35. Roses

Chapter thirty-five

Roses

B y the second day of their stay, Gyles was navigating the servants' staircases at Malmaison with more confidence and less chance of losing himself somewhere in the recesses of the chateau. After breakfast, he received a message from another footman that his mistress was looking for him. He seized an umbrella, in case it might be required, and followed the other footman's directions until he found Louisa standing by the side door that led out to the garden path. She wore half boots, a flounced walking dress in the same chocolate-violet as her eyes, and a navy-blue pelisse with a matching bonnet.

"There you are, Pebble," she said brightly. "The empress means to show me her greenhouse today, and I need you to carry my basket."

At the word greenhouse, Gyles brown eyes widened. Sir Abraham Hume had piqued his interest about Josephine's rose collection, and he had caught a glimpse of the massive greenhouse on the carriage ride through the park. Had Louisa realised how meaningful it would be to him to go inside? Is that why she had invited him? Or did she simply need him to fetch and carry for her?

"Thank you," he murmured, tucking the umbrella under his arm and taking the basket she held out to him. His hands were almost trembling with anticipation.

"You're welcome," said Louisa. "I might be able to take seeds or cuttings. But only if the empress allows it." She looked at him admonishingly as if she suspected he might take cuttings even if it were forbidden.

Did she remember the time when he had done so at Carlton House? At times, he had the inkling that she remembered their first encounter, and at other times, he was sure that she had forgotten it entirely.

"Are you planning to propagate your own plants?" Gyles gave her a cheeky grin that was entirely improper for a footman.

"No, but I know someone who might be." She wrinkled her nose at him, her usual veil of hauteur having disappeared for just a moment.

A warm feeling of happiness spread over Gyles. She was thinking of him. Of his interests. His desires.

"Ah, there you are Lady Louisa." Empress Josephine turned the corner of the corridor and nodded toward the French doors that led outside. Gyles had caught sight of her in the many portraits about the house that featured her, her children, and Napoleon, but he had not realised until this moment how old she was. She had dressed herself in white like a spring lamb, but she was an older leg of mutton than she pretended. "I fear we may encounter a little wet while walking to the greenhouse."

"My footman has an umbrella." Louis gave Gyles a nod of appreciation .

" Eh bien? That is helpful." Josephine beckoned for Gyles to follow them and opened the doors to step out into the rain.

Louisa cast an apologetic look at Gyles as his long arm held the umbrella over the two ladies. The water droplets descended on his own head, running off in rivulets down his shoulder. They began to walk, Louisa and Josephine mostly shielded by the black umbrella as Gyles managed to keep their bonnets dry.

The glass house jutted up from the meadow like the centrepiece on a banquet table. A tall stand of trees filled in the background behind it, and a winding gravel path brought them through the subdued beds of the winter garden. Louisa could tell that Empress Josephine must favour the English style of gardening, for there was more whimsy and wandering here than in the geometrically precise gardens the French typically employed.

There were two servants standing at attention at the door of the greenhouse, and one of them opened it deferentially while the other took Gyles' umbrella to set it to dry. The change in temperature inside the glass building was dramatic. As soon as he entered, Gyles felt steam begin to rise off his wet livery.

Josephine discarded her own bonnet and pelisse and handed them to one of the servants. Louisa followed suit. It must have been as warm and sticky in the greenhouse as it had been on Josephine's island home of Martinique.

The empress began to lead Louisa through the rows of potted plants, a riot of foliage and flowers that were out of season with the late January weather. Gyles followed at a respectful distance, in case anything should be required of him and so that he could view the lush garden from every angle. The basket hung from his long arm, ready to be filled as soon as he received command .

Gyles began to put his French lessons to good use as he strained to translate the words, phrases, and sentences that the ladies spoke.

"Many of the plants here come from Queensland in Australia," said the Empress.

"Just like the menagerie," remarked Louisa.

"Exactly. They travelled over on the same ship as the kangaroo. One part of the greenhouse is exclusively to hold pineapples. And then the crown of the collection is, of course, the roses."

Gyles tried to move as close as he could to the ladies he was trailing. He watched Josephine take hold of a Queensland vine and show the yellow flowers to Louisa. He could see Louisa touch it gingerly with the detached indifference of someone who had never soiled her hands in dirt. She was no gardener. But Gyles found he could not like her the less just because her interests were so dissimilar to his own. It would be the height of folly to insist that a friend, a partner—a lover—have all the same interests as oneself.

They passed a tree with dark orange fruits, smaller than apples, shinier than citrus. Gyles made out the name persimmon on the plaque that stood nearby. The colour was exquisite, just the sort of deep vibrance that would set off the violet in Louisa's eyes. He had never seen such a fruit before, and the plaque gave the provenance as India.

They entered the section of potted rosebushes. Gyles' eyes caught on a rare species of flower. It had far fewer petals than most English roses. He read the plaque mounted on the earthenware planter: rosa indica. He wished he knew more about where it came from—the East, no doubt. Beside it was a rosa centifolia, a flower with a hundred petals. Gyles had a similar variety in his own garden, brought over from the Netherlands.

Engrossed by the perfumed array of flowers, Gyles almost forgot his place and purpose—until he heard voices behind the stand of orange trees that separated the roses from the pinery.

"Your cousin says you are here in France for amusement," he overheard the Empress say. His lessons with Cosette were truly becoming most valuable. "But why are you really here?"

Gyles heard Louisa hesitate. She was such a wary creature, wary by nature but also made more so by the vicissitudes of her own life. What would she reveal to the empress? "My uncle is trying to arrange a marriage for me that is…distasteful. I have come to France to avoid it."

"Ah. And is your uncle your guardian?"

" Oui, but not for much longer."

" C'est bon. Will you arrange your own marriage then, here in France? Something more in line with your tastes?"

"I do not know, your highness."

"Alphonse would be a good stepping-stone to something better—if you can put up with his rattle for a few years."

"A…stepping stone?"

Gyles could hear the surprise in Louisa's voice.

" Bien s?r , you would not wish to be tied to him forever. He will help you gain a foothold in society. You have been admitted on sufferance now, but you are still English. A wrong word, a slip of the tongue, and the French will turn on you. But as the true Comtesse Dammartin, your place will be secure. Alphonse will serve you very well, and once he is tired of you, he will not be too strict about whom you associate with. He will never even notice if you use your time to find a second husband who suits you better. "

There was a rustling of leaves in the orange tree, and Gyles held perfectly still, afraid that Louisa would come around the corner and realise his proximity. He had no wish for that—not now, when he might find a window into her carefully-veiled thoughts.

"I had not thought of marriage in such terms."

Josephine gave a lilting, musical laugh. "But how else would one think of it? You are young and beautiful now, but age comes on apace. You will not always be able to command men or inspire their devotion." The empress' tone turned bitter, and Gyles remembered that her divorce from Napoleon was still of recent date. "You are like a flower on a trellis, my dear, and the winter is coming soon. You must make the most of the time you have to climb as high as you can."

"And Alphonse is your suggestion?"

"Mais oui. He brought you here to receive my blessing, you know."

Gyles stiffened as he overheard that last remark. The tone of Empress Josephine was coy. He wondered what exactly her relationship with the Comte Dammartin was. The mincing fop was three decades younger than her. Had he been one of her lovers?

The English newspapers were notoriously scurrilous in their charges against Bonaparte and his bride, and Gyles supposed that not every rumour about Napoleon and Josephine was true. But no one could deny that Josephine had been a courtesan before her marriage to Napoleon, and it was also frequently reported that she had taken lovers while he was gone on the front lines of battle. Dammartin, with his loose morals, could have been one of her latest beaux .

"I shall consider your suggestion," said Louisa. Gyles could not see her, but he could imagine the inscrutable, diplomatic look on her face, and he could almost hear the voices debating inside her head. On the surface, Louisa always seemed so sure of herself, so calmly assertive. But he had seen through that calm exterior, and behind the facade was a river of emotion that could rise like the Nile.

The basket dangled, forgotten, on Gyles' arm. What were roses and what were plant cuttings when Louisa's whole life was at such a turning point? Deep in her innermost heart, he did not think she was as coldly calculating as the empress. But he had seen her consider other undesirable options, like marrying Lord Kendall to avoid Mr. Digby, and he knew that she was not the type to shirk a difficult choice if she believed it to be a necessary one.

The empress was urging her to marry Alphonse. If Louisa believed that such a step would achieve the independence she so desperately wanted, was there a chance she would take it?