White Queen

White Queen is an historical AU that takes place in 1806. Bonaparte has decided to seek peace with Britain and makes his interests known, they are accepted and soon he and French Foriegn Minister Talleyrand are in England. Meanwhile Arthur Wellesley (future Duke of Wellington) has recently arrived from India, gotten married (to his great regret), and is trying to deal with the rumors about the death of his brother-in-law.

Murder, mayhem, symbolic chess games, and implied homosexuality. What more could you want?

Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V

—

Chapter I

July 1806

“Arthur dear, I really think Lady Penworthy is taking this too far.” Kitty was sitting at the dining table with her husband. Before them was a rather forward letter accusing Sir Arthur’s sister, Charlotte Thraser, of murdering her husband.

“Is she Kitty?”

“Indeed! Charlotte did no such thing; she loved Robert.” Kitty peered at her husband. “You of all people should know that.”

He said nothing in reply to her; instead he turned the letter over and perused the back, taking in everything he already knew. The opening accusation had come from Dr. Garring, the first man to examine Mr. Thraser’s body. The next came from Garring’s close associate, Mr. Heelbrow and from there the pool steadily got larger.

The first letter to arrive addressed to Sir Arthur was from Miss Strauss who felt that, as Mrs. Thraser’s brother, he ought to take a “careful, and well thought out look” into his sister’s affair. Arthur thought otherwise and wrote a rather poignant letter to Miss Strauss informing her that he felt she should keep a “careful and well thought out” absence from other people’s affairs. Especially those as delicate as his sister’s.

“Perhaps they’re onto something.” Arthur offered after a pregnant pause. “I’ve never known Garring to be wrong, especially in delicate matters like this.”

“You think Charlotte murdered Robert?”

“I said no such thing Kitty, please, do not put words into my mouth. I was merely speculating on the possibility that Robert was murdered. Not by Charlotte of course, but murdered none the less.”

“The French then?”

“Perhaps, perhaps, but I wouldn’t want to be the one who says it first. Not after the consequences of the last time Britain rushed things. 1805 is not a year I want to repeat.”

“Of course not dear, but who else could it be?”

“Hastings.” Charlotte stood in the door, dressing gown drawn about her, making her seem smaller than she already was. Arthur quickly stood and led his sister to the table. “It’s nice to see you two so free with my mail.” She said as she reached for the letter. Upon reading it she frowned, finding it addressed to Arthur and not her.

“That’s the fourth one,” he said, catching her eye.

“And Lord Penworthy’s opinion on the matter? I see his wife failed to mention it.”

“Leo feels you are as innocent as a newborn. He has faith in the human condition.”

Charlotte agreed with a small nod as she set the paper down. Both Arthur and Kitty exchanged worried glances as the older woman seemed to crawl into herself. Grey eyes grew distant, and she subconsciously tugged at her dressing gown. There had been several letters sent to her the previous day, and after the second she had retreated up stairs not to come down till the next morning.

“God bless him,” murmured Kitty as she gathered the mail, stacking it.

“Arthur,” Charlotte said as she finished reading her mail, “Sir Henry has withdrawn his dinner invitation.”

“The Earl of Eastwick?”

“The same.”

Arthur patted his sister’s arm, “do not fret Charlotte, I’m sure we will find a way to amuse ourselves for the evening. Perhaps Leo will come over and we can have a small dinner. Faulkner may be free as well.”

“No Arthur, Sir Henry has withdrawn only my invitation. You, Kitty, and Richard are still free to go.”

“My brother does not care for the company of the Earl.”

“And neither do I,” Kitty chimed.

“And I will not go if you are not invited, it’s an insult to our family. So, there you go Charlotte, none of us are going. I will send out cards to Leo and Faulkner for dinner tomorrow evening. Faulkner will certainly ask to bring Miss Mary Abbot, and I can invite Miss Shelby as well.”

Kitty began nodding enthusiastically, her excitement evident. She turned to Charlotte, declaring that there simply had to be sorbet.

“After all, it’s been so hot lately it’s just the weather for it,” she said.

Charlotte agreed and went on to say that it would be best if it was a small dinner, nothing fancy as these were just friends, no need to put on airs.

As soon as the dinner was settled on Arthur called in Smith to write up invitations and send them around. A few hours later and the replies were received, Faulkner could make it and would be bringing Miss Abbot with him, if that wasn’t too much of a problem. In fact he would be dropping by soon for a visit with Sir Arthur, matters of state. Lord Penworthy was available and willing to go if the company was amiable and the food good. Miss Shelby was free as well, though Arthur later heard that she had slighted Lord Wimbley in order to attend, much to the Lord’s consternation.

“Sir Arthur, Mr. George Faulkner is in the parlor.” Smith said later that day. Arthur looked up from his work and nodded, requesting the man be brought to him and tea served.

“Ah, Wellesley, what a pleasure to see you!” Faulkner said as he strode in, looking as proper as ever. Black hair tied back in a queue, frock coat immaculate, a hard feat on such a miserable day. Even his shoes were still clean, the polish on them not having been touched at all.

“Faulkner, it’s been too long.” Arthur rose to greet the smaller man and soon the two were seated in the study, a tray of tea and biscuits between them. “How is Miss Abbot?”

“Oh, she’s splendid, she’s taken up hat trimming of late. I think it has something to do with the upcoming summer festivities.” He looked over at Arthur with a smile. “I suppose I should offer to take her and her family to Bath.”

“I’ve heard the weather there has been lovely. I’m sure the ladies would enjoy it.”

“I’m sure they would.” The china cup was set down and more tea added. “You should join us, Wellesley, if I get it set up in time. Your wife and Mrs. Abbot get along, and it would do Charlotte a world of good to be away from London.”

“I’ll have to think about it. Depends on how things go in Parliament with Richard.”

“Yes, well, I will keep you posted. But! On to business. I received a curious letter from abroad today. I think it concerns Mr. Thraser,” Arthur’s attention was caught. “If not directly then certainly indirectly.”

“Where was it from?”

“I think the who in the matter is far more interesting.” Both men had set down their cups and sat up straighter in their chairs. The plate of biscuits was pushed away to make room for the papers Faulkner was drawing out from his sack.

“Very well, who was it from?”

“A man I wasn’t expecting any correspondence with. Especially after Pressbury and the third coalition affair.”

“France then.”

“The other day I came home to find a letter waiting for me in my study. A queer little thing, cordial and interesting.”

“Who was it from, man.”

“It was from Monsieur Napoleon Bonaparte.”

The silence in the office was resounding. Arthur stared in mute confusion.

“The Emperor,” he managed at length.

“It appears that you’re scintillating today Wellesley. Yes, the Emperor. How many other Napoleon Bonapartes are there?”

“Not many, thank God.”

Faulkner nodded in agreement accompanied with a “yes well…” but never finished his sentence as he unfolded the letter. Spreading it out over the oak desk he ran his fingers under several lines.

“Here, he says he is interested in peace, an endeavor the late Mr. Thraser had been working at before his untimely death. He sends his regrets to Mrs. Thraser, of whom Mr. Thraser had spoken highly. Um, typical political nonsense. Ah, here it is, and I roughly quote, “It has come to my attention that both of our nations would prosper under peace and that this ongoing war of the past year has done nothing but harm the interests, the land, and the people of both France and Britain,” except he’s far more eloquent than that. But there, Wellesley! A peace offering, from old Boney of all people.” As the letter was handed to Arthur, the study door opened and in strode Smith carrying a small note in his hands.

“A letter for Mr. Faulkner.”

The small man quickly accepted the missive and skimmed its contents, first with a smile left over from the conversation which quickly turned to a frown.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry Wellesley. There is something I must tend, it is of grave importance.”

Arthur looked up with concern, “Is everything all right Faulkner?”

“No, nothing is all right but, by morning, I am sure it will be. Come to Parliament tomorrow and see me. You will be going? Of course you are, Richard is to make his speech. I will find you. We must do tea sometime. Ta!” With that Faulkner strode from the room, attention clearly everywhere but the situation before him.

Outside the main entrance to the chamber of the House of Lords Arthur watched as his brother paced back and forth. In one hand was a crumpled piece of paper and the other was balled into a fist and shoved into the pocket of his frock coat The overall appearance of severe nervousness was complete. Arthur leaned against the door frame; an amused smile on his face as his brother passed him yet again, muttering under his breath.

“Sir Arthur,” Faulkner walked over, a smile plastered to his face. Behind him Arthur could see several delegates disappearing into the shadows of Westminster.

“Mr. Faulkner.”

The two greeted each other cordially with Faulkner casting Richard a sympathetic glance.

“Tell your brother to stop fretting, he’ll be fine.”

“I’ve been doing that for the past two hours, it’s not done any good as you can see. But, you wanted to speak with me?”

“Ah, yes,” The smaller man turned, took Arthur’s arm, and started a leisurely walk down the hall. “About the letter last night, did you get a full read through of it?”

“I did, yes.”

“Excellent. Now, Wellesley, you’re a man of the world, you’ve seen a lot, been on campaign. You’re a military man, you know how they think -”

“Now, I wouldn’t say I know how they -”

“You know better than I, or any of the old asses in there,” a jerk of his head towards the chamber. “Tell me, honestly, what should I do? My King wants to abandon it, says it’s all bull, but between you and me, old George is not in the best shape to make such decisions. Should I take it Wellesley? Should we try peace again with France?” The two turned about and headed back to the main entrance, their heels clicking against the patterned stone.

“What does Parliament say?”

“They’re against it, but they would be against the sun setting if it meant the possibility of them losing money.”

“Well then, I think,” Arthur began slowly, bringing the two to a stop, “I think that you should take it. But I would like to reread the letter before giving you a final answer. Perhaps tonight we could slip away for a few minutes and discuss it.”

“Of course, I will bring it with me. But over all you think I should reply with a positive note?”

“Yes, over all I think that peace, right now, is what England needs. Get France out of the way and we can focus on more important things.”

“Like India.”

“Yes,” a defensive look towards the smaller man.

“Very well, I’ll go ahead with it. Or, at least, look into going ahead with it.”

Arthur returned to his still fretting brother with much on his mind. As he had pulled away, Faulkner had pressed a small note into his hand. The note contained a request for a visit later on in the day, perhaps after tea, and to reply via the pageboy just on the inside of the main doors to the chamber of the House of Lords.

Keeping the note to himself Arthur did his best to comfort his brother and assure him of his speaking ability. Richard didn’t believe a word he said, but then, Richard almost never believed a word Arthur said if the words spoken were about his talents in general. Fortunately, together, they made a perfect pair, for the younger brother in Arthur made him quick to praise, and the elder brother in Richard made him quick to critique; thus in the end they usually came out in the golden mean. Well, at least pertaining to Richard’s talents they did.

The Lords listened with patience to Richard’s speech concerning troops in India. The patience turned to interest when he spoke of his own personal experience there, as governor-general for the colony, the interest turned to fury when the elder Wellesley hinted at French desire for India and the trade routes it held and how, if perchance the British government should choose to reduce troops there, the French might take advantage of the move. He smiled at the end and said the magic word, “Egypt”.

An hour before any guests arrived that night, Kitty found herself franticly rummaging through her jewelry box, looking for an appropriate necklace to wear for the evening. She had a set of necklaces and bracelets but she felt that she had worn them too often in the past few months; Miss Abbott was bound to recognize them and that simply would not do.

“My dear, Kitty.” Arthur stood before her door, knocking lightly. In his hand he held a small box.

“Oh, hallo, Arthur, come in.” She smiled as she stood back from the door. She was half dressed and had her auburn hair swept over a shoulder. “Has someone canceled?”

“No, my dear, Miss Shelby is still to come, as is Leo.”

“And Faulkner?”

“He must come; we still have more to discuss.” He stepped behind her, enfolding her in his arms. In front of her he produced the box.

“Again? But wasn’t he just here for tea? And what are you up to Arthur Wellesley?” She tilted her head to look up at him with a smile. “You never buy me presents.”

“That’s not true my dear, I just feel that you buy most of them yourself and thus have no need for me to add to your already ample wardrobe.”

“Arthur!”

“Tis true. But! I have a little something for you none the less.” He opened the box and, placed on a small silk bed, was a string of pearls, all a delicate cream, perfectly delicate and round. “You always liked pearls.” Kitty’s eyes had gone wide as she took the delicate necklace and held it up to the candle.

“Oh dear, I don’t know what to say. It’s gorgeous. Wonderful, oh, Arthur.” Turning around in his arms she hugged him, pressing him close and shutting her eyes. In the recesses of her mind she wished them back in Ireland, ten years ago, when he had truly loved her and their gifts were more than simple requirements of a married couple.

“I must go.” He murmured into her hair as he gently pulled away. “Wear it tonight. You’ll be the envy of the women.”

She smiled and turned back around to face the mirror. Holding out the clasps she looked at her husband through the full length glass before them.

“Do the back for me dear?”

“Of course.” Taking the small clasps he quickly did them up, letting the small pearl hang just at his wife’s collarbone. “There, you’re as pretty as ever.” A small kiss to her head and he was gone from the room. Kitty stared forward at the mirror, fingers tracing over the small lines already under her eyes. Her eyes met those of her reflection for a brief moment before dropping to the necklace round her neck she sighed and let her eyes close. Slowly she spun round till she faced the window looking out over the garden. Her eyes opened, and she stared forward, her fingers still covering the pearls. At last she let her hand drop, walked over to the armoire, and began to dress for the dinner.

Miss Shelby was the first to arrive, followed shortly by Lord Penworthy who relayed his wife’s “regretful” absence. She was busy for the Duchess of Newcastle had invited her for dinner and games and as it had been scheduled a week prior she simply could not decline at such a short notice. After half an hour Faulkner and Miss Abbot arrived, all smiles and laughs.

“Oh Sir Arthur, I simply love what you have done with the place. The curtains are divine.” Miss Abbot said as she walked in on Faulkner’s arm. She had the glow about her of a new woman and Charlotte leaned over to Kitty with a wry smile, murmuring to her sister-in-law that Miss Abbot seemed much recovered since her father’s death the previous winter. Kitty replied in a whisper that the attentions of one so great as Mr. Faulkner would be enough to heal any woman after such a loss.

“Thank you, but I am afraid all credit must be to my wife and sister who were the ones who made this old place habitable.” Arthur smiled over at the ladies as the praise was quickly redirected.

After an hour of mingling and light chitchat Kitty announced dinner and frantically arranged everyone in order. Lord Penworthy and Miss Abbot first, and then Mr. Faulkner and Miss Shelby second followed by Sir Arthur, Charlotte, and Kitty. Lord Penworthy was seated to Arthur’s right, at the head of the table. Next to him was Miss Abbot. To Arthur’s left was Charlotte and next to her Faulkner and Miss Shelby. Kitty sat at the end of the table, opposite Arthur.

“So, how do you like Harley Street?” Faulkner asked as the soup was brought out.

“Oh it’s quite nice. Close to Richard and Gilbert, as well as Kitty’s brother.”

“You don’t mind the crowd that comes with it?”

“No, I really don’t. I missed London city life while I was in India.” He laughed, setting the spoon down. “The constant smell of dog and rotten meat coupled with intense heat gets to one after a while. I was thankful to be back, even if it means I return to the lovely smells of London. It’s nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to smell of rot in the summer heat of India.”

“I can imagine.”

The rest of the soup was eaten in relative silence, only accompanied by the occasional murmur of “this soup is most excellent” or “I’m quite enjoying the meal Lady Wellesley”. After soup came the entree, a raspberry sorbet. This was eaten with gusto as the sweet flavors of the cold treat complimented the salty ones of the soup.

“Sir Arthur, I believe I mentioned something about taking a trip to Bath to you did I not?” Faulkner started, setting his spoon down.

“You did, yes.” The taller man replied. The mention of the town caught the attention of the ladies, who quickly turned their attention to the men.

“Oh Arthur dear, we should make a party of it,” Charlotte cried eagerly.

“Yes, we must. Mr. Faulkner and Miss Abbot, would you be willing?” chimed Kitty, entirely forgetting her sorbet in the excitement.

“I believe I would be,” replied Faulkner with a smile at Miss Abbot, “but I’m not sure if the lady is willing.”

“Oh Mr. Faulkner, you know me well enough! Of course I am interested in a trip to Bath. Miss Shelby you simply must come with us, I would not have it any other way.” The meek lady in question smiled with a blush before dipping her head and concentrating with unusual force on the plate in front of her.

“Very well, it is settled. Oh, Leo, I have forgotten myself,” Arthur smiled apologetically at the older man beside him. “You are certainly invited, and I would be deeply indebted to you if you came.”

“Oh no Arthur, I think I’ll leave the scampering about to you young folk. Besides, Lady Alice would object to the company.” A smile crossed the gentleman’s face. “You see my wife has moral objections to anyone she considers immoral. Which causes me to wonder, many a night, how she can go on living with herself.”

As soon as dinner ended the party was removed to the parlor for sherry and cognac. The ladies quickly decided on a game of loo, and seated themselves at a small table by the window. The gentlemen soon extricated themselves from the scene and retreated to Arthur’s study where each took a seat around the knight’s desk.

“So, George has been telling me of this queer matter concerning the Emperor of France,” Penworthy began as he accepted a glass of cognac from Arthur.

“Yes, I managed to update Leo on most of the happenings, though I don’t believe he’s read the letter yet, am I right?” Faulkner turned to the portly gentleman in question.

“No, I have not had the pleasure of it.”

“Would you like the original or a translation?”

“The original.” A wry smile as the small man handed Penworthy the document. “Shame on you George, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Yes well…one never knows. Personally I would prefer to not read a foreign language after eight. My mind starts mixing the French and Spanish with Russian, and then occasionally Italian will rear its operatic head and makes the mental fray even worse. Heaven forbid should German ever join in. My mind is a mess with language as soon as dinner has ended.”

“Sometimes before it starts,” Arthur said dryly. Faulkner conceded the point with a nod. Penworthy looked up with an unreadable expression as he finished the letter, dropping his monocle from his right eye.

“Seems like something worth pursuing,” he said as he handed the letter back to Faulkner.

“So you and Arthur are agreed?” The small man looked between the two knights. “We should pursue peace with France?” They glanced at each other before nodding in agreement. “You both have thought it out? The loss of land may be great if we agree to take a treaty now, for as you both know Boney holds all the cards.”

“The loss of land will be nothing if old Boney decides to cut off trade. He holds all of Europe in his palm.” Arthur said, reclining back.

“Yes, but he may decide that we should give up all of out colonies. And where would your precious Indian troops be then Wellesley? And your brother would be out of a job.”

“I understand the consequences, Faulkner -”

“No, Wellesley, I don’t think you do. Bony could ruin us!”

“Gentlemen.” Penworthy said as he roused himself. His face, which moments before had been clear and bland, suddenly came to life. “Bonaparte is a business man as much as he is an Emperor and a soldier. He would not wish to ruin us. In fact, it is in his best interest to let us keep some of our holdings. He does not have the manpower to control India, the Caribbean, and North America, as well as the entirety of Europe.”

“Yes, but perhaps he would – “

“George, listen for once. God gave you two ears and one mouth so please, do as the good Lord wishes, and listen twice as much as you talk.” Faulkner sat back, chastised and with a small pout. “Good, now let us say Bonaparte decides to have us give up all of our holdings since…oh, for a laugh let us say 1720. He’s already gone back as far as 1793. Now, if we do that we lose Gibraltar, a few of our holds in India, and Madras. But I believe we could argue India and Gibraltar. I don’t think Bonaparte would be so rude as to go farther back than that. Besides, we still have a few good cards in our hand. The textile and cotton trade as well as the spice trade. The Company controls all of that. In any case, I don’t think he has as much as advantage as you fear George.”

Arthur had been nodding in agreement throughout all of Penworthy’s speech.

“Yes,” he added when the older man had retreated back to his chair. “I agree. We’ll end up in the clear and with an advantage if we simply keep our head. Boney’s a politician and plays the game well, as we all witnessed in Italy before he was even council.” Faulkner sat in a brooding silence as the two men peered at him. At last he gave his nod of consent and informed them he would take up the offer and write as soon as he returned home.

The rest of evening was spent back in the parlor with the ladies. Penworthy and Faulkner took up a game of piquet while Arthur was content to go back and forth between the two tables and watch while offering advice to various players. It ended with everyone in as good spirits as they came; Faulkner and Miss Abbot were the first to leave followed shortly by Miss Shelby who apologized for leaving so early, but her mother was ailing and it was due time she returned home.

“Arthur, a word.” Penworthy said quietly, pulling Arthur into an empty room. “I have reason to believe George is not as open to the idea of peace as he seems.”

“Oh Leo, come now, the man was merely hesitant in a healthy way.” Arthur said with a suppressed yawn.

“It’s not that I am worried about, it was his reaction to Thraser. When Thraser had been working for peace back in ’04 George and, well, George was worried. He had a few of his men scoping it out.”

“Er, which men?”

“Hastings and gentlemen, as usual. Those two are peas in a pod. Now don’t jump to conclusions, but I hope you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by tomorrow morning and we co-wrote a letter to Bonaparte. I think it would be best. George will probably wait as long as possible.” Penworthy stared at Arthur for a minute before nodding in satisfaction at the face change. Taking his cane and hat he slipped out and into the night.

—

Chapter II

Bonaparte was just sitting down to lunch when a messenger ran in, breathless. In his hand was a crumpled letter. Taking the parcel and tipping the exasperated man, the Emperor leaned back in his chair, the plate of food in front of him forgotten.
The letter looked unremarkable except for the single fact that it had been opened before. The wax had been broken and resealed, Bonaparte noted to himself as the letter opener sliced through the thin envelope.

Inside was a page long letter, written in tight script with little flowery language. Reading it once he set it down, staring forward at the wine glass before him. A few minutes passed, he picked it up again and read it a second time. This time his eyes landed on the empty chair opposite him. A few minutes passed till at last he picked it up and read it again, this time with a yell of “Talleyrand!” when he was done.

The Emperor only ever interrupted his lunch if the matter was of the utmost importance, this Talleyrand knew. So it was with great interest he met the smaller man in his study.

“Sire?” He asked, gratefully taking the offered seat and the glass of wine.

“I have just received a letter from England.” Bonaparte said, waving the piece of paper in his left hand. “A queer little letter. I thought you would find it interesting.” Perching himself on the edge of the desk he passed the object over to his foreign minister. Talleyrand took it and read it with keen interest. His reaction was much the same as the Emperor’s. He read it, set it down in his lap for a minute before picking it up and reading it again.

“It’s fake.” He said at last.

“No, check the seal and the signatures.”

“I know Penworthy, but who is this Wellesley?”

“A minor knight, quite the general actually. He was India for a while…returned only recently so I’ve heard.”

Talleyrand raised an eyebrow for  brief moment before tapping the letter.

“But the letter, Sire, what do you think?”

“I’m thrilled.”

“Indeed. They will play hard to get of course.”

“I would be skeptical if they didn’t. Should we take it Talleyrand?”

The foreign minister paused in contemplation, his fingers taping the head of his cane. At long last he nodded, his face set in a cold mask.

“Yes, we should take it. And play the ball hard and fast, give them no room to maneuver.” A cruel smile formed on his thin lips.

“I don’t intend to lose this battle.”

“Neither do I.”

“You, Sire?”

“I intend to join you,” Bonaparte said as he slid off the desk and strolled over to the liquor cabinet. Opening it he pulled out a bottle of wine and looked at the label. “They say Lord Wellesley is fond of wine; Talleyrand, you are a connoisseur as well, what’s the best bottle I have?”

“Sire,” Talleyrand stood, leaning heavily on his cane and hobbled over to Bonaparte. “You are coming with me?” The Emperor nodded and put back the bottle, pulling out another. “Do you think that wise?”

“Why shouldn’t I? This one, or this one?” He held up two bottles.

“Um, the one in your left.”

“Thank you.” The other was put back in the cabinet and Bonaparte walked over to his desk, setting the bottle of wine in the middle. “Yes, I am coming Talleyrand, I don’t see why not. It will give Eugene a chance to handle things while I am gone. Nothing too dramatic is due to happen, I think France can handle herself for the duration of my absence.”

“Yes Sire I am aware the country can handle itself, it’s you that would be the concern. England might not be the safest of places for you, especially after last year.”

The thought drew a laugh from Bonaparte as he sat down at his desk.

“We did have a run of good luck did we not? The third coalition,” a snap of his fingers. “Out like a light.”

“Or a life.”

“That too. Now, I am going to draft up a reply to their letter informing them that you, myself, and…”

“Fontaine is already there, as well as Moulin. I think that will be fine. Though Moulin is a bit of a lazy ass…in any case, we don’t want too many people involved before it becomes a sure thing.”

“I agree, so,” a piece of paper was pulled out along with a quill. “Myself and Monsieur Talleyrand will be voyaging to England. Correct?” He didn’t look up to see Talleyrand’s reply, merely nodded to himself and started writing. “I will send it to you when I am done, please make it legible and fix my horrible grammar.”

“Of course, Sire.” Silence lasted for a minute before Talleyrand stood and quietly excused himself from the study.

The Emperor arrived in a quiet fashion, on a small, little known boat with no pomp and parade. Both he, the Foreign Minister, and Penworthy had thought it advisable. Upon landing he was quickly taken to Saint James’ to meet the King.

“Sir Arthur,” Smith stood at the door to his master’s room, a look of concern on his face.

“Yes?” Arthur rolled over, eyes bleary and thoughts incoherent.

“Mr. Faulkner here to see you sir, he says it’s important.”

“What’s the time man?”

“Half past four sir.” Arthur bit out a curse and managed to tumble from the bed. In half an hour he managed to make himself presentable and stumble downstairs to the parlor.

“Mr. Faulkner.” He said in greeting, both men exchanged bows.

“No doubt you are wondering why I am here,” the smaller man said, taking Arthur’s arm and steering him about the room. “But someone of great importance has arrived at Saint James. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to escort me.” A smile as they took another turn.

“Before I go off to Saint James at five in the morning I would really like to know just who is so important as to wake up half of England for.”

“Remember that little issue I had a few weeks back, concerning France?” Arthur nodded and said he did. “Well it’s come to head, sooner than I anticipated and so they have gathered at Saint James.”

“You have still not answered my question as to who George.” Faulkner stopped and looked up at Arthur, his head tilted to the side and curiously blank.

“Why, the Emperor has arrived Arthur, the Emperor.”
It was close to six before Arthur and Faulkner arrived at Saint James. The two strode into his Majesty’s study. Arthur wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he first met the Emperor. He had heard that he was on the smallish side with square shoulders and a sure eye. All these things he found to be true. The man was close on four inches shorter than him and carried a look on his face that Arthur read as confidence though it could easily have been misconstrued as arrogance. His eyes were grey and large, shaped much like almonds. The man’s head was large for his body thus, in a certain light, made him look slightly disproportionate.

Behind the Emperor stood a taller man with grey hair and black eyes. Arthur couldn’t place the face, and only after the man came forward, leaning heavily on his cane, did Arthur recognize him as Talleyrand, the rather infamous French foreign minister. Bows were exchanged between all the men after Penworthy formally introduced them all.

“It is most kind of you to have Talleyrand and I here.” Bonaparte said in broken and heavily accented English. Faulkner quickly assured him, in beautiful French, that it was the least they could do as both countries were still reeling from the war and looking for peace. Talleyrand and Bonaparte gave him bland smiles in return.

“Welcome to England,” Penworthy said, at last making his presence felt. “Or, at least, to Saint James.”

“Lovely place.” Talleyrand replied, his blank eyes slowly taking everything in. Bonaparte turned and gave him a look before following his gaze about.

“Truly? I thought Versailles looked better than this post revolution.” The Emperor muttered to the minister. Looking back at the group of Englishmen he caught Arthur’s eye who, having overheard his comment, gave him a tight smile. Bonaparte’s face remained impassive yet Arthur was sure the smaller man was aware of all that had passed for as he turned away there was a hint of a smile about his lips.

The group was led to the gardens by Faulkner who stated that one could find a superb view of the early morning sky from certain areas of the expansive land. Whether by design or by chance Arthur soon found himself in step with the Emperor.
“How was the journey over?” He asked, making sure his French was understandable.

“Tolerable.”

“Ah.” The conversation died and the two lapsed into silence. Arthur found himself staring at the foot path in front of him, marking each crevice and each mark as he came upon them and storing them away in his memory only to forget them three minutes later. “How is France?” He asked at last, attempting to find a subject that would inspire conversation.

“Swell.” A pause as they rounded a corner. “And England?”

“Fine.” More silence.  “Taxes have gone up,” he said at last, fishing for conversation topics at the bottom of the barrel.

“They tend to do that.”

“Yes, rather unfortunate I suppose.”

“For the ones paying them.”

“Yes, yes…” And again the conversation died. Looking ahead he caught sight of Talleyrand and Penworthy having what appeared to be a lively conversation that involved complex hand motions and a plethora of gesticulation in general. Faulkner, off to the side, appeared to be listening in with great amusement.

“I’m very sorry Monsieur, I fear small talk is not one of my fortes.” Bonaparte said as he caught sight of the object of Arthur’s gaze.

“Quite all right sir, I understand completely for I myself have little to recommend in that area as well. My ability in small talk stops at the weather.”

“Hm, I can usually hang on a bit farther than that.”

“Can you?” The knight smiled, deciding to give it a shot. “The weather here has been perfectly wicked of late.”

“Has it? Rain then?”

“Plenty.”

“A shame, keeps everyone in doors.”

“That it does.”

“How’s your family?”

“Well, and yours?”

“They are well, last I checked. Josephine was keen on planting roses again.”

“She’s a gardener?”

“In her free time.”

“Ah…” Arthur stalled, his mind rapidly searching for a topic to continue on. “I like flowers.” He said at last, in an attempt to save the conversation.

“Yes, I do as well. They are pretty little things.” The Emperor paused, licking his lips and casting his eyes about the garden. “Which is your favorite?” He said at last and Arthur smirked.

“Almost had you there,” he said. “But flowers, my favorite would have to be geraniums.”

“Charming.”

“Yours?”

“Daises I think.”

“Any particular reason?”

Bonaparte shook his head, suddenly finding himself bored with the conversation. They paused by yet another fountain, each chewing over their thoughts before the emperor turned back towards the other man.

“Wellesley?”

“Hm?”

“How did you find India?”

“Hot.” He licked his lips and glanced sideways at the smaller man to find him seemingly lost in thought. “Humid. One could take a bath, dry off, dress, then have to dry off again.”

“The culture. What where the people like?”

“Friendly I suppose. But then I only saw them in the colonies really.”

“And of course they weren’t about to voice their opinions there.”

“Well, no.”

A slow nod from Bonaparte as he turned, and resumed walking, pulling Arthur along with him.

“I think we lost the game,” Arthur said at last, a smile tugging at his lips. Bonaparte turned to him with an innocent look, quite affected in Arthur’s opinion.

“We were playing a game?”

“Yes, who keep the conversation going the longest.”

“Statement.” Bonaparte smirked at Wellesley’s confusion. “The question game. You’ve never played it?”

“No. How do you play?”

“Do you really wish to know?”

“Yes.”

“Statement,” another smirk as the taller man pulled face. “Do you want to start?”

“We’re starting something?”

“Do you not think we are?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

“Do we ever have a choice?”

“As humans, do we truly want a choice?”

“If there are choices to have then we must want them, mustn’t we?”

“What if there are no choices?”

“Are we lost then?”

“Will we be given a map?”

“Are you two quite done?” Faulkner asked, clear amusement written on his face.

“Do you wish us to be done?” replied Arthur, catching Bonaparte’s grin.

“Yes, as we have an issue.” Faulkner said, taking the taller man aside. “Neither Talleyrand nor Bonaparte wish to stay at Saint James nor Buckingham. Now Penworthy has offered his house to Talleyrand who has taken him up on the offer and while my house is available…Well seeing as you two seemed to be getting along back there, perhaps you might –“

“Yes, Faulkner, I will make the offer.”

“Thank you, Wellesley. I’m afraid I wouldn’t make much of a host.”

“It’s fine, really, it is.”

The two slowly made their way back to the main group, Faulkner almost instantly attaching himself to Penworthy and Talleyrand, leaving Arthur to make his way over to Bonaparte with the offer of a room. Upon reaching the smaller man, he made sure to make his smile cordial, and attempted to start a casual conversation.

“So do you like history?” He asked, taking the Emperor’s arm and diving off down a separate path.

“I do, yes. And yourself?” A smile was perched on Bonaparte’s lips, as it appeared they were on for another round of the game.

“Oh yes, it’s quite interesting. So, where are you staying?”

“That was a horrible subject change but I will over look it. I do not have a place as of yet, though I assume that I will be staying here.” He gave a dismal look towards the  distant building of St. James.

“Well, normally you would. As a state visitor of importance and all, but Faulkner wants to keep this as quiet as possible, until the treaty is formally agreed upon, so we are forgoing the normal rituals.” Arthur paused in his step, pulling Bonaparte to a stop beside him. Turning to face him he licked his lips and offered a shy smile. “I apologize for my country’s lack of manners, but, if you are interested, and willing,  my house is open. I have several rooms that are available if you would like. And I am not overly involved in this treaty business so I wouldn’t be hounding you night and day.” Arthur grinned, “unless you would like me to.”

“I think I shall take you up on your offer, except for the hounding day and night,” he returned Arthur’s grin with a smirk. “I think I’ll have enough hounding about the treaty during the day to satisfy me for quite a while. And I am grateful to not have to deal with your most, gracious, King.” The smile was bland, but couldn’t hide the amusement that graced the smaller man’s face.

“No, you wouldn’t have to put up with him. But you will have my sister, who I might warn you in advance, will bother you for every detail concerning her husband.”

“Do I know him? Oh yes! Monsieur Thraser. I think I can survive that.”

“And my wife will, I am sure, not leave you in peace for a minute until she has all the latest news concerning Parisian gossip and fashion. I must warn you though, her conversation is quite vapid as there is not much in her head.”

A shrug followed by, “with gossip I can help her but with fashion, don’t trust me as far as you can throw me. At least that’s what Josephine says. As to the absence of thought concerning your wife, well I will leave that to your discretion.”

Kitty was standing by the parlor window when Arthur and Bonaparte arrived back home that morning. With a sigh of relief she ushered Charlotte into the main hall to greet the guest.

“I wonder who he is?” Kitty whispered as the two quickly fixed their hair in the hall mirror.

“Another Lord I am sure, someone involved with the treaty most likely.”

“Perhaps another French diplomat.”

Charlotte inclined her head in agreement, her eyes flickering between the mirror and the door. On the other side they heard Arthur and the new man speaking in low tones, clearly in French.

“Good morning Arthur,” Kitty said as she and Charlotte entered the main hall, smiles fixed on their faces.

“Kitty.” He moved forward and pecked her on the cheek before greeting his sister in a similar manner. Turning around to face the guest he switched back into French, “I would like you to meet our guest. Kitty, Charlotte, I present to you Monsieur Bonaparte, the Emperor of France, he will be staying with us for the next while.”

Both women were still for a moment, clearly shocked. Kitty came to her senses first, smiling and greeting him with a courtesy. Charlotte quickly followed her example, though her greeting was barely above a whisper.

“Lady Wellesley, a pleasure.” Bonaparte said with a smile and a bow, he then turned to Charlotte and bowed as well. “Mrs. Thraser, a great honor. I have nothing but the highest respect for your husband, he was an honorable.” The older woman managed to thank him before turning away, face awry with emotion.

The party retreated to the drawing room for tea. The topic of the conversation was trivial and drifted from the weather to the latest gossip. Most of it was supplied by the ladies, who knew more on the subjects than the men, and who also felt that silence at such a time, and with such a person in the room, was unacceptable. So they contented themselves with speaking on whatever came to mind, with the occasional comment from either Arthur or the Emperor. At last the teapot was empty and that topics of reasonable conversation had run dry. Standing, Arthur offered to show Bonaparte his room and then take him for a tour if he was feeling up to it.

“Your room is here, with a window overlooking the street. I hope you don’t mind. The one empty room with a garden view is far from habitable. There are fresh towels here, and water. If you need anything feel free to ask my wife, Mrs. Thraser or I. I am afraid most of my staff does not speak French.”

“That is quite all right. I believe I have everything at the moment. I thank you again, for letting me stay here.” Bonaparte said as he peered about the room, opening drawers and closing them. Upon finishing his odyssey he came back to the center of the room and nodded to himself, seemingly in satisfaction. “Yes, this is perfect. Thank you.” Arthur nodded and bowed, quietly excusing himself.

Dinner was a quiet affair, only three courses instead of seven. Bonaparte sat to Arthur’s right and picked at his dinner with little interest. The women exchanged looks and only a few words. From the little conversation exchanged Arthur found that Faulkner had stopped in for a few minutes while he had been out and cordially invited the Wellesley family to come with him to Bath in a few weeks time. Apparently Kitty and Charlotte had thanked him and informed him they would speak to Arthur and reply as quickly as they could.

Bonaparte said nothing throughout the entire meal; content to listen to the idle chatter in a language he didn’t understand. Charlotte occasionally tried to engage him with questions concerning France and the latest events but after only one to three word answers she gave up. Despite the apparent failure at keeping the Emperor entertained she was still quite content, having put his moodiness down to weariness from traveling.

As soon as dinner was over Bonaparte excused himself upstairs again and the three remaining drifted into the drawing room. Charlotte took up the pianoforte and began playing a lively Irish jig.

“She’s quit accomplished, is she not?” Kitty asked as she took a turn about the room with Arthur.

“Indeed she is. Always has been.”

“Arthur,” they had stopped by the fireplace. “I need to speak with you.”

“Very well, speak.”

“No, in private.”

“We are in private.”

“Arthur.” The knight sighed and took her arm again, leading her from the room. They found the hall dark and deserted. They walked a few feet before stopping. Kitty licked her lips, looked about her, then licked them again.

“Is everything all right?” Arthur asked, gently taking his wife’s hand.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Arthur,” she peered up at him. “I am with child.” He didn’t respond immediately. Instead he took a step back, still keeping Kitty in his hands and stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. Suddenly a wide smile broke over his face.

“Why Kitty dear that is wonderful news! Why didn’t you tell me before? How long have you known? Are you comfortable? Do you have everything you need? Is the bed comfortable enough for you? Do you need another maid?” Kitty leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Arthur calm down,” it was said with a laugh.

“I will not calm down by Jove! Oh gosh we should start on the nursery. And a nanny for the child, where would we hire one? And how would we know they are trustworthy? Oh Kitty dear, you with child! You should have told me sooner! Oh my beautiful wife,” he pulled her forward, kissing her fiercely. She laughed as he pulled away, face bright as day.

“Dear, really, calm down. And I speculated for a month, then debated for a month, then knew for two weeks so I have “known” for two and a half months or so.”

“You did not tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to be certain.”

“Oh this day is a bright day!” He pulled her forward again for another kiss. “We must let Charlotte know! And George too, as well as Leo. Of course Richard must know, and Gilbert, well all my siblings. My mother will be pleased. And your parents must know as well. The letters will be sent out tomorrow! I will get Smith on it immediately.” Taking her hand they strode back into the drawing room, both of their faces warm with smiles. Charlotte watched them enter through the corner of her eye with some amusement as well as curiosity.

“May I ask?” She inquired as soon as they were at her side.

“You may.” Kitty said, face still glowing.

“What is the good news then? Has George finally proposed to Miss Abbot?”

“Nothing of the sort my dear sister,” Arthur said. He looked over at Kitty who nodded. “Kitty is with child.”

His sister’s joyful reactions lasted for a full two minutes and were quickly followed by toasts of Champaign to the new child and the new parents. Both Charlotte and Kitty immediately began discussing names, clothes, and schools. Kitty insisted that if it be a boy he be named after his father, and if it was a girl she be named after her mother, Catherine. The question of middle names came up. They ran through the list of Richard (after Arthur’s brother), Edward (after Kitty’s father), Robert (after Charlotte’s husband), Harry, Philip, George, Leo (after, well, Leo) and the list continued.

“I think Leo would be a grand name for the boy. Arthur Leo Wellesley.” Charlotte said, reclining back on the settee.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Arthur Philip Wellesley sounds pleasant. And it’s a nice big name for him to grow into.” Kitty replied.

“I suppose.” Both women looked over at Arthur, who was seated in a chair by the fireplace, face relaxed. He looked as if he would be content to spend the rest of his life in this moment of time.

“Arthur dear, what do you think?” Kitty asked, giving her husband a wide smile.

“Hmm?”

“A middle name. Philip or Leo?”

“I’m not sure…I don’t think either work.” He laughed, eyes flashing about the room, landing on the door to hall he caught sight of Bonaparte lingering in the door. He gave the emperor a smile and motioned him in. “We’re deciding on middle names for my son,” he explained, pride evident on his face. “Though I’m starting to wonder if he should even have one.”

“He should,” replied Bonaparte as he took a seat near the three, pushing his glasses up as he did so. “How about Charles? And congratulations Madame.” He smiled and inclined his head towards Kitty.

“Charles.” Arthur mused, turning back around. He ran it over a few times, letting the full name roll off his tongue. Arthur Charles Wellesley. “I like it.” He said with satisfaction. “That will be his name. Arthur Charles Wellesley.”

“Very good Monsieur.” Bonaparte said, taking a seat opposite the Englishman.

“Where did you get the name?” A sly smile was all he received in response.

“No where in particular, it’s just a name I happen to be fond of.”* A shrug as the volume was opened. “And it fits with Arthur.”
The ladies went back to their previous discussion concerning schools, clothes, and parties in celebration. Of course the topic of Godfather came up but was quickly quelled when Arthur stated that Leo should be the Godfather, both women agreed. As they night eased on, Arthur soon blocked out the tete-a-tete of the ladies in favor of studying the man before him. He was small, in a compact sort of way. He was reclined back in the chair with an elbow propped up on the arm and book in hand. On the spine in gold script read “Un Essai Philosophique Concernant l’Entendement Humain”.

“Do you like Locke?” Arthur asked, once he deemed that Bonaparte had found a place to stop.

“I find him quite interesting. Though I am only on book one, ‘On Innate Motions’.”

“Oh yes, I remember that. “If man in the state of nature be so free, as has been said; if he be absolute lord of his own person and possessions, equal to the greatest, and subject to no body, why will he part with his freedom”?” Bonaparte set the book down, frowning in thought.

“I don’t think I’ve read that bit yet.”

“No,” a sheepish smile, “it’s not really in the one you’re reading. But it was the only quote I could remember off hand. It’s from his treatise’s on government.”

“Ah! I know a little of those, Talleyrand often throws quotes from it at me. I believe he wrote something along the lines of “wherever law ends, tyranny begins”.”     Arthur pursed his lips, trying to hide the amused smirk that was beginning to form.

“Oh yes, I believe that part is rather underlined in my copy. Is there a particular reason as to why he would throw that quote at you?”

“Perhaps,” Bonaparte smirked as he settled into the chair, crossing his legs and twining his fingers together before resting them on his stomach. “For some reason Talleyrand’s quite convinced we’ve gone backwards since the revolution.”

“So far as to call it tyranny?”

“There’s always been that.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and asked if Bonaparte would go so far as to call his reign tyranny, as was implied by the minister.

“No, I wouldn’t but I am sure other’s would. And there was lawlessness during the revolution.” He paused, lips pursed in thought. “I suppose it’s sort of necessary.”

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and forward his brow.

“Surely not,” he said, finding himself speaking rather adamantly. “During the revolution in our colonies, there was a degree of lawlessness, certainly, but nothing compared to what France suffered. There must have been a reason – “

“People were hungry, not as well educated, and frantic for results. It was also rather…spur of the moment so to speak.”

“And the one in the colonies wasn’t?”

“At least they had a formal declaration and a vague outline for running the country. We had a declaration of the rights of men and a desire for a democracy of some sort. Then the convention came along, and the terror.”

“And the coup.”

Bonaparte nodded, a smile forming, “yes, and the coup.”

Silence persevered for a while before Arthur leaned back, suddenly aware of who he was speaking with. At last he inquired after the emperor’s accommodations and whether or not the man was pleased with them. Bonaparte declared that he was quite content and that he couldn’t be happier. All the while he kept his eyes carefully on Arthur’s face while the other man looked everywhere but the emperor.

“You mark up your books then?” Bonaparte asked suddenly, sensing the sudden discomfort of the knight.

“Of course, it’s the only way to read properly.” Arthur said as he relaxed again after Bonaparte removed his gaze from him and turned it towards the fire. “And it makes for amusing discussions when you lend it out to friends.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“Would you care for a tour tomorrow? I can take you around, that is if you don’t mind riding fast.”

The smaller man smirked and folded up his glasses, tucking them into his waistcoat.

“I would love a tour, and I think I am more than an able horseman. You will be the one to suffer, not I.”

Arthur smirked before letting out a small laugh, “of course, I see how it is. A challenge then!” The two men agreed that a challenge was due and so settled that tomorrow would be the date and that ten in the morning would be the hour. Upon ending their brief discussion of time and date they noticed the women’s gaze upon them.

“Yes?” Arthur asked, catching his sister’s eye.

“We’re going to retire Arthur, and we think you should as well considering that it is nearly one in the morning.”

“Very well, I shall,” he said with a nod towards his sister as she stood. “Good night.”

Charlotte smiled, bade good evening to the gentlemen and swept from the room. Kitty lingered for a moment, smiling demurely at her husband who responded with a questioning gaze. A minute passed before she too bade good evening and left the room.
Arthur watched as Bonaparte picked up his novel again, apparently set on reading it. Five minutes passed before the Frenchman put the book down, squeezing his shut and yawning.

“Do not attempt to read philosophical discourses when you are tired.” He said, setting the book aside at last.

“I shall endeavor keep that in mind.”

“How long has your wife known?”

“Two and a half months.” Arthur said, as he stood, moving over to the liquor cabinet. Upon reaching it he pulled out a bottle of wine, “would you like some?”

“Oh, no thank you.”

“Very well, you don’t mind if I –”

“Of course not.” Arthur nodded and turned around, taking down a glass for himself. Meandering back to his seat by the dying fire he sighed, feeling rather content with the moment.

“Do you have any children of your own?” He asked once he was seated.

“Well, yes and no. I’ve adopted Eugene and Hortense, Josephine’s children by her first husband. But we’ve not had any children of our own yet.”

“Do you want any?”

“Yes, one day, hopefully, I would like a child.”

“Of course.” A quick smile before his face changed to a slight frown, catching Bonaparte’s attention. “Your eyes.”

“Sorry?”

“You have remarkable eyes.” The Englishman leaned forward, squinting in the dim light.

“Thank you, I suppose.” Bonaparte gave a brief, unsteady smile, uncertain of the situation. After a lapse he smirked and leaned forward as well, so their faces were inches apart, “you have remarkable eyes as well.” He said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I thank you.” Arthur murmured, pulling back. His face changed again, seemingly closing in on itself. For a brief pause he sat still, staring at the Emperor, before standing and biding goodnight.

—

Chapter III

The horses nickered softly as Bonaparte and Arthur made their way through a small field. They had made their way from the Town to the outskirts and into a small wooded area. The conversation drifted from family, to politics, to economics, and philosophy. None of the subjects were breached very deeply and both were left with a sense of something missing. At last silence laid its claim to the moment and both closed their mouths to enjoy the scenery.

The sun was still low in the sky and a soft mist covered the sprouting shrubs and flowers. Giving a small shiver Bonaparte tugged his grey coat tighter around him. Arthur glanced over and raised an eyebrow but the inquiry was left unanswered.

“Are you getting cold?” Arthur asked, finally deciding that a verbal inquisition would be more fruitful. “Shall we head back?”

“I’m quite fine thank you,” Bonaparte replied, giving a tight smile. “The land is lovely here.”

“Yes it is.”

“Though a tad foggy.”

Arthur glanced over and found a smirk on the emperor’s lips.

“Yes, well, only so much we can do about that. But surely it gets foggy in parts of France.”

“No, I’ve made it illegal.”

“Illegal?”

Bonaparte chuckled and nodded, reining his horse closer to Arthur’s so they could carry on their conversation with greater ease.
“Oh yes, it’s illegal for the weather to be miserable in France. If it is to rain it must be a cheerful rain.”

“How is rain cheerful?”

“Visit me in France and you’ll see.”

Arthur laughed and shook his head, catching the contagious light hearted mood. “No,” he said grinning in response. “I don’t think I believe you. I live in the land of rain and fog, and I can assure you, cheerful rain does not exist.”

“Oh but it does, it’s cheerful when it rains while it’s sunny. Which is in section one hundred and twelve, part b, subsection five in the code book. It says that it is strictly forbidden to rain and be cloudy at the same time. I don’t see why you’re incapable of believing me.”

“Oh don’t you? Isn’t it supposed to be cloudy when it rains?”

“Only in countries that haven’t caught up with the latest fashion of cheerful rain.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows in a mocking incredulous look before shaking his head in amusement. “This is,” he said with a surprised look. “One of the strangest conversations I have ever had. Certainly one of the most absurd.”

“You,” Bonaparte replied, his voice suddenly taking a haughty tone. “Clearly, need to get out more, if this is the most absurd conversation you have ever had. You should come to France, as I said before. Once there you will see the cheerful rain and I will set you up in a rudimentary course concerning the use and benefits of absurd conversations. They should, you know, be held at least once a day. Twice is recommended though.”

“Indeed! Are they healthy for you then?”

“Absolutely. Crows feet are far better than lines from frowning too much.”

“I shall take your word on it.”

“Good,” a lofty smile was donned quickly in response. “My advice should always be taken.”

“So you say.”

“Yes, so I say.”

Arthur looked over and caught Bonaparte’s eye, they managed too hold their faces straight for a few seconds breaking into grins.
A brief silence followed, during which Arthur pulled out his watch and quickly checked the time, he frowned as he tucked it away again.

“We’ve been out for two hours, it’s best we head back I think. Faulkner said he would be stopping over today.”
Bonaparte nodded in agreement and both turned their horses around to head back. Half way through the ride Bonaparte brought up the challenge from the previous evening and reinstated it, declaring that he was quite sure that he was a better horseman than Arthur. The knight, feeling in a complacent mood and ready to humor the mad fancy of the emperor, or what he decided was the mad fancy as there was no possible way that Bonaparte was indeed better than him, decided to go along with it. The rest of the way was a blur as both men desperately tried to outdo the other. Bonaparte said it was tie, Arthur was sure he had won but decided it wasn’t worth arguing over.

-

Once home the gentlemen decided that a light lunch was due and Arthur instructed it to be laid out on the back porch. The ladies of the house had headed into town to look at the latest fabrics for a set of summer dresses and both of the gentlemen had declined to come along.

A small table was set with a dish of cold ham, some fresh fruit, and a bowl of soup. The two men were lounging, half the food having been eaten and the afternoon sun warming them pleasantly. Arthur was swirling a glass of wine in his hand, the half empty bottle sitting beside his plate. Bonaparte’s hands were settled on his stomach and his legs were crossed, an empty glass of water lay neglected on the table.

“Still consider our weather miserable?” Arthur asked at length, watching as the sun managed to free itself from the few clouds still scattered across the sky.

“Not right now, no.”

“Have you gotten any farther in your book?”

Bonaparte shook his head, his eyes closing as he leaned his head against the high backed chair. “Not had time. And it’s been rather repetitive of late.” A pregnant pause before he let out a small sigh of seeming contentment. “Tell me, is Lord Penworthy to come over today?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Ah, that’s a shame.”

Again Arthur tried raising his eyebrow in a way of questioning but Bonaparte duly ignored him, reaching forward instead to a pitcher of water in order to refill his glass.

“You don’t drink much,” commented Arthur as he watched the smaller man lean back again.

“No, I’m not fond of the side effects.”

“Headache?”

“Hardly, the loss of one’s better judgments was more of my concern.”

“A glass of wine doesn’t affect one that much.”

Bonaparte nodded in agreement but went on to say that one glass often leads to another and before one knows it one’s mind is gone.

“But surely you drink some.” Arthur said, hardly believing that any living creature could truly be abstinent and still call himself living.

“At dinner I’ll have half a glass.”

“Half.” It was said with disbelief if not a little horror.

“As I said.”

“You amaze me,” murmured the knight as he leaned forward, pouring himself another glass. Bonaparte watched him, grey eyes intense and sparkling with amusement. “And what do you find so entertaining sir?”

“The simple fact that you have ingested well over half a bottle of wine and are not worse for wear. I’m just thinking of some men I know who would envy you that skill.”

Arthur gave a smile over the rim of the crystal before taking a sip. “Nothing better than a glass of wine.” Setting the glass down his face lit up as something occurred to him, “that colour looks good on you.” He said, taking another sip.

“Sorry?” Again the startled look appeared on the emperor’s usually calm face.

“That colour, the navy blue on your waistcoat, it looks good on you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

A pregnant pause ensued, during which Arthur glanced away from the smaller man’s inquiring eyes. At last he felt that the silence was not to be born a moment longer and inquired after the sort of books the emperor enjoyed, other than Locke of course.

“Histories, philosophies in general, classics – I love classics, but I’m not too picky, I’ll read anything really,” replied Bonaparte.

“And yourself?”

“Histories, philosophies, some novels, oh and some classics – Plutarch.”

“Hard to avoid him. But only some novels?”

“I have to be in the right mood. Though I enjoyed Leonora and Nouvelle Heloise. But for the most part I largely read what’s practical for me to read.” Arthur let out a small sigh and drained his glass, his eyes flickering about the gardens, eying the flowers and vines that crawled their way through the trellises.

“That’s a shame.”

He looked over to the smaller man with a curious expression, “why’s that?”

“There are some great works out there with interesting ideas behind them that you’re missing.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“And you aren’t saddened by this?”

“Not really, though I must admit I don’t think about it much.”

Bonaparte gave him a rueful smile, reaching at last for the wine bottle and turning it over in his hands. “I suppose you are more practical than I am. I always was a bit of a romantic.”

Arthur nodded slowly, declaring he had never been much of a romantic and that he thought people put too much stock in romanticism.

“They should be more practical about situations, and pining about lost love and writing bad poetry about it will not make the lost love come back,” he declared with absolute resolution.

Bonaparte’s face changed as he murmured “true enough, I suppose.” He stared at the bottle for a moment more before setting it down, scooting his chair back, and declaring that he felt a little off. He gave a tight and too brief smile to Arthur before disappearing inside.

-

The study was lit by a small fire along with a few candles that littered the desk and shelves. Faulkner took a seat across from Arthur in a scene that replayed itself on a weekly, if not daily, basis.

“How are you Wellesley?” Faulkner asked, standing as the knight entered carrying a few papers.

“Fine, fine, and yourself?” Cognac was offered and accepted as the two men settled in.

“Quite well. Old Boney not making a nuisance of himself?”

“No, no…in fact we’ve been getting along quite well.”

Faulkner nodded slowly, twirling the glass around in his hand. After a moment passed his looked up with a bland smile.
“I shall be blunt,” he said, continuing with the smile that Arthur found rather obnoxious. “After all, brevity is the soul of wit. Now the treaty talk is to start tomorrow, as I am sure you are well aware. There are only four people involved. Penworthy, myself, Talleyrand, and Bonaparte.”

“What of the other French diplomats? Fontaine and Moulin?”

“I would not have them participate, though I think Talleyrand will argue for Fontaine. Moulin is all but useless to them. But, as I was saying, the four of us will be at each other’s throats for an undetermined amount of time and, well, we need someone who gets along with both parties to work as an intermediate. Keep Boney happy and stop him from tearing out my throat.”
Arthur nodded slowly, setting down the empty crystal, which glowed from the soft hues of the candles.

“I shall…I shall think about it.”

“Remember your loyalties Wellesley.” Faulkner said, eyes dark as the knight glanced up to meet his gaze.

“I will, you do not have to worry about that.”

“Of course not.”

-

Charlotte had taken to the pianoforte after supper that evening, as she was in habit of doing. Kitty was seated by the fire reading, and Arthur and Bonaparte had taken to the bay window. Their chairs were drawn slightly together and there was a bottle of wine and a jar of water between them.

“Mrs. Thraser plays admirably.” Bonaparte said after a moment had passed and the evening was threatening to complete itself in silence.

“Thank you, she prides herself in it. Though I think half her passion came from Robert.”

“Monsieur Thraser?”

Arthur nodded, “he loved music and so I think she learned to love it through him.” Both men glanced over at the woman in question, watching her fingers dance up and down the keys. “It helps, I think.”

“He was a good man, the little I knew of him. Intelligent, understood things better than most,” the emperor let out a small sigh and set his glass to the side. “Pity he died when he did. Though one can’t help it I suppose.”

“Yes, dying just sort of happens doesn’t it?”

“Especially when there is a force greater than oneself behind it.”

Arthur looked up with interest, pouring himself more wine. “I didn’t know you believed in God.”

“My beliefs are complicated and change on a daily basis depending on how I feel and who I am aiming to please, but I was thinking of something more earth related.”

“Earth related?”

“He was assassinated was he not?”

Silence for a moment as Arthur digested the information, slowly turning the crystal glass in his hand. He took a sip, then another, before setting it down alongside Bonaparte’s empty one.

“I’m sorry,” the emperor said quickly with a small smile. “I did not mean to upset you. Am I to assume that my theory is wrong?”

“No, no,” Arthur could hear how soft his voice was wished he had greater control over it. “There were rumors of his being poisoned. They died of course… Some had the gall to suggest that Charlotte had killed him,” a pause as Arthur regarded

Bonaparte’s blank face before continuing. “But still…the doctor thought he was poisoned.”

“I’m fairly sure of it. Things like that don’t just happen, and he was working for peace wasn’t he? Peace was not in Britain’s best interest in ’04. Honestly, I’m quite surprised you’re going for it now.”

Arthur offered no reply, simply smiled, tilting his head to the side. “And France?” He asked after a moment.

“France?” Bonaparte queried, his eyebrows rising. “Her interests are as plain as ever. Stability, economic advancement, oh – some peace. We’ve not had any in a very long time.”

“But last year, what were they last year?”

“The same as Britain’s I suppose. Get as much land as possible. Keep the Austrians out,” a flash of a smile. “Well, that was more France’s desire than England’s.”

“But you worked with Robert for peace.”

“Yes, I am never one to pass up an opportunity that may prove fruitful in the future.” The smaller man suddenly grinned, pulling his arms up from the rests he created steeples from his fingers giving Arthur the distinct impression that the emperor was scheming. “You’re not thinking I had Mr. Thraser poisoned.”

“Of course not.”

Bonaparte appeared to remain unconvinced but merely shrugged in reply. “The talks start tomorrow,” he offered as a change of subject.

“I know. I’m to monitor them. Make sure neither you nor Talleyrand kill anyone.”

“I would think Faulkner is to be more of a worry than Talleyrand and I,” he said with a sweet smile which caused the knight to roll his eyes in return. “We’re perfect angels you know.”

“For some reason I am not inclined to believe that statement. Might have something to do with the rumors I heard about your dealings in Italy.”

“My dealings in Italy? Whatever could you mean my dear Wellesley?”

“Oh you know very well. The late night meetings when the diplomats were drunk, the bribes, dinners – all sorts of sordid acts.”
“Politics my dear man, politics.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” It was said with the content smile of one who clearly had been sleeping very well of late.

-

Faulkner’s study was open and airy. Light came from several tall windows that lined the garden side of the house. Around the edge of these windows were vines that slowly inched their way up and along the side of the house. One window was propped open to let in air and the gathered men could hear faint chattering of birds just out of sight.

“Charming,” offered Talleyrand as he took a seat next to Bonaparte. The two had met earlier in the morning to discuss their plans and had only just arrived. Faulkner thanked the older statesmen and brought out a bottle of wine.

“Drink?” He asked, taking out glasses as well. All accepted and five glasses were filled and set out for the gentlemen.

Arthur was off to the side of the room, hiding alongside the bookshelf with his glass of wine. Faulkner had instructed him to keep quiet and to not say a word unless directly asked a question. He was only to intervene if absolutely necessary and he was also to serve as a witness to testify the fact that everything was done legally. Faulkner had emphasized that he will say it had been done legally regardless of what he saw. Arthur merely nodded and kept his opinions to himself.

“Well, there is no time to waste. What are your requirements?” Asked Penworthy as he leaned back in the plush seat.
Talleyrand pursed his lips as he drew forth a peace of foolscap. Donning a pair of glasses he mimicked Penworthy’s position of reclining and began reading the first offer to be laid on the table.

Tilting his head to the side Arthur could see Faulkner’s facial expression change from congenial to blank. The further Talleyrand read the further the room became quiet and still, each man holding his breath and waiting for the first damn to break.

The voice died down and the only movement came from Penworthy who was slowly twirling his cane, a slight smile seated on his features.

“Charming,” he said at last once it seemed that no one else was going to speak. “You seem determined to rid us of our colonies.”

“I’m actually doing you a favor.” Bonaparte said, as he seemed to waken from his revere.

“Oh? How so?”

“Colonies are burdensome and, sometime in the future, you will regret you have them. India especially. It will cost you more time, money, and lives to keep them than to rid yourself of them now while making connections that could benefit you later on.”

“That’s awfully kind of you.” It was said with a dry smile as the older man stopped twirling his cane.

“I try.” Curt smiles were exchanged and Arthur leaned back against the window ledge, allowing his weight to rest on the white outcropping. The wineglass was emptied and placed beside him, a single drop of red seated quietly in the bottom causing the glass to glow with burgundy hues. The conversation changed to the land Britain and France were to give up, Penworthy and Faulkner both attempting to make more reasonable claims than the original presented by the Frenchmen. They said they would leave Malta, actually leave Malta, and Bonaparte simply smiled and said “of course”. They said they would leave parts of India, not all of it, but parts. Again, all offers were answered with “of course” and a nod of the head that meant anything but agreement.
Talleyrand sat still through it all. Arthur saw him blink a few times in confusion but his face would quickly clear to one of smug ease, one that knows that the game has been won already. Neither Frenchman did much talking apart from the initial request. Penworthy spoke a few words but mist of the speaking was left to Faulkner who would make an offer, watch reactions, then decide whether to press forward or retreat. He usually retreated.

-

“Nothing was won today,” the politician growled after Talleyrand and Bonaparte had left the office late in the afternoon, the sun sinking low so one might even call it evening. “Nothing!”

Penworthy chuckled and poured himself another glass of wine, bringing it to his lips with a smile. “You could hardly expect to get anywhere today, George,” he said, face still glowing with contentment. “They were feeling us out, I imagine they’re laughing at us now. And rightly so, you behaved abominably. Your face! When Talleyrand’s requests were read. Surely you knew they were extreme for a reason?”

“I know, it’s just…all our land? Was it requested for a lark?”

“Oh I imagine so.”

“Then they were having us on!”

“Most likely.”

“Christ’s blood man! We were made fools of and you sit here like you’re king of the world.”

The older man chuckled and shifted his weight in the chair, easing more to the right so he could better see Faulkner and Arthur.

“They were pushing our buttons, it’s often better to laugh at our own eccentricities than try to defend them. What do you think Arthur?”

Both men turned to the youngest and gave him peering looks. He quickly sucked in his bottom lips, chewing it as he collected his thoughts.

“I think Bonaparte had a point concerning our colonies. Now wait Faulkner. I am averse to ridding ourselves completely of them, I think we need them economically as well as militarily. They give us a foothold over France in India as well as the east and west Indies. But, too many colonies and we can’t support them all; we don’t have enough manpower to support them all. This would be a good time to lose a few gracefully and still maintain advantageous connections with them, as suggested. France lost Louisiana but still has all the benefits that came with the colony – fur trade, fishing industry etcetera. But they do not have the burden of upkeep. We might take a leaf from their book,” he gave a shrug as he saw Faulkner about to react. “We might have another revolution on our hands if we don’t. If not within our lifetime then certainly in our children’s and our grandchildren’s.”
Penworthy quickly overrode Faulkner, commending Arthur on his views and said he would take them into consideration. He went on to say that it was late and they best return home before they tried to bite each other’s heads off, which, he added, would fit along perfectly in Bonaparte’s plan.

-

Talleyrand swirled the sherry in his glass before draining it. Bonaparte sat opposite him, lost in thought. The glass of alcohol sat before him forgotten, the golden liquid catching light from flickering candles.

“Went well.” The foreign minister said after a moment of silence. “Penworthy reacted well enough,” he smiled and poured himself more. “Faulkner’s facial expressions were quite a sight.”

“They won’t give up their colonies without a fight.” Bonaparte said suddenly, leaning forward in concentration. Talleyrand saw a shadow fall over the younger man’s face as he frowned, hair scattering across his forehead. “I need them out of India. Or at least part of India. Either way…”

“You’re not planning to keep the treaty then?”

“Depends on how the winds blow.”

“Very well, that is useful to know,” Talleyrand stood with a quick smile, leaning on his cane. “I suggest you go to bed sire, we will need our wit tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you in the morning. Same time and place as today.”

The minister nodded and followed Bonaparte out of the room. “I will draw up another option,” he said as they stood by the door, feeling a cool wind drift down the street.

“I don’t think it will be needed, they’ll have a counter offer surely,” Bonaparte paused, fingers tapping lightly on the door frame.

“But perhaps, hmm…yes, go ahead and do that. I will see you in the morning.”

“Good night sire.”

“Yes, and yourself.”

—

Chapter IV

Charlotte smiled as she watched her brother and Bonaparte enter the gardens. A week of negotiations had passed and both seemed worn. The emperor had a book open between them and was pointing to a passage with great emphasis. Arthur merely smiled and shook his head, replying with his lips attempting to restrain themselves.

“They’re certainly getting along,” said Kitty as she joined Charlotte under the shade of the spreading leaves. “I was worried for a while, that they would bring the work home. It seems quite the opposite.”

“Indeed it does.” They joined arms and began making a slow precession back to the house. Occasionally they could overhear exclamations of shock said in heavily accented French. “He’s quite odd.”

“Who is?”

“Bonaparte. I don’t know – he’s emperor of France. Robert spoke of him like he was a God. Glowing praise all around and well…I suppose I expected…more. He’s not tall-”

“Though he’s not short.”

“No, but I was expecting someone tall, broad shouldered – a hero or something. Instead we have an average sized Corsican, swallow skinned, over worked, under slept, abrasive at times –”

“He can be charming when he wants.”

“Oh yes, I’m not trying to ruin his character or anything but he’s just not perfect.”

“He’s a soldierand a politician, Charlotte; they’re often far from perfect, let alone when combined into one man.” The older woman nodded with a sigh, patting her sister-in-law’s hand.

“Yes, I know,” she murmured as they entered the cool house, her smile briefly faltering. A maid quickly took their shawls and hats, letting them proceed into the drawing room and following with refreshments. “Still,” she continued, “one must look on the bright side. He’s quite intelligent and he and Arthur are getting along splendidly.”

“Yes, yes, quite. Would be worse if they were arguing all the time. Or just cold and distant. It’s so awkward when two people refuse to speak with each other.” Charlotte eyed Kitty for a moment before quietly agreeing, keeping her amused smile to herself.

-

Penworthy smiled when Arthur was presented in his study the next day. “I’m so glad to see you Arthur my boy! I must give you my congratulations.” Arthur accepted the vigorous handshake and the offer of cognac.

“Thank you Leo. Oh, that’s enough. Too early for much of this.” The older man nodded and quickly poured himself a glass as well.

“Now, tell me, how long have you known?”

“Myself, two weeks at most. Kitty, well almost three months or so.”

“Good, good,” Penworthy said with continual smiles. “I love births. Nothing like a newborn to bring people together.”

“Indeed, Kitty and Charlotte are both looking forward to it. Charlotte I think because, well you know, she and Robert never had any children…”

“Oh I know, such a sad thing too. His passing away so young. Stomach issues correct? I believe I heard somewhere it was cancer…” he paused, giving himself a small chuckle and draining his glass. “Of course my wife thinks Charlotte killed him. But that’s Alice for you, always the one for the grotesque rather than the logical.” Arthur nodded in agreement, eyes focused on the empty glass as he turned it in his hand, watching the last drop of amber rolling from side to side.

“Indeed,” he said at last, looking up with a flash of a smile. “It’s strange,” he continued, his voice turning from conversation to musing. “I’ve heard plenty of those rumors as well…so has Bonaparte for that matter, and it makes me wonder…perhaps there’s some truth to them. Perhaps Robert was murdered.”

“Surely you don’t think Charlotte killed him!”

“Of course not, but maybe the French? They had reason to keep the war going, though Bonaparte says other wise. And the Austrians too, they were hoping for France to fall, they wouldn’t want a treaty that would not only end the war but also potentially benefit the country.”

“Arthur,” Penworthy leaned forward, cognac forgotten on his desk. “Arthur, you’re treading on thin ice here, as your friend I am warning you. Don’t go digging into this issue. It’s deeper than you think and, no offense, you’re no one. You carry no weight, Richard carries a little, but not enough to launch a full-scale investigation into this. Think of your family, Arthur.”

“My family, Leo? Charlotte was heart broken over Robert’s death. You saw her! She was a shadow of her self. This is my sister Leo! If something like this happened to Robert the least we can do is know who killed him. I am not expecting justice, I would be naïve if I did, but I need to know the truth about his death.” Penworthy sighed and leaned back in his chair, seeming to sink in on himself. A moment passed before he focused his eyes on the younger man before him.

“Very well, but…sometimes it’s best not to know. My dear boy, ignorance is often bliss. And actions…well sometimes they were done for the better of all,” he offered a small smile, “for the sake of your sister and in the memory of Thraser, I hope you understand.”

Arthur stood, setting the glass down before him, a  forced smile etched on his face. “Thank you,” he said, giving a bow. “But I think that this matter has been prolonged far too long, I will find an answer.”

“Arthur – “

“No, Leo, not a word. Thank you for advice, but not a word more,” with that said Arthur turned and began walking out.

“Try Garring!” Penworthy said as Arthur reached the door. The younger man turned around, his face changing from a frown to a small, relieved smile, a mutter of thanks and the door was closed.

Chuckling darkly to himself , Penworthy poured another glass and watched the amber liquid drain from the bottle. His smile faded and he slumped back into his seat. “Poor sod,” he muttered, draining the glass in a single gulp.

-

The pen was scratching against foolscap as Arthur stood in the door to Bonaparte’s room. A single candle was lit on the desk and bent over a pile of papers was the emperor. He was in just his shirtsleeves, frock coat and waistcoat having been abandoned in the warm evening air. The weather was beginning to heat up as the month moved slowly on, weather that shocked many Londoners and left them numb with anticipation of a slightly less foggy summer for once.

Every so often Bonaparte would reach forward, under a small pile of documents, and pull out his watch, click it open and check the time before tucking it away again. Sitting back with a sigh he let his hands drop off the desk where the hung limp at his sides.

“Up late,” Arthur said by way of introduction. Bonaparte tilted his head to the side and glanced back to the darkened entrance.

“Work. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

“May I come in?” A nod and the taller man let himself in, pulling up a spare chair that was hung with clothes. Carefully placing the spare shirt on the bed he sat himself beside the Frenchman. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

A shrug and the quill was set down, “I don’t sleep much, too much going on upstairs.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?”

“So long as I don’t have to think too hard to answer it.”

“Did France have any reason to wish for peace last year?”

Bonaparte sighed and closed his eyes. “I thought we already went over this,” he said with a weary look.

“Seriously Bonaparte, did she?”

“I was exploring the option. There was nothing settled, nothing permanent. And Thraser’s death ended all that anyhow. Well, it ended it then.”

“Do you honestly think he was murdered?”

“I’ve not seen the coroners report, but judging from his position and the political agenda he was supporting at the time, yes I think it is plausible that he was assassinated.”

“Murdered.”

“My dear Wellesley, when a politician is killed, it is not a mere murder, it is assassination. Servants, wives, adulterers, and shop keepers are murdered.”

Arthur chuckled and gave a small smile as he leaned back in his chair, feeling the buttons of Bonaparte’s waistcoat press into his back.

“So grandiose?”

“Oh yes,” the emperor said with a nod and a smirk.

“Who do you think did it?”

“Prussia,” a shrug. “Who knows, such things are always a mystery.”

“Bloody French.”

“Hm?”

“Your shrugs mean nothing.”

“Of course not, they’re just a shoulder movement. If we mean something we say it, and in no less than at least one hundred words.”

Arthur stared for a moment before laughing and agreeing that this was true. After their laughs turned to quiet chuckles the taller man inquired after the time. Bonaparte replied that it was half past two the last he checked. The knight sighed and stood, declaring it to be rather late and that it would be best for both if they retired. Bonaparte nodded without commitment and watched as Arthur made his was from the room and disappeared like a shade down the hallway.

-

There were three men waiting in the doctor’s antechamber and all three gave Arthur the same dead-eyed stare when he arrived a few days after his initial meeting with Penworthy. Having given his name to the secretary he took a seat at the edge of one of the plentiful chairs and pulled out Locke’s essay. Settling down he opened it carefully to the beginning, minding that he not loose the page marker already in place.

A half-hour passed of reading before the door to the main study was opened and his name called. Tucking the book away he followed the small, ratty secretary into Garring’s study. The doctor was seated with a file open before him, several phials of liquid were spread out on the desk. Taking a seat opposite the burly man Arthur let out a small cough.

“One minute,” Garring drawled as he turned a page in the file. Arthur said nothing, merely nodded and took to looking carefully around the room. The walls were cream colored and an occasional map of the human body appeared, each one of a different system. Books lined the wall to his right and there was a long table to his left. On the table was a globe, a model of the human figure with numbers and Latin names scrawled across it in barely legible print. Also on the table was a glass of cognac and spare glasses, all perfectly cleaned and catching the light of the candle seated behind them.

“Yes?” The doctor looked up from his papers and graced Arthur with a dead-pan stare, eyes peaking over his glasses that sat low on his nose.

“I am here concerning the report of the death of Mr. Robert Thraser. He died last year-”

“Yes, yes, you are his brother-in-law I am to understand?”

Arthur nodded and watched as the large man stood, moving himself gracefully about the room despite his bulk. He walked over to a cabinet behind his desk and began rifling through the drawers. At last he pulled out a large folder and from that he extracted three sheets of paper.

“What do you wish to know?” He asked as he sat back down, the cushion on the chair wheezing gently.

“What were the public causes stated and what were your private feelings on the matter.”

The older man eyed the knight before pulling a cigar from a desk drawer. Taking his time he cut the end and lit it, settling back he stared at Arthur as if he wasn’t there.

“Are you sure you want to know my personal feelings on the matter?”

“Yes.”

“You might not like them.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well the public report stated that he died of liver complications. Now I think that there are poisons that can achieve similar effects to liver failure when applied appropriately. I also happen to think that there are certain people in the world who did not like Mr. Thraser’s foreign policy and felt that he should be removed from his post – permanently. I also think that there was a person who felt slightly neglected by Mr. Thraser’s absence, and perhaps a little jealous of the attention he was paying to the French actress. I also think that there were foreign nations who did not wish the war to end and who, as previously stated, wanted him off his post to France. And, I think that there was a man who plays the hand that the world gives him, does it very well as can be seen from where he is, who felt that peace, at that time, was not what his country needed. That is what I think. But keep in mind Lord Wellesley, I was merely musing aloud.” A smile to Arthur who nodded slowly and stood, clutching the small book in his fingers making his knuckles go white.

“Of course, I understand, Mr. Thraser died of liver failure.”

“Yes, yes he did.” Garring leaned forward, ash falling from his cigar as he wrote a small note, folded it, and handed it to Arthur through a handshake. “Good day Lord Wellesley.”

“Good day Dr. Garring.”

Once in his carriage he opened the note that had been pressed in his palm. The ink was smeared but he could read it well enough, Don’t dig too deep, it may hurt you worse than you know.

-

“How are you enjoying my book?” Bonaparte asked later that afternoon as he joined Arthur in garden.

“Sorry?”

“My essay by Locke, how are you enjoying it?” There was a sly smile perched on the emperor’s lips as he offered his arm to Arthur who took it.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You nabbed it earlier this morning when I was absent from my room. I don’t begrudge you at all, I’m simply wondering if you’re enjoying it.”

Arthur glanced down and caught Bonaparte’s eye, the smile was still on his lips so Arthur took it as a sign that the emperor truly wasn’t mad at the absence of his book.

“I am enjoying it well enough, though there are parts that I find a bit hard to get through.”

“Yes, like the first five chapters.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is, Wellesley, don’t deny it!” Bonaparte smirked and followed along as Arthur lead him through the gardens. “I’ll not have you deny something you believe, too much of that going on.”

“Of course, though you would be the expert on that.”

“Ta, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” an arch look and a quick exchange  of glances. “But, I can get you another copy if you’d like.”

“Oh no, there’s no call for doing that,” he shook his head and watched Bonaparte shrug as his offer was negated. “I have one, I was simply seeing if the French translation was accurate.”

“Are you well?” The emperor asked as they turned around a bend.

“Yes. Should I not be?”

“Oh it’s just that I heard that you had visited a doctor today…”

“I am well, it was a social call.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t aware that you and Dr. Garring were on close terms. From what I heard, you’ve never met the man.”

“You hear too much, and he was the one who administered the autopsy on Robert.”

“Was he?”

“Yes.”

Bonaparte’s smile tightened a fraction but within seconds it was smoothed back to the easy grin it had been before. They proceeded along in amiable silence and once they reached the end of the garden Arthur pulled them to a stop.

“There are some matters that are private sir, I would like them to remain so,” he said making sure to maintain eye contact with the Emperor. The smaller man gave a gracious nod and murmured that he was in accordance with such sentiments and meant no offense by his remarks. He was merely curious.

“I always put my nose too far into people’s affairs, Wellesley,” he gave a small bow, “my apologies for any offense. I shall endeavor to remain a sure distance away from anything that could possibly be concerned as “private” by you or your family. At dinner I shall remain silent and put cotton in my ears.” With that he gave a cheeky grin, bowed, and left.

-

Kitty licked her lips for the fourth time as she stood before the door of Arthur’s study. She could see the thin line of candle light peeking out from under the maple. In her hand was a well folded letter, an invitation in fact, from Lady Helmhold wishing them to come to a ball at Wardly House.

She raised her hand and gave a small knock, standing back she waited. A minute passed and there was no reaction. She gave another knock, this one louder than the first. Again no answer. A third knock was given accompanied by “Arthur, dear, open the door”. An irritable sigh escaped her lips as the silence continued. Letting another minute passed she tried the door and found it unlocked. Opening it she glanced around the room and found no sign of her husband. Papers on his desk were in disarray and several books were pulled off the shelf and lay scattered about the room. Picking her way over she began shifting through the papers on the desk and found most of them to be work related. Military contracts, information on the supply lines of soldiers in India, requests from Faulkner to keep some scandal hushed up

“Kitty?” The young woman jerked her head up, eyes wide, and the request from Faulkner still in hand.

“Arthur!” Her voice was shrill and panicked, the paper dropped to the desk.

“What in Christ’s – what are you doing?”

“Nothing! It was like this when I arrived, there was an invitation and I thought it best to ask you before replying. Helmhold’s an old friend and all and Wardly House has been remodeled, even if you didn’t like the company I thought you’d still like to go. The Emperor was invited too. But I had to reply so I thought you’d –”

“Kitty,” he crossed the room and took her hands in his. “Kitty, Kitty, calm down.”

“But it was like this!”

“I know, shh, I know. Now, tell me from the start what happened.”

As she related her brief story Arthur began going through the papers that were spilled on his desk. All the military documents and briefs were left alone, including the ones concerning a possible invasion of France should the treaty not go through. His personal papers were also riffled through. Letters to Kitty, Charlotte, and his brothers were strewn about and his journals were on the floor where it looked as if they had been thrown when the culprit realized that their contents were worthless. Suddenly he stopped and looked up in alarm.

“Dear.”

“Yes?”

“Did you see a paper here that had a list on it. The list read ‘France, Bonaparte, and Holy Roman Empire’. Next to them would have been a few sentences…”

“No, I didn’t see it.”

“Assemble the staff.”

—

Chapter V

A page was turned as a great commotion could be heard downstairs. Raised voices and the sound of feet pounding on the stairs. A sigh escaped as the argument grew steadily louder.

“They’re not in this house!” Arthur growled as he stormed down the hall.

“I’m sure you’ve missed placed them, that is all.” Charlotte shot back, grabbing her brother’s arm in an attempt to stop him.
Bonaparte pursed his lips and set his book aside, taking off his glasses he quickly tucked them away in his coat pocket. Seconds later there were several firm knocks on his door.

“Yes?” He stood as Arthur opened the door, his countenance dark. Behind him stood Charlotte, her own countenance just as dark but for a seemingly different reason.

“I have a few questions Monsieur.” The knight growled without any preamble.

“Something to drink?”

“No. And I would appreciate straight answers.”

“Of course Wellesley. Though I am the Emperor of France I am not French myself thus I am not as prone to their long winded and drawn out answers,” he smiled, eyes catching Charlotte’s as her lips quirked up.

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“Of course you are.”

“Bonaparte.”

“Yes?”

“Stop.”

“Stop?” A flutter of an innocent smile.

“Yes.”

“If you insist.”

“Where have you been these past few hours?”

“What do you mean by ‘few’?”

“Three hours, give or take.”

“Well, three or so hours ago I was playing chess with you in the drawing room. We discussed philosophy, the monopoly of the Company, and the prices of silk. That lasted for about an hour and a half before you decided that you had had enough defeats for the evening and went off to do something in the garden and drink tea. I returned to my room to do some work and write letters to my family. Once I finished with that I decided to read for a bit, and well,” he gave an exaggerated shrug, “you know the rest.”

“Can you have someone confirm that you were in your rooms for the past hour and a half?”

“I managed to communicate with one of the servants and sent them on a quest for tea. That would have been an hour ago or so. Would you like to see the letters I wrote after I received the tea?”

“No, that wont be necessary.”

“Why the questions?”

“Someone went though my study and I was wondering if you happened to…know anything about it.”

“No.”

“The cook said she saw someone in the gardens, she only caught a glimpse but he had blond curls.”

“Oh yes, blond curly hair, thick sideburns, red coat, and brown pinstriped waistcoat?”

“What?”

Bonaparte shrugged, fluttered his hands, and turned towards the window that looked over the garden. The sun was setting and the city was cast a grey light. A thick fog had settled only broken by the flickering lights of lamps in the distance, flickering like fallen stars.

“I happened to see a man of such a description enter through the side gate about forty minutes ago. I was watching the sun set while waiting for my tea. He left via the same entrance ten minutes later.” After a pronounced pause he added, “very British looking”. But Arthur was already down the hall leaving Charlotte to offer an apologetic smile before following her brother.

-

Penworthy idly watched Arthur pace about the room. He stalked from one end of his study to another, hands clasped firmly behind his back. For the past hour and a half he had been debating with himself what role Bonaparte had played in the affair of the previous night, if any at all.

“But why would he describe the culprit, give time, and date if it was his own man? Unless he’s lying…is he smooth?”

“Smooth enough I’ll warrant,” Penworthy rumbled, turning his can in his hand.

“Could be lying, trying to throw us off. Has Talleyrand been up to anything? He would use him correct? I believe the other two diplomats here are useless.”

“The foreign minister has been visiting Larson my man tells me. Probably going to try and poison Bonaparte or something to that effect.”

Arthur stopped and stared, completely aghast. No words were uttered for a moment before he managed to gasp “What?”.

“You sound like you almost care for the man,” a playful look appeared in the older man’s eye. “And just seconds ago you were ready to send him to the devil. My, my Arthur Wellesley.”

“We play chess and discuss philosophy, politics, life, and love,” a smile followed by a waving of his hand in dismissal. “He’s nice enough I suppose.”

“You’re British, Arthur.”

“He’s interesting.”

“When push comes to shove, and it may –”

“I know my loyalties.”

Penworthy let out a full bodied laugh, “of course you do my boy. I know that as well as anything. In all seriousness, Talleyrand is up to something but I think it’s domestic policy related. Besides, I’ll warrant that Talleyrand is one of those men who you should be worried about when he’s not up to something.”

“Of course…do you know if anyone with blond curly hair works for Larson? Anyone like that man?”

Penworthy let out a full bellied laugh to which Arthur replied with a frown.

“Oh Arthur, that’s like asking if there’s a man with a black mustache and wears a pair of glasses in London. There are many people who work with Larson who probably fit that description. Hell, my man Thompson even sounds like him.”

Arthur paused then let out a small laugh and sat back in his chair, declaring that he felt like a damned fool. Penworthy nodded in agreement but did his best to ease the young man’s mind. Finding that he was failing in the task he opted for a change of subject and brought up the impending dinner with Lord Helmhold. It did some good and soon he had Arthur laughing at the prospect of Lady Alice and his sister being table mates. Penworthy assured him that his wife would be properly affronted at such thing and promised to mention the possible entertainment prospects of such a match to Lady Helmhold.

-

“I still declare that inviting her here was a gross breach of propriety,” exclaimed Lady Alice to all those who would hear. “It should not be borne, in fact the lady herself is nothing and I have no opinion of her.”

Down the table Charlotte turned to Arthur with an arched look. “No opinion of me?” She asked with clear irony.

“Clearly, none at all. And, my dear, the best course of action would be to ignore her,” he replied trying to keep his voice at a whisper.

“Ignore her? Is that possible?”

“Yes, quit possible. Faulkner!” Arthur turned his gaze towards the man opposite him. “How have you been?”

“Oh splendid, splendid.”

“Rain not been bothering you too much?”

“No, not at all.”

“Have you thought much on the possibility of a few weeks in Bath?”

The mention of the town brought both Kitty’s as well as Charlotte’s attention to the conversation.

“I was thinking that it would be best if we waited till after the treaty affair has been concluded,” it was said in a whisper. In answer to Arthur’s confused looks Faulkner gave a significant look towards Talleyrand. “Speaks English,” he explained in a hushed voice, “as you well know, and eavesdrop something horrid. Frankly I don’t trust him, he’s a slippery one.”

“He’s French.”

“Which means we should be all the more careful. A trip to Bath could prove to be…imprudent.”

“Come now, you can’t be all work. One week Faulkner, just one week won’t change much. It will just be you, me, Charlotte, Kitty, and Miss Abbot. It’ll be fun.”

“And the emperor?”

Arthur pursed his lips and glanced over to the man in questions who was watching them out of the corner of his eye. Every so often he would lean over and murmur something to Talleyrand. Both pairs of eyes would then land on he and Faulkner, often amusement was seen on their features.

“He would have to come along, or at least be invited.” Was the ultimate verdict. Faulkner raised an eyebrow causing Arthur to quickly assure the other man that Bonaparte was indeed quite interesting company and that he could cheat at cards just as well as Faulkner. He went on to say that Bonaparte was charming enough when he wanted to be – quite witty even, at times. Faulkner didn’t say anything immediately, the pause turned to a pregnant silence that Arthur felt quite strongly.
He finally relented and murmured that he would tell the emperor that the event was a private one , “surely he would understand.”

“No, no,” Faulkner said quickly, his eyes on Talleyrand who had just whispered something to Bonaparte to cause him to glance at them with raised eyebrows. “Invite him, it’s only proper considering he is your guest.”

Arthur let a small sigh slip from his lips before conceding the point with a wave of his spoon.

-

Dancing was held after the dinner and soon the ball room was filled with at least twenty couples. The emperor had been flirted with and encouraged by many a young woman yet he stood up with none.

“Does English beauty not interest you?” Arthur asked as he joined Bonaparte by the mantelpiece.

“Hm?”

“You’re not dancing so I gathered that no one interested you.”

Bonaparte smiled as he cocked an eyebrow at Arthur, “simply because a man does not dance does not mean he isn’t dazzled by some pretty face. There is a simple reason I am not dancing – I don’t care for it.”

“Surely you’re lying. Everyone likes to dance.”

“Now you’re generalizing.”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.”

“Gentlemen!” Charlotte laughed as both froze, blushes appearing on their faces. “I really must congratulate you, rarely have I heard such an intellectual and deeply thought out conversation.”

“Well you know,” Arthur said with a grin. “Intellectual conversations are the specialty of Bonaparte and I.”

“Oh yes,” the emperor said in swift agreement with the other man. “We cover all sorts of fascinating topics like whether or not Wellesley is making generalizations with his statements, or whether or not a pretty face is required for me to dance.”

“Such intelligent and meaningful conversations!”

“Completely madame.”

Arthur moved to the side to offer his sister a place to lean, as he did so he inquired as to her reasons for joining them. She gave him a coy smile and asked if an excuse was ever needed for a sister to go and speak with her brother. It was natural after all, for them to want to converse.

“It’s Lady Alice,” she finally confessed once she tired of avoiding Arthur’s vague questions and pointed looks.

“Oh?”

“She’s heard a rumor that we are to go to Bath.”

“So?”

“She’s making insinuations that I will be on the prowl for a new husband, only a year after Robert -”

“But you aren’t.”

“I know,” she paused, her fingers fiddling with her shawl. “But if the rumor reaches Bath we’ll not be invited to any dinners and ignored when we visit the Assembly rooms. No one will want to see us!” In a hushed voice she added, “it would be social suicide.”

Ashamed of her outburst she turned to look into the fire. Arthur watched her for a moment before glancing up at Bonaparte who raised his eyebrows in answer.

“Perhaps madame, if you went while I was in town, it would be enough of a distraction to compensate for these rumors,” Bonaparte said with a reassuring smile. “I believe that I know something of high society. One thing that is universal is that nothing lasts long…well so long as it’s not a major breach of protocol. I flatter myself that my presence alone will be enough to distract them from the rather mundane rumors concerning your marriage.”

“I thank you but I don’t think we’ll be going while you are in town.”

Arthur’s face changed from content to concerned at this piece of information. Charlotte went on to explain that she had overheard Faulkner and Miss Abbott speaking and he had said that he was not inclined to go to Bath while the emperor was in town. He gave no reason as to why, just that he wasn’t inclined. Miss Abbott had readily given her consent to his feelings, of course she would, but Charlotte didn’t add onto that thought. Arthur didn’t say anything for a full minute before he bowed, gave his apologies for leaving them, and hurriedly crossed the room.

-

Talleyrand watched from the other side of the room as Arthur strode over to Faulkner and discreetly pulled the man outside to the hall. Glancing around the room and finding that he was largely unobserved for once in the evening, he followed them out, leaning behind a turn in the hall and well out of sight yet not out of earshot.

“I will not suffer Bath with a Frenchman who speaks no English and can’t dance.” Faulkner hissed after Arthur made his inquires.

“People will make an exception for him, he’s the bloody emperor of France!”

“It will be a freak show.”

Arthur muttered something unintelligible to which Faulkner replied, “that is a horrid lie Wellesley and you know it.” A pause before the older man continued. “It has nothing to do with Miss Abbott, you should know me better than that.”

“It’s because Lord Shore will be there and you’re afraid.”

“Bull-”

“Very well, Charlotte, Kitty, Bonaparte, and I will go on our own. Penworthy is leaving for a week during negotiations anyhow, we’ll leave when he does.”

Talleyrand smiled as he heard a sharp intake of breath from Faulkner.

“I wouldn’t advise that Wellesley.”

“Why not?”

“Your sister’s name is black enough as it is, and the emperor is known to dally with women…” Silence followed before Arthur muttered “you bastard” and stormed from the hall.

Faulkner stood in the darkened hall and watched Arthur’s retreating back before turning and reentering the ballroom with a forced smile on his face.

-

“He is not to be borne.” Arthur ranted later that evening as the family lounged in the drawing room. “How dare he say such a thing about my sister, to my face even! He will not set foot in this house from this day forward.”

Kitty tried to interject her opinion but was blown over by her husband who still didn’t have the entirety of his thoughts out. He continued to rave about the impertinence of such a remark, the cruelty, and general thoughtlessness of it. The entire speech culminated with his declaring an end to the friendship and his intent of withdrawing from the work on the treaty.

“Arthur, please, clam down,” Charlotte said, concern evident on her face. “You are angry right now and not thinking clearly. What he said was cruel, I’ll admit it, but it was said in the heat of the moment. I am sure that in a few days time he will seek you out and offer an apology.”

“And I’ll not accept it.”

“That would be imprudent of you then.”

“Charlotte! This man insulted your honor and the memory of Robert, it is not to be borne!”

“I know, and I still maintain that Faulkner will realize the error of what he said and offer his apologies. He is not a cruel man Arthur, you know that as well as I. Overcautious perhaps, but not cruel.”

Arthur stared at his sister for a moment before turning to his wife who nodded in agreement. A moment passed before he heaved a sigh and sank into his chair. Picking up the long neglected glass of brandy he took a large swallow before nodded his head several times in slow succession.

“Alright,” he said after the last nod. “If he offers an apology I’ll contemplate accepting him.” Charlotte and Kitty smiled, quite pleased with themselves and the general situation at hand for it could have been far worse.

—