Congress of Secrets

by Stephanie Burgis

  “Your Ladyship.” Michael stepped into the drawing room and swept a flourishing bow. Behind him, she glimpsed Charles, his face set in unreadable lines. “May I congratulate you on your fine apartments?”

  Caroline gave him a cool smile, conscious of her secretary’s watchful gaze. “I trust your room is adequate, Your Highness?”

  “Charming, Lady Wyndham. But of course.” Michael crossed the room to take her hand and brushed a warm kiss across her knuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Entirely charming,” he breathed.

  Caroline fought down the urge to slap him. Instead, she said calmly, “Do sit down, Prince Kalishnikoff, and allow me to order tea. Charles, you may find the accounting books open in the study, but first …” She waited until he had closed the door behind him, then lowered her voice as she spoke again. “The housekeeper tells me that one of the maids has left her post.”

  “Ah.” Charles took his pencil and writing tablet from his jacket. “Shall I arrange a replacement?”

  “No need.” She kept half her attention on Michael’s bland, abstracted expression. He was absorbing every word, she knew. “It seems that we’ve been fortunate enough to have a replacement appear already this morning. The first maid’s cousin … or so I’m told.”

  “Her cousin.” Charles’s pen stilled above the notepad. He looked up at her. “Do you think—”

  “I believe,” Caroline said evenly, “that I have attracted His Majesty’s attention. And it would be most unwise to turn away this new maid, regardless of how well or badly she might choose to perform her duties.” She took a deep breath, still carefully not looking in Michael’s direction. “Even more unwise to write any letters or notes which might cause discomfort. Even if they were left in the fireplace and thought to be illegible.”

  “I understand.” Breath hissed out through Charles’s teeth. “Lady Wyndham …” He glanced quickly at Michael and then back to Caroline.

  “You may speak freely in front of Prince Kalishnikoff, Charles,” said Caroline. “He is an old friend, of course.” And you have not half the wits I credit in you if you take me at my word and loosen your tongue before him. She smiled serenely at Charles, trusting him to read her hidden message without help.

  Infuriating and untrustworthy Michael Steinhüller might be, but he was far too intelligent to miss any hints dropped clumsily in his vicinity.

  “Thank you, Your Ladyship.” Charles bowed first to Caroline, then, more stiffly, to Michael. “Would you excuse me? The accounts are waiting.”

  “Of course.”

  Caroline nodded dismissal. It took no particular wit to guess that he would be doing those accounts not in her study but in his own room in the apartment below … and only after carefully hiding every alchemical document he possessed. Thank God for a discreet secretary, she thought. If the emperor—or, worse yet, Count Pergen—were to suspect that she had brought a tame alchemist in tow …

  “Clever man,” Michael said as the door closed behind Charles. He sank down onto the cream-colored settee and grinned at her. “Too clever to be a comfortable neighbor, I must say.”

  “If you aren’t pleased with your living arrangements, I beg you won’t stay on my account.”

  “Spoken like a true aristocrat.” He shook his head, looking around the elegant drawing room, filled with light from the tall windows. “A beautiful apartment, too—both of the apartments you hired. It was an extraordinary expense to rent your secretary an apartment of his own in this district.”

  “I’m a wealthy woman, now.” Caroline aimed a smile without warmth in his direction. “A busy one, too. It’s best to have my secretary within easy reach.”

  “Mm. To do your accounts and the like.” A smile twitched at Michael’s mouth as he shook his head. “Give over, Karolina. I’m not such a dunce that I can’t tell a game when I see one.”

  Caroline’s jaw clenched. “I told you last night: I don’t play games!”

  He gave a shout of laughter, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re astonishingly easy to rouse with teasing, too. Just like when we were children.”

  Caroline forced her breath out in a shuddering sigh. “Let me order drinks, PrinceKalishnikoff.” She rose to her feet and pulled the bell cord. “I take it you drink tea now? As a half-Russian royal?”

  “Me? Not hardly. I’ll have you know, I spent all the melancholy years after my poor kingdom’s invasion visiting the stately homes of Bohemia, Moravia, and even Turkey, learning the tastes of all their national brews.” His eyebrows rose. “My poor girl. Are you telling me that now you’re an English noblewoman, you aren’t even allowed to drink coffee? Here in the first coffee capital of Europe?”

  “I bear the pain well enough, somehow,” Caroline said dryly.

  She’d made the coffee for Michael and her father in the old days, as they’d raced to put out their latest pamphlets, but of course she’d been too young, then, to drink it herself … or to share in any of the real work with them.

  “Soon,” her father had promised her, on one of their final mornings together. He’d turned away from the massive printing press to rub Karolina’s hair with rough affection after she’d carried their cups into the dark, windowless back room where he’d moved his most important work, for safety, after the laws had changed.

  She’d had to sidestep around the tall, neatly piled stacks of paper that were waiting to be bound and duck her head to avoid the fresh-printed sheets that hung from a clothesline above her to dry, but she had taken infinite care not to spill a single drop of the precious beverage she was bringing them as fuel for their great battle against injustice.

  “Just a few more years and you’ll be ready to join us, Lina …”

  The drawing room door opened, and the new maid entered, ducking her head in a curtsy.

  “One tea, with milk on the side, and a Melange for the gentleman,” Caroline told her. “And …” She paused, as another knock sounded on the outer door. “It sounds as though we have company,” she finished lightly. Sensible relief mixed with an unaccountable pang of disappointment.

  They wouldn’t be speaking any more of the past today, after all.

  A moment later, she heard familiar tones rising above her butler’s muted greetings. Caroline smiled wryly, glancing at her uninvited guest, who had an expression of bright interest on his face. And now the ruse truly begins.

  “Lady Wyndham!” The Prince de Ligne nearly bounced into the room, followed closely by his companion of the night before.

  “Your Highness. Comte.” Caroline stepped forward to offer her hand with real warmth. “I’m delighted to see you both. May I make you known to an old friend of mine? Prince Kalishnikoff, the Comte de La Garde-Chambonas and the Prince de Ligne.”

  “The general who traveled with Catherine the Great when she took the Tauride!” Michael said. “I am truly honored, sir.”

  “Ah, you have a long memory, Your Highness. A charming trait indeed, to such ancient relics as myself.” The Prince de Ligne bobbed a bow. “You’ll have much in common with my young friend the memoirist here, then.”

  “Two more coffees, please, Bettina,” Caroline said to the maid, as she sat back in her chair. “And pastries, too, to fortify us if we’re to speak of battlefields.”

  “I would never be so ungallant as to do so in front of a lady. Particularly when her own battles are so much more engaging.” The prince swept back his coattails and sat on the elegant, high-backed chair next to Caroline, his eyes sparkling. “I’ve had no chance yet to compliment you on your victory of last night, Lady Wyndham.”

  Feeling her new maid’s eyes upon her, Caroline gave a light laugh. “What a pity,” she said. “Particularly as I haven’t any idea what you might mean. It’s always infinitely more satisfying to be praised for accomplishments one knows about, don’t you think, Your Highness?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw Bettina turn and slip quietly from the room … without closing the door behind her.

&n
bsp; The prince raised his eyebrows. “But my dear, have you not heard? You were the toast of last night’s ball. The emperor could barely take his eyes off you, according to all the gossips. Nor could the empress, for that matter, when she saw what interest the emperor took in you.”

  “A compliment indeed.” Caroline smiled, shrugged delicately, and turned the subject. “But tell me what other appointments you have today. According to my gossips, your house has become the meeting place for half of Vienna.”

  The Prince de Ligne waved one hand in graceful dismissal. “Half the most tedious company of Vienna, certainly.”

  “We had to resort to a ruse simply to escape them last night so that we might attend the ball,” the young comte put in. “Forty men gathered in his salon, only to listen to his sayings—”

  “And then to laugh inanely and repeat them in garbled form, as bearish nonsense credited to myself. An honor indeed. Pah.” The prince shook his head. “I go nowhere near my own house today. I slipped out too early for any of them this morning, and in an hour I shall lunch at the Palais Palm.” His lips twitched. “Although I have not yet decided whether to dine on the right or on the left.”

  “Your Highness?” Caroline raised her eyebrows in enquiry.

  “Well, you must know, my dear, that the two apartments on opposite sides of the grand staircase are rented by Princess Bagration and the Duchesse de Sagan separately.”

  Caroline frowned. “But those two ladies, I thought—”

  “Exactly!” The prince’s eyes sparkled with mischievous delight. “They loathe each other with a passion—particularly now that the duchess has stolen our honored Prince Metternich from Bagration every bit as neatly as she stole Armfelt from her own mother thirteen years ago.”

  Michael said, “Was it choice or only a happy accident that put them in the same palais?”

  “An accident?” De Ligne snorted. “My dear Prince Kalishnikoff, do consider: these ladies have hated each other for years! How better could they indulge their enmity than by taking rooms close enough to note all of each other’s comings and goings, pay each other’s servants for damning information, and thereby spite their rival at every turn? But now whenever anyone speaks of visiting the palais, one must always refer to which apartment one is visiting—the right or the left. And, in my happy case, they have both issued invitations to me for the very same hour.”

  “A dilemma indeed,” Caroline murmured. “Alas that I cannot attend to observe your performance.”

  “No?” Michael tilted his head. “Why ever not? Don’t you enjoy a good performance, Lady Wyndham?”

  Caroline’s smile cut her face. “I am a respectable widow, Prince Kalishnikoff … as you well know. And the salons of both Princess Bagration and the Duchesse de Sagan—”

  “Are no place for respectable widows, no matter how charming,” the Prince de Ligne finished for her, with mock sorrow. “It is their only flaw.”

  “And it is precisely the reason why you make a point of attending them,” Caroline added tartly. “So, Your Highness. Which shall you choose?”

  “I have not yet decided. And, most distressingly, my young friend De Garde-Chambonas cannot accompany me to either.”

  “I have another appointment,” the comte murmured. “A friend from Sweden who wishes to tell me the story of his experiences on the battlefield.”

  “I’ve only just arrived in Vienna myself,” Michael said. “So I must confess to envying your busy schedules. After so many years of fruitless wandering …”

  He sighed.

  It was well done, she had to admit; neither melodramatic nor soulful. Still, Caroline had to fight the impulse to roll her eyes. She glimpsed a momentary gleam of mischief in his own eyes as he slipped a glance at her, but his face revealed nothing but solemn sincerity as he turned to face the rest of the company.

  “And where have you come from, Prince Kalishnikoff?” asked the Prince de Ligne.

  “Most recently? Since Bonaparte took my principality and I was forced to flee, I’ve visited half of central Europe, at least, and even spent time in the East.” A grin broke across Michael’s face, dispelling the melancholy. “Which can hardly be counted as a disadvantage! Had I not lost my rule, I might never have had time nor opportunity to see more of the world. Instead of which, I’ve spent the last ten years learning all the languages of Europe and being a guest at both palaces and hovels in the most extraordinary places, meeting half the nobles and scoundrels of the Continent.”

  “Many of them the same people, no doubt,” said Caroline.

  “But of course,” Michael said, smiling directly at her.

  “I have a charming idea,” said the Prince de Ligne. “Lady Wyndham, might you possibly spare me your friend’s company? Prince Kalishnikoff, if you’d care to accompany me to the Palais Palm, we may take our choice of feasts together and you may seize the opportunity to be introduced to Viennese society at … er … one or another of the most fashionable salons in the city.”

  “What a marvelous idea,” Michael said. “Don’t you agree, Lady Wyndham?”

  “Oh, yes,” Caroline murmured, through gritted teeth. Through the doorway, she glimpsed the flutter of a lace cap—the new maid, finally moving away from her position by the door. Apparently, she’d heard enough to make her first report. “Marvelous.”

  Within the Hofburg Palace, Emperor Francis sipped espresso and nibbled at a still-warm Kipferl, listening to the morning report with only half of his attention. If he pleaded a headache that afternoon, perhaps he could beg off riding in the Agate with the tsar and the Prussian king. If he had a note delivered to the charming Lady Wyndham first, to ensure that she would be waiting in her apartment for him without receiving any other guests …

  The young officer who’d been sent to Francis’s private sitting room that morning recited the news in a numbing monotone.

  “… And the king of Prussia went out last night after the ball, dressed in civilian clothes with a hat pulled over his face, and didn’t return until seven o’clock this morning …”

  Francis forced himself into a show of interest. “Did he leave or return with anyone else?”

  “Ah …” The officer checked his notes, flushing. “Only with his grand chamberlain, Your Majesty. Prince Wittgenstein.”

  “Mm. Out looking for prostitutes, then, as usual. Carry on.”

  “The Russian guests brought back several Graben-nymphen to their rooms last night—”

  “Again.” Francis sighed. “At least the Prussians have some sense of discretion in their favor, even if poor Friedrich Wilhelm’s disguises never work. And?”

  “The Prince de Ligne has taken Sophie Morel under his protection—”

  “Excellent taste. As usual.” Francis brushed off his hands carefully, scattering flaky crumbs across the Oriental table. He’d worked hard enough for the morning. It was time to move on to the news that actually interested him. “What of Lady Wyndham, from England? Any new reports on that lady?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Let me find—ah. Yes. Last night, a gentleman she met at the ball traveled back with her in her carriage. Our informant reports he is staying in the same building as Lady Wyndham, in the apartment below hers—”

  “No very strange coincidence that they shared a carriage, then.”

  “He is staying in an apartment for which Lady Wyndham herself holds the lease.”

  Francis’s hands paused in midair. He looked up and met the officer’s neutral gaze.

  “Ah,” Francis said. “Is he indeed?”

  He took a breath. Concentrate. She had danced with another man directly after him, and Francis had watched them circling across the floor. Had it been that one, or—?

  His long fingers closed into a fist around his Kipferl. Golden crumbs scattered between his fingers. It didn’t matter who the man was. All that mattered was that the bitch had lied.

  “I came alone, Your Majesty. As you see me.”

  How many people in his life would try t
o use him?

  How many people still saw him as the weakling his uncle had named him, even now? A man who could be lied to with impunity.

  He had offered her the chance to be frank with him. He had asked her outright if she had come with a companion to the Congress! He wasn’t an unreasonable man. He wouldn’t have held it against her if the answer had been yes. He wouldn’t even have let that hold him back from a discreet connection, had she made the possibility tempting enough.

  But she had looked him in the eye and smiled and lied.

  She had treated him as a fool, and he had let her.

  “Bring all new reports on her to me,” Francis said, “as swiftly as possible.” He rose, wiping off his hands and smoothing down the folds of his crimson dressing gown.

  “Don’t you wish to hear the rest of my report, Your Majesty?”

  “Not at the moment,” Francis said. “You may pass it all to Prince Metternich without reserve today, but I …” He paused to control his tone, as rage coalesced into a hard ball in his chest. “I find I have quite enough to consider already.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Peter Riesenbeck stood in the auditorium of the Theater an der Wien and fought to summon up his patience after a night without sleep. Shrieks of rage mingled with melodramatic gasps and groans on the crowded stage and echoed around the empty theater.

  In less than twenty-four hours of life in the capital, Peter’s proud troupe of actors had become a tooth-jarringly shrill nest of prima donnas. He could happily have banged all their heads together.

  Instead, he jumped up onto the stage and forced an innocent smile.

  “Ladies! Gentlemen!”

  There was no cessation in the noise. Peter took a deep lungful of air and bellowed.

  “Actors!”

  They turned as one to look at him. But only for a moment.

  “I will not be asked to share a dressing room!” Marta declared, glaring at the second lady of the troupe, Josephine Weiss. “And particularly not with this—this—”

  “These conditions are intolerable!” Her husband, Karl, planted his hands on his hips and glared menacingly at Peter. “Does no one understand the reputation of this company?”