"Didn't you tell him?"
Pomona looked at the woman in the mirror and spoke warningly.
Of course, no one answered her. She felt utterly foolish.
She had not originally been meant to attend the evening reception, but for some reason, Bonaparte had brought her along to that sort of occasion.
There would be another reception at the Rouen Museum of Fine Arts tomorrow, this one hosted by merchants. During the day, she also had to "inspect" the Rouen Faculty of Medicine and Pharmacy. God, as if she had really become some important figure.
Just as she was removing her makeup, the door closed behind her. Matilda had probably returned with the water.
That was how castles in the Middle Ages were—there was no running water.
"Just put it on the table," she said as she removed her earrings.
In truth, she had worried for nothing. No one cared what country her jewelry came from, because the British had not attended the French reception at all.
"Did you have fun today?"
Georgiana jumped.
She covered her chest and glared irritably at Bonaparte, who was smiling broadly. He seemed rather pleased with himself.
"I wasn't having fun," she said crossly.
"Then what did you talk about on the ship?" he asked again.
"Didn't Mr. Martin tell you?"
"I want to hear it from you." He reached out and swept aside her hair, brushing the back of her neck as though he were helping her remove her necklace.
If he really wanted to take it off, that would have been fine. But his fingertips kept fiddling with the clasp, and for some reason it irritated her.
"We talked about tariffs," she said deliberately harshly.
"What do they want?" he asked lazily, looking entirely unconcerned.
"The Americans seem to be preparing for war. They