agree on how to cut the cake.”
She circled something with her
finger, bringing it to Ty's attention. “Talleyrand has signed a secret
agreement with Austria and Britain, against Russia and the Prussians should
they get their way. We know that thanks to the letters we claimed from Fouche
in January.” She downed the last of her tea.
A smile drew across Ty's lips. “And
Austria is here now to insure that their investment in Talleyrand was worthy.”
She nodded.
“Not only that,” added Philippe.
“Talleyrand, self-interest aside, has made himself indispensable to the
Austrians. If Fouche supplants him, negotiations change. Austria loses their
man on the inside. They’ll play him against Fouche for as long as possible.”
“What does that give us?” Ty, in
military fashion claimed a spoon, a cup and its saucer, arranging them on the
table. “Talleyrand as France,” he waved the spoon, “over here, with Britain and
Austria.” He hid the spoon behind the cup and saucer. “Except no one knows he's
dealing with them.” A sugar bowl and cream pitcher came next, set far apart. He
tapped the bowl. “No one cares about Prussia getting Saxony. They can sod off.”
He held up a butter knife and placed it beside the pitcher. “Neither Fouche nor
Talleyrand wants anything to do with Russia, but Fouche would give them Poland
to meet his own ends.”
She watched his porcelain battle
map unfold, amused and impressed. “He would, which is why Austria is paying
Talleyrand so handsomely to prevent it. And so arrives Breunig. She invites
some grand figures to tea, asks a few questions. Puts her ear to the
floorboards.” She leaned back into the plush blue damask. “We can look through
the other dossiers but I believe this is our best course for now.”
Ty ducked his head. “I defer to the
lady, as ever.”
“That will do major,” she chided,
nonetheless warmed by his praise.
Their glance stretched on, until
Philipe cleared his throat. “I will tell you what I know of her habits.”
His offer surprised her. “You know
something of her routine?”
Philipe rotated his plate slowly
with both index fingers, nodding, biting the inside of his cheek. “Something,
yes.”
Understanding dawned on her. “Ah.”
There was a beautiful woman involved; of course he knew something.
Ty leaned out, spearing a chunk of
ham with his fork. “He means they were lovers, Dimples.”
Philipe's napkin caught Ty's chest
with a sharp pop. “There is a lady present, Major Burrell.”
“Who, Olivia?” Ty's eyes widened,
the effect too comical for her to be offended. “Have you ever witnessed her
stub a toe? She could teach the British fleet a few things.”
Olivia turned down her eyes, hands
folded, doing her best to look ashamed. “My delicate female character is
impressionable. I'm hardly a match for Major Burrell's influence.”
Shaking his head, Philipe scooted
out from the table and stood up. He wagged a finger between her and Ty. “You
two deserve one another.”
“How cruel,” she shot back.
“Unaccountable,” accused Ty.
“I'm sure. Up with you both. Let's
go somewhere more private and I'll tell you what I know.”
* * *
“I thought you said private,” Ty
grumbled, swatting a cyclone of gnats away from his face. “This is practically
barbaric.” He hated insects, of any variety. They were the stuff of biblical
plagues. If he'd known in advance that Philipe intended to make them sit in the
orangery, he would have burned it to the ground first.
“It smells divine,” protested
Olivia, drawing a deep breath of tart lime and orange leaves.
“It's India, all over again.” No
matter how good it smelled, no matter how lovely she was in the sunlight.
Philipe pinched a brown leaf from
one of the newly matured plants. “You may go back inside, major. I find the
prospect of conversing alone with Miss Fletcher perfectly agreeable.”
“This will do,” he
She circled something with her
finger, bringing it to Ty's attention. “Talleyrand has signed a secret
agreement with Austria and Britain, against Russia and the Prussians should
they get their way. We know that thanks to the letters we claimed from Fouche
in January.” She downed the last of her tea.
A smile drew across Ty's lips. “And
Austria is here now to insure that their investment in Talleyrand was worthy.”
She nodded.
“Not only that,” added Philippe.
“Talleyrand, self-interest aside, has made himself indispensable to the
Austrians. If Fouche supplants him, negotiations change. Austria loses their
man on the inside. They’ll play him against Fouche for as long as possible.”
“What does that give us?” Ty, in
military fashion claimed a spoon, a cup and its saucer, arranging them on the
table. “Talleyrand as France,” he waved the spoon, “over here, with Britain and
Austria.” He hid the spoon behind the cup and saucer. “Except no one knows he's
dealing with them.” A sugar bowl and cream pitcher came next, set far apart. He
tapped the bowl. “No one cares about Prussia getting Saxony. They can sod off.”
He held up a butter knife and placed it beside the pitcher. “Neither Fouche nor
Talleyrand wants anything to do with Russia, but Fouche would give them Poland
to meet his own ends.”
She watched his porcelain battle
map unfold, amused and impressed. “He would, which is why Austria is paying
Talleyrand so handsomely to prevent it. And so arrives Breunig. She invites
some grand figures to tea, asks a few questions. Puts her ear to the
floorboards.” She leaned back into the plush blue damask. “We can look through
the other dossiers but I believe this is our best course for now.”
Ty ducked his head. “I defer to the
lady, as ever.”
“That will do major,” she chided,
nonetheless warmed by his praise.
Their glance stretched on, until
Philipe cleared his throat. “I will tell you what I know of her habits.”
His offer surprised her. “You know
something of her routine?”
Philipe rotated his plate slowly
with both index fingers, nodding, biting the inside of his cheek. “Something,
yes.”
Understanding dawned on her. “Ah.”
There was a beautiful woman involved; of course he knew something.
Ty leaned out, spearing a chunk of
ham with his fork. “He means they were lovers, Dimples.”
Philipe's napkin caught Ty's chest
with a sharp pop. “There is a lady present, Major Burrell.”
“Who, Olivia?” Ty's eyes widened,
the effect too comical for her to be offended. “Have you ever witnessed her
stub a toe? She could teach the British fleet a few things.”
Olivia turned down her eyes, hands
folded, doing her best to look ashamed. “My delicate female character is
impressionable. I'm hardly a match for Major Burrell's influence.”
Shaking his head, Philipe scooted
out from the table and stood up. He wagged a finger between her and Ty. “You
two deserve one another.”
“How cruel,” she shot back.
“Unaccountable,” accused Ty.
“I'm sure. Up with you both. Let's
go somewhere more private and I'll tell you what I know.”
* * *
“I thought you said private,” Ty
grumbled, swatting a cyclone of gnats away from his face. “This is practically
barbaric.” He hated insects, of any variety. They were the stuff of biblical
plagues. If he'd known in advance that Philipe intended to make them sit in the
orangery, he would have burned it to the ground first.
“It smells divine,” protested
Olivia, drawing a deep breath of tart lime and orange leaves.
“It's India, all over again.” No
matter how good it smelled, no matter how lovely she was in the sunlight.
Philipe pinched a brown leaf from
one of the newly matured plants. “You may go back inside, major. I find the
prospect of conversing alone with Miss Fletcher perfectly agreeable.”
“This will do,” he
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