Jake instantly stuck out his hand, open-palmed. His father peeled the ring off his palm and ruffled his hair. Gabby winked at him, and he squeezed one eyelid shut, wrinkling his nose inimitation.
"With my body I thee worship…"
Gabrielle's hand inNathaniel's quivered, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around his, her eyes locked with his.
Georgie gave up the struggle and snuffled pleasurably into her handkerchief and even Miles blinked rapidly. The powerful magnetism between the couple at the altar was almost palpable inthe still, attentive church.
And then it was all over and the organist began to play and Lord and Lady Praed went into the vestry to sign the register.
"Jake, I want you to run an errand for me," Nathaniel said, "if I can find some paper-oh, thank you." He took the sheet of paper and quill offered by the vicar and wrote swiftly. "I want you to take this note to Mr. Stewart, the bailiff. He was in the church, but I expect he's outside now, waiting for us to come out. Can you do that?"
Jake nodded importantly, took the note, and ran off.
"What was all that about?" Gabrielle scrawled her signature in the ledger and stepped aside to make room for Nathaniel.
"I hadn't expected such a turnout," he said. "I thought I'd better host a reception. Stewart will put it about that the Red Lion is open for business and the drinks are on Lord Praed."
Gabrielle smiled to herself. She'd noticed that winter day on the river that a different side of Nathaniel was revealed when he was in character as lord of the manor; it was a role at which he was naturally adept, inspiring both affection and loyalty.
Outside, they were engulfed in the throng of well-wishers, women bobbing curtsies, men twisting their hats between their hands, offering awkward but genuine congratulations, children shyly smiling, pushed forward by their parents.
It seemed to put a seal on the marriage that Gabrielle hadn't thought she needed or wanted. And yet this public acknowledgment filled her with a deep sense of satisfaction and contentment. She was well and truly married to Nathaniel Praed. A convoluted past of deception and fear behind her, a simple conventional future lying ahead.
Talleyrand would be smiling.
"Honeymoon time," she whispered as the crowd thinned and they began to walk toward the lych-gate.
"So it is," Nathaniel said. His hand drifted down her back, coming to rest on her bottom.
"There are people around!" she hissed, moving forward. The hand followed her.
"So what? I can touch my legal wedded wife if I wish… wherever and however I wish." He smiled with such complacency that Gabrielle went into a peal of laughter.
"Why do I have the feeling our hosts are about to find us surplus to requirement?" Miles murmured.
"I think we should dine in Lymington," Simon agreed. He looked behind him. "Where's Jake? Oh, there he is." He called the boy, who came running over, still glowing with self-importance. "How would you like to come into Lymington with us, Jake?"
"With Gabby and Papa?"
Georgie shook her head. "No, just with us."
Jake frowned. Papa and Gabby were walking very close together. He remembered the previous afternoon when they'd been kissing. A blush spread over his cheeks and he nodded. "Yes, please. If Papa says I can."
"Don't worry about that," his godfather said cheerfully, taking his hand. "I doubt your father will have an opinion on the subject."
Chapter 26
"They've captured the entire Danish fleet! Bombarded Copenhagen and the entirefleet captured!" The Emperor Napoleon paced the council chamber at the Tuilleries Palace, carrying his rotund belly high over his short legs, his hard eyes glaring at the select gathering of ministers.
"It would appear so, sir," Talleyrand agreed, taking snuff. The newly entitled Vice Grand Electot of France was standing in a window embrasure, leaning against the broad sill, resting his crippled leg as the debate raged around him.
The English government had responded to Talleyrand's artfully directed intelligence at Tilsit with both speed and efficiency. There was now no Danish fleet to enforce a blockade of the Baltic ports. Of course, the Danes weren't too happy about it, in fact rabidly anti-English as a result, but it certainly took the teeth out of the secret articles to the Treaty of Tilsit.
Talleyrand looked down idly on the gardens of the Tuilleries bathed in the late September sun. The leaves of the plane trees were turning russet, and from the Seine came the frantic barking of a dog in the stern of one of the long barges slipping beneath the Pont Neuf.
"Monsieur Talleyrand, what is your opinion of the Portuguese government's refusal to enforce the blockade?" The new Minister for Foreign Affairs posed the question somewhat hesitantly. He was still accustomed to deferring to the former minister but felt that perhaps he should be asserting his own opinions rather more definitely.
"Inconvenient, in the light of the Danish catastrophe," the Vice Grand Elector said.
"Inconvenient! You call it inconvenient!" exploded the emperor. "I tell you it's the epitome of treachery." He fell into a fulminating silence, examining Talleyrand with steely hostility. The man was too clever by half. Every diplomatic court in Europe hung on his opinion and advice, and if it came to a disagreement between the emperor and Talleyrand, Napoleon had the uneasy suspicion that the former's opinion would count in such circles for more than his own.
If only he could do without the man's cleverness and expertise himself. It was both disagreeable and inappropriate for an emperor to be dependent on the assistance of anyone, and most particularly a man who had distinct views of his own and didn't hesitate to impart them. But the fact remained that the Emperor Napoleon could not manage to govern his vast empire without the help of Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord.
"It would ruin Portugal to enforce the blockade, sir," Talleyrand pointed out as he'd done often before. But this was another instance where the emperor refused to listen to Talleyrand's doctrine of moderation when it came to dealing with opposition. The emperor never looked ahead, anticipating consequences, but acted only according to the dictates of his ambition. His genius lay in turning circumstances to his own advantage, but Talleyrand saw only disaster in increasing France's liabilities at this point.
"We shall enlist the help of Spain," Napoleon announced. "We will suggest to her a partition of Portugal. That will bring Portugal to heel. Champagny, send a message to the Spanish king, inviting him to send emissaries to Fontainebleau for a secret convention next month. We shall hold court there."
Talleyrand turned back to his contemplation of the garden beneath the window. The English government needed to know what Napoleon was up to now. The subjugation of Portugal was only an excuse for gaining French control of the entire Iberian Peninsular. Napoleon might well deceive the Spaniards with his offers of false friendship, but they'd discover the treachery of their assumed ally once they gave him free passage across their country to gain access to Portugal. Once in, Napoleon would secure the most important strategic positions and they'd never see the back of him.
The English couldn't afford to stand by while the Peninsular was peacefully incorporated into the French Empire and the killer blockade extended to its ports.
Gabrielle was now married to her spymaster, and Fouche was beside himself. The policeman had a long reach, but he couldn't be revenged on Gabrielle without jeopardizing his uneasy alliance with Talleyrand, an alliance he needed at the moment more than he needed revenge for being duped. While Gabrielle remained in England, she would be safe.
Safe and perfectly placed to be useful, her godfather reflected, if she could be persuaded.
He'd send the intelligence to her, suggesting she pass it on to the right quarters. She was clear-headed and pragmatic; he couldn't imagine she'd refuse to do again what she'd once done so successfully. She would see that she would only be helping her friends and her husband's country that was now her own.