Beau no longer knew what day it was; he didn't care; he didn't care to care. He just wanted to forget the pale blond beauty who persisted in his thoughts, who haunted him.

And after a month, he found he didn't care about anything much at all.

19.

In the early days of the dissipated menage a trois at the St. John estate, far to the north, the Austrian offensive opened and made rapid progress against the French on all sectors. On the eastern flank General Ott captured Recco and the dominant Monte Becco, forcing the French right wing back to Nervi, five miles east of Genoa. In the center Hohenzollern stormed the important Bocchetta Pass on the main road northward from Genoa to Tortona, while Melas's main drive secured the Cadibona Pass and broke through to the coast at Vado, thus separating the groups of Soult and Suchet. After three days of stiff fighting Melas had gained all his first objectives and had driven the French from their forward line on the crest of the Ligurian Apennines, though at the cost of serious casualties. Massena had put up a stubborn resistance against heavy odds; the Austrians outnumbered him five to one.

While the residents at Di Cavalli passed April in self-gratifying pleasures, in the environs of Genoa, Austrian pressure continued and the French were gradually driven back through Voltri and Sestri, harassed all the time by the fire of the British sloops who blockaded the coast. By April 20 the French left flank was withdrawn to the mouth of the river Polcevera, only three miles west of Genoa; on the right flank they had withdrawn to the river Sturla, while in the center they were holding the fortified enceinte and the detached forts to the north and east of it. General Massena in Genoa was now entirely cut off from his base at Nice and from Suchet's corps.

On April 24, Admiral Keith from his flagship, HMS Minotaur, sent a parlementaire to Massena, summoning him to surrender in view of the hopelessness of his position; otherwise, the admiral said, he would have to bombard Genoa. Massena promptly replied: "Genoa will be defended to the last extremity," and immediately opened fire on the British ships from the Lanterna battery. On the same day Massena sent off Major Franceschi, one of Soult's ADC's, to run the blockade and carry a dispatch to Bonaparte, giving an account of the operations to date and saying that, by still further reducing the troops' rations, he could hold out "for another ten or twelve days, perhaps fifteen."

Captain Berry arrived at Di Cavalli near the end of the month with letters and news. He found Beau and his small harem outside, the women lounging on chaises in the garden and sipping on champagne, their indolent gazes on Beau, who was working with one of the barb horses that had been brought out of Tunis. A profusion of blooms colored the greenery in the garden, the scent of roses heavy in the air.

"Could I offer you a drink?" Beau casually inquired when Berry reached the riding ring, sliding from the saddle, handing the reins to a stable boy. He offered the captain a small flask from his vest pocket.

"Thank you, sir, don't mind if I do. The ride from the coast was a mite warm and dusty."

"Even hotter here inland; drink it all. There's more over there," Beau added, gesturing toward the ladies. A sheen of perspiration burnished his skin. He wore only riding boots and buckskins, a vest with the requisite pocket for his flask unbuttoned in the heat. His tanned arms and shoulders, his powerful chest were gilded with sweat, the contrast of male strength and the delicate embroidery on his linen vest striking.

The captain emptied the flask, and handing it back with a smile, said, "If you're otherwise engaged, sir ..." He glanced at the women seated in the partial shade of a flowering apple tree, their lacy boudoir robes revealing, their voluptuous sensuality blatant. "I'll wait in your office."

"I've been otherwise engaged," Beau sardonically murmured, "for weeks now. They won't miss me overmuch if I take you inside. Have you met the Countess Niollo?"

"Once briefly, sir-on Capri."

"Ah ... yes, well, come and make your bow and then we'll retire to the coolness of my office." With a courteous small dip of his head, he waved Berry before him.

It was only a short distance to the garden and when Beau introduced the women, he treated them with equal deference, regardless one was a countess and the other his housemaid. The countess nodded minutely in the captain's direction, her notions of consequence requiring no more than the merest acknowledgment to a man of his rank. Thebia, the pretty maid, jumped up and bobbed a curtsy for the captain, her smile open, warm.

He'd have to see that she was well rewarded when he left, Beau thought, her engaging charm bringing a smile to his face. "If you'll excuse us, ladies," he urbanely said, as if the two women in dishabille were at a drawing room for the queen and not just recently risen from his bed. "The captain has some messages for me."

"Don't be gone long," Francesca said, cherishing an inflated sense of her prerogatives after a month with Beau.

"Will this require much time, Berry?" Beau drawled. "The countess is impatient."

"I'm not certain, sir." Although he felt his news was significant enough to interrupt Beau's hermitage regardless, he had orders not to disturb him.

"Duty calls, Francesca," Beau casually declared, understanding Berry wouldn't have come without good reason. "Perhaps one of the grooms could entertain you in my absence. I mean riding of course. Do try that pretty barb."

Thebia giggled behind her hand.

The countess glared at Beau for a moment and then said, "I found him wanting, darling, don't you recall?"

Scandal never affected Francesca; her beauty insulated her from censure as did her dead husband's generous marriage settlement. "In that case I must endeavor to make haste," he smoothly replied.

Captain Troubridge, one of Nelson's subordinates, had taken the islands of Ischia and Capri, Berry told him, perched on the edge of his chair in Beau's office, his voice clipped and rushed as he detailed the campaign. The British were once again in control of the harbor of Naples.

"Pitt won't commit land troops," Beau said, seated across his desk from him. "How do they expect to drive the French from Naples?"

"Ruffo's on the march with his Army of the Holy Faith."

"Ah ... Ferdinand's bloody hand of God. The pillaging must have reached a fine pitch by now."

Berry acknowledged the assessment with a grimace. "And Massena's done, they say at Genoa."

"And Bonaparte?"

"No one knows."

Beau gazed at his captain, his eyes sharply direct. "Perhaps someone should find out."

"My thinking, sir."

"Am I obliged to give up my amusements then?" He leaned back for a moment, a faint smile on his face, a crackling excitement obliterating his monthlong ennui.

"I took the liberty of having the servants pack you a bag, sir."

"The countess will never forgive me," Beau cheerfully said.

"I'm thinking she will, sir, seeing as how you left her in Capri last year and she seems to have, er, forgiven you."

"Did I really?"

"She was screaming something awful, sir. I distinctly recall our departure."

"I must have sent her something."

"Two diamond necklaces, sir."

"Ah. I don't suppose you brought any along with you?"

"The jewelry case is in your room."

Beau grinned; Berry's organizational skill was impeccable. "I imagine our itinerary is planned as well."

"Palermo first, sir, and then-"

"Genoa."

"Yes, sir."

"I should be sober by Palermo."

"You'll find Lock in charge, sir," Berry calmly remarked, knowing Beau was competent sober or not. "Sir Hamilton has been formally recalled."

"All the twittering biddies finally got to the king then."

"There are those who take scandal seriously, milord."

"Luckily no one of interest to me."

"Just so, sir."

Beau and Captain Berry left Di Cavalli within the hour, the countess less prone to sustain a temperamental fit when offered free rein in a jewelry case. She was greedy, as Beau expected, and she sniffed in outrage when Beau selected two items of jewelry and gave them to Thebia. He'd left orders for his steward to pay the young woman a handsome sum as well once Francesca was gone, in the event Thebia's sojourn in his bed had irreparably damaged her reputation. The steward had rather thought not, mentioning that the young maid's casual disregard for propriety wasn't a recent manifestation-two of the footmen were special favorites of hers.

That bit of information had absolved Beau's sense of chivalry from any serious penance and he rode off in high good spirits.

The past month had mitigated the worst of his desire for Serena and he could almost convince himself that with time he'd forget her completely. He had no wish to seriously consider marriage and he couldn't offer her less in a permanent relationship. Or could he? a wicked voice suggested; even a viscount's daughter might be persuaded to the status of mistress. But, he decided in the next pulse beat, he didn't know if he could actually relinquish his bachelor ways, and recalling her temper he knew Serena wouldn't agree to any amorous license for him.

And it was all moot anyway because even the merest intimation of permanence unnerved him.

"Why did you never marry?" he asked Berry, mulling over his disparate thoughts.

Berry turned slightly in the saddle, wondering at Beau's inference.

"Just a general question," Beau dissimulated.

"Never found a woman I loved that much," Berry said.

"My thinking too," Beau murmured.

On reaching Palermo, Beau went to call on Charles Lock, the British consul-general deputizing until the new envoy replacing Hamilton arrived. The Hamiltons and Nelson were off on a pleasure cruise to Malta and Syracuse before beginning the long journey back to England, the embassy butler said when Beau inquired. All talk was of Cardinal Ruffo's success on his advance toward Naples, the major domo volunteered on their passage to the first floor offices.

There were indications the French were withdrawing from Naples, the deputy-consul explained when the courtesies and greetings had been discharged.

"On orders, no doubt," Beau said, seating himself in a comfortable chair.

"With Genoa under siege and in desperate straits, Massena needs reinforcements, I expect." Charles Lock nervously tapped his watch fob. "But there's been utter silence from Napoleon. Our usual sources seem to have dried up."

"Certainly Bonaparte's campaign should begin soon, especially with Massena and his troops bottled up."

"Moreau struck at Kray in Prussia just last week."

"Do you think Bonaparte's considering a German campaign then? Will he leave Massena turning in the wind?"

The consul shrugged. "No one knows-certainly not the prime minister's damned council ... nor do they know how to run a war."

"And you can't trust the Austrians. Thugut has his own territorial agenda."

Lock heaved a sigh. "Since the beginning."

"I was thinking of going up to Genoa and talk to some ADC's I know on the Austrian staff. Berry and I might ride north from there and see what we can discover."

"Everyone would be grateful, Rochefort," Charles Lock said, a worried frown creasing his forehead. "We're completely in the dark. With Lord Hamilton gone and Sir John Acton on his honeymoon, most of our sources are uncertain of their new loyalties."

"Did Sir John actually marry his thirteen-year-old niece?" Beau's eyebrows rose marginally.

"A fait accompli, sordid as it is."

"How costly was the papal dispensation?"

"Affordable apparently. The young thing tried to run away, dressed herself like a boy in breeches and bolted. But they caught her and now the happy couple," Lock sarcastically noted, "is aboard the Foudroyant with Nelson et al."

"Sir John's damned old."

"Sixty-four."

Beau grimaced. "Can't see myself doing that to a child."

"The Actons are keeping the inheritance in the family."

"Seems to me a barrister or some political maneuvering in parliament would have accomplished as much."

"But then we're neither of us sixty-four," Lock gently said. "More brandy?"

"No." Beau held his hand up to check the consul's movement. "I'm on the cure. Berry tells me I'm going to need everything working in prime condition for our jaunt north."

"If anyone can do it, Rochefort, you can," the consul-general said with a benign smile. "And not wishing to put any undue burden on you, but we're all counting on you."

Smiling, Beau rose from his chair. "On that oppressive note," he lazily said, "I'll bid you good day. We'll send our reports back to the blockading squadron to relay to you. At that point, I wish the prime minister good fortune convincing the Austrians to work with him."

"We should have our own army in the Mediterranean. I couldn't have agreed more with Commander-in-Chief Stuart. The campaign in Holland was a disaster, as anyone with half a brain could have told them."

"I'll see what I can find to convince Pitt to send land troops to Italy."

"And I'll relay your information in the strongest possible language."

In the meantime in Paris that same night, May 6, at four in the morning, Bonaparte, accompanied by his secretary Bourrienne, rapidly descended the great staircase of the Tuileries leading from his rooms to the inner courtyard and stepped into a black berlin drawn by a team of post horses. The gates opened and the carriage dashed off at a gallop. He would not be long away-it was just a routine inspection, everyone was told.

They traveled at breakneck speed. Two days before, Duroc had left to prepare the relays; the postmasters were at their stations with their best horses harnessed and waiting; the unharnessing and reharnessing were carried out without changing postilions. The secretary inquired as to the name of the village and they galloped off again.

They reached Avallon at 7:30 in the evening-150 miles in fifteen hours-ten miles per hour, including relays. On May 7 Napoleon reached Dijon and very late on the eighth he was in Geneva, where Berthier was working at full pressure so the movement of the Reserve Army could begin on the tenth in accordance with the First Consul's plan. There was a three-day delay while waiting for the artillery to complete its preliminary marches, during which time Napoleon inspected the troops and made speeches designed to delude Austrian agents concerning the destination of the Reserve Army.

And then the ascent of the Alps at the Great St. Bernard Pass began.

At that time of year the pass was a huge mass of ice; a rough mule track, covered in snow for ten months of the year, gave access to the pass, which linked the Swiss valley of the Rhone with the Lombardy plains. Fifty-three thousand men, 5,000 horses, 60 cannon, and 300 wagons, were to move into the Aosta valley, at the threshold of Piedmont, by covering twenty-five miles of sterile valleys, defiles, rocks, and snows, in a season when the cold and the wind were still terrible and avalanches were of daily occurrence. In preparation for this journey each soldier had been issued nine days' rations and forty cartridges. From Martigny, the road, wide enough to allow the passage of a small carriage, climbed alongside the wild, seething Drance, running close to precipices without parapets, crossing frail, ramshackle bridges, and finally reaching Bourg St. Pierre. The road didn't go beyond this point. It gave place to a mere path by which one could reach St. Remy, the first village on the Italian slope.

The higher the army went, the rougher and narrower the road became. At Bourg St. Pierre mechanics dismantled the guns; gun carriages and wheels were numbered; the provisions were packed into small boxes and loaded on mules, the gun barrels were lashed on to hollowed-out tree trunks and sledges. Watrin's and Loison's men hauled them along, 100 men harnessed to each gun, ten men apiece for the mountings carried on stretchers. When they came to the snow line, the ice cut through their shoes and they had to change them every three to four miles.

It took two days to move the artillery from St.-Pierre to the Hospice of St. Bernard at the top of the pass. After ten hours' march through regions of wild desolation, hurricanes and snow, wreckage and wooden crosses, the soldiers came to the monastery buildings where the monks had set up tables laden with food arranged for by Bonaparte, who'd sent money and wine ahead. On May 16, the harsh, bare plateau presented a picturesque sight with all the paraphernalia of war hauled up to 8,120 feet and the soldiers dining on boiled salt beef, mutton stew, dry vegetables, goat's cheese, Gruyere, and an old white Aosta wine.