Once again, Caroline found herself in a coach heading for Lady Beatrice’s townhouse, but this time she was alone. She insisted that Sofia stay at home because Caroline planned to do a bit of shopping afterwards. Strangely, the girl did not object overmuch.
It was now two days since the embassy ball, and Caroline was keeping her engagement to join Lady Beatrice for tea. She almost sent her regrets; for some reason Caroline awoke that morning feeling unwell, but fortunately, the spell passed. Soon the carriage reached its destination, and she was shown to the parlor.
Caroline was surprised to find Lady Beatrice quite alone. She was not pleased by this; she at once feared that she had committed some unknown blunder during the ball and was now to account for it. Still, hiding behind her mask of civility, Caroline calmly took the seat offered her.
“Cook has assured me that tea is almost ready, Caroline. That is a lovely dress. Fuchsia, is it not?”
“I suppose, my lady. The dressmaker called it dark rose.” Mortification joined anxiety, even though Lady Beatrice had reverted to the informality of using her given name.
“It is a lovely color, whatever its name.” The tea tray now made its appearance, and soon cups were poured and served. “Are you enjoying your time in Vienna, Caroline?” asked Lady Beatrice as she stirred her tea.
Caroline began shaking. Now it begins. What in heaven have I done? “Yes, madam.”
“I am glad. You have certainly made friends here.”
“Thank you, my lady, I hope I have. The ladies of the delegation are all delightful and kind.”
Lady Beatrice leaned forward and touched Caroline’s hand. “I hope that you count me among your friends—” She stopped. “Why, my dear, you are shivering!”
“’Tis nothing, my lady.” Caroline was near tears.
“Are you cold? Should I have the fire lit?”
“No, please, I am f… fine.” Caroline burst into sobs.
“My dear, whatever is the matter?”
“Please!” Caroline cried in return. “Keep me in suspense no longer. Tell me what I have done—whom I have offended. To whom must I apologize? Let me make amends.”
“You poor dear!” The older woman joined Caroline on the couch and held her hand. “Dear child, you have offended no one! You have nothing for which to apologize.”
Caroline sniffed through her tears. “No one? Truly?”
Lady Beatrice gave her a kind smile. “You are well liked among the ladies. You have received many compliments for your efforts at the embassy ball.” She handed Caroline a handkerchief.
Caroline dabbed at her eyes. “Please forgive me. Goodness, but I do not know what came over me. I am not so much of a ninny, I assure you.”
“Think nothing of it. But what gave you the idea that I was displeased with you?”
“I could think of no other reason for the invitation here today, especially with no one else attending,” Caroline admitted.
“I am sorry to have given you distress, my dear.” She paused. “I did, however, want to speak to you privately—about a certain matter.”
Caroline steeled herself. “Yes, my lady.”
Lady Beatrice sighed. “Caroline, forgive me. The diplomatic world is new to you, as I think you would agree. It is far different from the world of London society or even the Court of St. James. Here empires may rise or fall. Wars may break out or be ended. This world attracts a certain type of individual—hard, clever people who are used to having their own way and know how to get it.”
“Yes, madam. But is it so different from the ton?”
“Oh my, yes! The ton are but children compared to what is outside these doors. London society plays their games for sport. Diplomats play with life and death. The games are far more dangerous here.”
“Forgive me, but I do not take your meaning. You say I have offended no one. Then what have I done wrong?”
Lady Beatrice took Caroline’s hand again. “You have not harmed anyone yet, but you are in danger of harming yourself. You must take care when choosing with whom you associate.”
Caroline recalled the incident with Baron von Odbart. “Oh, I see. But all ended well. The baron withdrew. There was no harm done.”
“But harm could have been done.”
“Never!” Caroline gained control of her emotions. “Forgive my outburst, my lady, but you must understand. I would never so dishonor myself or my husband.”
She patted her hand. “Of course not! That is not my meaning.”
“Then I do not understand.”
Lady Beatrice looked into Caroline’s eyes. “What of your husband? What of danger to him?”
“Sir John? Ha! He was in no danger. In fact, he invited the scoundrel hunting. You were there; you heard.”
“Yes, I was there and heard his real words.” Lady Beatrice decided that friendly tact was no longer useful. “Think, Lady Buford! You know your husband’s character. Would he actually seek out the company of a man who sought to cuckold him?” Caroline flinched. “Forgive my direct language, my child.”
“I… I do not know! I thought Sir John was going to call him out; I was sure of it, but he did not—”
Lady Beatrice cried, “I know I have called you my child, but it was a term of endearment. Are you really so naïve? Did you truly think this hunting scheme was anything but a challenge? Be glad he was unsuccessful!”
“Be glad? My husband is no coward!”
“Would you prefer him dead or in disgrace? This is no game.” Lady Beatrice turned cold. “I was under the impression you were fond of Sir John.”
Caroline paled at the verbal slap.
“Had his challenge been accepted by Baron von Odbart, and had Sir John survived, your husband would have been sent home in disgrace, dismissed from the delegation. I do not believe you would wish this for him.”
Caroline was dismayed at her childishness. Heavens, she is right—and John knew all the time and still challenged the oaf! “Oh no, my lady,” Caroline cried. She reached out to the other woman. “I have been unforgivably foolish. I thank you for showing me how stupidly I have behaved. Is it any wonder Baron von Odbart thought me a woman of easy virtue? I have risked my husband’s life and career!”
“I must disagree with you! The baron, and the baron alone, is responsible for his sins. You have done nothing to warrant censure in that matter.” Lady Beatrice smiled. “As for the other issue, is there a woman alive who has not acted foolishly from time to time for a man? All is well now, Caroline, and we have all learned a lesson.”
The visit would continue for another half hour. It was barely enough time for Caroline to gain control of her emotions. Yet she was still uneasy. She had unwittingly placed her darling husband in danger. How was she to make amends to him when she had yet to tell him that she loved him?
Buford was glad that the Congress was not in session that day, for it gave him the time to catch up with his correspondence. He sat quietly in his library for some time, reading and answering letters. He was so occupied that he did not hear the door open.
“Sir John?”
The colonel looked up. Sofia had closed the door behind her and was halfway across the room.
“Yes, Sofia. May I help you?”
“I hope you vill, sir.” She crossed over to the desk.
As she got closer, Buford noticed that the bodice of her dress was pulled unusually low. “Uhh… yes?” he said stupidly, as the hairs on the back of his neck started to rise.
The girl said nothing at first—she just stood by the desk, looking him up and down through her eyelashes.
“I have vaited for a chance to speak to you alone. I have been patient a very long time. Your work takes up so much of your time. You must be tired.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are so handsome—ansehnlich—mein Liebling. I know how to make you happy. Everyone in the house is busy. No one will bother us.” Sofia smiled and began to move. “You must know I vant you. Ich liebe dich von ganzem Herzen!”
Before he knew what was happening, Sofia had come around the side of Buford’s desk and thrown herself on his lap. With one hand, she grabbed the back of his neck as she kissed him furiously; with the other, she seized his hand and thrust it on her breast.
“Liebe machen—”
Buford finally recovered from his surprise. He pulled his hand free and, taking hold of Sofia by her shoulders, forced her away from him and held the girl at arm’s length. “What are you doing, woman?”
There was a crash.
Buford’s head snapped to the door. There stood a shocked Lady Buford, her reticule on the floor.
“Caroline!” he cried.
“Nutte! Dieser Mann gehört mir!” screamed the girl.
With a sob, Caroline dashed through the door, revealing Roberts and Frau Lippermann staring into the room. Buford leapt to his feet, and with a thud, Sofia fell to the floor, her skirt up around her knees.
Buford cared not. He moved quickly to the door and shouted a command to Roberts. “Take that whore”—he pointed to Sofia—“and toss her out this instant!” Buford left the library to the sound of Sofia’s curses.
Up the staircase he dashed to find a wide-eyed maid outside Caroline’s room. “Abigail, I need you to go downstairs. There is some rubbish that needs tossing out.”
She looked at her master. “Is it Sofia?” Her face broke into a savage grin as Sir John nodded. “It would be my pleasure!” With that, the maid hurried down the stairs.
Buford tried the door only to find it locked. The only answers he received to his entreaties were heart-wrenching sobs. Finally, Buford took a step back and, with all his might, kicked the door in.
Buford was a good student at university, but he forgot Newton’s Law, which states that for every action there is an equal reaction. The door swung open with such force from the kick that it rebounded off the wall and came back to its original position. Unfortunately, Sir John’s head was in the way, and he was struck with enough force to knock him off his feet. He lay stunned outside his wife’s door.
“John!” cried Caroline. She flew to his side, all else forgotten. “John, John, speak to me! Oh, you are injured! Do not move, I pray! Help! Help!” she screamed through her tears. “Sir John is hurt!”
Buford, lying on the floor, could not decide what hurt his head most—his injury or the screams in his ears.
“Caro—”
“Oh, my dear, do not move! Help is coming!” A moment later, Roberts arrived and helped his mistress carry the master to her bed. “Oh, you must send for a physician this instant!”
Buford was able to take his wife’s hand. “No, my dear… not necessary… I will be fine.”
“Sir, the person in question has been removed from the house,” reported Roberts. “Was there anything further?”
Through his throbbing pain, Buford managed, “No, that is all.” Roberts closed the door as he left. “Caroline—” her husband began.
With Sir John’s life no longer in danger, Caroline was free to remember her own hurt. “Oh, do not speak to me!” Her tears of fear were replaced by tears of grief. She left the bedside and sat at her dressing table, away from him.
Colonel Buford struggled to his feet and staggered to his wife. “My love, listen to me—”
“How could you?”
His strength gone, Buford fell to his knees before his wife. “You must believe me,” he urged through his pain. “I have been faithful to you. I love you so.” He fell forward on her lap. “I have kept my vow.”
Sir John’s words finally reached Caroline’s tortured mind. She looked at him wide-eyed, spent tears running down her face. “What… what did you say?”
He looked up. “I have kept my word to you.” He winced as a shot of pain coursed through his head.
Caroline took his face in her hands. “No, before that.”
Buford, defenseless, laid his soul naked before his wife. “I love you, and only you, with all my heart.”
Caroline took a moment to comprehend what her husband admitted and then fell on his face with kisses.
“Oww… ow… oh, my dear… please,” begged Buford.
Caroline helped him rise from the floor and walk back to the bed. Helping him onto it, she then climbed in after him and lay by his side, taking him into her arms and putting his aching head on her breast. There they rested in silence for a time.
Finally, she began. “What happened? Did she attack you?”
“I suppose it could be called thus. It was certainly uninvited.”
“When I saw the state of her dress! Oh, forgive my lack of faith in you.”
“No, my dear, you have no need to apologize. What were you to think with the girl wrapped around my person?”
Caroline began to chuckle. “As I look back at it, it was rather silly.”
“Silly?” Buford rolled onto his back.
She began to laugh heartily. “Yes, it was something out of a Shakespearean comedy.” She dissolved in laughter. “You… her… the door—”
“Stop! It… it was not that funny.” He began to laugh with her. This continued for a time until finally, their laughter sated, Sir John caressed Caroline’s chin with his finger.
“I meant what I said.”
Caroline closed her eyes. Could she dare to open her heart as well? All her life she was trained never to leave herself vulnerable, open to hurt. Sir John deserved an answer, but the words caught in her throat. She had to find another way.
“I believe I need your assistance, Husband.” She rose on one arm to look at him.
“Anything.”
“I need to work on my knowledge of languages, if I am ever to match yours.”
Buford closed his eyes, frowning. “How so?”
“Well, for example, I believe the correct phrase in French is je t’aime, is it not?” She looked down into his eyes.
Wordlessly, Sir John searched her face. “Yes, that is correct, but I believe the formal version is je vous aime.”
Caroline repeated, “Je vous aime. Oui.”
Sir John swallowed. “I must say, however, that I prefer je t’adore. ’Tis used between lovers.”
She smiled. “Je t’adore—it is far more agreeable, I must admit.” She kissed him tenderly. Sir John reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, deepening the kiss.
Caroline moved away slightly. “My Italian is not what it should be, I confess. Ti amo I believe is right?”
“Oh no—ti voglio is much better.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Indeed? Very well then—ti voglio.” This time the kiss was passionate and long. “And, of course, Spanish is te amo.”
Sir John liked this game. “Te amo, te adoro, te deseo.”
“But I have no German. You must help me. Did your… friend teach you the phrase?” she said with a grin.
“Wench! It was that baggage that was taught a lesson.”
Her laughter rained down on him like a summer shower. “This will never do! Teach me, Husband!”
“Let me see. Ich liebe dich is perfectly acceptable.”
“Ich liebe dich. Do you know Russian?”
“Ya tyebya lyublyu, I believe.”
Caroline started to giggle. “Surely your talents know no bounds! Do you know any others?”
“Eu adoro-te is Portuguese. The Dutch say ik hou van je. For the Irish it is ta gra agam ort or taim i’ ngra leat. Do not ask me to say it in Polish—there is no telling how badly I would butcher it. I would probably say, ‘I like your stomach.’” Caroline was laughing now. “But the way I like best is the Welsh way.”
“And what do the Welsh say, Johnny?”
“They say rwy’n dy gari di.”
Caroline’s eyes sparkled. “Yes—rwy’n dy gari di.”
Sir John smiled back. “Rwy’n dy gari di.”
The sounds of the lovers would continue throughout most of the evening.
It was the middle of the night when Caroline awoke. The knock on her door and her husband arising to answer it had broken her slumber. She opened one eye slightly to see Sir John in a robe reading a letter by the fireplace. The stiffness in his posture caught her attention. Completely awake, she sat up in bed, the sheet falling away from her naked torso.
“John, what is it?”
He turned to her, backlit by the fire, his expression unreadable.
“Bonaparte has escaped from Elba.”
Grenoble
The men of the 5th Regiment stood nervously across the road to Grenoble. Before them were over a thousand people, many of them armed. Their orders were to arrest the tyrant who dared leave his exile on Elba. The officers moved about the soldiers, reminding them of their duty to the king.
Suddenly, a man approached on horseback. He wore a simple military greatcoat and a cocked hat with a tricolor cockerel at the peak. He stopped and observed the forces before him. He then dismounted and approached the soldiers alone, on foot. When the man was within earshot of the men, he threw open his coat, the Legion of Honor clearly visible.
“Soldiers of the Fifth, you recognize me! If any man would shoot his emperor, he may do so now!”
Following a brief silence, the soldiers and officers erupted into shouts of “Vive L’Empereur!”
The emperor basked in the adulation for a few moments before returning to his horse. He had been called many things in his lifetime: genius, monster, lawgiver, tyrant, Defender of the Revolution, Destroyer of Mankind, but no one doubted his personal courage or underestimated his knowledge of men’s hearts. Today he had reminded the world of those talents.
The soldiers sent to stop the tyrant instead joined the ranks behind the emperor to march on Paris.