Love Me Again

by Wendy M. Burge

  Looking between the foreign secretary, his wife and the shy little man, who was now standing beside the pianoforte bowing, she teased lightly, “Do you require any help?”

  The Castlereaghs both drew up and stared warily at her. They were accustomed to being laughed at.

  Even though she was not invited to join them, Christina stepped briskly over to the pianoforte, pulling off her gloves as she crossed the shining parquet tiles. Her steps echoed loudly in the large, empty ballroom, which at that moment was silent as a tomb. After tossing aside her gloves and reticule, she reached up and untied the bow of her bonnet. With typical feminine pats to her hair, she turned around and explained as she walked over to them, “The Viennese waltz must be felt, not counted out. Herr Beethoven has gifted us with a banquet for the ears, and therefore we must savor it and applaud it with the grace of our bodies.” She cocked a humorous brow at them. “Sound pretentious enough?”

  Castlereagh's lips quirked with a wry twitch as he continued to try to stare solemnly at her. “Quite. But how does one get the feet to relate such homage when the grace is lacking?”

  Christina held up a finger in admonition. “Not so, my lord. If you will allow me?”

  So saying, she stepped up to Lady Castlereagh and, taking her hands, she drew her farther into the middle of the room, safely away from all impediments. The viscountess sent a look of confusion over her shoulder at her husband as Christina arranged her partner into the classic waltzing stance.

  With a slight nod of her head, Christina motioned to the secretary, and the brisk strains of a waltz wavered bravely in the silence. Christina frowned lightly at the timid man, and he instantly slowed the tempo down. Then down some more, until she smiled. His shoulders heaved with a sigh of relief, and he applied all his attention to his task.

  Looking at her partner, she asked softly, “Ready?”

  Almost immediately Lady Castlereagh stepped forward, right on Christina's lightly shod foot. “Forgive me,” the flustered lady mumbled.

  Wriggling her toes, Christina smiled warmly and said, “First, my lady, you must relax. You need to feel the music, find the tempo. Close your eyes.” The hazel eyes snapped shut. “Now listen to the strains. Catch the rhythm.” Christina watched as the viscountess's features twisted with the effort of feeling the rhythm. Biting her lip to hold back a chuckle, Christina carefully began the steps of the waltz, starting slowly and gently, just back and forth. When she sensed the tension dissolving in the rigid arms, she carefully began to turn her. The lady's eyes snapped open in fear. “No, no. Keep them shut. Just feel the music. I will lead you. Trust me.”

  As Lady Basingstoke patiently led his wife about the floor, Castlereagh watched in amazement as the clumsiness in his wife's steps melted away. Soon the couple was floating with a semblance of grace about the room. After long minutes of faultless spins they came to a graceful stop before him. He gulped in apprehension as Christina held out her arms to him.

  “Come now, my lord. ’Tis your turn.”

  He turned embarrassed eyes on his flushed wife and found her smiling widely at him. Her pride in this simple accomplishment was quite apparent. “Oh, do go on, Robert. ’Tis ridiculously easy.”

  With a sigh, he stepped forward and bowed, then almost awkwardly held out his arms. Christina stepped nimbly into them and after a minute of reserved fumbling, Castlereagh was ready. With another nod of Christina's head, the music again filled the room.

  “Close your eyes,” she instructed softly, sensitive to this man's introverted personality. After a slight hesitation he complied.

  Castlereagh had a quiet shyness about him that Christina admired, though never had she mistaken this for a chink in his armor for there was no one as forceful as this reserved man when he was fighting for something he believed in. He did not always do things correctly, but he always strove to do what he truly felt was right with a grace of nobility that most men ended up admiring. Because of his popularity with the common man, he had risen quickly through the ranks in the House of Commons to the position he now held. He was a common man who had rightly earned himself the title of viscount in appreciation of his dedicated service to the Crown. Though loyal to England, it was well known he was happiest when in his beloved Ireland, away from the political machinations that were a constant source of the deep depressions that hounded him.

  Christina slowly circled the gleaming floor in the arms of Castlereagh until soon they were sailing gracefully about the room, the music picking up the tempo as they spun about faster, then faster still. Soon they were laughing aloud with his wife's accolades ringing out joyously, tempting them on to an even faster pace.

  Finally winded and about to collapse, Christina begged off and sank into a nearby chair. Then she watched as the Castlereaghs were spinning about, laughing together in their newfound achievement. Christina smiled as she unobtrusively made her way to the pianoforte to collect her things. She held a finger to her lips and gave the secretary a wink before she slipped from the room, peeking at the clock as she went. She was surprised to see that almost two hours had passed.

  After another quarter of an hour, even the triumphant Castlereaghs were exhausted. Disappointed to see that Christina had left them, they retired to the study for a much deserved cup of tea. As she bent over to pour herself a second cup, Emily informed her husband abruptly, “You are shortly going to have a political mishap on your hands if you don't do something quickly.”

  With a sigh, Castlereagh set his cup down. It had to be Basingstoke again, he was sure. “What now?”

  “The hostesses of the Carrousel are going to insist that Christina join them on the dais. The archduke is to be among the knights competing.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was all he needed. Basingstoke would never sit still under such an insult to himself. He had already challenged the archduke to one duel, and possibly caused personal harm to the emperor's cousin. He closed his eyes in horror as he imagined the contretemps that could ensue at the upcoming event. In Basingstoke's frame of mind it was doubtful he would take this newest slight like a gentleman. “She should know better than to agree.”

  “She has refused them repeatedly. But you know better than any, you don't deny those Medusas anything. As we speak her costume is being sewn without her knowledge. She isn't going to be given a choice. And what is she supposed to do? Snub the royal biddies when so much hangs in the balance? She is being paired with the archduke and there is nothing anyone can do about it but go along.”

  “And what am I supposed to do with Basingstoke?” he asked almost scathingly. “He is her husband, after all.”

  “Get rid of him. Aren't there papers you need to send to Wellington in Paris? Send him. He is well acquainted with the duke. He was his aide for a number of years. No one would think it strange to send Basingstoke.”

  Castlereagh stared thoughtfully into the fire. “Actually, that is a good idea. I was wondering who to send.”

  “Well, do it fast. The Carrousel is the day after tomorrow.”

  With a little smile teasing his lips, he bowed his head solemnly. “Yes, my love. Your every wish is my command.”

  His teasing words earned him a hearty snort as she leaned over to pick up her cup again. Once more she had averted a catastrophe. What would he do without her? she wondered with self-righteous despair as she swallowed the last of her tea.

  “Peterson,” the viscount called out.

  The timid maestro of the pianoforte appeared immediately in the partially closed door. “Yes, my lord?” He bowed low.

  “Send for Basingstoke. I need to speak with him posthaste.”

  “Yes, my lord.” With another bow he was gone.

  “That man irritates me with all his scraping,” the viscountess muttered ungraciously.

  “I wish Basingstoke would do half as much scraping; then I wouldn't have these problems.”

  “Christina belongs with the archduke, you realize.”

  Cas
tlereagh looked at his wife in amazement. “What would you have me do, Emily? Kill Basingstoke?” Though it would solve everyone's problems quite tidily, Castlereagh thought with macabre humor.

  The lady pondered that for a moment, picturing Christina and the archduke together, as they should be. “No, of course not. Still, it is a shame.”

  With the childish way Basingstoke was behaving, Castlereagh silently concurred. Christina deserved better. She deserved the archduke, just as all of Vienna believed.

  What a coil. Mayhap a long trip would blow the cobwebs from Basingstoke's stubborn brain.

  * * * *

  Christina had waited for what seemed like hours when she finally saw them. Moving deeper into the shadows, she watched Varek and his daughter, the expression in her eyes almost hungry when she watched the golden little girl. Heavens, she was so like Varek. It caused a cramping ache in her stomach as she observed the affection between the two. Never had she been blessed to see this side of Varek. His every attention was lavished on the inquisitive child. It was strange to see this magnificent, virile man among the predominantly feminine pedestrians who wandered the prater at this time of the afternoon, and of those, it was mostly nurses and governesses tending their charges. The archduke seemed oddly at home in this female domain. She watched with a jealous heart as he laughed easily with one flustered nurse while grabbing hold of a fleeing malcontent, then handing over the squalling child with an ease that amazed Christina even as it brought tears to her eyes. She had missed so much with this man she loved.

  And what she was doing here, spying on him and his daughter, she had no idea. All she was accomplishing was subjecting herself to torturous hours of daydreaming, yet she couldn't seem to stay away. Every afternoon she came here hoping to catch a glimpse of them as they made their way through the menageries and every afternoon he brought his daughter to the prater himself. So every day she put herself through this same agony. It was pathetic! She should be elsewhere, attending to her duties, or in the apartment writing to Eddie. Or ... something. Anything but this senseless need to watch Varek and wasting time on idiotic fantasies that could never come true.

  Turning away, she headed toward the gate, desperate to put some distance between herself and her obsession.

  “Christina!” She heard his voice call out to her.

  Caught off guard, she stumbled to a halt, then groaned, realizing too late that she should have just kept going. Slowly, she turned about, a weak smile pulling at her tense lips. “Hello, Varek.”

  Her breath hitched as he strode up to her, his bronzed features split in a wide grin, the sun glinting off his golden mane. He was too beautiful to be real. And the sun shone with equal brilliance upon his golden daughter. She closed her eyes in defeat and sighed.

  “Lark, what are you doing here?” He unconsciously pulled his daughter's thumb out of her mouth as his gaze swept with a hungry intensity over her.

  Not being able to catch her breath, Christina shrugged helplessly.

  “We were on our way to the menagerie. Tina loves the animals. Won't you join us?” His painfully blue eyes beseeched her.

  Swallowing, she cast a yearning glance at the prater's gate and her escape. Then she heard a little voice chime in commandingly, “Come!”

  Looking back, Christina saw Tina holding a grubby hand out to her. Varek and his daughter, with an almost united calculation, were charming her into doing exactly what they wanted. Looking into those identical sets of brilliant eyes, how could she win? As she castigated herself for being seven kinds of a fool, she relented.

  With a triumphant laugh, Varek held out his arm and waited patiently until Christina stepped forward to take it. Together the threesome wandered down the immaculate walkway. In the distance came the roar of one of the big cats, and Tina, straining in her father's arms, clapped delightedly. After a few more minutes of wrestling with her, Varek finally leaned down and placed her on impatient feet. Like the doting father he was, he yanked her petticoats into order, all the while admonishing her to stay close. Looking far ahead, the little head bobbed her understanding and then as soon as he let go of her, she shot forward like an arrow from a crossbow. With an exasperated oath, Varek took off after the little rabbit, leaving Christina laughing in his wake. He was barely able to grab hold of her skirt before she ran between an organ grinder and his monkey.

  Still laughing, Christina caught up with them, watching as the disgruntled father swept his errant daughter back up into his arms. “Well, I can see who rules this family,” she teased as she retied a straggling bow under Tina's chin.

  Varek flinched comically. “Don't humor her. She's a hellion as it is. She just won't listen to me.”

  “Why should she? She has you exactly where she wants you, wrapped around her little finger.”

  His bold eyes raked her thoroughly as he gave her a wicked smile. “Both my loves have always been able to wrap me around their little fingers. I confess. Does that make me less of a man?”

  Her smile died under the searing intensity of his regard. Varek could never be mistaken for less of a man. It would be likening the mighty Alps to hillocks. Drawing a deep breath, she almost choked when she saw his heated gaze drop to her breasts. Raising his wistful gaze to the safety of her face, he gifted her with a slow, knowing smile before turning back to his restless daughter. Surprisingly, they both found her staring at Christina with the unflinching regard of an imperious child who knows she owns the world.

  “Are you a lark?” she demanded curiously.

  Varek and Christina looked at each other, bemused. It was obvious the child had a precocious mind, along with a memory like a steel trap. Wetting her lips, Christina offered hesitantly, “I ... actually, it is ... your father...” Her words faded away awkwardly. In truth, when she thought of it, she didn't know why Varek had ever started calling her lark. It had been so long ago that it was just like another name, though Varek's alone. Curious herself, she looked at Varek. “Why did you start calling me lark?”

  A tender smile softened his lips as he looked so deeply into her eyes that he was looking back twenty years. “When you were no bigger than Tina, you would follow me around while humming little off-key melodies. I could never place them, so one day I asked you what you were humming, and you said you were singing songs that the larks in the meadows had taught you. From then on, you were my lark.”

  The world seemed to fade away as they stared at each other. In a daze she watched as his lips came closer, then so close she could feel his sigh. Just as she was closing her eyes Tina giggled. “That is so silly, Papa! Birds don't teach people to sing.”

  Varek and Christina blinked at each other as if they had just woken from a deep sleep.

  Varek turned to his daughter with a strained smile. “They do to very special people, love.”

  “Then why don't they sing to me?” she demanded petulantly, giving Christina an accusing glance.

  Christina looked surprised. “But they do, Tina. You are just too busy running to listen. In order to hear them you must walk slowly, demurely. Then you'll hear them.”

  Tina frowned while she took in the simple explanation. Then she pushed against her father, demanding to be let down. Raising a skeptical brow, Varek again placed her beside him, tensed for anything. After Tina walked forward a few paces slowly, she turned and gave Christina an accusing pout. “I don't hear anything!”

  Christina held out her hand, and after a long moment, Tina placed hers into it. Together they strolled slowly over to an ancient oak. Varek watched in silence as his two ladies walked away. He saw Christina bend down and say something to Tina, who was intently looking up into the tree. Suddenly, her face lit up, and she gave a little jump. “I heard ’em!” Varek heard her in the distance. Together they demurely walked back to him, and all the while Tina was humming.

  Varek knew he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

  “I heard them, Papa, just like she said I would. All I have to do is walk s
low!”

  Varek gave Christina an easy grin. “You are amazing. How did you do that?”

  Christina gave a humble shrug as she grinned back. “If you want a child to do something, you have to give them a reason they can understand.”

  “How did you ever learn that?”

  She gave him a quirky grimace. “I raised you, didn't I?”

  Throwing back his head, Varek's laughter rang out, long and joyfully.

  * * * *

  Christina sat at her desk and pondered the letter she was writing to Eddie. She smiled as she thought of her afternoon in the park and was just starting to tell him about Tina when she heard Robert enter the apartment. Setting down her quill, she closed the inkwell and followed the sound of Robert's movements into the room he had taken up as his bedroom. She was surprised to see him packing his clothes into a small portmanteau.

  “Robert, what are you doing?”

  He looked up and contemplated her cool demeanor. She didn't appear upset that he was leaving. Leaning down, he picked up a shirt and stuffed it into the bag. “Castlereagh is sending me to Paris.”

  “Why?”

  He paused and gave her a searching look. “You tell me, Christina.”

  Knowing he was in his typical belligerent mood of late, she bristled slightly at his tone of voice. Again he was accusing her of something she had nothing to do with. “I have no idea why you are leaving. I wouldn't bother asking you if I did.”

  Her sarcastic retort was not missed by Robert. Stepping around the bed, he pushed past her to grab up his toiletries.

  Biting down on her anger, she moved over to help him, straightening out the mess he had made of the articles already shoved into the bag. “Why are we constantly barking at each other, Robert? I don't want this animosity between us, and there really is no reason for it.”