For My Country’s Freedom

eye altogether.

He had used the terminology of his profession in an almost matter-of-fact fashion, the language of his world. It had probably meant very little to Richard except for the verdict. His eye would only get worse, but it might be a considerable time before the disability became obvious to anybody else.

Then, this evening, there had been that precious moment

when she had descended the stairs in her green silk gown, and he had watched her all the way. So many memories: their hands touching briefly when Bolitho had all but fallen on the step in that house above English Harbour.

Her hair was piled on her head, brailed up, as Allday had once described it, to reveal the gold filigree earrings Bolitho had given her, the ones she had managed to hide in her stained clothing when her husband and Belinda Bolitho had connived to have her wrongly imprisoned for debt, with deportation an almost certain outcome.

Around her neck she wore his latest present, which he had commissioned for her as a surprise when he had returned home from the sea. It was a diamond pendant fashioned in the shape of an open fan, like the one he had brought her from Madeira.

She had watched his eyes, had felt them like warmth from the sun. The pendant rested provocatively in the shadow between her breasts. He had said quietly, 'You will be the most beautiful lady tonight.' It had touched her deeply. A lady in title only, but to Richard she knew it meant far more.

A few people pointed at the crest on the carriage door, but here in the heart of London fame was commonplace and too often ephemeral.

Bolitho seemed to read her thoughts. 'I will be glad to go home, Kate.' Their hands embraced beneath the cloak, like lovers themselves. 'I do not know why we are here.' He turned and looked her full in the face. 'But I shall enjoy showing you off. I always do. Is that so childish?'

She stroked his hand. 'I would have you no other way, and I am proud to be at your side.'

Even if Sillitoe was wrong, and the invitation had come only out of curiosity the love of scandal by those who had no cause to fear it, she would show only dignity.

The sky over London was unusually clear but the windows of

Carlton House were ablaze with lights, as smartly liveried linkmen and boys ran to open doors and lower carriage steps. Above the bustle of horses and staring spectators they heard the sound of music, violins and a harpsichord. Bolitho felt her hand on his arm and heard her whisper, 'Like Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. I shall take you there again.'

He nodded. He was pleased she still remembered that night when she had shown him a part of her London.

Bewigged footmen whisked away their cloaks and Bolitho’s cocked hat. He watched them being carried into an ante-room and marked it carefully in case a hasty retreat should become necessary. Aware of his uncertainty, she smiled at him, her eyes flashing in the glitter of a thousand candles.

Most men in his position would be revelling in it, she thought. Here was a real hero, loved, feared, respected and envied. But she knew him so well. Could sense his wariness, his determination to protect her from any who might try to harm her.

They were ushered into a great room with a painted ceiling of water nymphs and fantastical sea-horses. The orchestra was here, although Catherine suspected there was a second playing elsewhere in this extravagant building. It appeared to have been newly decorated, and perhaps was a reflection of the Prince Regent’s tastes or personality. Described behind his back as a gambler, drinker and debauchee, and to his face by his father as 'king of the damned,' his blatant affair with Mrs Fitzherbert and countless mistresses who had followed her clearly demonstrated the contempt in which he held both his father and society

There were several women present. Some were plain and seemingly ill at ease, with nothing to say, their husbands on the other hand loud-mouthed and sweating badly as the room became more crowded. There were other women less overawed by their surroundings, some vivacious, and wearing gowns cut so low it was a marvel they stayed in position. It was almost a relief to see Sir

Paul Sillitoe, who was pointing them out to a footman while he himself came to greet them.

'Congratulations, Sir Richard! You are turning many heads this evening!' But his eyes were on Catherine as he raised her hand to his lips. 'Each time we see you, Lady Catherine, it is like a first meeting. You look enchanting.'

She smiled. 'You are all flattery, sir.'

Sillitoe became business-like. 'It is a small gathering by Prinny’s standards. The main banquet room is partitioned off. We must accept it as an intimate affair. The Prince Regent’s dislike for the prime minister has worsened, I am given to believe. He will not be missed.'

Bolitho took a tall, beautifully shaped goblet from a tray and saw the footman’s eyes dart between them. Did Sillitoe obtain all his intelligence from men like this? The extent of his knowledge was uncanny, the power that that knowledge would represent almost dangerous.

Sillitoe was saying, 'About forty of us, I understand.'

Bolitho glanced at Catherine. Sillitoe would know exactly how many, and the worth and perhaps the secrets of each and every one of them.

He had returned his attention to Catherine now, his hooded eyes giving nothing away. 'There will be many wines at table…'

She touched the diamond fan at her breast. 'I take heed of your warning, Sir Paul. Our host gains entertainment and amusement from his guests if they imbibe too freely, is that it?'

Sillitoe bowed. 'You are perceptive as always, Lady Catherine. I knew I had no need to mention it.'

Bolitho saw faces turning away when he caught them staring. Well, let them stare, damn them. He could easily imagine some of these men making fools of themselves, and ladies becoming the perhaps not unwilling prey of others. He had seen it happen in

army establishments often enough. Was that what they thought now, watching Catherine, seeing her defiance of convention as a threat to their own manhood, or a challenge to it?

He thought of her in those last days in the sun-blistered longboat, keeping his hopes alive when to everyone else rescue had seemed impossible, and the prospect of death their only escape. Even now, as she turned to glance around the room, the faint scars of sunburn on her bare shoulders were still visible after all the months since Golden Plover had smashed on to the reef. Suddenly he wanted to take her in his arms, to keep holding her until the terrible pictures in his mind were no more.

Instead, he asked, 'When I am away…' He saw her stiffen, and knew Sillitoe was trying not to listen. 'I would wish for nothing dearer than a portrait of you.'

She tilted her chin and he saw a pulse beating in her throat. 'I would be happy to oblige you, Richard.' She reached out and gripped his hand. It was as if the room were completely empty 'Your thoughts are always of me, never for yourself…'

She turned away as the doors were flung open and an equerry called importantly, 'Pray be upstanding for His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, Regent of all England!'

Bolitho studied him intently as he entered the colourful gathering. For one so heavy he walked with a light step; he even seemed to glide, and Bolitho was reminded suddenly of a ship of the line, losing the wind even as she floated smoothly to her anchorage.

He was not quite certain what he had expected: something perhaps between Gillray’s cruel cartoons and the paintings he had seen at the Admiralty. He was about six years younger than Bolitho but his excesses had worn badly. A devotee of fashion, he was elegantly dressed, his hair swept forward in the very latest style, while his lips remained pursed in a little amused smile.

As he moved slowly down the room women curtsied deeply

while their partners bowed, flushed with pleasure if they were noticed.

But the Prince, 'Prinny' as Sillitoe had outrageously called him, looked straight at Bolitho and then, more deliberately, at Catherine. 'So you are my new admiral.' He bowed his head to Catherine who had subsided into a curtsy. 'Please rise, Lady Catherine.' His eyes rested on the glittering pendant and what lay beneath. 'This is an honour. You will sit with me.' He offered his hand to Bolitho. 'You have a good tailor, sir.