by Regan Walker
Hugh’s mouth twisted in a smirk. “Apparently you two have been busy since our wedding.”
His friend held Elizabeth close and looked into her eyes. “I was just thanking Miss St. Clair for agreeing to become my wife.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Mary rushed forward, and Lambeth released Elizabeth long enough for Mary to embrace her, while he reached out to shake Hugh’s hand.
“Congratulations!” Hugh said.
“And to you as well,” Lambeth offered, his blue eyes twinkling.
Mary was effusive. “It seems we all have something to be happy about.”
“Aye, we do,” said Lambeth. “Shall we return to the reception to share some champagne?”
Hugh sighed. “While that sounds delightful, perhaps we might meet you a bit later. I need a minute with my bride.”
“No doubt,” Lambeth said. He gave them a wink.
The blond man led Elizabeth back down the garden path toward the reception. Hugh took Mary’s hand and walked deeper into the alcove. She let go of his hand to turn in a wide circle, her eyes taking in the beautiful flowered hedges, the tall willows behind them, the polished stones of the walkway and the marble fountain in one corner, gurgling water spilling from the top. It was so much more than an alcove. It reminded her of the grotto at the Luxembourg Palace, the island of peace he’d taken her to after the horrible scene at the gallery.
She stepped back to him and he took her in his arms. “It’s magical, Hugh, like a room designed by a fairy.”
“Ah, very well said. I spent many hours here pretending I was ruler of a mythical kingdom.” He took both of her hands in his and kissed her fingers. “But I have learned since then that you are all I need. You are my kingdom. Today is for us—a day of celebration.”
“Are you happy, Hugh?” Mary asked. For a moment she wondered if his words masked a longing for adventure that he believed married life would no longer afford him.
“Very happy, for I have the heart of the elusive Mary Campbell. You are finally mine. For a while, I did not think it could be done. Fortunately I do not easily take no for an answer.”
“You had help, for my uncle has apparently been your secret ally.”
Hugh grinned. “So it would seem, and I am most appreciative.”
Mary reached up and swept a stray lock of hair from his forehead and looked into his brandy-colored eyes. “So it’s forever, is it?”
He grinned broadly. “Indeed, my love,” he promised as he drew her more tightly to him, “it is forever.” Then he gave her the promised kiss.
Epilogue
Campbell Manor, not quite a year later
Elizabeth Lambeth stared lovingly into the face of the babe she held. “Oh, Griffen, Mary and Ormond’s baby is adorable, isn’t he?”
“Well, dear, I would never call a boy adorable, but I’ll agree he is a bonny lad, as they say in the land of the Scots. Did you think he would be otherwise?”
“Of course not! He already looks like his father. Mary tells me all the Albany men have the same dark coloring. For that reason alone he would be a handsome child.”
“I do think he has something of his mother in him as well. The perfectly shaped lips perhaps and the fine nose—”
“Yes, the lips, you’re right. It all comes together quite nicely. He’ll break hearts, this one will. Just like his father.”
The morning was fair and far warmer than expected, as though spring had leapt into summer. Flowering vines framed the doors leading to the terrace, providing a wall of pink blossoms for the young couple to enjoy as they sat with the remains of their breakfast. Griffen read the Times and Elizabeth let her tea grow cold as she cooed at the baby who had just put his fist into his mouth.
At the sound of horses galloping across the lawn near the river, Griffen looked up and shielded his eyes against the sun to watch the approaching riders. A chestnut stallion carried a man with dark wavy hair leaning slightly forward in his saddle, his open jacket flying out behind him. The other rider sat astride a glistening black stallion with long mane and tail. As she threw back her head and laughed, her long golden hair reflected the sun.
“There they are, and about time!” Griffen said. “Still riding as if pursued by the hounds of hell, I see. You would think they’d had enough. They have been gone an hour or more.”
“Don’t be so impatient with them, darling. After all, it’s the first time Ormond has allowed Mary to ride like that in a very long while. First he let her have her way, but once he discovered she carried his child he took away her many freedoms. I suppose it’s a sign she has matured that she agreed it was probably for the best. But now that young Henry is well delivered, she couldn’t wait another minute to be on that stallion of hers again. I think she has grown tired of watching her husband exercise her horse, though I suppose he’s the only one who can.”
The riders slowed their horses to a trot as they approached the terrace. Ormond reined in and dismounted, then helped Mary down before throwing the reins for both horses over a metal post. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and kissed her temple as they greeted Elizabeth and Griffen.
“Are you two still lazing about this morning?” He gave them a mocking grin.
“You forget, my friend, we are consumed with the most important task of the day—guarding your young heir.” Griffen attempted to look very official.
“How is my little prince?” Moving quickly to Elizabeth’s side, Mary peered into the face of her child, who at the sound of her voice immediately turned and gurgled happily.
Elizabeth cradled the baby in two hands, lifting him to Mary. “He’s been content and sweet since you fed him last. The lad is a pleasure to watch, I must say. But I can see he wants his mama.”
“Come to me, little one.” Mary’s green eyes fixed on the dark-haired child’s face, and she took the blanketed baby into her arms and kissed his rounded cheek. Mother and child gazed at each other as if there were no one else in the world, and it warmed Elizabeth’s heart.
Ormond stepped forward to wrap his arms around them both, his eyes full of love. “You’ve given me a handsome son, sweetheart.”
Mary laughed. “Careful, love, or people will think you conceited, since with that dark head of hair he favors you.”
“Surely not, wife! His eyes are blue as the evening sky,” Ormond replied.
“Ah, yes,” Mary said. “That is my point. Those blue eyes, once the color of a summer sky, have grown dark in the last month. They will soon be as dark as your own. He is his father’s son as you are your father’s. He bears the Albany stamp, there is no denying it.”
“Let me hold him.” Ormond took the bundle from his wife, gently supporting the baby’s small head. His face was full of pride. “I see what you mean now that I have a good look at him.” Staring into the eyes of the baby, he instructed his son, “Now, Henry, we must discuss your first riding lesson…”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that, love?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking I might begin to teach him about the ways of the horse now. That way, by the time he’s old enough to ride with us, he’ll know what to expect. I’ll be taking no chances with him.” He kissed the dozing baby on his forehead and handed him back. “Seeing as his mother’s a devil on a horse, I expect young Henry will pose a challenge as a student.”
“I’m going to ignore that stab at my riding.” Mary said. Smiling, she then turned to Elizabeth. “When are you two going to get serious about creating a playmate for our Henry?”
Elizabeth felt herself blush and turned to Griffen, who came to her rescue. “We are working toward that goal. Henry won’t be so old he can’t find a friendship with the young lad or lass.” He took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it.
She smiled in response and spoke to Mary. “I was getting so attached to young Henry that it seems we simply must have one of our own.”
As the four friends chatted away, making plans to travel together to Scotla
nd to visit one of the Duke of Albany’s estates, Lord Baynes came striding toward them across the terrace. “Greetings, all! How are you this fine morning?”
“We are well, Uncle,” said Mary, “and even more so after a morning ride.”
“So, you’ve returned to riding Midnight?”
Mary grinned. “Can’t you tell? I’m certainly not dressed for the ton.”
His eyes took in her riding clothes and boots. “Yes, I supposed that is rather plain to see. Ah well. I’m not surprised. And my grandnephew? Is all well with the lad?” He peered down at the sleeping baby.
“He’s just off for a nod. Would you like some tea?” Mary inquired.
“Hudson is bringing some, I believe,” Lord Baynes said.
As if summoned, Hudson stepped onto the terrace carrying a silver tray laden with tea and scones.
“What brings you to Campbell Manor today, Uncle?”
“I was hoping to talk to your husband.” Pointedly he looked at Hugh, who had taken a seat between Mary and Griffen. Hudson began setting out food and drink as Lord Baynes sat down. “I was with the Prince Regent last evening. It seems he might have a new assignment for Sir Martin and is recalling him to London.”
Ormond grew serious. “Martin is returning after all these years?”
“He is,” Lord Baynes replied. “Prinny is calling him home. Something to do with that attack on his carriage early this year. Sir Martin has sent along a note for you.” He took an envelope out of his jacket and handed it over.
Hugh read the message quickly; then looking at Mary he said, “Martin says he’s not been told a word of what he’s to do. He asks us to learn how we might assist, however. Apparently the Prince Regent has made Martin believe I’m still working for the Crown.”
Mary gave him a mischievous grin. “Perhaps we are, my love.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In Racing with the Wind, I included characters drawn from the pages of history, real people whose lives were very much a part of London and Paris in 1816. In doing so, I tried to be true to what we know of them, even using their words where possible. These include, of course, George, Prince Regent; but also Germaine de Stael—an amazing woman for her time—and her former lover Benjamin Constant, who really did look to Britain as a model; the Comte and Vicomte Decazes (the latter married Diane de Bancalis de Maurel d’Aragon later in 1816, so he wasn’t too brokenhearted over losing the fictional Lady Mary Campbell); the Duke of Wellington, who commanded the allied troops in Paris, and other historical figures who make cameo appearances. I believe all that was said of Napoleon is accurate, both the good and the bad. He really did lose most of his six-hundred-thousand-man Grande Armée in Russia in 1812, though perhaps not owing to the Nighthawk’s theft of the battle plans.
The rest of the characters were born of a fruitful imagination, but I trust reflect the people of the time. Though the agents of the Crown I describe are fictional, my own knowledge of governments and my understanding of the use of spies at the time tell me that many unofficial agents have been drafted to serve in special capacities at the whim of a ruler, so Hugh and Martin’s roles could have existed. Certainly England had spies in France, including those working for Wellington. As to Mary Campbell, there were women who rode astride in those days and there have always been women who carved independent lives for themselves notwithstanding society’s dictates, so young Lady Mary may not be as fictional as you might think. The buildings and architectural features I describe did exist and were open in 1816, with the exception of the gallery, which was fictional. My favorite restaurant in Paris is La Tour d’Argent, which today looks down on Notre Dame, and though it was open in 1816, it wasn’t yet specializing in duck as it does today.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As a child, Regan Walker loved to write stories, particularly about adventure-loving girls, but by the time she got to college, more serious pursuits took priority. One of her professors thought her suited to the profession of law, and Regan realized it would be better to be a hammer than a nail. Years of serving clients in private practice and several stints in high levels of government gave her a love of international travel and a feel for the demands of the “Crown” on its subjects. Hence, her first romance novels involve a demanding Prince Regent who thinks of his subjects as his private talent pool. Her stories will always involve adventure as well as love.
Regan lives in San Diego with her golden retriever, Link, whom she says inspires her every day to relax and smell the roses.
“Regan Walker writes great historical romance.”
—New York Times Best-selling Author Virginia Henley
THE NIGHTHAWK
Hugh Redgrave, Marquess of Ormond, had been warned. Prinny dubbed Lady Mary Campbell “the Swan,” but no ordinary man could clip her wings. She was a bluestocking hellion, an ill-advised match by every account. Luckily, Hugh sought no bride. His work lay on the continent, where he’d become legend by stealing war secrets from Boney. And yet, his memories of Lady Mary riding her stallion were a thorn in his mind. He was the son of a duke and in the service of the Prince Regent…and he would not be whole until he had won her hand.
THE SWAN
It was unheard of for a Regency debutante to postpone her first season, yet Lady Mary had done just that. Far more interested in politics than a husband, she had no time for foolishness or frippery. Already she had assisted her statesman uncle in Paris, and she swore to return to the court of Louis XVIII no matter the danger. Like her black stallion, Midnight, she would always run free. Only the truest heart would race beside her.
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