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Amelie is caught singing in her garden at St. Helena, a ruse to attract Napoleon's interest. She's shocked when it works. Her father drags her into the house to confront the emperor.
Light-headed, Amélie sucked in her breath and managed a smile. “How do you do, Your Majesty.”
She realized too late the emperor was supposed to speak first. Aware she should curtsy, her mind went blank, leaving her at a loss as to which foot went where. She dipped her head.
“Mademoiselle, the little gardener. Is that you I heard singing so spiritedly out in the courtyard?”
“You did listen? Oh, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Your Majesty.” She grinned wider and didn’t glance at her father who stood rigid near the door.
“No, no, you misunderstand. You haven’t disturbed me.” Napoleon laughed softly. “I find your voice very interesting. Have you had formal training?”
A rush of awe heated her from the inside out at this praise from the one man their entire world revolved around. Her knees trembled. “Very informal training, Sire, and self-study recently...from the books I borrowed from...I—”
“You learned to sing like that from books?” His sweet smile and flashing blue-gray eyes illuminated his pallid features.
“No I...but I do love to read. You learn so many different things. It opens up the world...” She broke off, ashamed of her babbling, twisting the ribbon under her chin with nervous fingers.
“Quite right, Mademoiselle. Would you mind singing that song again for me, now?”
She blinked at him. “Of course...I wouldn’t mind, Sire.” The idea of singing directly in front of the emperor with her limited knowledge of music made her toes curl in her muddy shoes. A voice in the wind might not sound so melodious in the confines of a house.
“Tres bien. Come into the reception hall. It has the most space.” Napoleon strode from the room.
Passing her father, she barely looked at him as she followed the emperor through the house to the front. The green reception salon was Longwood’s largest chamber. A mahogany billiard table the British had brought up in the first months of their residence took up a fifth of the space. An old piano stood in the far corner. Two lumpy sofas and several chairs slumped against the walls. Two globes, one of the Heavens, one of Earth, flanked the door from the drawing room.
Amélie stood in the realm she’d been eager to explore. The wind rattled the window panes as she felt her nerves rattling beneath her skin.
She hid her dirty hands behind her back and waited for some signal to begin. Napoleon sat and nodded his head.
Amélie anxiously cleared her throat and started to sing. Tentative at first, her voice sputtered and crackled as she grappled for control. Now gathering momentum, she hoped her singing exuded a rich tone. She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breath, hitting the high drawn-out notes and concentrating on doing her utmost—fearful of making a mistake.
When done, her body quivered at the exertion. She took another slow inhale before meeting the emperor’s gaze.
Light-headed, Amélie sucked in her breath and managed a smile. “How do you do, Your Majesty.”
She realized too late the emperor was supposed to speak first. Aware she should curtsy, her mind went blank, leaving her at a loss as to which foot went where. She dipped her head.
“Mademoiselle, the little gardener. Is that you I heard singing so spiritedly out in the courtyard?”
“You did listen? Oh, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Your Majesty.” She grinned wider and didn’t glance at her father who stood rigid near the door.
“No, no, you misunderstand. You haven’t disturbed me.” Napoleon laughed softly. “I find your voice very interesting. Have you had formal training?”
A rush of awe heated her from the inside out at this praise from the one man their entire world revolved around. Her knees trembled. “Very informal training, Sire, and self-study recently...from the books I borrowed from...I—”
“You learned to sing like that from books?” His sweet smile and flashing blue-gray eyes illuminated his pallid features.
“No I...but I do love to read. You learn so many different things. It opens up the world...” She broke off, ashamed of her babbling, twisting the ribbon under her chin with nervous fingers.
“Quite right, Mademoiselle. Would you mind singing that song again for me, now?”
She blinked at him. “Of course...I wouldn’t mind, Sire.” The idea of singing directly in front of the emperor with her limited knowledge of music made her toes curl in her muddy shoes. A voice in the wind might not sound so melodious in the confines of a house.
“Tres bien. Come into the reception hall. It has the most space.” Napoleon strode from the room.
Passing her father, she barely looked at him as she followed the emperor through the house to the front. The green reception salon was Longwood’s largest chamber. A mahogany billiard table the British had brought up in the first months of their residence took up a fifth of the space. An old piano stood in the far corner. Two lumpy sofas and several chairs slumped against the walls. Two globes, one of the Heavens, one of Earth, flanked the door from the drawing room.
Amélie stood in the realm she’d been eager to explore. The wind rattled the window panes as she felt her nerves rattling beneath her skin.
She hid her dirty hands behind her back and waited for some signal to begin. Napoleon sat and nodded his head.
Amélie anxiously cleared her throat and started to sing. Tentative at first, her voice sputtered and crackled as she grappled for control. Now gathering momentum, she hoped her singing exuded a rich tone. She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breath, hitting the high drawn-out notes and concentrating on doing her utmost—fearful of making a mistake.
When done, her body quivered at the exertion. She took another slow inhale before meeting the emperor’s gaze.
Diane lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty puppy.
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