Amanda Scott (16 page)

“I daresay it is no more than he expected, however,” Nest said, regaining her temper with an effort and speaking more temperately. “You do not understand, Meriel, for you hear only England’s side of the matter. Once Napoleon’s objective is attained, Europe will become a federation of free and sovereign states—”

“Under his rule,” Meriel inserted dryly.

“True, but there is nothing wrong with that, for the federation will benefit from all the liberal principles of the French Revolution. The only obstacle to success is England, which for years has been directed by a greedy, reactionary government that never ceases to stir up war against poor France by means of bribery and intrigue. As long as France is obliged to defend herself against the attacks of first one, then another foolish hireling of Whitehall, certainly Napoleon must fluctuate his actions according to the requirements of the moment. You must admit, Meriel, that you cannot defend Mr. Addington’s actions so easily as I defend Napoleon’s.”

Staring at Nest, as astonished by her glib tongue as by her attitude, Meriel scarcely knew what to reply. She had little wish to defend Prime Minister Addington, a man whose abilities she had scorned since his earliest days in office, but neither could she agree, after having heard Sir Antony’s views on the subject, with her sister’s notion of the relationship between England and France. Fortunately, Madame Elise chose this moment to remind them of her presence.

“
Mes enfants
,” she said gently as she picked up her knitting needles and set them to a speedy, rhythmic clicking, “you do yourselves no good by these discussions. Friends—and certainly sisters—ought to leave the discussion of politics to those who can do some good by such discussion.
Bien sûr
, you are neither of you in a position to understand the other without long and arduous dispute. Instead you should be elated to find yourselves in each other’s company and should be planning what first to do to celebrate your reunion after so much time.”

Meriel bit her lower lip, then looked up at Nest, who was seated across from her near the dowager. A rueful smile began to tug at her lips, and she said contritely, “Papa always said we could argue about anything, but I daresay he never would have thought ‘everything’ could possibly include politics.”

Nest replied with a chuckle. “To be sure. I daresay everyone back home would stare to hear me talk of such things, for although you always liked to know what went on in government circles, I am persuaded I never did so before in my life. But it is impossible to be a member of the Depuissant family without becoming aware of how things stand in the political arena. They are, all of them, involved to some extent. Why, even Mama Elise, you know, is a genius when it comes to inviting the right people to a dinner party. And with all the factions rampant in this town, that is no mean achievement, I can tell you, for we mix as much with the ministers of government as we do with the
beau monde de Paris
, as you will soon see.”

“Have you,” Meriel asked casually, “ever met a gentleman by name of Monsieur Alexandre Deguise?”

“Oh, to be sure,” Nest replied. “Monsieur Deguise is a charming gentleman. Rather elderly and precise, you know, but a man quite at home at any social affair. How come you to know him, Meriel?”

“Oh, I do not, but I met an acquaintance of his in Rouen when I was looking into that school for Gwenyth, you know, and received a letter of introduction to him.”

“Gwenyth in school in France,” Nest said, laughing. “It is so difficult for me to credit such a thing. Why, I can scarcely imagine her any older than when I left. Let me see, she must have been but nine or ten then. Now she is a young lady, I daresay.”

“Well, not a lady yet,” Meriel said with a grin, “but she intends to become a lady of quality and entertain royalty at her soirees. Thus Auntie Wynne insists that she should have the benefits of a Continental education.”

“Oh, how is Auntie Wynne?” Nest demanded. “Tell me all about her.”

So Meriel launched into a lengthy description of family affairs, bringing her sister up-to-date on all the other members except, of course, their elder brother, Jocelyn. “For I tell you, Nest, I still have not had so much as the briefest note from him or from anyone else about him.”

“Oh, he’ll turn up when he’s of a mind to do so,” Nest replied comfortably. “Now, tell me more about Davy. He sounds the veriest imp.” Tears glistened suddenly in her eyes. “Oh, Meri, four years is such a long time. How I wish you could have brought them all with you!”

“Well, you and André will simply have to visit Plas Tallyn.”

“I think you’d be more like to see us in London,” Nest told her with a twinkle. “André is not much of a traveler at best, and he would find Wales entirely too flat.”

“If he does,” Meriel said, laughing, “he will certainly be the first person to do so.”

“Oh, Meri,” Nest gurgled, shaking her head, “you know perfectly well that I meant he would be bored. No one could forget our magnificent mountains. But the social life at Plas Tallyn leaves a deal to be desired, and André does like his social life.”

“He must like politics as well, or how came he to be imprisoned?”

“Oh, that.” Nest shrugged and reached forward to the low table between them to refill her teacup. “He merely said something foolish, and it chanced to come to Napoleon’s ears at a moment when he refused to be amused.”

“What on earth did André say?”

Nest flushed slightly. “It doesn’t bear repeating. Indeed, I am not certain myself what was said, for I wasn’t present, and although I have heard any number of tales, I refuse to credit any of them.”

“It is said,” put in the dowager evenly, her tone at variance with the lightning movement of her knitting needles, “that my son cast aspersions upon Napoleon’s faithfulness to family and country and that it was the first rather than the last that annoyed him. He is a great man for family, you know.”

“I have heard that he approves of large families, certainly,” Meriel said carefully, “and that he once said the greatest woman on earth would be the one who bore the most children. But I have also heard it said that he would keep women locked up within their homes, that he does not approve of their socializing at all, so I probably know as little about him as my sister says I do. Surely no man would be so foolish as all that.”

“I daresay my son would agree with you upon that head,
mademoiselle
, but Napoleon does indeed have such notions. He believes that in no other way can a man be certain that his children are his own. And it was in a discussion of this matter that
mon cher
André made whatever comment it was that he made.”

“Merciful heavens!”

“We will hope so,” Nest said, grinning at her. “Napoleon Bonaparte does have an odd notion or two, but since he insists that he means to abide by the liberal policies so hard won by the Revolution, policies which gave Frenchwomen an influence they did not hold before, not to mention separate property rights, he cannot make too great a point of those notions. My money is my own here, Meri, which it would not be in England, you know, and Napoleon would like to change that. At our very own dinner table, he once said that women should stick to knitting.” She smiled at the dowager, who only shook her head.

“He thinks you can knit?” Meriel said teasingly.

Nest chuckled. “He has never seen me do so, certainly, but he believes all women are born knowing such things. But he has never said they should not leave their houses, Meri, only that they should not do so without their husbands’ consent or receive visitors of whom they do not approve.” Her eyes twinkled. “A husband in this country attempting to control his wife to that extent would not get very far, I can tell you, and so I am sure André must have told him.”

“But if that was all …”

“Oh, I daresay it was not. André speaks his mind always, and Napoleon is not one to brook opposition to any of his views, even such absurd ones as those.”

“Then André may be in prison for a long time,” Meriel said gently, “and surely you must also watch your behavior, my dear.”

Nest laughed merrily, exchanging a droll look with her mother-in-law. “You must know, Meriel, that even Napoleon’s own wife does not agree with him on such issues, and he has sufficient command of good manners to avoid pressing them when he has been invited to a dinner party. He may wish to instill such notions into a new generation of French men and women, but he is not so doltish as to belabor them where it will do him no good. I have nothing to fear from him, I assure you, other than perhaps a pinch in a dark corridor. As for André, if Napoleon were not at this moment in residence in Boulogne, looking to his latest collection of warships, I am persuaded that André would have been here to greet your arrival. But tell me more about the fascinating Sir Antony. Is he your latest flirt, Meri dear?”

C
AUGHT OFF GUARD, MERIEL
returned a quick and somewhat startled denial and quickly changed the subject to ask her sister whether she and Madame Elise meant to dine at home that evening.

“Oh, my goodness, no,” responded Nest. “How dull that would be, even with you to bear us company, my dearest. We dine with Thérèse Cabarrus, the most fascinating creature. Her house is in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and it will be swarming with people. She never considers whether there will be room to talk or whether so many guests will be suffocated, but you will be marvelously entertained, dearest. And ’tis a wonderful house.”

Madame Cabarrus’ house proved to be everything Nest promised it would be, and Meriel discovered, as well, that her sister was as much a social butterfly as ever. She did not even suffer the lack of a male escort, for her brother-in-law, Pierre, a cheerful young man who allowed few serious thoughts to disturb the tenor of his mind, was only too happy to accompany them. And once arrived, the merry countess soon gathered a court of masculine admirers to whom she quite unselfishly presented her sister.

Since Meriel knew that the Peace of Amiens had brought a rush of tourists to France from Britain, she was not surprised to discover that quite half of her companions hailed from that small island. What she was unprepared for, however, was the latest in French fashion. She had been astonished at their meeting by the translucence of her sister’s layers of sea-green chiffon, but since there had indeed been several layers, only the outline of Nest’s body had been visible beneath them. And when Meriel met Madame Elise and Nest in the vast front hall before setting forth for the evening, both were wearing long silk evening cloaks, so it was not until they reached the mansion in the Faubourg Saint-Germain that she was privileged to experience the full effect of such flimsy materials as were considered proper evening wear for the ladies of the French
beau monde
. The impact of the vision thus brought to her eye left her breathless.

Her first impression was that several of the statues in Thérèse Cabarrus’ moonlit garden had suddenly sprung to life and ventured among the guests. Nest’s attire, when she was divested of her cloak, was seen to be scandalously low-cut and daringly diaphanous, but nothing could have looked more like a “Diana” than Thérèse herself, who greeted her guests attired in nothing more than a light, transparent drapery, with no sleeves to her gown but only a gold chain twisted around the upper part of each slender arm, like a bracelet, and her neck entirely bare of ornament or fabric. She was remarkably pretty nonetheless, Meriel thought, with her hair dressed in a crescent-shaped arrangement like a goddess. Two of her particular friends, to whom she promptly introduced Meriel and the others, though a little plumper than their hostess, were attired in the same style but with their hair twisted into long snaky curls. Madame, their mother, who was introduced as a great friend of Madame Elise’s, was, like that lady herself, entirely too much
en bon point
to pretend to a sylphlike appearance, but nevertheless, and unlike Madame Elise, she did not choose to add to her size by too much covering.

It seemed to Meriel, in fact, that every woman, were she seventeen or seventy, stood almost in a state of nature, for the Parisiennes seemed to prefer to cover themselves with cosmetics, particularly rouge, rather than with clothes. But their manners were universally captivating, and by the time the meal was over and the dinner guests had joined others in the cardroom or in the drawing room to play charades or enjoy conversation, she had been made to feel quite at home in their midst.

“Good evening,” said a familiar voice at her shoulder before she had been fifteen minutes in the drawing room. “Whitworth mentioned that Thérèse is a particular friend of your sister’s, so I hoped to find you here tonight.”

She turned with an instant glow of pleasure to find Sir Antony looking down at her with his usual sleepy smile. “Good evening, sir,” she said, regarding him with an appraising eye. He wore a purple velvet coat and a violet waistcoat, the wide cuffs of the former and the entire front expanse of the later embroidered all over with twining greenery. His collar was high-standing with small lapels, and she noted with approval that the shoulders of his coat required no padding. Likewise did she approve of the fact that he had not chosen to litter his person with a great deal of jewelry as the French exquisites did. He wore no more than his gold quizzing glass on its black silk ribbon, an amethyst stickpin in his cravat, a large gold signet ring on his right hand, and assorted fobs and seals upon his fob ribbon. His nether parts were encased in ecru satin breeches, clocked cream stockings, and neat black shoes. “You look as fine as fivepence, sir,” Meriel told him, “but I must confess that I am disappointed to see that you don’t wear gold earrings as the other gentlemen do. Such a charming affectation.”

Sir Antony was betrayed into an ungentlemanly sound perilously akin to a snort, and his eyes narrowed as he scanned her face for some sign that she was hoaxing him.

Meriel was quite unable to retain her look of false innocence under this piercing stare. An involuntary chuckle gave her away.

“Puppies,” said Sir Antony, glancing around. “’Tis as though association with the Corsican has emasculated them all.”