Stepping out of the carriage, she entered through the gate in front of the Palais des Tuileries, gave her family name to the guard who made sure her wine was on his list before he examined the contents of her basket, and found four bottles. Wondering for a moment how Malcolm would give his name to the guard, she decided he would probably bring a card from the bakery, identifying him.
On the other hand, Serena thought, as she made her way to the cellars to speak with the wine manager, Malcolm might not return, not if he truly had been doing a favor for a friend. Perhaps a real baker from Boulangerie Marineau would next deliver the bread and pastry.
That day, unlike the previous visit, she hadn’t brought Michel. If she brought a barrel, then another impending return would be unnecessary, and her chance to discover the emperor’s plans would be lessened. For that was her charge from her grand-père — to bring back any tidbits of information. And she was only one of many information gatherers, as far as she knew.
However, instead of being invisible, perhaps wandering through the servants’ area and up one of the many back staircases to hear how the emperor planned on defending himself, an Imperial Guardsman found her.
“His Imperial Majesty wishes to see you, mademoiselle.”
Those few words started her heart racing. Uncertain, her thoughts flew to the worst. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from enjoying her game of espionage to hoping she wasn’t in any sort of trouble that might end in her imprisonment. Quietly, she followed the uniformed man. To do anything else, including run, would be foolish.
Please, don’t let this be because of Monsieur Branley, she thought.
A surprising assembly met her eyes when she was led into a reception room larger and grander than the one in which she’d gathered with the other Parisian vendors. The emperor’s throne sat on a raised red dais of five red-carpeted steps, although Bonaparte was not seated upon it.
Instead, he was in conversation with Serena’s friend Guillaume, as well as the man who’d sent Monsieur Branley into hiding at the Halle aux Vins.
So thiswasabout him!
She curtsied to the emperor and awaited her fate.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,”Bonaparte said, sounding as friendly as before. “I am enjoying your family’s wine very much. I believe you know Monsieur Racine.”
Guillaume stepped toward her, his expression normal, calm, without malice, and her heartbeat started to calm.
“His Imperial Majesty is concerned about Parisians working with our enemies,” Guillaume said, getting right to the point.
Still unsure what they wanted with her, Serena merely nodded.
“This is Monsieur Christoff,” Guillaume introduced her formally to the man she thought of as atête de noeud.
He cocked his head and stared at her, and she could only pray Monsieur Christoff hadn’t seen the back of her leaving the Halle aux Vins with the Malcolm.
When he came forward and gave her a short bow as a greeting, she returned it.
“I recognize you from the wine market, mademoiselle.”
She startled before realizing he meant on a regular basis, not while fleeing with an English spy. For surely, she could no longer doubt that was what Malcolm Branley was.
“And I, you, monsieur. You work for Cerise Winery.” Her nerves prickling, she turned to address the emperor. “May I ask what Your Imperial Majesty wishes of me?”
“I trust my vintners completely,” he said, his dark Corsican eyes boring into hers.
She nearly looked away, but that would indicate disloyalty or weakness, so she held his gaze.
Finally, he blinked and then he smiled. “Those delivering wine move freely throughout the city and talk to many people, especially in the cafés.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“I ask only that you, along with Monsieur Christoff, listen to the conversations around you. That’s all. In the heart of our great city, I know, there are those who wish me ill and are planning my downfall.”
Serena hadn’t realized until that moment how the emperor had grown closer, continuing to hold her gaze, mesmerizing her with his convincing tone, until he suddenly reached out and took her gloved hand.
She nearly gasped, but managed to restrain herself.Gracious!This was no amusing lark at a Season’s event in Mayfair. Their meeting had ramifications beyond these four walls, perhaps for an entire nation and even for a continent. She swallowed, unable to speak past her dry mouth. Surely the emperor had others he could call upon — people more serious and useful who weren’t flighty and immature, as her father once called her.
Although at that moment, she certainly felt grown up, even aged beyond her years.
“You are more likely to be welcomed into conversations than either of these brutes, yes?” Bonaparte gestured over his shoulder with his chin.
