Joanna Maitland - His Reluctant Mistress

Sophie glanced round. The sun was shining through the rear doorway and the palace’s beautiful gardens looked most inviting. She had no desire to be made to wait in a room used by the senior servants. ‘No, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I have a mind to take a turn outside while the weather is so fine.’

For some reason, the gardens were almost empty, in spite of the fact that the people of Vienna were allowed to wander there at will. Sophie strolled through the great parterre, admiring the geometric patterns of the late summer flowers. She was tempted by the huge Neptune fountain below the Gloriette, but she dare not go so far from the palace. She wandered instead in the tree-shaded pathways at the edges of the parterre.

She had been outside for about a quarter of an hour when she heard a high-pitched cry. Was it her summons? Shading her eyes against the low autumn sunshine, Sophie scrutinised the alleyways carefully. Nothing.

But then another joyous shout gave her the direction. Over by the back of the palace, partly hidden by the columns supporting the first-floor balcony, she could see two indistinct figures, one of them very small. A child. He must be the young son of Marie-Louise and Napoleon Bonaparte and the centre of all that monster’s hopes. Should she approach him? He was hardly more than an infant, perhaps a little over three years old, but he might already have been taught to be as arrogant and imperious as his sire.

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