Castlereagh, the foreign secretary, it seemed likely that he saw less of it than anyone. Of all the statesmen and government leaders involved in negotiations with the allied powers, he had probably been the most active. The Treaties of Chaumont, followed two months later by the First Peace of Paris, which Castlereagh had settled with Metternich almost unaided, seemed no less a victory than Wellington's.
Catherine rested her hand on a footman's sleeve as she stepped down from the carriage. The air was still and heavy, with dark, brooding clouds broken only occasionally by a glimpse of early stars. There was still thunder in the air, like something physical. Perhaps, as she had thought at the Admiralty, she should not have come. She sighed, and walked slowly along a dark strip of carpet. If there was a downpour, the carpet would take the brunt of it.
The house was spacious, but seemed anonymous, unmemorable, like so many others on similar occasions. Every window glittering, every chandelier alight, strains of music, and a tide of voices audible even from here.
And now the garden, with more candles and coloured lanterns, people standing about in groups, taking advantage of any light breeze from the river. Faces turned to watch her, probably wondering who she would be with. She lifted her chin. At least Sillitoe did not care. People feared him. Needed him.
If Richard were here, he would see it differently, as no less a part of duty than firing a salute. He would make her smile at the absurdity, and the importance of appearance. Like a code, or a secret signal
'Lady Somervell?'
It was a well-dressed young man, neither servant nor guest.
He bowed. 'Sir Graham Bethune has asked me to escort you to his party, my lady.' He looked at her, and must have seen the unspoken question in her eyes. 'Lord Sillitoe is delayed.'
They returned to the house. People parted to allow them to pass, young women with daring gowns and bold glances, older women in gowns which neither flattered nor suited them. Uniforms of every kind, but not many sea officers; men who tried to catch her eye, then turned to their companions as if they had succeeded.
Toiling amongst them was an army of footmen, sweating in their heavy coats and wigs, and yet able to pass a glass of wine or retrieve an empty one before it was broken or trampled into the carpet.
Bethune came striding to meet her. 'Welcome, Lady Somervell!'
They both smiled, remembering the informality of that dingy ante-room.
She curtsied. 'Sir Graham, how pleasant.'
She slipped her hand through his arm and saw the eyes following them. Surprised, perhaps disappointed that there was no new scandal.
Without turning his head, Bethune murmured, 'Lord Sillitoe is with the Prince Regent. He sent word that he will not be long.'
She glanced at him. 'He trusts you, Graham.'
'I am not certain that trust means the same thing to him.'
She turned, seeing Susanna Mildmay on the arm of a major of the Royal Irish Dragoons. If Avery's lover had seen her, she did not reveal it.
Perhaps Avery had been saved from something. But he would never believe it.
Bethune said. The orders for Adam have been sent.' Her fingers tightened on his arm 'We shall always need dedicated captains. It would have been a waste, otherwise.'
And the other Adam no one knew. The little mermaid… No one knows.
There was a loud bang on the floor, and a footman announced yet another prominent participant in that campaign which had ended so dramatically at Toulouse, when Napoleon had abdicated.
She said, 'You are being watched. People will talk.'
Bethune shrugged. 'They will always do that, when there is beauty like yours to envy.'
She did not have to look at him; his sincerity was obvious.
'Did you find that captain a ship?'
She spoke to calm herself, more than anything else. She had seen the group by an open window, Bethune's wife, poised and unsmiling, staring at her.
Bethune said, 'i could do nothing for him, even if I had wanted to.' He glanced at her. 'Do not concern yourself with them, Catherine. They are friends of mine.'
Catherine offered her hand. 'Lady Bethune, this is an unexpected pleasure.'
Bethune's wife said, That is a lovely gown. It shows your skin to perfection.' She gazed at the diamond pendant between her breasts. 'Yes, to perfection.' She turned away. 'More wine, I think.'
The others seemed affable enough, older officers and their wives, men employed at the Admiralty, or those who had been there when Bethune had first made his mark.
Catherine flicked open her fan to cool her face. Very dull, she thought. If only Sillitoe would arrive. He, at least, was never dull.
Bethune's wife had returned. Close to, and in spite of the expensive gown and jewellery, she was almost plain, and Catherine found herself wondering, not for the first time, how they had met, what had drawn them to one another.
'Something amuses you, Lady Somervell?'
She said, 'One hears all the time that there is a shortage of senior officers, in the navy at least. And yet, when I look around me, all I see are generals, and not a few admirals! Is that not strange?'
'Do you have any children? By your marriage, I mean to say?'
Catherine controlled her anger. Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean. 'No. Perhaps it is a blessing.'
Bethune's wife nodded, her lips tight. 'It could seem so. But my husband and I believe that children are the foundation of any marriage.
In the navy, it is sometimes all one can cling to.'
Catherine faced her. 'And love, madam, what part does that play?'
Surprisingly, the tight lips folded into a smile. 'I should have thought you could answer that question better than I.' She raised her hand. 'Why, my dear General Lindsay, how well you are looking! You are quite recovered, I hope?'
Catherine sensed, rather than saw, the footman approach with the tray of glasses. She took one, and said, 'Wait,' and drank the contents; it was hock, and almost cool, or so it seemed. She replaced the' glass on the tray and took another.
'That was most welcome. Thank you very much.'
If the footman had been another Allday, he might almost have winked.
Instead, he murmured, 'It sometimes 'elps, m'lady!'
Bethune was hurrying toward her.
'Catherine, what has happened?' He looked over at his wife, who was speaking to a portly officer with as much animation as if he were her greatest friend.
She answered softly, 'I should have gone when I heard about Sillitoe.'
What was the matter with her? She had dealt with far worse, endured far worse, and triumphed. But not without pain. So why could she not hide it now, treat this with the contempt it deserved? An innocent remark, then? Never… 'I shall speak with her.' He looked down at her hand on his wrist, perhaps remembering how she had removed her glove for him.
'Say nothing. You have too much to lose.' She gazed at him steadily. 'I can understand why Richard cares so much for you. Please, never change!'
There was more banging on the floor, and it was with some reluctance that the din of voices died down.
But it was not a footman this time.
Catherine thought she felt Bethune tense as Admiral Lord Rhodes climbed heavily to the top of a flight of marble stairs.
'Shortly we shall dine, ladies and gentlemen!' Someone gave a loud hand clap and several of the younger women shrieked with laughter.
Rhodes did not respond. 'Just a few words, if I may.'
One of Bethune's friends murmured, 'Oh, for God's sake.'
Rhodes stared around the room, his face shining in the flickering candlelight.
'I may be biased, some claim it is a fault, but I sometimes believe that upon these occasions, and this one in particular, we tend to offer all the laurels to our military friends.' He paused while Susanna Mildmay's major gave a cheer. 'And overlook the achievements of our own service, without which no soldier would put his foot on foreign
