“Not yet,” Randall said. “Give Bonaparte a chance to get settled, and then you’ll see how he starts to make plans to grow the borders of France again.” He sighed audibly. “If the man had simply stuck with doing good things for his people like providing free water and all the new city fountains and his so-calledCode Napoléon.Alas, he had to go and make himself an emperor,” he mused.
“Don’t forget the education system, the Banque de France, and the Légion d’Honneur,” Malcolm said. “Do you think King Louis would have done any of that, or even managed to buildonebridge, never mind four? And the Arc de—”
“Stop it.” They had gained the second floor of the Café de Chartres once again. Randall shook his head. “You’re speaking of Bonaparte like a schoolgirl in love.”
“I’m speaking like a man who’s not sure we have the right to determine another country’s ruler.”
“I agree, but even if we folded our cards and went back to Prinny today declaring Napoleon to be as peaceful as a puppy, no threat to England whatsoever, which we cannot guarantee. Even if we did that, the rest of the Continent is determined to reinstate the Bourbon king. I was in Vienna a very short time ago. The views of the Austrians, the Russians, and the Prussian’s have not changed.”
“I know,” Malcolm said grudgingly. He poured himself another glass of wine and one for Randall.
It seemed a piss-poor business to him, and he would rather be wrapping his arms around a beautiful woman — Mademoiselle Renault came instantly to mind — than plotting to take down a beloved emperor whom he could not help but view with grudging respect and even admiration.
***
SERENA’S GRANDPARENTSwere calm, but an air of purpose hung over them. Things were moving more quickly than they’d expected, including seeing the wordroyaumebeing changed everywhere toempireonce more.
The following day, she found herself heading to the Palais des Tuileries, along with Parisians trying to renew their connections with the emperor. He had already left before she set foot in France the previous year.
The excitement was profound and almost tangible. Serena couldn’t help feeling it, like catching a brisk breeze on a warm day and shivering as it whispered over one’s skin.
With other vendors, she waited in the crowded cellar, holding only one bottle while Michel carried a cask. There were other vintners, as well as bakers, grocers, and sweet-makers, all vying for the chance to pay tribute and earn a place on Napoleon’s dining table. Even more lucrative would be securing a contract to supply his troops, not only while housed in Paris but on the march. For everyone seemed to believe another military campaign was eminent, and the foot soldiers and cavalry would need to be fed.
Before she could see the emperor, her goods were examined and tasted, and then she was escorted upstairs into a grand reception room with a vaulted ceiling from which hung a crystal chandelier. Although it wasn’t lit at that time of day, two massive candelabras were fully aflame, each standing on its own golden pedestal with a mirror stretching to the ceiling between them. In front of this stood Emperor Bonaparte on a gold-and-white carpet spread across the tiled floor.
Vendors moved in an orderly fashion, shuffling forward when called upon, and Serena, along with Michel, waited her turn until she was brought before Napoleon. Her grand-père had said it would be most helpful if she could secure a position in the palace for the ongoing delivery of Renault wine. All she needed was Bonaparte’s favor, and if granted, she could come and go almost at will, easily able to eavesdrop for critical information.
As an Imperial Guard beckoned her forward, she dropped into a curtsy before the man who many were calling a miracle. Not tall in stature, still, Bonaparte was an inch or two taller than her and apparently fit, despite rumors of him having grown portly.
“Tell me your name, mademoiselle.”
Those were the first words she heard from him, and she nearly answered him with the words “Miss Serena Elmstead.”
Even if she’d said that, he would believe her to be nothing more than a successful merchant’s granddaughter. Her clothing was clean and of good quality, a calico gown with a dark-green spencer over the top, every bit the well-to-do Parisian.
“Mademoiselle Renault,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.Gracious!This was like no other lark she’d ever participated in. Not terribly dangerous at this stage, but with the existing climate of conspiracy and shifting allegiances, it could become so in an instant.
“I know you,” the emperor said, and Serena felt her heart pound.What did he know? Her true identity as an English woman?“You are Joan of Arc, aren’t you?” he asked. “Or maybe Mary Magdalene?”
She shook her head, unsure what he meant.
“Under your bonnet,” he said. “I can see your crowning glory, like sun-burnished rubies.”
Dipping her head in acknowledgment, Serena felt her cheeks grow warm.
“I bring you my family’s wine, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Wonderful,” he said and clapped his hands. “Two glasses,” he said to the man who stepped forward.
Before she knew it, she was sipping wine with the ruler of France.
He smacked his lips. “I hope you brought more than this one bottle.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She gestured behind her to Michel holding the cask.
“Set it down,” Bonaparte ordered, and he did. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Renault. I will make sure your wine is on the list to be served at my table.”
“My family is grateful,” Serena said and curtsied again, before backing up a few steps and turning to go.
