upon the request of the actor.
There were, however, some rather glaring obstacles.
Augustus gave voice to the most obvious of them. “Even if I were prepared to do so, what makes you think Madame Delagardie would accept the help of a man guilty of perpetrating unspeakable crimes against unsuspecting adverbs? That’s a direct quotation, by the way,” he added.
Jane was silent for a moment. “When you were young, did you ever pull a girl’s hair ribbon? Or tug at her braid to get her attention?”
“Hair ribbon?” Augustus echoed. “Braid? I don’t follow.”
He looked at Jane with concern. He had seen this before in agents deployed too long in the field. The strain must be beginning to get to her.
Jane started to say something but thought better of it. “Never mind. Do give my suggestion some thought, won’t you? Emma is less than thrilled at the prospect of crafting a masque in a month, even if it’s only a short piece. She’ll take help where she can find it.”
“Or where it’s offered?”
Jane nodded. “It might be the easiest way to get you in. Whatever you may think of her, Emma’s wishes carry a great deal of weight with Madame Bonaparte.” She flicked demurely at an invisible speck of dust on her skirt. “You must admit, it would be a marked improvement on creeping into the grounds in the middle of the night.”
“I certainly won’t argue with that.” Climbing fences and dodging night watchmen had lost its charm years ago. Augustus had never been much for swinging on a rope, either. Ropes had an annoying tendency to break. “The concept is sound. It’s the execution that gives me pause.”
“Tell her I sent you,” Jane suggested. “At the worst, she says no.”
“At the best?”
“You have an invitation to Malmaison. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
There was no arguing with that. “
If
my sources are correct,” Augustus said darkly. “This could all be for nothing.”
“You’ll never know unless you try.”
Why was it that cheering expressions were invariably so infuriating?
“Are you always right?” Augustus asked wearily.
Jane spread her fan, uncovering a charming scene of swans drifting on an improbably azure lake. “Only when I’m not wrong. I take it that’s a yes, then?”
It was going to have to be, but there were still questions niggling. Something smelled wrong. Augustus seized on the least of them. “Why a masque? I thought those went out with the Sun King.”
“Because Emma wouldn’t write a play?” Jane spread her hands wide. “I know little more than you do. My guess would be that this is less about the performance and more about Emma’s involvement.”
“In other words,” Augustus translated, “the entire rigmarole is meant to demonstrate to the American envoy how very attached his cousin is to the house of Bonaparte.”
It made a certain amount of sense. For centuries, powers had risen and fallen based on a marriage here, a friendship there.
Jane perched primly on her bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Bonaparte believes in personal alliances. Look at the way he married his sister off to that Roman prince. He hasn’t any spare siblings to espouse to Emma, but he can show the Americans that she’s a valued part of his household.”
“And that way,” finished Augustus, seeing the pieces fall into place, “the Americans will be less likely to cut up rough when he makes his big announcement.”
Jane nodded solemnly. “It is coming,” she said. “Sooner rather than later.”
Neither needed to specify. The rumors had been circulating for months that Bonaparte meant to trade his consular staff for an imperial diadem. Thus far, America had remained neutral in the great struggle between England and France, the sympathies of many tending towards the supposedly republican French who had aided them in their own fight for freedom.
Their Washington had turned down a crown; Bonaparte didn’t intend to. There was no telling how
There were, however, some rather glaring obstacles.
Augustus gave voice to the most obvious of them. “Even if I were prepared to do so, what makes you think Madame Delagardie would accept the help of a man guilty of perpetrating unspeakable crimes against unsuspecting adverbs? That’s a direct quotation, by the way,” he added.
Jane was silent for a moment. “When you were young, did you ever pull a girl’s hair ribbon? Or tug at her braid to get her attention?”
“Hair ribbon?” Augustus echoed. “Braid? I don’t follow.”
He looked at Jane with concern. He had seen this before in agents deployed too long in the field. The strain must be beginning to get to her.
Jane started to say something but thought better of it. “Never mind. Do give my suggestion some thought, won’t you? Emma is less than thrilled at the prospect of crafting a masque in a month, even if it’s only a short piece. She’ll take help where she can find it.”
“Or where it’s offered?”
Jane nodded. “It might be the easiest way to get you in. Whatever you may think of her, Emma’s wishes carry a great deal of weight with Madame Bonaparte.” She flicked demurely at an invisible speck of dust on her skirt. “You must admit, it would be a marked improvement on creeping into the grounds in the middle of the night.”
“I certainly won’t argue with that.” Climbing fences and dodging night watchmen had lost its charm years ago. Augustus had never been much for swinging on a rope, either. Ropes had an annoying tendency to break. “The concept is sound. It’s the execution that gives me pause.”
“Tell her I sent you,” Jane suggested. “At the worst, she says no.”
“At the best?”
“You have an invitation to Malmaison. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
There was no arguing with that. “
If
my sources are correct,” Augustus said darkly. “This could all be for nothing.”
“You’ll never know unless you try.”
Why was it that cheering expressions were invariably so infuriating?
“Are you always right?” Augustus asked wearily.
Jane spread her fan, uncovering a charming scene of swans drifting on an improbably azure lake. “Only when I’m not wrong. I take it that’s a yes, then?”
It was going to have to be, but there were still questions niggling. Something smelled wrong. Augustus seized on the least of them. “Why a masque? I thought those went out with the Sun King.”
“Because Emma wouldn’t write a play?” Jane spread her hands wide. “I know little more than you do. My guess would be that this is less about the performance and more about Emma’s involvement.”
“In other words,” Augustus translated, “the entire rigmarole is meant to demonstrate to the American envoy how very attached his cousin is to the house of Bonaparte.”
It made a certain amount of sense. For centuries, powers had risen and fallen based on a marriage here, a friendship there.
Jane perched primly on her bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Bonaparte believes in personal alliances. Look at the way he married his sister off to that Roman prince. He hasn’t any spare siblings to espouse to Emma, but he can show the Americans that she’s a valued part of his household.”
“And that way,” finished Augustus, seeing the pieces fall into place, “the Americans will be less likely to cut up rough when he makes his big announcement.”
Jane nodded solemnly. “It is coming,” she said. “Sooner rather than later.”
Neither needed to specify. The rumors had been circulating for months that Bonaparte meant to trade his consular staff for an imperial diadem. Thus far, America had remained neutral in the great struggle between England and France, the sympathies of many tending towards the supposedly republican French who had aided them in their own fight for freedom.
Their Washington had turned down a crown; Bonaparte didn’t intend to. There was no telling how
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