Dare to Love

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Everyone’s outraged,” he said, “not just the students. The shopkeepers are complaining, the farmers as well. They’re expected to provide food for the new men, without reimbursement, mind you. Bad feelings are running high.”

  “We’re not going to stand for it!” Wilhelm declared. “This time the citizens of Barivna are fully behind us. Either the soldiers go, or there’s going to be hell to pay!”

  I couldn’t really become too alarmed. I had heard such fiery declarations all too often to take them seriously. The students would rail against the injustice of it all, but eventually they would return to their books and concern over really pressing matters such as exams and passing marks. Schroder had not dared order his men to fire on the students. But even though the military regime was still maintained loosely, the arrival of the new men was certainly discomforting.

  We drove on past the lake, and within minutes the carriage drew up in front of Chez Elena. My three young gallants helped me out and escorted me to the door, their good mood restored. Hans was babbling about his new epic, and Wilhelm was asking Eric if he’d taken notes during that morning’s history lecture.

  “I’m not giving you my notes,” Eric said firmly. “If you expect to pass, you’ll have to attend an occasional lecture instead of spending all your time in the gymasium.”

  “Thanks,” Wilhelm retorted. “You’re a great help. Wait till I get you on a wrestling mat!”

  “May we call on you tonight, Elena?” Hans asked.

  “I’m afraid not. I’m expected at the palace. The King and I are going to dine with Franz von Klenze, the architect responsible for so many of the magnificent buildings in Barivna.”

  “Has von Klenze finished his designs for the new Greek Gallery?” Eric asked.

  “We’re going to see the blueprints tonight,” I replied. “I understand it’s his most impressive achievement yet.”

  “And the most expensive,” Wilhelm added. “Sturnburg is going to love that. They’re going to scream like stuck pigs when the King starts dipping into the coffers to finance it.”

  “Tomorrow night?” Hans persisted. “I want to recite my new epic for you. It concerns a Norwegian nobleman during the Middle Ages who falls in love with a peasant maid and—”

  Wilhelm grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “Come along!” he growled. “We’ve heard enough about your sodding epic! I don’t suppose you took notes this morning?”

  “Skipped the lecture myself. Had to finish my epic.”

  “We’ll see you later, Elena,” Eric said.

  “Thank you for escorting me.”

  After they departed, I spent the rest of the afternoon writing letters. I had owed Millie one for some time, and two more from Phillipe had arrived only yesterday. Both of his had been rather grim in tone. He was very unhappy in Touraine. Most of his time was spent riding about on horseback supervising tenant farmers and examining livestock. Repairs had begun on the ancestral chateau; scaffolds surrounded the place; workmen swarmed about every day. Phillipe told me quite a bit about the chateau and the history of his family which, it seemed, could be traced all the way back to Charlemagne.

  As I read his letters over, I recognized his loneliness and his longing. He missed me a great deal, he wrote, and he wished I could visit the chateau. I would find it very beautiful, very spacious. He never used the word love, but his letters were love letters just the same, subtle, understated, written by a shy, sensitive young man who had developed a hopeless infatuation for a worldly woman. I knew I shouldn’t encourage it by answering his letters, yet I hadn’t the heart to deny him that consolation. I was extremely fond of Phillipe, and I missed him, too, but our worlds were far too separate for there to be. anything but friendship between us.

  My letter to him was bright and chatty and friendly, with nothing he could possibly misinterpret. He would stop writing to me before long, I fancied. He would meet someone in Touraine, and he would fall in love with her, genuinely in love, forgetting all about his infatuation for the exotic creature who had bedazzled him. Sighing, I sealed the envelope and began my letter to Millie. By the time I had finished, it was time to bathe and dress.

  I always took special care to make myself as glamorous as possible for Karl. After I had bathed, I slipped into a sapphire blue petticoat, the bodice very low, half a dozen skirts spreading out in rustling layers. Minne helped me with my hair. Pulling the ebony waves back sleekly, she arranged them in an elegant French roll. Her eyes were even dreamier than usual, for the stalwart Klaus had given up his energetic wooing of all the other maids and was devoting full time to Minne. She was holding out for marriage, and I expected an announcement any day.

  I brushed a pale blue-gray shadow on my lids and used a touch of faint pink rouge to emphasize my high cheekbones, applying a richer pink rouge to my lips. Satisfied with the results, I stood up to don the gown Minne had taken from the wardrobe. Of shimmering silver cloth, it was perhaps the most exquisite gown I had ever worn, certainly the most expensive. The dress belled out over the sapphire underskirts in gleaming silver folds. When she had finished fastening up the gown, Minne opened my jewel box and took out the diamond and sapphire necklace that had been a gift from Karl.

  Fastening it around my neck, I stepped back to examine myself in the mirror. The diamonds glittered with dazzling prisms of light, ashimmer with silver and violet fires, four scalloped strands with twenty large sapphire drops. The sapphires blazed with deep blue flames that danced and darted. The woman in the mirror might have been a queen, but why were her eyes so sad? Why did I keep thinking of that girl who had roamed over the moors of Cornwall, wild and free and full of dreams? I was a countess, with my own small palace. I wore a silver gown and a necklace that Marie Antoinette would have envied. I had come a long, long way, yet my heart was full of longing for the one thing that had been denied me.

  “You are a vision,” Minne said. “I’ve never seen you look so beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Minne. Is that a carriage coming up the drive?”

  “It sounds like one. Yes, it’s stopped. Someone’s getting out.”

  “I wonder who it could possibly be? The students know I’m going to the palace tonight.”

  “Want me to go down and see?” Minne asked.

  “Would you, Minne? I’d appreciate it.”

  She hurried out of the room, and I gazed into the mirror again and wondered why, amidst all this splendor, I should feel such discontent. It was foolish. It was self-indulgent. Why should I expect happiness? Happiness was a bright illusion, shimmering in the air, always out of reach. The girl in Cornwall had believed in it, had tried to grasp it, but I was no longer a naive young girl. I was older and wiser, and this longing inside was something I had learned to live with. Happiness? I had fame and riches, everything the world valued most. That should be enough for any woman.

  This mood will pass, I told myself, straightening a fold of the silver skirt. I sighed and turned away from the mirror as Minne came back into the room.

  “A gentleman from Sturnburg,” she said. There was a worried look in her eyes. “Otto told him you were going out tonight and wouldn’t be able to see him, but the gentleman insisted. He said it was urgent.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s an Englishman,” she added. “He told Otto he was from the English embassy in Sturnburg, and he wouldn’t be put off. Otto showed him into the drawing room.”

  “Thank you, Minne.”

  “I hope it isn’t some kind of trouble,” she said nervously.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I assured her.

  My skirt made a crisp, rustling noise like dry leaves as I moved down the gracious curving staircase. The crystal chandeliers shed brilliant light over the foyer. In my present mood, I almost welcomed the confrontation I knew awaited me. Because I was English, the embassy in Sturnburg would naturally be concerned about my presence in Barivna, would undoubtedly try everything possible to get me to leave. I was surprised
they hadn’t sent someone to call on me long before now. But I had no intention of yielding to any kind of pressure, and as I stepped into the drawing room I was prepared to be as hard as steel.

  The Englishman was standing with his back to me, examining one of the small Bologna bronzes that stood on the mantle. He was very tall and obviously young, his hair a rich jet black. At least they hadn’t sent a doddering old diplomat to do their work for them. He was still wearing his long travel cloak, and as he turned it swirled from his shoulders. He observed me with dark brown eyes full of cool self-possession. “Ah, the Countess of Landsfeld,” he said, with a correct bow.

  I was unable to speak. My heart seemed to have stopped beating.

  “Brence Stephens,” he said. “I’m Chief Aide to the English Ambassador in Sturnburg.”

  Once, long ago, he had told me that he was going to be aide to the English ambassador of a tiny state I had probably never heard of. I remembered that now. I remembered so much more as well. The years seemed to evaporate, all the years between, and a flood of memories swept over me. I could feel my knees grow weak as I fought desperately to stem the surge of emotions that welled up inside, and it took every ounce of strength I had to keep from fainting.

  I had dreamed of this moment. I had dreamed of confronting him in all of my splendor, and in my dreams I had been haughty and aloof, treating him with disdain. Now that the moment had actually arrived I felt sheer panic. I mustn’t let him see it. I mustn’t let him know. I was trembling inside, and I knew that my cheeks must have paled.

  I stared at him, and he slowly arched one brow as I had seen him do so many times in the past.

  “Is something wrong?” he inquired.

  “Nothing at all,” I said.

  My voice was calm, but it seemed to come from someone else. I managed to control the trembling inside. With superhuman effort, I maintained a rigid composure that I feared might crumble at any moment. I looked at him with a level gaze, silently praying for strength.

  “I suppose you know why I’m here,” he said.

  “I have a fair idea.”

  “I’ve just arrived in Barivna. I came here immediately after taking a room at the hotel. This is an urgent matter, Countess. That’s why I’m calling on you at such a late hour. Your butler told me that you were going out, but I insisted on seeing you.”

  His voice was deep and melodious, as I remembered, with the same husky catch. He had lost the dark tan he had acquired in India, and the new pallor somehow enhanced his good looks. There was a cynical curl to his mouth that hadn’t been there before, an aura of disenchantment that made him seem more vulnerable. Brence Stephens was plainly discontented with his lot. The success that had meant so much to him had eluded him thus far. He was still only an aide after all this time, and I could tell that he was dissatisfied. The old moodiness was immediately apparent.

  “Won’t you take off your cloak, Mr. Stephens.”

  He shook his head. His manner was cold and remote, hostility barely veiled. He hadn’t recognized me, hadn’t associated the resplendent creature in silver gown with the innocent young girl from Cornwall whose virginity he had taken and whose heart he had broken. To him I was a notorious courtesan, a mercenary adventuress, immoral and unscrupulous.

  “I’ve come to take you away from Barivna,” he said. “My instructions are to get you out of the country as soon as possible.”

  “Indeed?”

  “My instructions came from the ambassador. He received his from London. Your presence here is a dangerous irritant, as you surely must realize. You’re an English citizen, and England wants you out of Barivna before the situation grows even worse.”

  When I did not reply, his frown deepened.

  “How long will it take you to pack your things?” he inquired.

  “I have no intention of packing, Mr. Stephens. I have no intention of leaving. I’m a citizen of Barivna now, proclaimed such by the King himself. I fear you’ve made your trip for nothing.”

  “I can see you don’t realize the seriousness of the situation, my dear Countess. It’s imperative that you leave at once.”

  “Imperative to Sturnburg,” I retorted.

  “I don’t represent Sturnburg. I represent England. The Embassy isn’t at all pleased with the recent developments in Sturnburg, nor do we condone their military policies. Citizen or not, you’re an Englishwoman and as such under our jurisdiction.”

  “I disagree.”

  “I didn’t come here to argue with you, Countess. I came here to get you out of the country before you’re caught up in the middle of a full scale military takeover.”

  “Military takeover? Sturnburg wouldn’t dare attempt such a coup. You needn’t think you can frighten me with such statements, Mr. Stephens. I’m fully aware of the political situation.”

  He scowled. “You haven’t an inkling of what’s going on,” he informed me. “No one in Barivna does. I reside in Sturnburg. I know what’s happening, what’s about to happen. That’s why I’m here.”

  “To rescue me?”

  “You might put it that way.”

  “I’m afraid I must refuse your offer.”

  “You’re a stubborn woman, Countess.”

  “You’re quite right,” I replied.

  Stepping over to the window, I pulled the long silken bell cord to summon Otto. Brence stared at me, as I turned around to face him again, my manner icy cold, belying the turmoil inside. He started to say something more, and then his eyes grew dark with puzzlement. Moving nearer, a deep frown creased his brow. I stood very still. He continued to stare at me, recognition slowly dawning, and then he shook his head, refusing to believe what his eyes told him was true.

  “No,” he said. “No, I—I’m imagining things. It can’t be.” His cheeks seemed to grow paler. He passed a hand across his brow, completely taken aback.

  “You—you danced. One night at the gypsy camp you danced. Elena Lopez is—she performs Spanish dances like—like the one you did with that gypsy boy. Mary Ellen?”

  “Mary Ellen no longer exists,” I said coldly. “The girl you seduced and deserted ceased to exist a long time ago.”

  His cheeks were ashen, and he started toward me, just as Otto stepped into the room.

  “Please show Mr. Stephens out,” I said. “If he tries to see me again I will not be in. Do you understand? I never want to see him again. He is not to be allowed inside under any circumstances.”

  “Mary Ellen!” Brence cried.

  “Summon the footmen if necessary, Otto.”

  With perfect composure, I left the drawing room and moved across the foyer and up the stairs. It was the most difficult journey I had ever made in my life.

  XXXI

  It was a lovely night, cool and serene. Three days had passed since Brence had come to Barivna, three long days and three long nights. It was shortly after midnight as I rode in the carriage back to Chez Elena after a visit with Karl. He had been in a very good mood, excited about the new Greek Gallery. Material had already been ordered, and the actual construction would begin just as soon as it arrived, von Klenze himself supervising every step. Observing that I looked a bit weary, Karl had smiled and suggested I return to Chez Elena early. His dark demons were far away tonight. They hadn’t plagued him in over a week.

  I was thankful, for that, having my own demons to contend with.

  Peering out the carriage window, I could see the lights of the town in the distance, and as we moved around the curve of the lake I saw the flickering orange blossoms of light where the newly arrived soldiers had lighted their campfires on the parade ground. Karl was unhappy about their presence and had issued a formal complaint to Sturnburg, but he was not unduly concerned. He had severely reprimanded Schroder for trying to impose the curfew on the students, and there had been no more trouble. The status quo had been resumed. The students were busily preparing for upcoming examinations, and the soldiers seemed to spend most of their time performing tactical exercises on
the fields outside of town.

  Sturnburg wanted me to leave Barivna, and they had sent Brence to call on me because they thought an Englishman would have a better chance of convincing me of “imminent danger.” The English embassy was undoubtedly working hand in glove with Sturnburg. Schroder had tried to frighten me into leaving the day I arrived. I had refused to be intimidated then, and I refused to be alarmed now. Brence Stephens’ mission was to get me to leave Barivna, and he would use any means in order to accomplish his goal. His talk about a military takeover was merely part of his tactics.

  The carriage moved slowly around the lake. The flickering orange campfires were no longer visible. I was tired, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I hadn’t been able to sleep properly for the past three nights. Each night, after I went to bed, I was plagued by memories, vibrant memories of incredible joy and unbearable grief. I had never stopped loving Brence Stephens. Never. I had buried that love deep inside, had shut it away in darkness, denying its existence, but it had always been a part of me. The moment I saw him again it had broken free of its prison, as strong, as vital as it had been in the beginning.

  When we arrived at Chez Elena, I didn’t go inside at once. As the carriage moved away, I paused on the steps, dreading the hours ahead, dreading the memories. I wished now that I had remained at the palace, even though Karl hadn’t needed me. I decided to stroll in the gardens for a while to delay that moment when I climbed into bed and closed my eyes and the past came to life in such vivid detail. Leaving the steps, I moved around the house toward the gardens, my skirts billowing in the soft breeze.

  My pale pink silk gown had narrow sleeves that left my shoulders bare and the skirt was aglitter with hundreds of clear, transparent spangles, thin, tiny spangles like slivers of crystal. In my hair, I wore a large, creamy white camellia. Elena Lopez in all her finery strolled in the gardens after midnight, alone. There was splendid irony there. I wished I were able to appreciate it more.