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Orloff harrumphed and turned to a well-shod gentleman having his boots polished for an answer.

“What say you, sir? Do you believe the cabinet seat Liverpool gave Wellington will propel him on to even greater political rewards?”

The man took a breath before answering giving Orloff to understand his response was well considered.

He said, “Wellington speaks his mind untroubled by who might take offence. For a soldier, that is an admirable quality. For a politician, however, compromise is essential. It is unlikely that Wellington’s sympathy for Catholic emancipation shall endear him to his other Tory cabinet ministers.”

Orloff raised an eyebrow. Then he spoke to Edmund.

“Listen to this man, Edmund. He knows whereof he speaks.”

The man added, “I suspect that our friend, Edmund O’Reilly had an opinion on that issue, he merely chose not to speak it.”

As he worked, Edmund smiled. Orloff was too pleased with himself to notice the point the gentleman made. However, they did introduce themselves. Curious, Orloff inquired if he had special knowledge of Wellington.

Alistair R. Thomas replied, “I was Wellington’s political attaché during the Napoleonic hostilities. I served my country in several campaigns and have now sold my commission to enjoy the peace at my leisure.”

Orloff gasped at such fascinating information. Alistair was reluctant to speak of the specific conflicts, but loquacious Lord Orloff was bored and begged to hear more.

“Waterloo? You must tell me of Waterloo! You were there?”

Alistair nodded. Orloff, ever the raconteur, loved to learn anecdotes he could then pass on as his own. He begged Alistair to tell of battles and intrigue. Alistair reluctantly admitted to having been wounded.

Alistair insisted, “Mine was nothing but a scratch.”

Just then, Alistair attempted to stand, but wobbled as he tried to put his walking stick to use. Orloff leapt to help Alistair to his feet. Alistair suppressed a groan as he stood and put his weight on one foot.

“Your country owes you a great deal!” Orloff gushed.

Alistair demurred, saying, “I am but a slave for my country, happy to have given what I have for its honour.”

“I stand in awe,” said Orloff.

Only admitting to being a middling officer before Waterloo, Alistair did say he came out of that engagement with a chest full of medals. Although Orloff was much in want of seeing them, Alistair declined.

“Put away,” he insisted. “Like my uniform, I shall not look upon them again.”

Such impeccable credentials meant Alistair was welcome into the best company and the finest clubs. Ladies were always in want of a charming gentleman to make a fourth at cards and fill out their table at suppers. His white hair and well-tanned countenance made Alistair a most distinguished-looking man. As it happened, Orloff knew how to fill a table. Twenty ladies and gentlemen joined him that evening. Some of them were witty; all of them were rich.

Orloff announced, “I must have you come round tonight.”

Alistair’s suspiration was deep, but he seemed agreeable, “Although my Brothers of the Blade have my compleat devotion, I must admit I am much in want of other society.”

Orloff pressed his card into Alistair’s hand.

“Do come round. There will be gentlemen there who would be much in want of hearing what you have to say.”

Although he did not promise, Orloff was pleased when Alistair appeared at his door. His coming was a great coup. Orloff liked to sprinkle his soirées with gentlemen of different stripes. A self-deprecating gentleman with a noble countenance and decent wit was difficult to find. As they talked, Orloff learnt that he was correct about Mr. Thomas. His greatest assets lay beyond the card table. They shared an eagre interest and keen understanding of the political climate.

When the gentlemen retired from the ladies and their interminable rounds of Whist, they escaped to Orloff’s handsomely appointed smoking-room for cigars, serious drinking, and brash talk. Affairs of the state were the preferred topic. Orloff was backing a coming man for Parliament and was in active pursuit of good heads to join him. To gain everyone’s attention, he was not above agitation.

He announced, “The rioters taken to streets after the Westminster elections were equal to what was seen in Paris.”

As no one else had a comment, Alistair replied, “It was said had they been well armed and well-drilled, the mobs might have done real damage.”

His remark was greeted by a scattering of laughter, no one quite certain if he spoke in jest.

Now that a common enemy was left to die old and alone at St. Helena, another ogre had to take his place. The emerging Labour movement gave the defenders of the probity good reason to panic. Any call for change in the existing order was viewed as a wedge opening the door for a French-like atrocity. Any alteration in social rectitude was tantamount to erecting a guillotine in Hyde Park.

If the French had taught them anything at all, it was that change—of any sort—was to be fought at all costs.

Therefore every gentleman hushed when another man reported, “Lady Hatton had forty windows smashed by a collection of rock-wielding children. My wife says we must board up our house at Brighton lest it be torn to bits.”

Alistair spoke again, soothing, “Tell your dear wife that Dragoons have been stationed in every town from Coventry to Bristol. I am certain we are all safe”

Despite alleging a great distaste for politics, Alistair had an eagre opinion on each point—including Wellington. He stood solidly behind him.

He explained, “I owe the man a great deal. Had he not learnt that I attended Eton, my epaulettes would have been scorched off my shoulders in the Peninsular War.” He furthered his point by saying, “A classical education is a necessity for all officers.”

There were murmuring nods of approval from all. Lord Orloff, however, saw Wellington as remiss.

“Why have you not been given a knighthood, sir? They have handed them out like flower petals to men of far less standing. I shall speak to Wellington on your behalf.”

As everyone knew, Wellington’s success in Spain won him many honours and, more importantly, large estates and cash awards. He was the man of the hour.

Alistair insisted, “I fear that in the peninsular conflict I was merely a scribe of Wellington’s greatest achievements, not the author. Indeed, with the resumption of hostilities I spent more time interpreting his missives to Blücher than upon the field of battle.”

“Still...” said Orloff.

“If you please,” insisted Alistair. “I beg you do not speak upon my behalf.”

Orloff was keenly pleased. Alistair was well-educated, well-spoken, and well-dressed—a gentleman of the first order. He did not give up Alistair’s part when it came to Wellington either.

“The Duke was fortunate at Waterloo,” Orloff insisted. “The French cavalry showed up quite well during that great battle.”

“Yes, and they went down very well too,” rebutted Alistair.

The laughter was infectious. It was only natural that when Sir Henry Howgrave arrived, he was immediately introduced to Alistair Thomas. They were each given a brief history of the other and understood instinctively that they were similar animals.

Howgrave asked Alistair, “Did you happen to attend Wellington’s welcoming festivities after his triumphant return from France? I do not recall seeing you there.”

“I saw it only in passing,” Alistair replied.

Howgrave was aghast (or seemingly so), “I am astonished that the duke forgets his loyalties with such haste.”

“With cashiered soldiers filling the streets with their disgruntlement, the Duke has far greater concerns than one poor gentleman,” said Alistair.

With a sly, sideward look, Howgrave bid Alistair, “Come with us tonight, Thomas. After Almack’s closes, we like to finish the evening in the East End with good, plebeian company—low men and loose women.”

A smattering of snickers were heard at his remark.

Alistair R. Thomas was quite conscious of the young blood’s penchant for rubbing elbows with the motley lowborn on Nightingale Lane. He also knew that Howgrave was born of a left-handed union and his wife was once a courtesan. A voucher to Almack’s was a dearly held commodity and the ladies who extended them thought far too highly of themselves to sell their company that cheaply. One could be assured that Sir Henry Howgrave was not invited to Almack’s. Yet, he implied he was. If Alistair’s nose sniffed the winds of speculation, it went unremarked.

With real or feigned reluctance, he begged off from that night’s carousing.

“Then tomorrow morning, do to take a turn with us around Rotten Row,” urged Howgrave. “You must join us Mr. Thomas. We solve all of England’s many problems as we take the Serpentine.”

Alistair declined this offer as well, but explained his refusal.

“Although I once took a rail quite handily, I fear that since I took my wound I no longer look to advantage in the saddle.”

Howgrave said, “We shall enjoy watching those who do through the auspices of my landau. This, I insist.”

Alistair bowed in acceptance to the invitation.

It was in the landau that next day that Howgrave bid Mr. Thomas to oblige him by joining his campaign. With gracious good humour, Alistair again demurred, saying that there were far better qualified men than he. It took a great deal of arm-twisting to convince him to accept the proposal. Orloff was quite pleased to have obtained him.

Alistair’s own ambition had been temporarily satisfied to sit in a shared carriage around the Serpentine. It was apparent that Howgrave hoped to trade on his connection to Wellington. He was not offended. Any man of good sense knew inherently that one must use all one’s strengths.

When Howgrave once again invited Alistair to join him upon his nightly prowls, Alistair agreed. It would not do to appear too depraved or too priggish. They spent most of their evening at Vauxhall Gardens and finished that night at White’s. Engrossed in conversation, they took no note of the servitors therein.

Discharged from Pemberley without a letter of recommendation, Cyril Smeads stood behind the bar polishing glasses. Through previous connections, he had found a suitable position at the well-known watering hole for the aristocratic drinkers and their failed sons. It was a situation that many might have believed as beneath them. Truth be known, it was an office over which prospective agents fought tooth and nail. The wages were poor, but a man with a sharp mind, discrete tongue, and a total want of character could earn a substantial stipend.

For Smeads, procuring female companionship for members of the esteemed class took only the smallest adjustment to his already compromised ethics. He should have paid far greater attention to the patrons within his purlieu. There were those who would have paid him handsomely for the information.

Chapter 14

The Breeching

The hours before their guests began to arrive for the ball were full of bustling activity and, especially for Pemberley’s mistress, rife with angst.

Although the household was as well-prepared as any seasoned military battalion, Elizabeth was a bit out of sorts. They had not entertained so vast a number of guests for longer than she could recall. Fortunately, Mr. Howard was a master at dousing last minute fires of all sorts. One round through the ballroom and dining hall soothed her nerves. The frills and folderol were well in hand. Fresh flowers were in place and the floors gleamed as if glass. A pyramid of grapes, nectarines and peaches were excellently presented and the partridges were ready for roasting.