Christmas With The Duchess. Tamara Lejeune

with pleasure.

      Emma turned to Nicholas as the first course was brought in. Bemused, she watched him attack his soup. “I take the lobster bisque meets with your approval, my lord,” she said. “You do not find it too rich?”

      “It’s delicious,” he said. “I could drown in it.”

      “Better than a raw carrot?” she teased him.

      He grinned at her. “Just. The cook is to be commended.”

      “Chef,” Emma corrected him. “He’s called Armand, and I found him in Paris.”

      “Paris? Paris, France?”

      “Yes, of course, Paris, France,” Emma laughed. “The instant the war was over—that is to say, as soon as the navy had got out of my way—I flew to Paris like one of Mr. Congreve’s rockets. I was never able to go to Paris before because of the fighting. My younger son Grey was born during the Peace of Amiens, so I missed my chance there. He’s an unrepentant Bonapartist, I’m sorry to say. The chef, not my son,” she clarified.

      “I’d like to go to Paris,” Nicholas said eagerly. “I think it must have been a very fine place before the revolution.”

      “Now is the time to go,” Emma told him seriously. “The auction houses are bursting with the spoils of war, and no one has any money but we, the English. I bought some rather nice Christmas presents for my boys—a rather beautiful desk that once belonged to Old Boney himself, amongst other things.” She showed him her fan, taking it from her lap and spreading it open on the table. “This little fribble was the Empress Josephine’s. It is ivory set with amethysts. I gave my niece Aleta a harp that once belonged to Marie Antoinette.”

      “No!” Nicholas said, wide-eyed.

      “Yes. I plan to go back next year, for the King’s auction.”

      “The King’s auction?” Nicholas echoed. “The King of France is having an auction?”

      “Poor fat Louis!” said Emma. “Imagine for a moment that you are he. You’ve been away from the Tuileries for many, many years. Finally, you are allowed to return home, only to find that some strange little Corsican fellow has been living in your house, putting his feet up on all the furniture, and painting bloody great Ns all over everything. Ns on all the cushions. Ns on the door handles. Imperial bees on all the carpets! A positive swarm! My God, wouldn’t you throw it all out and have yourself a nice auction, too?”

      “I might burn the lot,” said Nicholas, laughing.

      “Oh, but His Majesty needs the money. France is bankrupt. I bought my house in the Faubourg St. Honore for next to nothing.” She laughed suddenly. “It just occurred to me, my lord, that your Christian name also starts with a big N, just like the Corsican’s. You definitely should go to Paris and get yourself something with a big N on it. Oh, but, of course, you won’t be able to go, will you? You will be in London for your presentation.”

      “Yes,” he said. “I’m rather nervous about it. Will you be there?”

      Emma shook her head, laughing. “No, indeed! I shall be in Paris.”

      He looked crestfallen. “I would feel better, if you were there—if I had a friend at Court. Lord Scarlingford says I should imagine everyone naked,” he added, chuckling.

      “Lord Camford!” she chided him. “And this is why you want me at Court so badly?”

      “No, ma’am!” he cried, his face red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean you! I would never presume to—to imagine—” he broke off, stammering, and reached for his glass.

      “You just did, didn’t you?” Emma laughed. “Well? How did I look? Delightful, I hope.”

      Nicholas choked. “Ma’am, I beg of you!” he gasped.

      “You’re right,” said Emma. “It is indeed most unbecoming to beg for a compliment, particularly when one is only being imagined naked.”

      “I did not mean that either,” he protested, now unable to even look at her.

      “I know; I’m only teasing you,” she said gently. “But it’s your own fault for blushing so readily. No woman can resist teasing a man who blushes so readily. I had thought, too, that it was something of a difficult task to make a sailor blush. Am I so wicked or are you so susceptible? Either way, you will change my opinion of the navy.”

      The strain of conversing with her seemed almost too much for the young man. He could think of no answer. To relieve his embarrassment, Emma summoned the next course.

      As it was brought in, she turned to speak to Monty, who was seated at her left. Nicholas then was obliged to speak to the lady on his right, and he was as much gratified as he was piqued to spend the next twenty minutes without once blushing.