"Don't be too sure of that, your lordship," Maggie said. "I've met the man, and I think he will provide some surprises."
Castlereagh regarded her shrewdly; he must have hoped for such information. "What is your evaluation of Richelieu?"
"Absolute integrity, capable of being forceful if necessary," she said without hesitation. "He will be a strong advocate for France, but I think you will deal well together."
Castlereagh nodded slowly. "That confirms my own impressions. The negotiations are going well, and the monarchs should be returning to their own countries in another fortnight or so." He gave his wife a reassuring glance. "There are a number of details to be worked out over the next several months, but I think that the worst is over."
"I hope you're right," Rafe said, "but we're afraid that the next two weeks will be very dangerous for you personally, Lord Castlereagh." Briefly he described the rumors that he and Maggie had been pursuing, and their suspicions.
The foreign minister took the threats calmly. "Lord Strathmore has informed me of what you say. I realize that there is some danger, but it's not the first time I have been threatened, and I don't suppose that it will be the last."
Maggie thought with exasperation that stoicism was all very well, but a little fear could be a useful thing. She glanced at her hostess and saw that Lady Castlereagh's round face was tense and her fingers had tightened around a silver spoon. While her husband was being heroic, Emily was dying inside. However, she had been a political wife too long to make a fuss in front of anyone, and only Maggie noticed her anxiety.
They talked a few minutes longer, until the dining room clock struck two. Lord Castlereagh said, "I must leave now for a meeting with the French and the tsar at the Tuileries. I expect it will be rather lively."
He and Rafe talked about the tsar's Holy Alliance as they headed to the stables where the duke's carriage waited with the embassy horses. Lady Castlereagh accompanied her guests to the rear door, and Maggie lagged behind for a moment to say, "There is some danger, Emily, but I'm sure he will come through safely."
"I can only pray that my husband has the same magical ability to avoid bullets that Wellington does," Emily said in a brittle attempt at humor. "We have discussed putting guards on all the embassy doors. Now I will insist on it." She gazed after her handsome husband. "I'll be glad when this is over and we are back in London. Sometimes I wish that Robert would have been content to stay in Ireland and raise sheep. It would have been much easier on my nerves."
"No doubt," Maggie admitted, "but he wouldn't have been the man that he is if he had done that."
"True. I remind myself of that." With visible effort,Lady Castlereagh schooled her face to that of a calm hostess. "So pleasant to see you and Candover, Lady Janos. We must get together again soon." Then she reentered the embassy.
Going down the steps into the yard between the embassy and the stables, Maggie was some distance behind the two men. Candover's carriage had been called, along with a restless bay gelding for Castlereagh to ride to his meeting.
Maggie frowned, her instinct for danger tugging at her. She scanned the yard and the windows that overlooked it, but saw nothing suspicious.
Her gaze returned to the stable yard, and she saw Castlereagh's mount fidget and toss its head, eyes rolling. The beast seemed too wild for city riding, and she wondered that the groom was not holding it in better.
Rafe and Castlereagh had reached the horse's side, but they were so absorbed in their discussion that they didn't notice the animal's behavior. Maggie's gaze went next to the groom, who stood on the opposite side of the horse. He was a dark man with a scarred face, and something about him was subtly wrong.
While she was trying to decide why the groom seemed out of place, the horse suddenly neighed, a furious sound that echoed harshly between the stone buildings. Neighing again, the gelding reared and jerked free of the groom, then put its head between its front legs and kicked back.
Rafe and Lord Castlereagh were standing too close to escape, and the wild, iron-shod hooves smashed into the foreign minister. As Maggie watched with horror, Castlereagh was hurled into Rafe and both men crashed to the ground.
She instantly raced down the steps, shouting for help. Trapped in a corner of the yard, the horse couldn't easily bolt, so it continued stamping and bucking over the foreign minister's unconscious body.
Rafe scrambled to his feet and grabbed Castlereagh under the arms. As he tried to pull the minister out of danger, the horse kicked again. This time one of the lethal hooves almost struck Rafe's head. He managed to dodge, but the hoof clipped his shoulder, knocking him off balance. After a moment, he got a new grip on Castlereagh and resumed the retreat.
Maggie swore out loud as she reached them. Where the devil had the groom gone? The man had disappeared as soon as the horse went out of control. Pulling her ostrich plume headdress from her hair, she waved it at the maddened gelding in an attempt to drive it away from Rafe and Castlereagh.
The horse neighed violently again, its eyes rolling wildly and flecks of foam around its mouth. Maggie stood her ground, the tall, fluttering headdress causing the bay to shy away from her. As it backed along the wall of the stables, frantic shouts came from the embassy.
When the horse was clear of the humans, it whirled and thundered across the yard. A young redheaded groom ran out of the stables and tried to corner the frantic animal.
Tossing aside her headdress, Maggie turned back to Rafe, who was kneeling by the foreign minister's side.
"How is he?" she asked breathlessly as she dropped to her knees on the cobbles. Castlereagh was unconscious, a bleeding gash on the side of his head, but he was breathing.
"I'm not sure," Rafe said grimly. "The first kick caught him full in the ribs, and another hoof grazed his head." As he spoke, he expertly checked the damage.
People were pouring out of the embassy, including a white-faced Lady Castlereagh. Rafe automatically took command, ordering a litter and sending a footman for a physician.
Maggie got to her feet and put an arm around Emily. "That was a nasty accident, but I'm sure he'll be all right."
Though Lady Castlereagh nodded, her eyes were terrified. Two footmen returned with a hastily improvised litter and gently lifted the foreign minister onto it, then carried him into the embassy. His wife followed, and Maggie went with her to offer support while they waited for a physician.
As the procession entered the embassy, Rafe turned and went into the stables. The young redheaded groom had caught the gelding and taken it inside to a box stall. The horse danced fretfully, still wearing its saddle and bridle, while the groom waited warily outside the stall.
Rafe said, "I'm Candover. Has Lord Castlereagh's horse always been this wild?"
The young groom gave him a worried glance. Like all of the embassy staff, he was British, and he answered in a broad West Country accent. "Nay, your grace. Samson is spirited, but a better-tempered beast you never saw. Is his lordship hurt bad?"
"We won't know until the physician has examined him, but I think the chances are good that he'll recover."
"Will… will they destroy Samson, your grace?"
"I don't know." Rafe saw that there was blood in the foam around the gelding's mouth. Swinging open the door of the stall, he entered and quietly approached the beast. "I'll look at him more closely."
Remembering all the Gypsy lore he had learned from his friend Nicholas, Rafe made himself utterly calm, from the inside out. As Samson jerked his head back and flattened his ears, Rafe murmured a string of nonsense words. The horse began to relax, and soon allowed its neck to be stroked.
After several minutes of stroking, Rafe breathed into Samson's nostrils, another Gypsy trick. The horse's rough breathing slowed and it stood still. Rafe had brought a handful of oats into the stall, and soon Samson was literally eating out of his hand.