Read Online B006O3T9DG EBOK by Linda Berdoll - Free Book Online Page B

widower with a wandering eye, he enjoyed entertaining in his house in Pall Mall. It was an exquisite place, one he had inherited upon his wife’s death. Despite the persistent rumours that his wife died in consequence of his faithlessness, he was still considered a man worth knowing by those who held sway over such judgements.
    As a young man, Orloff was known to cut quite a swell in the iniquitous pathways of nocturnal trampers and brothel tourists. It was no surprise that when his bad blood left his doodads a tad ineffectual, he became enthralled by the backroom antics of Parliamentary politics. The Napoleonic wars had kept a tumultuous hold upon gentlemen for a decade. Those least likely to see battle were always the most eagre debaters. Forgather three men in a room and fill their glasses, they would argue over the battle strategy for days.
    Orloff delighted in inviting the opinion of the working class. They had odd thoughts about taxes and levies. One must be kept abreast of common notions regardless of its absurdity. Whilst having measurements taken for a new pair of boots however, he asked his boot-maker, “Edmund, what say you of Wellington—good man or fool?”
    Edmund O’Reilly kept his head down, clearly disinclined to debate him.
    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