“I don’t want Amée to leave, and I’ve told her why. I need her here, very much. Leaving won’t solve anything. François, how can I do without you? Don’t you know how I depend on you, my chef? And Amée, who means so much to me. She’s the only one who forces me to exercise. You’re both irreplaceable.” Napoleon smiled. Amélie looked away to stare into the cold grate of dying ashes.
Perrault shook a little—the words effective. “That aside, there is one thing more important, Sire, and I have a perfect right to know.” His chef’s words grew uneasy and he stared at his feet, then back at Napoleon. “Can you assure me there’s nothing…improper in your friendship with my daughter?”
“Are you listening to the lowest gossip from this house full of malcontents? I thought you, of all people, above such slander.” Napoleon put on his affronted expression, as if such actions never occurred to him. Did Amée understand his tactics? He fought the urge to walk close to her.
“I’m not proud of it.” Perrault crossed his arms and faced the other direction. “When my daughter’s welfare is at stake, I have to be certain. Can you give me such assurance, Your Majesty?”
“I hold Amélie in the highest esteem. You may be certain of that. I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry, Perrault.” Napoleon would envelop her in his love—imperfect as he knew it to be. He faced a difficult time ahead on many fronts, but he was never one to cower. “You have my word no harm will come to your daughter. You, now, you’re one of my most loyal subjects. I can’t lose you. I beg you to reconsider.”
* * * *
Amélie leaned back and soaked in the tiny tub in her chamber. The water turned pink with the blood she scrubbed off, but the warmth soothed her muscles. She closed her eyes. Who had won the battle of wills? The horror of the night edged into her mind and she swept it away. Napoleon loved her—was it possible?
Once the water cooled, she climbed out and rubbed her body with a towel.
At a knock, she threw on her dressing gown and opened the door to her father.
“You see how His Majesty holds on to you. Do you insist that is innocent? Stop lying to me. We need to hurry from this place.” He stumbled over his words, sounding less sure of himself.
“There are issues...better not discussed yet, Papa. I know you wish to guide me, but I’m a woman, in my heart, not my experience.” She patted the towel through her damp hair. “You can say whatever you wish, but I’ll decide if I leave the island or not.”
“If your relationship isn’t inappropriate, I still don’t understand it.” Her father quaked with restrained fury. “You’re in danger. Don’t you understand, being close to His Majesty?”
“Papa, I don’t know if my attack was personal because I’m close to Napoleon. I wasn’t at the time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“I should have…I don’t want you wandering anywhere alone. What happened last night proves it. Promise me you won’t.” He thumped a fist on his thigh, his forehead crinkled.
“I won’t, but what exactly do you mean?” She reached out to touch his hand, but he backed off, entered his room, and shut the door. Pinpricks crept across her skin. Was he trying to scare her into leaving?
After she dressed, Marchand brought her a message from the emperor. “His Majesty has requested General Bingham to meet with you in the imperial study at three to discuss your attack.” The valet’s brown eyes brimmed with sadness. “I should never have let you continue on alone.” He squeezed her elbow. “I feel terrible. I wish you would have waited for me.”
“I’m all right. Don’t blame yourself.” Amélie tried to smile though it hurt her face. The assault had forced an unexpected result. “What did the countess want from you when she called you back?”
“A trivial request.” He sighed in disgust. “She wanted me to copy a recipe from the Bertrand’s chef. I couldn’t understand her insistence.”
“The countess lied when she said she wished to speak about Napoleon.” Amélie shivered. Had the woman known someone waited out on the plain to attack her? Her fears, knotted with anger, rose up again.
* * * *
An hour later, Bingham, who was in charge of the island troops, left. Amélie found the general unsympathetic. She remained in the study at Napoleon’s behest.
“He claims his men are innocent, bah.” Napoleon handed her a cup of tea laced with honey, prepared by O’Meara. “What scoundrel could have assaulted you like this?”
“He wasn’t very tall and had a thick build, from what I could tell.” Amélie sipped her tea, the sweetness soothing, and watched Napoleon move around the chamber. She sat in the chair by the fireplace, and warmed herself before the crackling fire.
“I’ll make sure the English investigate this to the fullest. To think what almost happened to you.” Napoleon walked over and clasped her shoulder, his gaze heated like the flames. “I won’t rest until they find the culprit, no matter how blameless they pretend to be.”
“Merci.” Amélie felt drained and battered, both inside and out, yet trembled under his fingers.
“Bingham says we should be grateful his men intervened when they did, saving you. Then did they bother to chase after this scoundrel? We’re supposedly under the protection of their hallowed government, surrounded day and night by their army and navy.” His words were sharp, yet he stroked her shoulder blades. “I demand they give us justice.”
“What grudge could anyone have against me?” Amélie wanted to relax into the warmth of his touch, but her pulse picked up for another reason. Again, one person schemed to remove her from Longwood. Could he stoop to such base physical violence? Somehow she couldn’t believe it. His manservant was more the type.
Napoleon dipped down on one knee like a knight-errant before her. “What motive could anyone have for attacking you specifically?”
“Whoever it was waited to attack someone.” She strained to wipe the image of Albine waving on the veranda from her mind. Her resentment toward the woman increased.
Napoleon clasped her hand, hot between his. “Amée, I wanted to tell your father earlier that I loved you, but we need to let his father’s ethics cool down. I didn’t want to put undue pressure on you. I hope I deterred his wish to leave. I hope…you will stay.”
His attention overwhelmed her, after struggling to bury her love for him. She swallowed past her racing heart. “I need time to sort out my feelings.”
“I know you don’t trust my sincerity.” His expressive eyes glowed more gray than blue. “I need you beside me.”
“Why have you changed your mind about...all this? About me?” She still punished him, and withdrew her hand from his.
Napoleon curled up his fingers like shriveled leaves. He stood once more. “I wanted to save you from being my mistress. Yes, and at first, preserve my past. The allies took everything away from me.” He snatched a piece of licorice from his bonbonniére. “I suppose I was also afraid to give myself up to the passion Josephine destroyed with her infidelities. I wanted my heart bronzed over, but you melted it. This emptiness inside, you’re the one who fills it, and without guile.” He smiled, slow and sad. “Can we begin again, Amée?”
She turned from his poignant smile. “With the dismissive way you spoke to me that morning in the garden, I felt beneath you, except as a frivolous relationship. I don’t want to ever feel like that again.”
“Beneath me? Grand Dieu, you’re far above me. You, who never let outside influences govern your behavior, steer you from your deepest desires.” Napoleon shoved at the music box on the mantel above her head. It tinkled in protest. “I was never a master of women as with men. Josephine didn’t love me at first. Marie Louise was seduced away so easily. It hardly inspired my confidence. I felt unworthy of true love, but I need that now, with you.”
“You can’t change your mind later…as
if my feelings don’t matter.” She inhaled the aroma of the tea to calm her breathing. Her fingers tightened on the china.
“Of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’ll give you time. I treated you badly, when you never deserved anything but the best.” He stepped closer.
“I need to rest…now.” Amélie set down her cup and rose, unsteady. The room felt too small, too intimate, for the two of them. She walked toward the door, straining her sore body, suppressing the urge to hurry.
“Shall I escort you back? Will you have dinner with me, tomorrow night, after you’ve rested?” A hopeful smile curved his lips.
She hesitated, a hand on the now open door. His earnest look dug deep inside her. “I can manage my way back. Dinner? Tomorrow, yes.” Amélie’s heart reverberated in her throat, her chest. She left the main house rubbing a hand over her bodice as if to soften the effect.
* * * *
In her room the following evening, Amélie carefully applied the powder Fanny Bertrand sent over. She winced at each stroke, but was glad to see the burgeoning purple fade under the white mixture. She tightened the pins in her upswept hair, not wanting to appear to please Napoleon, aware he liked her hair down. She tied a fichu around her throat to hide the ugly finger marks, and trembled again at the memory.
Albine waving so persistently sliced like a knife into her thoughts. The countess and her husband working together? The man in the cloth mask, the size and build of Jules. So many troubling images. If true, how could she prove any of it?
Amélie stepped out into the cool evening air and crossed the courtyard. The private dinner with Napoleon. A business arrangement swirled in her mind, something practical to push her limits. She’d made up her mind about her love for him, but he had to accept more responsibility in their relationship.
Clarice’s bulging figure stalked from the clothesline and fell in behind her.
“Back in the emperor’s good graces now, are you?” Clarice threw several towels smelling like the trade winds over her shoulder. “How you managed to get out of them in the first place, though, I can only guess.”
“I’m relieved you’re in your typical sweet mood. My health is improving, thank you for asking.” Amélie smiled into Clarice’s sneering face as the two entered the house.
“De rien.” Clarice snickered. “The Count de Montholon is irritated as the devil over your intimate rendezvous, the entire change of events. That’s what Jules just told me.”
Amélie walked away from her and knocked on the study door. A chill crept through her at the count’s alleged irritation. Had Bertrand warned Napoleon about this man’s latest caprice?
Napoleon opened the door, smiled anxiously, and coaxed her inside. “Amée, punctual as always. Everything is ready.” His radiant smile cheered her.
The round mahogany pillar table near the sofa was draped with a white linen tablecloth set with Sévres porcelain and crystal goblets. Two candelabra burned on the sideboard, illuminating the room in a mellow glow. Napoleon pulled out a chair for her, then poured the wine. Amélie felt off balance with none of his valets present to do the serving.
The covered dishes held filet of beef, sliced fried potatoes, broad beans, and banana fritters steeped in rum. Napoleon gallantly did the honors, filling her plate to capacity.
“Thank you, but I can’t eat all of this.” She laughed when he handed it to her.
“I’m not well versed in food portion etiquette.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Eat what you can. I’m afraid the beef isn’t tender. More of the gristly island meat. I suspect the English give us goat rather than beef. They have to get rid of the beasts in some way.” His attempt to relax her with teasing delighted her.
He appeared nervous and awkward in her company, and that smoothed the edge of her own concerns. “Everything looks delicious.”
“I hope your father has calmed down. More important, how are you?” Napoleon filled his own plate and sat down across from her.
“I’m better. I tried to sleep most of today. I told my father it was my choice if I left the island or not.” Amélie sipped the wine, savoring the flavor. “You have stopped drinking the Constantia, as I asked before?”
“Indeed I have. With all this other upheaval, I haven’t noticed any change.” Napoleon took a forkful of food, but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “If your father remains upset, we could send him back to Europe and elect you head chef. I’ll be the majordomo. How is that for an arrangement—then you would be in charge of me?”
“Very tempting.” Amélie’s tension drained away at Napoleon’s disarming manner. He could be seductive when he grappled for his way. “I’m sure Papa will be all right, but he must voice his parental obligations. He has to realize I’m my own person, and so do you.” She tasted a bite of salty potatoes. They stung her sore lips.
“Amée, you are obviously your own person. I’ve usually ended up alienating those most devoted to me, if it served my ambitions.” He laid his hand over hers. “Though if I hadn’t cared about you, it wouldn’t have mattered if I disgraced you.”
“I understand that now.” Amélie turned her palm over and clasped his fingers. “We could go back and forth with me acting petulant. I will stay with you if—”
“Grâce à dieu.” His eyes luminous, Napoleon raised her hand to his lips and kissed her skin. “Who would have known that out of disaster I’d be given a second chance?”
Amélie’s flesh tingled. She breathed deeply. “I don’t want a causal affair, but something lasting. I realize we can’t marry, but I’ve supported you in your thoughts and feelings. I expect the same from you.”
“I will cherish you above myself.” He ran his thumb down her hand, her wrist. “Admittedly, it will be an onerous task, discarding my egotism. I’ll count on you to assist me.”
She quivered down to her toes. “I…I do have terms. I insist on complete devotion and fidelity. You can’t turn away from me if the situation here ever changes.”
“Of course, it goes without saying.” He kissed her wrist, his food untouched.
She sighed. Had she given in too easily? She craved his attentions, her body yearning, but she must keep a clear head. She eased her hand away from him. “I also want a written agreement between us.” She stabbed her fork into a piece of beef. “That if anything happens to you, I’ll have a small stipend.”
“Plus support for any children—that I hope we may have.” Napoleon smiled, stood, and kissed her on the forehead.
“We must go slow…for my father’s sake.” She pulled back, instead of melting into him as she wished. She used her father as an excuse, though his haggard face pricked her guilt. How did a woman manage in these situations, desire over common sense? What could she jot down in her treatise on sex?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Love should be a pleasure, not a torment—N.B.
“Where is Jules? I haven’t noticed him around lately.” At the kitchen table, Amélie inspected the potatoes brought up from a ship arriving yesterday. A few were squishy and black with rot. She hadn’t seen the Montholons either since her assault. More suspicion niggled at her.
“He’s been hiding away. Says he has a toothache.” Ali poured heated water into a shaving mug. He stirred the soap for the emperor’s morning shave, the scent aromatic. “Purple does suit you. How are you? We were all worried.”
“A toothache?” At the window she tossed a stinky potato out to dispose of later. A rat scurried up to sniff it. She rubbed the rot between her fingertips. She’d struck her assailant in the face. “I’m much better. Have you seen Jules?”
“Briefly. Now His Majesty has revealed his intense feelings for you, congratulations.” The valet winked his long-lashed eye. “You both deserve tenderness.”
The kisses she craved…did Ali see her blush? “You can heat up
your water in Napoleon’s study. Do you come in here just to plague me?” She dropped the good potatoes into a basket.
“How can you say that? I’ve come to check on you.” His sooty gaze held a flash of sympathy. “You’ll be looked after, no matter what might change.”
She glared at him. “I know there are escape plans.” She said it casually, fishing for information. All she had was Napoleon’s teasing…the paper at Sandy Bay. “Tell me what you’re insinuating.”
“How much has His Majesty said?” Ali studied her. He plopped the shaving brush into the mug. “You realize that when Lowe sent people off the island to ‘lessen expenses’ last year, some were entrusted on a mission from the emperor?”
“Bien sûr.” Amélie shoved away the basket, and wedged the pantry door closed. She wiped her hands on her apron and massaged the lingering ache in her jaw. “They were sent to Napoleon’s brother, King Joseph.” Madame Cloubert told her this, but she hadn’t believed her.
“One footman had the Remonstrance, the emperor’s grievances, written in his coat lining. He also took a detailed map of Saint Helena to pass to His Majesty’s brother.” Ali continued to stir the soap, foam rising at the sides of the mug. “A pamphlet was put out in England and France regarding the emperor’s treatment here, and other things continue in the background.”
Amélie snatched up her cup, sloshing the lemon tea. The plans sounded too definite. She sipped the now cold brew. The ginger to lessen swelling tasted bitter. “Has King Joseph set up anything, a rescue?”
“I thought His Majesty told you these things. I’ve said enough.” Ali winked again and strutted to the door with the mug.
“Wait.” Her thoughts slid away from Napoleon deserting her—he couldn’t—and back to Jules. “Does Jules need any cloves for his…toothache?”
Ali laughed. “Perhaps. He’s wearing a red scarf wrapped around his jaw and moaning, playing the clown. He won’t let the doctor examine him.”
“I’ll look for cloves.” Amélie’s muscles tensed. Jules hiding behind a scarf? Hiding bruises from her fists? He was a cruel self-serving rogue, yet a complete toady to his master. Was Montholon that desperate to be rid of her influence over Napoleon?
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