Read Online The Garden Intrigue by Lauren Willig - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Willig
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the volatile colonials would react when Bonaparte jettisoned the last pretense of
liberté
, é
galité
, and
fraternité
.
Augustus sighed. “What else did she tell you about this masque?”
Jane didn’t waste time reveling in her victory. “The details were sparse. All Emma said was that it was to be relatively brief, Talma was to direct, and there needs to be a singing part for Hortense. Oh, yes,” she added, tapping her furled fan against her chin. “One more thing. Madame Bonaparte requested that the masque have a nautical theme.”
That afterthought was about as accidental as the Sistine Chapel.
“Nautical,” Augustus repeated. “As in having to do with the water and the sea.”
Jane arranged her hands neatly in her lap, looking a bit like the cat who got the cream. “One might call it just a step away from naval.”
Coincidence? Augustus would have liked to think so, but it was too much. Horace’s hasty report was beginning to sound more and more credible. It would be just like Bonaparte to celebrate the completion of his invasion plans with a nautically themed masque.
It might be more than that, though. One could only assume that this mysterious device had something to do with the sea. As Augustus recalled, one of the primary features of a masque as a form of entertainment was the ingenious machinery involved. A masque was as much or more about spectacle as it was about verse.
Was Bonaparte planning to conceal his precious device among the props and pulleys of his theatre?
There was, as Jane had so sagely observed, only one way to find out.
“Why that weekend?” Augustus wondered aloud. “Why the Americans? If there is a device, why choose that gathering to test it?”
“It won’t do us any good to speculate. Not without further information.” Jane rose, her pale skirts whispering against the marble bench. “We should be getting in. Even your poetry can only run so long. People will start to wonder.”
“Don’t be silly. I have at least ten cantos left to go.” He reached impulsively for Jane’s hand. “If I can persuade Madame Delagardie to this collaboration, I could write in a part for you.”
Jane twitched her hand away. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?” The more he thought about the idea, the better it seemed. “An extra pair of hands makes light work.”
Not to mention that Mme. Bonaparte’s gardens at Malmaison were justifiably famous. With the moonlight silvering the gravel, and the scent of roses heavy in the air, they would be irresistible.
Jane navigated around him, her flat slippers whispering against the flagstones. “We agreed. No more communication than necessary. It’s safer that way.”
“People are used to seeing me following you about.” Augustus tried to make a joke of it. “It’s no secret that I’m mad about you. What man wouldn’t craft a role for his muse?”
“Muses work best from a distance, Mr. Whittlesby.”
The thorns of a potted rose clutched and tug at Augustus’s dangling sleeves as he followed after her. He could hear the rending noise as the linen snagged and tore. “Miss Wooliston—Jane—”
“Where
is
Emma?” Jane turned quickly about, making a survey of the lighted windows. “You should make sure to catch her before she goes home. She has a cousin visiting. Another Mr. Livingston. There seem to be a number of them out and about.”
Bother Mr. Livingston. Bother all of them. “Jane—”
If she saw Augustus’s outstretched hand, she ignored it. “Where can Emma have got to? She was in the music room when we left her.”
Augustus saw Mme. Delagardie’s feathers before he saw her, bobbing not far from the music room window. She was standing by a tall man in a uniform tailored more for show than combat, his dark hair brushed and curled into the very latest style, a half-cape draped rakishly across one shoulder.
Jane spoke only one word, but it was imbued with enough venom to wither all the
liberté
, é
galité
, and
fraternité
.
Augustus sighed. “What else did she tell you about this masque?”
Jane didn’t waste time reveling in her victory. “The details were sparse. All Emma said was that it was to be relatively brief, Talma was to direct, and there needs to be a singing part for Hortense. Oh, yes,” she added, tapping her furled fan against her chin. “One more thing. Madame Bonaparte requested that the masque have a nautical theme.”
That afterthought was about as accidental as the Sistine Chapel.
“Nautical,” Augustus repeated. “As in having to do with the water and the sea.”
Jane arranged her hands neatly in her lap, looking a bit like the cat who got the cream. “One might call it just a step away from naval.”
Coincidence? Augustus would have liked to think so, but it was too much. Horace’s hasty report was beginning to sound more and more credible. It would be just like Bonaparte to celebrate the completion of his invasion plans with a nautically themed masque.
It might be more than that, though. One could only assume that this mysterious device had something to do with the sea. As Augustus recalled, one of the primary features of a masque as a form of entertainment was the ingenious machinery involved. A masque was as much or more about spectacle as it was about verse.
Was Bonaparte planning to conceal his precious device among the props and pulleys of his theatre?
There was, as Jane had so sagely observed, only one way to find out.
“Why that weekend?” Augustus wondered aloud. “Why the Americans? If there is a device, why choose that gathering to test it?”
“It won’t do us any good to speculate. Not without further information.” Jane rose, her pale skirts whispering against the marble bench. “We should be getting in. Even your poetry can only run so long. People will start to wonder.”
“Don’t be silly. I have at least ten cantos left to go.” He reached impulsively for Jane’s hand. “If I can persuade Madame Delagardie to this collaboration, I could write in a part for you.”
Jane twitched her hand away. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?” The more he thought about the idea, the better it seemed. “An extra pair of hands makes light work.”
Not to mention that Mme. Bonaparte’s gardens at Malmaison were justifiably famous. With the moonlight silvering the gravel, and the scent of roses heavy in the air, they would be irresistible.
Jane navigated around him, her flat slippers whispering against the flagstones. “We agreed. No more communication than necessary. It’s safer that way.”
“People are used to seeing me following you about.” Augustus tried to make a joke of it. “It’s no secret that I’m mad about you. What man wouldn’t craft a role for his muse?”
“Muses work best from a distance, Mr. Whittlesby.”
The thorns of a potted rose clutched and tug at Augustus’s dangling sleeves as he followed after her. He could hear the rending noise as the linen snagged and tore. “Miss Wooliston—Jane—”
“Where
is
Emma?” Jane turned quickly about, making a survey of the lighted windows. “You should make sure to catch her before she goes home. She has a cousin visiting. Another Mr. Livingston. There seem to be a number of them out and about.”
Bother Mr. Livingston. Bother all of them. “Jane—”
If she saw Augustus’s outstretched hand, she ignored it. “Where can Emma have got to? She was in the music room when we left her.”
Augustus saw Mme. Delagardie’s feathers before he saw her, bobbing not far from the music room window. She was standing by a tall man in a uniform tailored more for show than combat, his dark hair brushed and curled into the very latest style, a half-cape draped rakishly across one shoulder.
Jane spoke only one word, but it was imbued with enough venom to wither all the
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