Chapter 471: Camelia's First Attempt Fails
After returning from Silesia, Camelia remained by the Crown Prince's side.
Her Majesty the Queen, intending for this attentive girl to look after her son, appointed her as the Crown Prince's temporary maid — an absolute massive boost to her status, making countless noble young ladies of high birth green with envy.
And now, the maid was putting her long-prepared plan into action.
She had always kept her teacher's instructions in mind: to make the Crown Prince fall in love with her, and she was earnestly putting that into practice.
However, Doctor Perna had previously been inseparable from His Highness, leaving the already inexperienced Camelia with no opportunities.
Now that Miss Perna was in Silesia, she had to seize this rare chance!
Camelia sneaked a glance at Eman, who was seated nearby, and seeing him gaze out the window, her confidence immediately grew.
She discreetly slipped her stocking-clad foot from her shoe, and concealed by the draped tablecloth, slowly extended it towards the Crown Prince across from her.
It was her first time doing something like this, and her face was burning red, but her mind was diligently recalling the "secret technique" Madame Celeste had taught her — Madame Celeste was the most popular noblewoman among men in Versailles, as Camelia had discovered. Only after paying a considerable tuition fee had she received her "true teaching." According to Madame Celeste's maid, she had used this technique to conquer at least a dozen gentlemen.
Camelia silently recited the steps that made her blush with shame, feeling her toes brush against the lace trim of the Crown Prince's trousers.
Her delicate body trembled slightly. She bit her lip and began to raise her foot, her heart thumping wildly, hoping His Highness would enjoy it.
Joseph finally made a decision: to award Perna an Iris Medal of silver, in recognition of her establishing field hospitals.
He reached for a pen, preparing to write a commendation for the General Staff Headquarters, but accidentally knocked over his teacup on the table.
Hot tea spilled from the exquisite Oriental porcelain, instantly pooling across the table and then streaming down its edge.
Just as Camelia's dainty foot was less than two millimeters from the Crown Prince's fitted trousers, she suddenly felt a scorching hot current cover her stocking, followed by a searing pain on the top of her foot.
Tears nearly burst forth from her eyes, but she desperately bit down on her teeth, afraid to show any abnormality. Just as she was about to retract her feet, she saw the Crown Prince about to lean down to wipe up the water on the floor, and she was instantly panic-stricken — her feet were still suspended in mid-air!
"Your Highness, please allow me."
Eman's voice appeared like a celestial melody, saving her.
Joseph straightened up, moved aside, and nodded, indicating, "Then I'll trouble you. Thank you very much."
In the brief moment Eman rose, Camelia retracted her feet as quickly as possible, and, enduring the pain, stuffed them back into her shoes.
Joseph looked up and saw Camelia's face flushed hot, with tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and he quickly asked with concern, "Are you feeling unwell?"
"No, no," the maid frantically forced a smile, "I'm, I'm fine, I'm alright..."
Upon returning to the Tuileries Palace, Camelia, whose first attempt had failed, hurried back to her private chambers while the Crown Prince was discussing matters with Archbishop Brienne. She took off her shoes and stockings, only to find her tender feet scalded as red as boiled shrimp. Fortunately, the tea had cooled down a bit, so she wasn't actually burned.
Shame, frustration, and pain surged through her all at once, and the young girl could no longer hold back her tears...
...
London.
In a villa on the southwestern outskirts, Mr. Pasquale Paoli, dressed in a brand-new blue-grey suit, exchanged a smiling kiss with his wife, then took his cane and boarded his carriage.
A gentle breeze caressed his face, causing him to hum a tune.
Paoli was in excellent spirits, having recently achieved great success in both his career and his love life.
Just last month, he had met Isabella at a salon, a gentle and beautiful English noblewoman. Her father was a Baron, and her family was affluent; the young nobles pursuing her could line up from St James's Palace to Buckingham Palace.
Who would have thought that this angelic beauty, who seemed distant to everyone, would be drawn to his charm and conversation, quickly falling deeply in love with him?
Although he had been married for years, having a mistress was perfectly normal for a politician of his standing.
As he reveled in the joys of love, just last week, a Scottish wealthy merchant, a strong advocate for the spirit of freedom, heard of his deeds and was deeply moved, expressing his willingness to provide some support for the Corsican people's pursuit of independence and freedom.
According to what he had learned from those who knew Mr. Chalmers, Chalmers owned two coal mines, a textile factory, and shares in the East India Company, with a personal fortune of at least 200,000 Pound Sterling.
He believed that such a wealthy man would provide at least 10,000 Pound Sterling in funding, perhaps even more.
Paoli's carriage stopped in front of a luxurious villa not far from the River Thames. A man of medium height immediately came forward, opened the carriage door for him, and smiled:
"You've finally arrived, Mr. Chalmers got here half an hour ago."
Paoli quickly followed him towards the villa. At today's salon, Chalmers was very likely to finalize the funding.
"Are Balster and Elioc here too?"
The middle-aged man nodded, "They just arrived."
"That's good," Paoli sighed with relief. "It's understandable, after all, Mr. Chalmers has never met me before."
Although he said this, he was actually somewhat displeased.
That Chalmers was actually worried that he, the leader of Corsica, was a fraud, and demanded that three high-ranking members of the Corsican Restoration Organization participate in the funding discussion.
Left with no choice, he had to have his three key lieutenants travel by boat to Britain. While this might delay their efforts to veto the pro-French faction's tax bill in the Corsican assembly, securing a large sum of funds would enable him to bribe more assembly members to support him in the future.
The salon had not yet begun. Madame Henri, the hostess, warmly instructed her servants to attend to Paoli and his companions.
Afterwards, Paoli saw the shrewd and capable Scottish wealthy merchant, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
"Ah! It's a pleasure to meet you." Chalmers exchanged greetings with him, then sat down and raised his wine glass, saying, "I've heard much about your exploits these past few days. Esteemed Mr. Paoli, I must admit, I am profoundly impressed by your and your father's heroic deeds.
"Therefore, I've decided to provide 20,000 Pound Sterling to support your noble cause."
Paoli hadn't expected the other party to state the funding so straightforwardly, and the amount far exceeded his expectations.
"This is truly wonderful!" He quickly raised his own glass. "On behalf of all the Corsican people, I express our sincere gratitude to you!"
Their glasses clinked lightly, but Chalmers seemed a little hesitant as he said:
"However, Mr. Paoli, I have a small request."
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