Bride of Dreams by Jane Aiken Hodge

Author:Jane Aiken Hodge [Hodge, Jane Aiken]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: PFD Books
Published: 2014-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

"But I tell you, my love, it is true." Amanda had called, one fine May morning of 1798, at Julia Vespucci's house outside Naples and had found her friend busy with her embroidery among twisted olive trees on a terrace overlooking the blue waters of the bay. "I promise you, it is true," she said again. "Lady Hamilton told me at her conversazzione last night. The political prisoners are to be released without delay, your cousin among them. It is the French Minister, M. Garat's doing, of course, and the first good result of this wretched peace with France. Lady Hamilton says her adored Queen is not best pleased about it, but M. Garat has put such pressure on her and her Minister Acton that they could not help but yield."

"It seems too good to be true." Julia had jumped up in her excitement and was pacing about in the scanty shade of the trees. "After four years! But I do not wonder that the Queen thinks it time to make some concessions to France. They say Bonaparte has an army of 35,000 men ready to sail from Toulon. If that Captain Nelson Lady Hamilton is always talking of but relaxes his blockade of the port for a day, Bonaparte will be out to sea, and what more likely than that he will attack Naples? He must know perfectly well that the Queen and Acton are neutral in name only, and would seize any opportunity to strike at him."

"And why not?" asked Amanda. "Sometimes, Julia, you talk almost like a Frenchwoman. You know as well as I do how the French have treated the other Italian states. They came with loud talk of friendship, it is true, but it is the friendship of the wolf for the lamb. Look at Berthier's treatment of the Pope!"

"I know." Julia shook her head. "I fear even my cousin must be sadly disillusioned by now. But, come, if he is really to be released, after all these years, what are we doing lingering here? I must hurry into Naples to greet him, for he will be in need, I fear, of everything I can do for him."

"Yes," Amanda agreed gravely, "by all reports, their treatment in prison has been almost as bad as that meted out by the French to their prisoners. Queen Maria Carolina complains day and night of the torments her poor sister suffered – and then proves herself no better than Marie Antoinette's gaolers."

"Hush, my love." Julia looked nervously around the quiet garden. "That is dangerous talk, even for an Englishwoman." And then, having reassured herself that they could not be overheard, "But it is the truth, for all that. I tell you, I tremble as to what the effects of what he has suffered may not be on my cousin. When he was arrested, four years ago, he was an idealist, a dreamer . . . but now – who knows?"

Amanda, who had had her own doubts about Antonio

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