Dare to Love

by Jennifer Wilde

  “There’s water in the white porcelain ewer,” I said, “a fresh cloth beside it.”

  “What time is it?”

  “I’m not sure. Early.”

  Gathering up all my clothes, I went into the dressing room and closed the door quietly behind me. I washed, put on a fresh white petticoat, then sat down at the dressing table to brush my hair. The night was over. The dream had ended. Common sense had returned with the dawn. But I was undecided about what I was going to do. A great deal would depend on Brence.

  I could hear him moving around in the bedroom. The porcelain ewer rattled. I put down the brush to arrange my hair in a loose roll. My eyes in the mirror were calm, as I thought about why he had come to Barivna. Last night had been magical, a lovely sojourn from reality created by mood and moonlight, memory and physical need joining forces to overthrow reason. That part of me that had remained aloof and objective last night was in complete command today.

  Leaving the dressing table, I buttoned on a rich blue dress. Brence had finished dressing when I entered the bedroom. He was standing at the mirror, adjusting his black silk neckcloth. I could hear the servants moving about downstairs. Brence had smoothed down the counterpane. The room was neat, the wilting camellia on the floor the only sign that remained of last night’s passionate encounter.

  Brence turned. He too, was composed, his manner remote and slightly official.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  He gave me a curt nod, his lips set in a thin line. Had those lips spoken words of endearment? Had those grim, determined eyes gazed into my own with love?

  “Would you like some breakfast?” I asked.

  “I’ll eat at the hotel. I have to pack my bags. You’ll need to start packing, too.” He picked up his cloak and fastened it around his shoulders. “We’ll leave as soon as possible,” he informed me. “Around eleven. Can you be ready by then?”

  “You seem to be in quite a hurry.”

  Brence frowned. “I’ve spent too much time in Barivna already. Time is of the essence, Mary Ellen. Things could start happening here any moment.”

  “I suppose you’re talking about the military takeover.”

  He nodded again. “Schroder’s men have been practising tactical maneuvers all week long. That doesn’t bode well. I want to get you out of the country immediately. Your departure might well forestall things, at least for a while, but a military coup is inevitable.”

  “I see. And when you get me out of the country?”

  “I’ll report back to the embassy in Sturnburg. My success with this mission will lead to an advancement, just as failure would have meant dismissal from the corps. Things haven’t been going well with my career. The Ambassador made it clear that this was my last chance to redeem myself.”

  “I—I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

  “There’s no danger now. I’m sure to get a advancement.”

  Moving across the room, I stepped out onto the balcony to look down at the garden, which was bathed in dazzling yellow-white sunlight. Moonlight and magic had vanished. There was a tight, hard feeling inside me. I had only myself to blame. I smiled ruefully and rested my hands on the marble bannister, refusing to feel pain. When Brence joined me on the balcony, I didn’t turn around.

  “I’ll ask for a new post,” he said. “You can join me there. Things will be different from now on, Mary Ellen. With you at my side, there’ll be nothing I can’t achieve.”

  “At your side? Are you asking me to marry you?”

  He hesitated. “I’ll marry you, if that’s what you want.”

  “How generous of you.”

  “No one need ever know about your past. Elena Lopez can quietly disappear. I’ll say you’re from an old, aristocratic family in Cornwall. We needn’t provide details. As Mrs. Brence Stephens you’ll dress differently, act differently. You’ll be a diplomat’s wife, and it’s unlikely you’d ever run into any of your old associates.”

  “Most unlikely,” I said.

  I turned to face him, my decision made.

  “You need to get back to the hotel, Brence. I’ll have one of the carriages brought around front for you.”

  I moved across the room to pull the silken bell cord that hung beside the bed. Klaus appeared a few minutes later. If he was surprised to find Brence in my bedroom, he didn’t show it. His face was expressionless as I gave him instructions. He left, and after a short while we heard the carriage moving around the side of the house. We went downstairs and out to the carriage.

  “I’ll be back for you at eleven,” Brence said.

  “No,” I replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid your mission has been a failure.”

  “Mary Ellen—”

  “I’m sorry, Brence.”

  “You—you think I—you think it was all—” He was incredulous, unable to articulate properly.

  “You’d better go,” I said.

  “Everything I told you last night—it was true! I love you, and you love me, too.”

  “Yes, Brence, I love you.”

  “Then—”

  “Once, a long time ago, I told myself I must dare to love. I ignored all my instincts. I loved, without reservation, and then you left me. It almost destroyed me. I’m not going to let myself go through anything like that again.”

  “You’re talking nonsense!”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You can’t do this!”

  “I’m afraid I can.”

  “Mary Ellen!”

  “Go back to Sturnburg. Tell them Elena Lopez refuses to bow to their authority. Tell them nothing worked, not even seduction. Tell them—” I cut myself short. “Goodbye, Brence,” I said, and hurried inside.

  I locked the door. He pounded on it, calling my name. Klaus looked at me, his face still expressionless. I went upstairs and fought the tears and fought the pain, and it was a long time before the carriage finally drove away.

  XXXII

  The pearl gray sky took on a soft violet hue as the last rays of the sun began to stain the horizon. It had been cloudy all day, thunder rumbling in the distance. As I stood on the balcony, looking out over the gardens to the lake beyond, the water shimmered with reflections of the sunset, orange and scarlet lights dancing on the surface. The great palace on the other side of the lake was slowly being wrapped in shadows. It would soon be time for me to go to the palace, for Karl was expecting me at eight.

  I looked forward to seeing him. Although he had asked no questions and made no effort to find out what had happened, Karl knew that I had been upset all week. Seeing him each evening had been a comfort. He had made a distinct effort to distract me in his kind, subtle, warmly attentive manner. Seven days had passed since Brence left Barivna, seven of the longest days in my life. Even though it had been an agonizing one, I knew in my heart that I had made the right decision. I had gotten over Brence once before, and I would get over him again.

  There seemed to be a great deal of activity going on across the lake. Several soldiers on horesback rode up, dismounted in front of the palace and hurried up the front steps. Almost simultaneously, a carriage appeared from behind the palace, moving rapidly down the road that led away from Barivna. Was it Karl’s private carriage? The horses were white, and I thought I caught a glimpse of the Royal Crest, but I couldn’t be certain from such a distance. Why would Karl be leaving the palace? No doubt I was mistaken. More soldiers arrived, at least twenty men, and they, too, hurried into the palace. Perhaps the Royal Guard were returning from some kind of maneuver, I thought, stepping back into the bedroom.

  Another rumble of thunder sounded, a strange, distant crackling noise unlike the previous rumbles. It was going to storm. In my present mood, I would welcome thunder and lightning and sheets of driving rain. The lovely blue skies and radiant sunshine of the past week had merely played against my mood. I refused to grieve, sternly repressing the impulse to sink into a state of abject self-pit
y. Instead, I became irritable. I longed to throw something, longed to indulge myself in one of the fiery tantrums for which Elena Lopez was famous. Perhaps that would have helped.

  In my dressing room, I slipped off my robe and, wearing only my petticoat, sat down to do my make-up. I had bathed earlier, soaking for a long time in the hot, perfumed water, and I had washed my hair as well. It fell in gleaming blue-black waves about my shoulders as I brushed a touch of shadow on my lids. Minne wasn’t there to help with my hair. I had given her the day off, Klaus as well, and they were undoubtedly strolling hand-in-hand through one of the parks or shopping for wedding bands. Klaus had finally asked Minne to marry him. Her eyes glowing with triumph, she had related the news to me that morning. I brushed my hair away from my face and let it fall down my shoulders, fastening it in back with the gorgeous clasp Karl had given me, a silver filigree bar aglitter with more than twenty diamonds.

  Leaving the dressing table, I put on the gown I had selected earlier. It was a creamy rose-pink satin. As I dressed, I found myself thinking of Anthony Duke, wondering where he was, what he was doing. Why should I be thinking of Anthony now? Was it because I associated him with temperamental outbursts I had been tempted to indulge myself in? What fun would a fit of temper be without him to appreciate it?

  Anthony had helped me get over Brence the first time. He was an outrageous rogue, thoroughly impossible, but what fun it had been to fight with him. I wished he were back now. He would shake me and bully me, and I would yell at him and he would make some audacious remark and I would pick up some breakable object and hurl it at him and it would be such blessed relief. Had he found some new protegee to aggravate and intimidate and transform into a glamorous success? Was he knocking about without money, living off his wits? I felt a great fondness for him still, even though the scoundrel had lost all my money and left me to fend for myself in Paris. I wondered if I would ever see him again.

  My skirt made a soft rustling noise as I moved back into the bedroom. Night had fallen now, and the lights burned brightly inside. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was almost time to summon the carriage. I would dine with Karl, who would be charming and attentive, and for a few hours I would forget. Immersed as he was in plans for the new Greek Gallery, spending hours and hours each day in happy conferences with von Klenze, Karl seemed a different person of late, his dark moods temporarily banished. Although we dined together every evening, I usually left the palace shortly after midnight. There hadn’t been one of those midnight till dawn watches for a long time.

  The strange, crackling thunder sounded again, louder this time, nearer, it seemed, accompanied by a curious din like … like distant shouting. Beginning to feel vaguely alarmed, I was about to go out when I heard running footsteps on the stairs. Minne burst into the room, her long copper hair in wild disarray, her cheeks flushed a bright pink, her eyes full of agitation and excitement. Her dress was torn at one shoulder, the sleeve hanging down limply, and there was a dark smudge on her chin.

  “Minne! What on earth—”

  “It’s happened!” she cried. “The soldiers are taking over!”

  “What—”

  “They’ve been massing all day. Klaus and I didn’t pay much attention at first. We saw them gathering, but we didn’t think anything about it until—they’re fighting with the townsmen and the students! It started about an hour ago. They’re using guns. Shooting! Klaus and I had a terrible time trying get back—they’re fighting in the streets. We could hardly get through.”

  “Karl?”

  Klaus stepped into the room, a bad gash streaking his cheek. He was in street clothes, and his jacket was torn. Black stains on his right trouser leg looked as though they’d been made by gunpowder.

  “The soldiers headed for the palace first,” he told me. “Someone said the King got away in his private carriage. They’ll be coming here soon. I’m surprised they haven’t arrived already.”

  “They fired at us!” Minne exclaimed. “They were firing at everyone! They were breaking into shops, rounding people up! People were running in every direction, and at the university—the students—”

  Minne cut herself short, wringing her hands. Klaus touched her shoulder and gave her a stern look, which seemed to calm her. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Karl had gotten away. The carriage I had seen leaving the palace had been his after all. I prayed that he had made it to sanctuary. Soon the soldiers would be coming to Chez Elena, and I knew Schroeder would be with them. I would be placed under arrest … if I weren’t murdered first. Suddenly, I heard horses approaching, a great many horses. Klaus looked at me, waiting for instructions.

  “Bolt the doors,” I told him. “You and Otto and the other footmen keep them out as long as possible, but if—when they break in, I want no fighting. Don’t try to resist them.”

  “You intend to give yourself up to them?”

  “I have no other choice.”

  “I shouldn’t advise it,” Klaus said sternly. “We have guns. We can hold them off until you get away. I’ll get a carriage ready at once. If we hurry—”

  The horses stopped in front of Chez Elena. Loud, raucous voices called out and soldiers pounded furiously on the doors. Otto had obviously already bolted the doors, but it wouldn’t take the soldiers long to break in.

  “No guns,” I said. “Go downstairs and see that the rest of the doors and windows are secure. Minne, you gather up the rest of the maids and take them down into the wine cellar. Bolt the door. Don’t open it under any circumstances.”

  “But—”

  “Do as I say!” I snapped.

  Minne sobbed and rushed out of the room. Klaus followed her. Going into the dressing room, I took down two of my bags and began to pack, ignoring the shouts, the furious pounding. I folded gowns and placed them in one of the bags, filling it, closing it, fastening the lock. I had no idea why I was packing. I wouldn’t get away. It was just something to keep me busy. They would break in any moment now and come rushing up the stairs and … I folded another gown, neatly, took down another. There was a loud splintering sound as they used the butts of their guns on the door, the tinkle of glass as they shattered windows.

  I finished filling the second bag with undergarments and placed my jewel box on top. I closed the bag and fastened it. At least two dozen gowns still hung in the wardrobe, but I would have to leave them. I was sure to be placed under arrest, and I imagined the consequences. I might be roughed up a bit, but they would have to be careful—I was an international celebrity, and Sturnburg wouldn’t dare allow any real harm to come to me. I would no doubt be officially exiled from the country, taken to the border under military escort. Still … I tried to maintain a semblance of calm. Panic wouldn’t help at all.

  The din downstairs was deafening. More glass shattering, wood splintering. The raucous shouts grew louder, more vicious. I took a deep breath, stepped out of the bedroom and moved to the top of the staircase, my pink satin skirt rustling softly.

  I paused at the head of the stairs, bracing myself. Otto and all six of the footmen stood in a huddle below, watching the rifle butts tear through the door. There was a mighty groaning noise as the hinges gave way, and then the door fell with a loud crash, splitting apart, pieces of wood scattering. The soldiers poured into the foyer, at least twenty of them, stomping, shouting, waving bayonets. The menservants were surrounded immediately and backed against the wall. One of the footmen panicked and tried to flee. A soldier raised his rifle and fired. There was a puff of smoke and a blazing red streak. The footman seemed to fly into the air with arms and legs akimbo, and then he crumpled to the floor. Half his face was missing. Blood gushed from his head, making a vivid red pool.

  Otto tried to move. A soldier, his bayonet at Otto’s stomach, lunged forward. Otto screamed, made a gurgling noise and fell forward, his blood spurting in crimson jets. The soldier stepped aside to let the body topple to the floor, then wiped his dripping bayonet on the back of Otto’s jacket. His colleagues hooted
with glee. I stood at the top of the stairs, in plain sight.

  “Where is she! Where is the whore!”

  “She’s gone,” Klaus said. “She left an hour ago.”

  “You lie!”

  The soldier swung his rifle around so that the butt was turned toward Klaus. Rearing back, he drove it into Klaus’ stomach with vicious force. Klaus gasped and sagged against the wall, almost losing consciousness. His face was stark white with pain, and it was a moment before he could speak.

  “She left,” he said hoarsely. “You’re too late.”

  “Let’s wreck the place!” one of the soldiers cried. “Let’s burn it down!”

  They seemed to go wild. They began to break furniture and tear down curtains and hurl vases against the wall, yelling lustily. I stood very still, watching the scene of horror with a curious detachment. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening. I seemed to be far, far away, and everything blurred together like a crazy kaleidoscope of movement and color, soldiers in green and white uniforms and helmets with red crests darting about in a frenzy of destruction, blue velvet curtains tearing, furniture falling, shattering, two red pools spreading on the floor. One of the soldiers climbed up on a table, caught hold of a chandelier and swung himself out on it. It came crashing down, crystal pendants scattering in every direction, and then a man stepped through the doorway and barked a sharp command and everything grew still.

  Heinrich Schroder glanced at the bodies and the debris with cool indifference. His men stood at attention, plainly intimidated. His boots were glossy, gleaming black, and his white breeches were like a second skin, outlining muscular legs. His short forest green tunic was spotless, aglitter with gold braids, the epaulettes on his broad shoulders shimmering. He wore no helmet, and his skull gleamed baldly under the short, stiff fuzz of light brown hair. There was a moment of tense silence as he surveyed the scene with icy gray-blue eyes. Then he tensed his mouth, which exaggerated the jagged scar on the right side of his face.