Therese smiled. “I’m sure that will make Emperor Alexander happy.” Her correspondents had told her that, immediately after Leipzig, Alexander had wanted to continue and push Napoleon all the way back to Paris, but the other commanders had insisted on regrouping first.
Christopher grinned. “It will, indeed. I believe Blücher and Schwarzenberg are itching to move, but of course, they have to consider the weather. My information is that von Bulow and company won’t be ready to sweep south until somewhat later, but I suspect that won’t matter. The fact they are there and threatening all along the northern section of the Rhine is enough to keep the French command stretched over an impossible-to-hold line.”
Eyes wide, Jamie asked, “Does that mean Napoleon will be defeated soon?”
Christopher glanced down and met his nephew’s eyes. “That, my lad, is everyone’s fondest hope.”
“But when is soon?” George asked.
Christopher tipped his head and considered, then ventured, “It won’t be in the next two months, and Napoleon won’t surrender without a fight, so…possibly late April, most likely May, possibly even into June. But by the middle of the year, I would say.”
“Yay!” the children cheered.
For her part, Therese nodded decisively. “Given that, I can certainly see Castlereagh’s point in wanting to keep you safely tucked away. If he’s going to be negotiating within months with Alexander, Bernadotte, the Prussians, and the Hapsburgs, let alone the Italians, then he’ll want your network operating at full capacity.”
“Indeed. My contacts in the various allied courts will be crucial.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Some of them, I’m sure you’ll know.” He named several informants, and Therese responded with her recollections of what position each had held when she and Gerald had known them.
As Therese spoke and Christopher responded, she noticed that, far from losing interest, all three children were avidly drinking in the information—information that was, as it happened, of the highly secret sort. It occurred to her that perhaps she should warn Christopher about saying too much before the three, yet it was exceedingly likely that she would need to employ the children’s observational skills if she wished to keep apprised of what Christopher got up to about the village. Especially if any foreign agent managed to track him there.
She decided it was arguably more sensible for the three to learn what was at stake directly from Christopher’s lips. Consequently, she kept hers shut and let him speak freely.
Eventually, Christopher grimaced and ruefully admitted, “After hearing myself relating all that, it’s impossible to argue that, strategically speaking, ordering me out of London was the right decision. My juniors can keep things ticking along for a few weeks, but when it comes to the negotiations, the subtleties will be critically important, and Castlereagh, Powell, and the others will need me there to identify and interpret those.”
His mother smiled, transparently pleased and proud of his status within the department to which, as his father’s hostess, she’d devoted much of her adult life.
Then she fixed him with an openly curious look. “While I’m pleased you chose to take refuge here, I own to being surprised you thought of this place. Was there some specific reason why Little Moseley called to you?”
He smiled and looked at the children. “Well, aside from spending the time being entertained by my favorite nephews and niece”—the children promptly beamed at him—“one of the attributes that indicated Little Moseley might be the perfect place to, as Powell put it, ‘go to ground’ was that I’ve haven’t been here previously.” He looked at his mother. “There’s no record in anyone’s memory of me coming here, ergo no reason to suppose I would venture here now.”
His mother nodded regally. “As I’ve been out of Foreign Office circles for so long, I doubt anyone currently in the firm would know about Hartington Manor. Although several of your father’s and my peers contacted me around the time of his death, I hadn’t, then, returned here, so this place wouldn’t appear in anyone’s address book.”
“Quite. And as I explained to Powell and Castlereagh, you and your staff will readily comprehend my need for a bolt hole and what that entails. None of your staff are likely to spread the word that I’m here.”
“No, indeed. And although my closest friends know of the manor, those in the wider ton do not.” His mother arched her brows. “Given my closest friends are a highly select group, I doubt you need concern yourself about them sharing the information with anyone who asks.”
He inclined his head in acceptance; his mother’s closest friends were an extremely canny bunch—while they accumulated intelligence better than any spies, they rarely if ever shared what they knew, except with each other. “I can’t think of anyone among my wider acquaintance who would think to look for me here. More than anything else, that was what influenced me to throw myself on your mercy.”
“I will admit I’m looking forward to having you about, and I’m sure the children are, too.” His mother looked at the children inquiringly, and they promptly cheered.
Christopher grinned.
His mother caught his eye. “How long do you think you’ll need to remain?”
“If the matter’s resolved quickly, Powell will send for me, but if I’m not summoned back by the week before Christmas, I’ll stay and travel with you to Winslow.”
“Yay!” the children cheered even louder.
“You’ll be able to come to all the village events!” Lottie declared.
When Christopher looked unsure, George eagerly explained, “The village always holds at least three main events in the weeks leading up to Christmas—the skating party on the lake, the village pageant on the green, and the carol service in the church.”
“And we always attend them all,” Jamie said. “You’ll have to come, too—it’s great fun!”
The excitement in their faces and voices was impossible to miss.
“You won’t be bored,” Lottie said, leaning against his arm and looking cajolingly into his face. “I promise!”
Still unsure what such events might entail—what he might be letting himself in for—Christopher cast a questioning glance at his mother.
She smiled and confirmed, “The children return here every year to experience those events. I think you’ll find it will be perfectly safe for you to be seen going about with them. It’s a small village, and once the locals learn who you are, they’ll consider you to be one of us—they will certainly not speak of you to outsiders, meaning those not known to them. And if any strangers do appear, I assure you these three”—she nodded to the trio surrounding him—“and their friends will be among the first to know.” Her lips quirked, and she met his eyes. “They always are.”
“I see.” He looked at Lottie, then at George and Jamie.
Taking that as an invitation, the three immediately bombarded him with descriptions of the village, the people who inhabited it, and what they considered to be enjoyable outings and experiences to be had within its environs.
Watching the children’s performance, and taking note of the increasingly besieged expression in her son’s eyes, Therese stifled a laugh. Clearly, she need look no further for a task to keep her grandchildren amused.