“I am going to meet with my Minister of Public Works and view the progress of my elephant fountain. Do you know of it?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. It is quite a splendid idea. I hope to see it working soon.”
“I’m also going to Saint-Denis to visit with the orphaned daughters of the Légion d’Honneur. Those wicked Bourbons cut their funding. Did you hear about that?”
“I didn’t realize.” Serena was sure there was a lot she didn’t know or understand. All she could do was follow her grand-père’s requests.
“I will walk out with you,” Bonaparte said.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t put you to any trouble.”
“I am going that way, and who wouldn’t want to be escorting such a pretty woman?”
She found herself in the unusual position of strolling through the great gallery of the Palais des Tuileries with the emperor, while he pointed out artefacts she might not have noticed, and then they descended the staircase. He even turned toward the servants’ area through which she had entered, surprising her farther.
Was he really going to go out through the back door?
“The food was not so good when I was away,” Bonaparte said with a rueful smile, as though he’d been on holiday at an unsatisfactory inn instead of in exile on an island. “I like to go through the kitchens and see what I can scrounge. They often have some spare madeleines.”
She nearly laughed. He sounded like a mischievous boy instead of the most powerful man in France.
Still, she turned a smile upon him. “I’m sure even if they weren’t spare cakes, they would give you one or two.”
Relaxed with the emperor, Serena was practically flirting with him.
“You are correct. They treat me well here,” he confirmed, as if she might have doubted it. “In truth, on my way back to Paris, I wasn’t assured of my reception until I reached Grenoble.” Then he smiled at her. “Before Grenoble, I was a soldier of fortune. At Grenoble, I was an emperor again.”
She shivered.Would any of Mayfair’s finest gentry believe she, an English baron’s daughter, could be keeping company with the Emperor of France?
“Come with me,” Bonaparte invited. “Even if you don’t want your cake, I will get double and eat your share.”
Now that was spoken like the man who’d expanded France into an empire,she thought.
A guard held the door open as soon as they approached, and at the emperor’s behest, she preceded him into the spacious kitchen, nearly colliding with Malcolm in his baker’s cap. Stopping abruptly, Serena was pushed forward onto Malcolm’s toes by Emperor Bonaparte, who bumped into her.
All her good humor drained away at the shock of seeing him. Even as Malcolm’s hand stretched out to steady her, his own expression changed swiftly from surprise to wariness when he saw her imperial companion.
Malcolm bowed low to the emperor.
“Look,” Bonaparte said, as cheerfully as before. “Mademoiselle Renault, it is your mute friend.”
Thinking of what Malcolm might be there to do and of how the emperor seemed to want only good for his people, Serena felt prickles of discomfort.
“He isnotmy friend, Your Majesty.”
Malcolm’s mouth flattened at her words.
“But you helped him anyway,” Bonaparte said, not appearing to notice any undercurrent of tension. “Very good. A vintner and a baker. If we had a butcher in our quorum, we would have all we need for the happiness of the Parisians. Yes?”
She nodded in agreement.
“Did you bring me any more of your pastries?” Bonaparte asked.
Malcolm nodded and pointed behind him.
“Bon!But we are here for madeleines. The palace baker makes a very fine one. Does your bakery make them?”
Malcolm’s eyes widened. Serena hoped he would nod because she didn’t know a bakery in Paris that didn’t make the distinctive shell-shaped little cakes. However, an Englishman might not know that.
