Gabrielle wondered if Nathaniel recognized the handwriting. It was highly likely he'd seen examples of it in his work. Some of Talleyrand's correspondence would have surely fallen into English hands at some point.
"It's from Talleyrand," she said calmly, glancing across the table at Nathaniel. He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment and raised his tankard to his lips.
Gabrielle decided he had recognized the handwriting and she'd probably just passed another test.
"Quite an honor to have such a notable correspondent." Miles observed innocently, frowning with concentration as he filleted a kipper.
"Oh, I'm fully sensible of the honor," Gabrielle said with a tinge of irony that neither Simon nor Nathaniel could miss. "My godfather is a regular and most interesting correspondent."
"And a consummate politician," Miles said comfortably.
"Indubitably," Gabrielle agreed. "He's the cleverest man in Europe, not excluding the emperor. And his cleverness is exceeded only by his ambition. I defy anyone to untangle the personal motives behind his allegiances. If it suited him to abandon Napoleon, he would do so without a qualm."
"A pragmatic gentleman," Nathaniel commented with a shrug. "Lady Vanbrugh, may Ipass you the marmalade?"
"There's no need to be so formal, Nathaniel," Gabrielle said, unfolding the sheets of paper in leisurely-fashion.
"No, indeed not," Georgie agreed, slightly flustered because she still could not like Nathaniel Praed, despite the magic he so clearly weaved around Gabby.
"You do me too much honor, ma'am," Nathaniel said, confirming Georgie in her dislike.
"Pompous ass. Take no notice of him, Georgie." Gabrielle picked up a roll from the basket on the table in front of her and threw it across the table. It landed in Nathaniel's tankard, splattering ale over his shirt.
"Why you…!" He pushed back his chair, half rising to his feet. Gabrielle's chin lifted and she met his indignant glare with challenging eyes and her mocking, crooked smile.
"What am I?"
"Devil's spawn," he said with a reluctant grin, resuming his seat, dabbing at the mess on his shirt with his napkin.
Simon and Miles exchanged a look of total incredulity and Georgie stared in unabashed amazement at her cousin who, with a complacent smile, had turned to her letter.
It was clear at first glance that she was supposed to share its contents with the English spymaster. It was a cheerful, chatty letter describing the social scene at Warsaw, Napoleon's reception by the Poles, and the emperor's fascination with Marie Walewksa.
Presumably that was the nugget she was to pass on. It was a piece of information that would be of general interest to the English government, and at this point it was something known only to Napoleon's intimates. If Gabrielle passed on the information, it would add credence to her claims of intimate connections within the court surrounding the emperor.
"Well, it seems Napoleon has found himself another Josephine," she said, looking up, realizing that Nathaniel had been watching her carefully as she'd read the letter. What had he been watching for? Signs of evasion or calculation, perhaps. Well, he wouldn't see them. All the years with Guillaume had taught her to show on her face only what she chose.
"In Poland?" Nathaniel inquired casually.
"The wife of a Polish chancellor," she said. "I'll read the letter to you. It's quite entertaining."
It was the civilized letter of a civilized man, full of observations and impressions, descriptions that were pointed and witty, Nathaniel reflected. The significance of a liaison between Napoleon and the Polish noblewoman was not elaborated upon, but it would be obvious to any intelligent observer of the world's affairs.
It would be interesting to read Gabrielle's reply. That would tell him much more about the relationship between the diplomat and his goddaughter than this seemingly innocuous communication. Did she conceal her hostility from Talleyrand under a dutiful filial response? From what he knew of Gabrielle, he'd find that hard to believe. And yet as he'd already observed, the more he learned about her, the less he truly knew her.
"Interesting," he said noncommittally when she refolded the letter and slipped it back in its envelope. "I wonder how Josephine will react."
"She's an extremely jealous woman," Gabrielle observed, pouring coffee into her cup. "For some reason she doesn't consider her own infidelities to be of the least importance compared with Napoleon's. She writes him outraged letters whenever rumors reach her of some possible liaison. He describes her as a tigress when she's jealous, but all she has to do is weep and he comes running again. He's very susceptible to women's tears."
"Then it's to be hoped Madame Walewska learns that rapidly," Simon commented. "Since I'm sure she has an ulterior motive in becoming his mistress."
"Power is a powerful aphrodisiac," Gabrielle said lightly. "Talleyrand told me that Napoleon is actually very sensitive about the smallness of his… his… private parts."
"Gabrielle!" Georgie protested, although her eyes shone with interest.
"Not a suitable topic for the breakfast table? Or is it the mixed company that troubles you?" her cousin inquired impishly.
"Both, I imagine," Nathaniel said, pushing back his chair. "Spare our blushes, you outrageous woman."
Gabrielle laughed. "Very well, I'll change the subject. What are we going to do today?"
"We should be on our way," Simon said.
"Oh, must you?" Gabrielle looked disappointed.
"Yes," Miles said firmly. "We've intruded sufficiently."
"If you leave within the hour, you could probably make it back to London in time for a late dinner," Nathaniel said readily.
Even Georgie recognized that Nathaniel this time was making fun of himself and joined in the laughter, but no one attempted to alter the plan, and an hour later Gabrielle waved the chaise away from the house.
"Are you tired of being alone with me?" Nathaniel inquired as they turned back into the hall.
"No." She shook her head. "Far from it. But that said, I imagine I'm a more sociable being than you."
"That wouldn't be difficult," he agreed with a wry smile. "I'm afraid I'm going to be very boring and shut myself up with some work."
Gabrielle shrugged. "I wouldn't mind going into town to do some shopping."
"I'll tell Milner to bring the brougham round from the stables."
"I'd rather take your curricle and your grays."
Nathaniel regarded her quizzically. "I don't wish to offend you, ma'am, but they'll be very fresh."
"I can handle them."
"Yes, I'm sure you can." He shook his head with a resigned chuckle. "Very well. But Milner had better go with you." He turned aside toward the library.
"Could I take Jake?"
The question arrested him with his hand on the library door. "He has lessons."
"A surprise holiday never did anyone any harm."
"You don't want a child hanging on to your skirts while you're shopping."
"If I didn't, I wouldn't have suggested it," she pointed out.
To his surprise, Nathaniel heard himself saying, "If you really want to, I see no objection."
"Thank you," Gabrielle said with quiet satisfaction. One made progress little by little.
Nathaniel watched the departure of the curricle from the library window an hour later. Jake was bouncing on the gravel like an india rubber ball, apparently chattering nineteen to the dozen to the patient Milner and the smiling Gabrielle, who swung herself gracefully into the curricle and took up the reins. Milner lifted Jake onto the seat beside her and then jumped up behind.
Nathaniel watched critically as Gabrielle felt the grays' mouths with a delicate pull on the reins. They were very fresh, stamping the gravel, lifting their heads to the brisk wind blowing in from the river, their breath steaming in the cold air. He wondered uneasily if he'd been wise to allow her to drive them. She gave the order to the groom to release their heads, and the horses plunged forward.