman seemed to enjoy his impudence, just as he’d thought she might.

“I must be off, children. See that you dance with the young maidens, Sir Martin. I expect they will all be gawking at you. Perhaps having been in France you can manage that new dance the Prince Regent introduced at Court last year, that outrageous waltz. I’ve avoided it as long as possible, but with all the fuss I’ve had to include it in tonight’s repertoire.” Then the countess dipped her head at the threesome and turned to leave. Glancing over her shoulder at Martin, she glided away just as he thought he heard another “Humph.”

“It appears you’ve made a conquest, Martin,” Lady Ormond said with a small laugh, “one that will serve you well in London society. If my eyes did not deceive me, our intimidating hostess was quite taken. It’s rare to see her so enamored with a man. Few impress her.”

“She reminds me of my mother, another grand lady,” Martin noted as he watched the countess sail smoothly away. His mother was one person Martin had particularly missed while in France. Claire Donet Powell was a warm soul who tolerated many absences from the men in her life, from her seafaring husband Simon, who adored her, to Martin’s older brother Nick, both captains of their own ships, to his two younger twin brothers who often crewed for their father. And then there was Martin. Martin the spy. The outlier. He hadn’t seen his family since returning to London, but he would remedy that soon now that he was back in his father’s good graces.

“Say, where is Griffen Lambeth this evening, Ormond?” Martin asked his friend. “I would have expected to see our colleague by your side, or at least somewhere in this crush looking for you.”

“Mr. Lambeth is staying close to home these days,” said Lady Ormond. “Lizzy, his wife and my dearest friend, is very close to delivering their first child. He won’t leave her, which I think is most admirable.”

“Another devoted husband,” said Martin. “I feel surrounded.” He began to wonder if it was fate’s campaign to convert him. He was looking more like the lone bachelor as each day passed.

Ormond smiled broadly. “Careful, old thing, it may be catching.” Martin could see his friend was only too eager to bring him into the fold.

“Oh, look, darling,” exclaimed Lady Ormond. “It’s Peter and Emily. Martin, you may not have met them. They are the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon. Ormond and I had only just met when we attended their house party over a year ago, though it seems like yesterday.” She gazed fondly at her husband, who returned her regard as if he, too, was remembering. “We haven’t seen them since Henry’s christening. Ormond, they are headed toward us. Come, Martin.” She tugged on his sleeve. “You will want to meet them. They are Henry’s godparents and dear friends.”

Lady Huntingdon reached them first. She gave Lady Ormond a hug, running her eyes protectively over the younger woman like a hen examining her chick. “I see motherhood agrees with you, Mary. You are all aglow.” Turning to face Ormond, Lady Huntingdon inquired, “And how is our godchild, young Henry?”

“Growing, my lady,” Ormond replied proudly.

The earl leaned forward and shook his hand. “Glad to hear it. You must bring the lad to see us. A weekend in the country would do you all well.”

“We will, sir. And soon,” replied the marquess.

Mary presented Martin to the older couple, and he was soon drawn into the warm circle of friends. Lord Huntingdon was distinguished-looking with brown hair graying at the temples; his wife had the ageless appeal of a wise woman, her light brown hair curled at the sides of her face, her gray eyes reflecting contentment. They were a handsome pair, and Martin’s instincts told him they both could be trusted with secrets. Perhaps they had kept a few for Ormond.

“Sir Martin,” Lord Huntingdon noted, “you must be one of our decorated war heroes. I had heard the Prince Regent was giving our most valiant on the battlefield some well-deserved knighthoods after Waterloo. I suspect congratulations are in order. Well done!”

Martin always felt awkward when praised for battles won by other men, especially when the only reward for some of them had been a quick death. But he could not speak of his real work far from the battlefield, so his only response was a speaking look in Ormond’s direction and a quiet, “Thank you, but others did far more than I.”

“Ah, yes,” said Huntingdon. “We know of Ormond’s work. Our mysterious—and for many years missing—marquess did much for the Crown. But his lady has helped him to retire from all that, hasn’t she?”

“Just so, Huntingdon,” Ormond said. “Like you, I am now a country gentleman living in London during the Season with only my family and my business interests to tend.”

“I wonder,” said Huntingdon.