The Girl Who Fought Napoleon: A Novel of the Russian Empire by Linda Lafferty Page A

English-style garden, replete with canals and well-ordered rows of imported trees and shrubs.
    “I feel the need of a long walk today, Prince,” said Alexander, his blue eyes blinking in the bright sunshine. “We’ll walk around the little harbor.”
    The grand duke led the way, his long legs stretching in contentment to be out of the palace and away from ivory hills of paperwork.
    “It is brisk but just look at the St. Petersburg blue skies! We are in for a grand day!” The grand duke’s cheeks colored in the cool air. “I know of course, Prince, that you and your brother were brought here as political hostages by my grandmother the Empress Catherine, on her order,” said Alexander, his hands clasped behind his back. “In the strictest confidence—for I have heard you are an honorable man—I wanted to offer my condolences.”
    Adam Czartoryski hesitated, not sure how to take these words. The grand duke of Russia apologizing to a Pole! He took care with his reaction.
    “I thank you, Your Excellency. But I must say that the empress and my treatment at court have thus far been nothing but delightful.”
    “Yes, yes,” said Alexander, waving away his companion’s remarks. “But I am certain you would far prefer to be in your native country, would you not? Rather than being here as a perpetual hostage!”
    “Your Excellency.” Adam Czartoryski stopped walking, forcing Alexander to stop as well. The Polish prince looked into the grand duke’s eyes. “There is nothing more dear to my heart than Poland. There never will be. I will forever be dedicated to my mother country and stop at nothing for her independence.”
    “Bravo, Prince! You know your soul!” said Alexander, his face animated with joy. “So few men do! Let me be clear. I despise despotism. All men have the right to liberty.”
    Is he sincere? Or is this a test, a trap?
    Alexander nodded. “Yes. You are wary. But you see, I was taught by Monsieur La Harpe, a Swiss revolutionary. I take as my models the works of Rousseau, Voltaire, Hobbes, and Locke. Thomas Jefferson is my hero. I know well the Declaration of Independence. And the French Constitution. I admire both.”
    Czartoryski’s dark eyes blazed in astonishment and then joy. But he remained guarded, as such words could be construed as treason—even from the grand duke.
    “I could never talk to Russians about these things.” Alexander beamed at his new confidant. “But I pity Poland, Adam Czartoryski. Yes, pity! The country that gave birth to such a great hero as Thaddeus Kosciuszko! That glorious general fought alongside the American patriots to win independence from Britain. Now he rots here in a St. Petersburg prison—for what? For defending his own Polish homeland from Russian tyranny!”
    “The American Revolution has given hope to many nations,” offered the prince, still struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. A Romanov condemning his own country’s imprisonment of a Polish revolutionary!
    “As has the French Revolution after a mangled and hideous birth,” answered Alexander. “Still the dignity of the human soul and rights to liberty have resulted in its aftermath. Monsieur La Harpe schooled me in all the French philosophers and democratic ideals.”
    Czartoryski looked up at a patch of blue sky through the branches of the trees.
    Can I have found a kindred spirit in this most unlikely of incarnations? The grandson of Catherine, our great oppressor? The future heir to the throne of Russia dares to say such things!
    “I hope that you do not think this some trap for you, Prince Czartoryski,” said Alexander, noticing his companion’s reticence. “I assure you I am most sincere.”
    Czartoryski stopped walking. He allowed himself to scrutinize the grand duke, Polish dark eyes looking into Russian blue ones.
    “I swear to you upon all that is holy that my repugnance for tyranny is sincere,” said Alexander. “I could never share these opinions with my countrymen,