Nothing else of interest has occurred recently, other than Papa and the Duke’s continued experiments in the rose garden. I have begun studying some chemistry and botany texts with the Duke in an effort to better understand what they are doing. I find myself quite grateful that both Helen and Miss Porter were willing to indulge my interest in studying Latin and Greek rather than French when I was a girl; my knowledge of these ancient tongues is quite useful, particularly in studying botany.
We do not devote all of our time to reading scientific books, however. We are nearly finished reading through the comedic plays of Shakespeare, which has been a highly entertaining experience. Would you believe it if I told you that the Duke is quite adept at imitating accents? More than once he has made me laugh with his clever renditions of the more ridiculous characters. He will not perform in the drawing room before the others, but when we are alone in the library it is nearly like being at the theater. I do my best when it is my turn, but my skill is nothing to his. Though I must admit, I encourage him to do much of the reading; I enjoy listening more than reading aloud when the Duke is my companion.
18 June
How I hate the distance our letters must travel! The information I have learned is far too interesting to be delayed by anything as mundane as the post, but I must make do all the same.
I mentioned my desire to go riding to the Duke a few days ago quite as a passing remark, and this morning he asked me to join him in the courtyard with Lieutenant Potter. Three horses stood saddled and waiting for us.
“My steward was kind enough to lend me his horse for the day,” he explained as I clapped my hands in excitement. “I thought we might join you on your ride, Arthur.”
“That would be most welcome,” Lieutenant Potter replied. “I am tired of rambling about by myself. Perhaps you could show us the boundaries of your property here? I find I am still a little unclear as to their location.” The Duke nodded his head in agreement.
We set off as soon as I had changed into some more appropriate clothing for riding. The Duke pointed out various landmarks that bordered his lands, and I was astonished at the vast amount of acreage that belonged to the castle. We rode for more than an hour, finally coming to rest at the top of a series of gentle hills some miles to the west of the village. Below us stretched a fertile valley of green that was unbroken except for a small white dot in the distance.
“Ah yes, I have been meaning to ask you about that house,” Arthur said. “Does it belong to you? I was under the impression that no one else lived nearby.”
“Yes, it is part of my family’s holdings,” the Duke said, but I thought his answer was rather short, for he did not immediately offer any further details.
“Has it always stood empty, or was it once inhabited?” Arthur asked.
“It has not been used in nearly a dozen years.”
“The land about it seems quite good. Have you thought about selling at all? It would be better financially if you are not going to rent the place out.”
The Duke cleared his throat and made a slight reply. I thought he seemed eager to turn the subject. Arthur noticed his discomfort as well and wisely chose to let the matter drop. Eventually we turned back and rode for the castle. The Duke seemed a little subdued for the rest of the day, so I offered to take a turn in reading that afternoon. I tried to make him laugh by giving Benedick a Scottish accent (not one of my better attempts), but I only managed to earn a small smile for my efforts.
Is this not most interesting? Naturally I am excessively curious to know who these mysterious relations are and why they no longer live at the manor house. I would ask the Duke, but his manner made it quite clear that he did not wish to discuss the matter. I wonder if it is somehow connected to his own mystery. If I happen to learn anything more, you may be sure I will share it with you at once.
Love,
Isabella
20 June, 1845
Warnerhaus, 9 Salztorgasse, Vienna
Dear Isabella,
This evening Papa and I accompanied Count von Schönfeld and Rupert to the opera house for Donizetti’s “La Fille du Regiment.” I mentioned in my last letter how very nervous I was, but in the end there was no need. Even so, I was careful to be particularly well turned out, as there would be quite a lot of attention directed at us as the Count’s special guests. Did I mention the reason for this invitation? Memory says that I gave Rupert’s and my mutual love of opera as the reason for the request. The truth of the matter is that Count von Schönfeld wished to introduce Papa to more of his own circle (a largely literary and linguistic set among the higher-ranked members of Viennese society). Lord Warner has many connections, but he cannot introduce them all to Papa at once.
Lady Warner was of great help in selecting my gown for this evening. On her recommendation, I ordered a new gown of white velvet, which I wore with Mama’s pearl set. The white, she said, would be particularly striking, and is a favorite color here in Vienna for young ladies of fashion. Indeed, many girls wear white to the balls we attend, although older girls like me wear colored gowns regularly. It seems the younger one is, the more one wears white to social occasions, just as we do in England.
As I was sitting down to dress my hair, Lady W.’s maid entered the room carrying the most beautiful bouquet of white and pink roses. “If you please, ma’am, these have just arrived for Miss Stafford. They were brought over by a servant from Schönfeldhaus.” I held out my hand and took the magnificent bouquet. The roses were already filling the room with delicate perfume.
“Thank you, Elsa. Please send someone to bring up a vase for them.” Elsa curtsied and left as Lady W. turned to me. “Well my dear, this is a gallant attention.” She handed me a folded paper sealed with a little round dot of wax that bore the initials “R.S.” in the center. I opened the paper carefully and read the following note:
Eleanor,
Please accept this small offering as a token of my gratitude for your friendship these last few weeks. I am very much looking forward to the pleasure of your company this evening. We shall enjoy music of the finest kind, and it will be all the more enjoyable because you are there to share it with me.
Your servant,
R. S.
I passed the note to Lady W. and turned to smell the roses again. “Simple and kind, just what I would have expected,” she commented, handing the note back. “Shall we arrange some of these in your hair tonight, dear? The white and pink will look lovely next to your dark hair, and it is so becomingly curled that it can easily accommodate a larger ornament alongside your pearls.”
Even with several roses woven into my hair there were more than enough to fill the vase that was brought up. Soon I was ready to go, and Papa and I met in the entrance hall. He looked very handsome in his gold-striped vest and matching cravat. I shall forever be grateful to Papa for always taking care to ask me what I am wearing before he dresses for an evening. How many other fathers do you know that intentionally choose their attire to complement their daughter for important events?
Lord and Lady Warner intended to stay in for the evening, so we took their carriage to the opera house and met Count von Schönfeld and Rupert in the entrance hall. Rupert smiled broadly as he bowed to Papa and me, and the Count even took my hand and uttered a greeting, which he has never done before. Then he turned his attention to Papa and led the way up the grand staircase toward the upper tiers and the opera boxes. Rupert offered me his arm, and we followed behind.
“Thank you very much for the bouquet you sent this evening. The roses are truly beautiful.”
“I am pleased you liked them so much. I was uncertain about which ones to send, but I see the white and pink were a suitable choice.”
“More than suitable,” I replied with a slight nod of my head to indicate the flowers arranged there. “And I shall enjoy the scent of them for days to come, for you sent more than I could possibly use in just one evening. It will remind me of home.” Rupert looked at me inquiringly, and I continued
. “My mother took great pride in our floral gardens, and the roses were always her particular project. We used to spend long hours in the summer sitting amongst them in the arbor seat, reading or talking. Sometimes we would bring our tea out when we were not expecting company. The scent of roses always reminds me of her, she loved them so.”
“I am not surprised that they are your favorite as well,” Rupert said kindly.
Soon we were seated in the Count’s private box, and the conversation turned to more general things. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the occupants of several of the other boxes looking curiously in our direction and making observations to one another; it made me most glad that Lady Warner and I had taken such care over my attire. Then the lights dimmed, the orchestra began the overture, and every eye in the house was turned to the stage. The music was rousing, the plot of the opera amusing, and the singing of the finest quality (apart from the mezzo, who was a bit reedy to my ear, but whose acting made up for the lack in tonal quality). The audience laughed and applauded in good humor.
I was mildly astonished to see the Count fully engaged in the performance throughout its duration. I had not expected him to be entertained to such an extent, despite his history as a musical patron (a common sign of status here), but it was indeed so. During the interval we actually entered into a conversation about the merits of the performance! I had thought he would whisk Papa and Rupert away to visit with his friends in their boxes; instead he remained with us, and our discussion was lively and interesting. When I ventured to give an opinion on the lead tenor’s management of the tessitura, I even had the satisfaction of his complete agreement! Never have I had the Count speak to me directly about any subject before this evening; it was most enjoyable and most surprising all at once. Rupert’s eyes were dancing with merriment, and he had a slight smile playing about his mouth the entire time.
I do believe the Count now considers us to be on excellent terms of friendship, for upon leaving the box at the end of the performance, he offered me his arm in the most gentlemanly fashion. While I would have preferred to take Rupert’s arm again, this was still highly agreeable and most unexpected, so of course I accepted. The Count spoke to me of the performance all the way back into the grand gallery, where the assembled crowd stood discussing the opera.
“And now, my dear, I should like to introduce your father to some particular friends of mine. I shall leave you to my nephew’s care, and you may join us or wander about as you choose.” He waved Rupert over and bowed most gallantly to me before giving his nephew my hand and taking Papa off to the other side of the room.
I turned to Rupert and smiled somewhat bemusedly. “Well, that was certainly unexpected.”
“It seems you have discovered my uncle’s weakness, Eleanor,” Rupert said, shifting my hand to rest on his arm as we began to walk. “He is rather devoted to music, although he has no musical ability of his own. You could not have done better than to indulge his interest, for he will now consider you the most intelligent young woman of his acquaintance.” His tone was even, but I could tell he was amused; the merriment in his eyes gave the joke away.
“You are teasing me, for of course he will consider me no such thing. But it is very pleasant to have your uncle think well of me. Our first meeting did not bode well to make us friends, as you may remember.” Rupert laughed heartily at that.
We strolled about, chatting and nodding to our respective acquaintances. All the while I could not quell the happy fluttering in my stomach that accelerated every time Rupert touched the hand I had on his arm, or when I happened to catch him glancing at me for no reason in particular. We parted only when Papa said it was time to go.
Count von Schönfeld very particularly invited us both to visit tomorrow, and suggested that Rupert take me riding out in the park if the weather is fine. I am so excited that I am certain I shall not sleep tonight, for riding is the one skill in which Lord and Lady Warner are sadly lacking. I have missed my rides dreadfully since leaving Kent; the few times I was able to ride in Paris were always formal and restrained affairs. But I must leave off now and go to bed, for it is very late indeed.
21 June
Today Rupert and I went riding in the palace park while Papa and Count von Schönfeld were ensconced in the Schönfeldhaus library discussing a new theory about resonant chambers in the mouth and their effect on vowel pronunciation. Upon arriving, Rupert led me down to the stables to select a mount. There were many fine horses to choose from, including several beautiful mares, but my eye was caught almost at once by a very fine Arabian that seemed to have a light of spirit in its eye. My desire to try its paces must have shown in my expression, for it has been ages since I have been able to ride properly, and never on a gentleman’s horse. Rupert followed my gaze and chuckled lightly.
“Ah, that is König, one of our more spirited horses. Not a traditional ladies’ mount, I think.”
“He reminds me a little of my horse at home, although Sultan is a Thoroughbred, not a true Arabian,” I replied, trying not to sound too eager.
Rupert raised an eyebrow as a groom brought his own horse forward and then stood waiting for my selection. “You ride a gentleman’s horse at home?” His tone was not disapproving, merely surprised. Then he laughed again. “I suppose I should have guessed that you would not be satisfied with something more placid.” He turned to the groom and instructed him to place my saddle on the magnificent animal.
“Oh Rupert, do you truly mean it?” I said before I could stop myself. He laughed at my eagerness, but I did not mind. Soon we were both mounted, and with Rupert leading, we had a splendid ride through the woods and meadows of the park. It was like a dream, racing across the grass on a proper horse again. Rupert was impressed, I think, with how well I managed such a powerful animal. It does not surprise me, and I am not offended at his unspoken uncertainty in my ability to handle a horse like König. Likely he has never met a woman who was not somewhat afraid of larger horses in general. But I still marvel at his composure on receiving the intelligence that I prefer a gentleman’s horse to one meant for a lady.
We returned only when a shower of rain caught us unawares, and had a merry chase to see who would be the first back. I won, but only just; Rupert is as excellent a rider as he is a dancer. He promised to take me riding again, and to have König ready from the start.
This evening we both attended a dinner party at Lord Gunther’s, and Lady W. asked particularly to hear us sing together. We had not practiced anything beforehand, although we often sing through pieces from operas when he visits. In the end we settled on something from Donizetti’s “L’elisir d’amore,” and I played while he turned the pages for me. We received a great many compliments, considering it was a most impromptu performance.
23 June
It is four days since Papa and I joined Rupert and Count Schönfeld at the opera. The Müssen ladies joined us for tea this afternoon, and over cream buns and lemon tarts we discussed the evening at great length. Louisa is more informed about the technicalities of music than her sister, but Gretel is more in touch with the emotional element of opera, and between the three of us we had a lovely chat for the first quarter hour of their visit.
Lady Warner was pouring out again when a servant entered the room with a large bouquet in his arms. “Pardon me, ma’am, but these have just arrived for Miss Stafford.”
“Thank you, Franz. Please fetch a vase for them.” Franz stepped forward with the flowers; I took them, and he left the room. The bouquet was bigger than the one Rupert had sent the other night, and it included a large variety of blooms beyond the lovely roses. The whole ensemble smelled heavenly.
“Oh Eleanor, how exquisite they are! Whoever could they be from?” Gretel breathed, eyes twinkling. We were seated a little apart from the Ladies W. and M., and could thus converse a little more freely with one another.
“I cannot be sure,” I said, although of course I knew exactly who had sent them. “There is no note attached, an
d the servant did not give me one separately.”
“I daresay we could venture a guess as to who sent them, even without a note,” Louisa said, a hint of knowing playfulness in her tone. “Are those not some of the varieties of roses that are cultivated in the Schönfeldhaus gardens?”
“I suppose Rupe- Baron von Schönfeld could have sent them,” I said noncommittally.
“Oh! How very romantic!” Gretel sighed. (She really can be quite dramatic when she wishes it.) My face was reddening again, and I was very glad when Franz returned with the vase and took the flowers away to be arranged.
“Come, Eleanor, you must not fret over it. It is obvious to anyone who saw the two of you together at the opera that Baron von Schönfeld has taken quite a liking to you. And I think it is a most agreeable thing, too.”
“Really, Louisa, you exaggerate,” I said. “I assure you that we are merely very good friends and nothing more.”
“Nothing more at present, perhaps,” Louisa said pointedly. “But we shall see, in any event.”
“Girls, we must be going,” called Lady M. from where she and Lady W. had settled themselves. “We shall, of course, see you this evening at the Musikverein,” she added, turning back to Lady W. as we younger ladies rose and moved across the room to join them.
“Of course. Eleanor and I are looking forward to hearing this evening’s performance.”
We all left the drawing room and made our way to the entrance hall. Just as Gretel finished wrapping her shawl about herself, a knock sounded on the door, and the footman opened it to reveal Rupert himself. I fear I blushed furiously upon seeing him, and Louisa’s pointed glance at me did not help my discomfort. He greeted us all with a warm smile then turned to me as the Müssens left.
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 18
