“And you have him with you?”
“We do—along with his nurse, my abigail, Devlin’s valet, the coachman, a footman, and Devlin’s tiger. Needless to say, we do not travel lightly.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lady Seaton. “I remember those days.” She turned her brilliant smile on her exalted guests. “Monsieur and Madame Bonaparte have a new wee one, as well. Born just this past January.”
“Louis Lucien,” said Bonaparte proudly. “Lady Seaton was gracious enough to allow us to baptize him in the private chapel she’s built here at Northcott Abbey.”
He then went on to tell a laughing tale about his youngest child’s tendency to crawl backward. And it occurred to Sebastian as he watched the Emperor’s brother glow with pride over his son’s antics that here was a side of Lucien Bonaparte—the loving paterfamilias—that he hadn’t expected to find. But then he reminded himself that this was a man who’d turned down a kingdom and risked his imperial brother’s wrath in order to keep his family together.
“How many children do you have?” asked Sebastian.
It was Alexandrine who answered. “Eight, all together. Lucien’s Charlotte and Lili are eighteen and fifteen; my Anna is fourteen, while our Charles is ten. The rest descend from there like organ pipes.” She sketched a profile of steps with one hand.
“I’ve met Charles,” said Hero. “He’s a very clever lad.”
Alexandrine smiled and shared a meaningful look with her husband. “We like to think so. Although I fear his sisters sometimes find him a bit tiresome.”
“The Bonapartes’ older girls have gone to the Lake District with my own daughters, Georgina and Louisa,” said Lady Seaton.
“Yes, and you would not believe what we had to go through to get permission from the commissioner for them to travel so far,” said Lucien. “Children!”
Sebastian took a slow sip of his wine as he studied the Corsican’s swarthy, now disgruntled face. Lucien Bonaparte had been living in exile for nearly three years, his wife and children as much prisoners of war as he himself. Oh, their lives were comfortable enough—by all accounts Thorngrove was a grand estate. But their travel was still restricted, their correspondence read, their every move watched by spies from both Paris and London. As long as the war continued, their lives would remain in limbo. And then what would become of eighteen-year-old Charlotte Bonaparte, of age now to be wed? Or her younger sisters coming up behind her? What did such a future hold for little Charles, with his grand ambitions of scientific study and travel?
Only an unlikely peace or the decisive defeat of Napoléon would bring freedom for Lucien and his growing, ambitious family. Yet Napoléon’s defeat would also mean the end of the closely knit Bonaparte clan’s phenomenal wealth and power. So for which did Lucien and his no-nonsense wife secretly pray? Sebastian wondered. For Napoléon to keep fighting? Or for the Emperor to go down in a final defeat? If given the opportunity, would they actively seek to prop up Napoléon’s fading fortunes?
Or would they work to bring their exile to an end, in any way possible?
It was over dinner that Hero, tired of waiting for Lady Seaton to spontaneously offer to show her guests the famous Long Gallery, gently brought the conversation around to the subject of art.
“I hear you have an impressive collection of paintings, Senator,” she said, turning to Napoléon’s brother.
Lucien’s face shone with pride. According to reports, he had landed in England with a staggering number of servants and a baggage train that included not only scores of huge canvases but also life-sized Roman statues unearthed from his estate near Frascati. “I like to flatter myself that is so, yes. But you and Lord Devlin must come to Thorngrove yourself someday and give me your opinion.” He nodded graciously toward their hostess. “Northcott Abbey also possesses an impressive picture gallery. Have you seen it?”
Lady Seaton fluttered one dainty hand through the air in a show of embarrassed disparagement. “Oh, believe me, it is nothing compared to Senator Bonaparte’s collection.”
“But I would love to see it,” said Hero.
“If you like, of course. Although I should warn you that it consists mainly of family portraits, and very few by artists of any note.”
“Perhaps we could explore it after dinner,” suggested Alexandrine Bonaparte. “While the gentlemen linger over their port?”
For one intense instant, Hero’s gaze met Sebastian’s. It wasn’t exactly what they’d had in mind, but it was better than nothing. “That would be lovely,” she said with a wide smile.
Chapter 23