Page 160 of The Boxing Baroness

A meager delegation stood ready to greet them. Sin recognized Hudson Lowe, Bonaparte’s custodian and the governor of the island. There was another civilian, whom he took to be either the former emperor’s private physician, Barry O’Meara, or Count Emmanuel de Las Cases, who had remained with Bonaparte for some time, teaching him English, along with providing much-needed companionship. The third man wore a uniform and would be part of the garrison stationed on the island.

Lowe hurried to greet them when they stepped from the small boat. “Your Graces.” He bowed low, his face shining with pleasure—no doubt more because they were visitors, than because of their status. Few people, Sin knew, made the journey to Saint Helena—and even fewer were permitted on the island.

Although the exiled emperor was allowed a small entourage, his social life was closely monitored and extremely limited.

When they reached a vehicle that was more cart than carriage, Lowe hesitated. “Perhaps the duchess might wish to remain in Jamestown while you—”

“She will accompany me,” Sin said, using what Marianne still called his dukely manner.

“Oh, of course, of course. It is a bit of a trek, and the conditions. . .” He stopped when he realized to whom he was speaking—the man his government had sent to investigate said conditions. “Wilkins,” he barked at the soldier. “Help the duch—”

Sin slid his hands around his wife’s waist and lifted her up to the running board.

The governor kept up a constant chatter as the wagon rattled through the small village of Jamestown and then began to climb.

Marianne held Sin’s hand tightly, her gaze desolate as she took in the inhospitable terrain.

It was hot at this time of year and they both wore summer clothing. Even so, the weather was stifling.

Sin answered the governor’s many and pointed questions. He knew the man was wondering what a duke was doing on such an errand—and why he would have brought his spouse on such a long, arduous journey. It wasn’t the first time he’d been regarded strangely.

In truth, the trip was too dangerous for his wife, but he could not deny her this chance to meet the man who’d fathered her.

It had taken Sin three years of careful maneuvering to gain this position. They could have come for a visit without the excuse, but it would have raised uncomfortable questions, and Marianne had rejected that option, both for Sin and for their son, Richard—who at four years of age had been far too young to make such a journey. Instead of accompanying them, he was likely running wild under his great aunt Julia’s lenient supervision at Wortham.

They crested the rise and Sin had his first look at Longwood House, where the emperor had been confined since shortly after his arrival. It had originally been built as a storage barn and although it had been converted into a residence before Bonaparte’s arrival, it was, at best, an exceedingly humble residence—especially for a man who had once owned thirty-nine palaces.

“The general does not come out on most days—not until later in the evening,” Lowe said as they pulled up in front of the shuttered building.

There was a guard tower built right beside the structure and sentries were patrolling the pretty, but overgrown gardens.

Sin hopped off the cart and helped Marianne down.

Lowe climbed down slowly and then paused in front of them, rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture. “Of course, you understand that you are not to address him as Emperor?”

Sin and Marianne nodded; they’d already been instructed by protocol experts before leaving London, who’d made a point of reminding them that Bonaparte was no longer emperor of France, and that he should be called General.

“I feel that I must warn you that the general has been, mmm, fractious since we confiscated his fowling piece.”

“He had a gun?” Marianne blurted.

“Yes, he enjoys hunting.”

“Then why did you take it?” she asked.

“He began shooting hens that roamed the property—even though we discouraged such actions. Then two weeks ago he shot General Bertrand’s goat when he caught it eating flowers in his garden. And he shot at one of the sentries when they tried to take the gun away from him. He has not felt well enough for hunting lately, so it is not so much of a deprivation. We do allow him to use it in the evenings, of course.”

“In the evenings?” Marianne frowned. “But . . . why?”

“For—well, you will see after dinner.” He smiled uneasily. “But come, he has been most excited to meet you.”

Sin and Marianne exchanged a look. Her father knew who she was, of course—Désirée had told him. They’d learned all the details when they’d visited her in Paris last year where she was still living, refusing to return to her husband or her new country. The main reason for the journey to France had been to bring Richard to meet his grandmother, although they would not tell their son the truth about either of his grandparents until he was older.

“Are you ready, my love?” Sin asked his wife.

She nodded. “I’m ready.”

They turned toward the clapboard house.