“Oh, of course; I thought I recognized her particular style. My Lord, you must allow me to claim you for my Emmeline for this next dance. I am certain Miss Stafford will not mind, as I see Herr Waldstein is waiting to partner her.” I glanced over my shoulder in the direction she had indicated but did not see Herr Waldstein immediately. Rupert was about to protest, but Emmeline appeared quite as suddenly as though she had been conjured, and he stopped short, unwilling to cause offense in spite of Frau S. and her behavior. I gave him a small smile to say it was all right, and he squeezed my hand firmly before leading Emmeline into the set. Frau S. smiled in a somewhat mocking way before sailing away to join some other of her acquaintance. I looked about for a sign of Papa or the Warners but the ballroom was quite crowded, and I did not see them.
Herr Waldstein did not seek my hand for that dance, although I was quickly asked by another gentleman and was not required to sit out. Rupert caught my eye multiple times throughout the dance, though we were once again placed too far apart in the set for conversation. The dance ended and Emmeline Schneider took hold of Rupert’s arm and steered him toward her mother again, the opposite direction from where I was. Between them they kept him talking until I was taken by another partner. Dance after dance progressed and still we were unable to return to one another; either my hand was solicited, or some one of our acquaintances required his attention. It was clear that Rupert was becoming frustrated with the situation, and I was no less disappointed. Finally the last waltz before supper approached. I bid my last partner farewell, determined not to accept anyone other than Rupert for the next dance, no matter how long I had to wait. Looking about the room I saw him moving steadily in my direction and my heart lifted at the sight, only to droop again as Frau S. stepped deftly into his way and practically shoved Emmeline into his arms as the music started.
You may imagine how disappointed I was, for now Rupert would have to attend on Emmeline through the meal. A sigh escaped me before I could restrain it, and I realized I was shamefully close to tears again.
“Frau Schneider is a most conniving woman,” Count von Schönfeld said as he stepped up beside me. I attempted to return his kind smile, but I fear I was not successful. “I know that I am not my nephew, but it would be an honor if you would allow me to claim this waltz,” he continued with a courtly little bow.
At that, my smile became genuine. “You are too good, my lord. I cannot thank you enough,” I said, but found myself unable to say more; my heart was so full in that moment. He patted my hand gently, as if to say he understood. I gave him my most formal curtsey, and he led us into the dance. Although I tried my best to be an attentive partner, it was difficult not to look for Rupert. I did have the satisfaction of seeing Frau S. frown deeply when she noticed me dancing with the Count; she may have stolen Rupert away from me, but now I would have the distinction of being attended on by the master of the house himself.
The Count was quite charming throughout the meal, and was infinitely patient with me whenever I forgot my manners because I was distracted with watching Rupert. Rupert was watching me as well and hardly attended to Emmeline at all in spite of her efforts to engage him in conversation. The meal seemed endlessly long, and it was with relief that I finally watched the servants remove the plates.
“I know I cannot expect to keep your attention forever, my dear, especially when this is your last ball in Vienna. But I hope it will not be long before you return to us once again.” The Count gave me the most knowing of looks, and I wondered exactly how much he knew. I was most grateful to him for keeping me close until Rupert was able to extricate himself from Emmeline Schneider and join us at last. He offered me his arm and I accepted it gratefully, aware of how much I had missed him despite the fact that we had never been more than two dozen paces from one another.
“Shall we find Gretel and ask if she would like to tour the gardens now?” I said, although my teasing was half-hearted this time.
“I do not intend that anyone shall find us for at least a quarter of an hour. I have been required to share you far too much this evening and should like a little time where I do not have to worry about who else may try and intervene.” I had never seen this side of Rupert before. He was not angry, but his mood was certainly one of disgruntled amusement, an odd combination to be sure, but one that he carried off splendidly.
We exited the first door that we came to and were at last in the Schönfeld gardens. Rupert had moved quickly to help us escape before the music started again. Now that we were out of doors, he seemed to relax. The night air was cool and inviting, washed clean by the earlier rain. I could see the stars above us, occasionally blocked by the drifting clouds. A little noise of exasperation from Rupert called my gaze back to the ground. Other couples had decided to indulge in strolling about the gardens after supper as well, and our route was littered with little groups of chatting guests. Rupert turned us down one of the smaller paths and we wound our way through the garden until we reached the rose walk. None of the other guests had wandered this far yet, and we walked beneath the arched climbing roses in companionable silence.
We reached the far end before Rupert chose to stop. From here the path turned to either side, somewhat like the nave of a cathedral. To the left, the path led back toward the house; to the right, it led into a grassy circular space marked by tall box hedges. Here the ceiling of roses ended, but trellises placed in front of the hedges were covered in blooms of all colors, and the beds in front were lined with large rose bushes. A small fountain bubbled merrily in the center. The gravel path traced its way around the fountain before continuing through an arch on the opposite side of the space. It was my favorite part of the gardens.
I breathed in the familiar scent of the roses and sighed, reminded of my mother as I always am in that place. Privately, I thought that he could not have chosen a better setting. Everything seemed perfect, and the loveliness of it all suddenly made me feel quite nervous. To distract myself, I let go of Rupert’s arm and stepped toward one of the rosebushes. “I see they have placed lanterns here too. Is that what you wished to show me? Or did your uncle make some other change?” It was a silly remark, but my focus was entirely on calming my nerves.
“I confess that I may perhaps have exaggerated the changes somewhat,” Rupert said with a smile. “But I do have a very particular reason for bringing you here.”
I turned away from a particularly exquisite bloom and looked at him. “Indeed,” I said, keeping my tone somewhat light even as my cheeks colored and my heart skipped in time to the water in the fountain.
Rupert closed the distance between us. “Have you ever been told how beautiful you look when you blush?” The only response I could muster was another flush of color. Rupert smiled and looked down into my eyes. “I had planned to bring you here before the ball started. I wished to be certain I could secure your hand for the entire evening so that we would not be separated. But even the best laid plans can fail. It does not matter now.” He paused and held out his hand. I placed mine in his without a thought; it seemed so right that I should do so. He held it between both of his, gently tracing its shape with his fingers. His eyes never left mine.
“Eleanor,” he said quietly, “from the moment we met I knew you were different, superior in every way. Your grace, your kindness, your exceptional intelligence and accomplishments set you apart in a manner that I found truly captivating. The night of Lady Rousseau’s ball I could not sleep for thinking about you. And when I found out that you had come to Vienna, I knew I would not be able to rest until I had seen you again. Every day that we have spent together since then has taught me more about you. You are fearless, compassionate, and beautiful. And,” he added, a sudden gleam in his eye, “one day your skill on the cello will eclipse mine entirely.” I could not help the little exclamation of surprise that escaped me at that, for I had thought he knew nothing of my lessons. Rupert chuckled at my embarrassment as I hid my face in my hands. Gently he drew me to him until we were
so close I felt my hair stir with his next words. “I am convinced that you alone can make me happy.” I looked up at him, my hands resting on the lapels of his coat. His eyes sparkled as they had the night we first met in Paris. “I love you, Eleanor,” he said simply.
Even though I had been hoping, wishing for him to say those words, I was still unprepared when they finally came. I stared at him for what felt like an age in wonder and blissful happiness. Ever patient, Rupert simply held me close until I found my voice. “I love you too.”
The smile that spread across his lips caused his eyes to dance with joy. And almost without realizing what was happening, I found that he had leaned down and kissed me. Truly Bella, I do not think he could help it, it seemed so spontaneous and instinctive. But I am very glad he did, for it was wonderful.
It seemed to have been both an eternity and an instant when he pulled away. “There is something very particular I should like to ask you,” he said, his smile back again and coloring his voice. “Eleanor—,”
“—of course, they did not say they were certain of the direction he—oh, Baron von Schönfeld! At last!” The sharp voice of none other than Frau Schneider invaded the peace of the rose garden as she rounded the corner from the rose walk, Emmeline in tow. I was suddenly aware of how very conspicuous we must look and stepped away from Rupert. He let me go, but took one of my hands and wound my arm through his, as though determined not to be parted from me entirely.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, reverting to the cool politeness he had employed with Frau S. earlier in the evening. I merely nodded to both of them.
“My dear Baron, I am so pleased we have found you, for you are quite missed amongst the company, and Herr Schneider has most particularly requested to speak with you. Indeed, you must come and allow him to pay his respects, for you know he is always most anxious to acknowledge the graciousness of his host.” I glanced at Emmeline during this speech and felt a degree of pity at the sight of her trying to ignore her mother’s invasive presence. She seemed most embarrassed, and for the first time I questioned whether Emmeline was always quite so willing a participant in her mother’s schemes as I had assumed. Even if she had been previously, she seemed to think that finding Rupert and I alone in the rose garden was cause to concede the field. She glanced at her mother and then at me, and I tried to give her a sympathetic smile. I know all too well what it is like to have an encroaching, grasping woman as a relation.
Rupert was trying to break into the flow of Frau Schneider’s conversation, but she was not to be deterred. I straightened my skirts and exchanged a brief glance with Rupert, hoping he would sense that it was best to return to the house rather than remain in such uncomfortable circumstances. He nodded minutely and somehow managed to find space between two words to suggest that we all return to the house. Frau S. looked pleased and continued her talk, but she kept throwing triumphant little glares at me that seemed to say she knew she had interrupted a most important moment. I did my best to keep my expression serene, and even inquired as kindly as I could after Emmeline’s enjoyment of the ball. She replied with a hint of relief in her voice, and thus we were situated when we entered the ballroom again.
“Oh, now where has Herr Schneider gone? I shall have to go and fetch him. Perhaps in the meantime, My Lord, you might ask Emmeline—,”
“Mama,” Emmeline said, her exasperation evident, “I have just recalled that I promised to give Herr Göttel a dance. You must excuse me, Baron von Schönfeld.” She curtsied and looked pointedly at her mother until Frau S. was forced to drop a curtsy of her own, and they moved away.
“Well, that was certainly interesting,” I observed in an attempt to dispel the ill humor of the moment. “You might do better to not scowl quite so heavily, or someone might think I have offended you most dreadfully.”
“I am not scowling,” Rupert said, though he was still staring with hard eyes in the direction the Schneiders had taken.
“Rupert, please do not mind them. I would like to pretend it never happened.”
That brought his attention back to me and he looked down, one eyebrow raised. “All of it?” he asked.
I blushed, of course. “Well no, not all of it.” Rupert’s good temper returned in full and he bowed gallantly to me before leading me toward the center of the ballroom to join the dancing again.
We danced together for the rest of the night and attracted quite a few stares and whispers. I have vague memories of seeing Lord and Lady Warner, Count von Schönfeld, and Papa throughout the rest of the night, all beaming to various degrees while watching us. But most clearly I remember Rupert; his eyes, his smile, the touch of his hand as we danced until the very end of the ball, and the feel of his lips as he kissed my hand before helping me into the Warners’ carriage.
Oh Bella, I am happier than I have any right to be, I know. And I know it is a terribly selfish indulgence to write to you of such things when you are experiencing quite different feelings. You are all goodness and sweetness for enduring my endless prattle. The only thing that could possibly have made the evening more wonderful would have been if Rupert had been able to actually ask for my hand. But Frau S. stationed herself near the doors to the gardens and seemed determined to keep us from repeating our tete-a-tete. I expect to see Rupert tomorrow, however, and doubtless we shall have time to talk without interruption then.
Your tired but happy cousin,
Eleanor
P.S. I add this note to my letter of Saturday night as I am about to leave for Paris with Lady Warner. Rupert was not able to come yesterday. I enclose a copy of the note he sent to explain his absence:
My Dearest Eleanor,
Fate seems determined to thwart me today. We are plagued with callers, come to congratulate my uncle on the excellence of the ball. I imagine you can guess which distinguished lady is among our most enthusiastic and long-winded visitors. If I can slip away unnoticed, I will do so; otherwise look for me tomorrow at Lady Warner’s door. Regardless, I shall make every effort to join you in Paris as soon as I am able. My uncle has promised me to our Imperial cousins for several affairs of state for the next fortnight, but they shall not keep me away for long.
Love,
Rupert
20 July, 1845
Copley Manor, Kent
Dear Eleanor,
Papa and I have arrived in Kent to a veritable storm of social invitations. It seems every one of our acquaintances is eager to question us about the time we have spent in Scotland with the Duke. While I would rather decline every single event, we do not have the luxury of seclusion anymore. I begin to see why it was so easy for William to stay hidden in the Scottish countryside without a desire to mix with the outside world. Papa has done his best to take the burden of describing our time there, but he cannot be by me at every moment. It is always a relief when the gentlemen join us in the drawing room after dinner. Until then it requires all of my skill to appear happy and unconcerned while answering the often prying questions put to me by the other ladies. Mrs. Hollingdon is, of course, the most inquisitive of our neighbors; fortunately she does not have the best memory and often asks mundane questions multiple times. As long as I do not have to speak much about William himself, I find I can manage tolerably well. I am suddenly grateful for the lack of Scottish society near Castle Stirling; it has prevented the spread of rumors about William’s offer for my hand and keeps his name from being introduced into conversation very often.
It is strange to think that when I was with him, I could only call him “the Duke,” but now that we can never be together, I find myself calling him “William” in my mind. Everything seems to bring him to mind, despite my efforts to ponder other things. Perhaps I am defeating my own endeavor by taking any excuse I can find to think of him. The recollection of my folly is still painful, but my other memories of Castle Stirling are pleasant, and I am slowly learning to dwell on the latter rather than the former. Even so, I know that I will never meet anyone like William ever again. Th
e thought saddens me greatly, but I must acknowledge that even were I to meet with another man like him, I would not have him, simply because he is not my Duke.
Oh! I quite forgot to mention that I have finally solved the mystery of my missing Parisian gown. It arrived here some time ago, but a new maid who did not know of the instruction to forward all of our mail took the package to my room, and it has been sitting there ever since. I opened it as soon as we were settled, and it truly is exquisite. However, I must admit to being somewhat confused as to the color, for though a lovely brocade, it is a rather bright shade of yellow. Is this color truly so popular in Paris that the modiste worked through her entire stock? Please do not mistake my confusion for ingratitude; the style and details are quite to my taste, and the matching slippers fit to perfection. The lace fan is so delicate that I feel elegant merely looking at it. I am not adverse to the color yellow—indeed, I look quite well in it—but my cousin Hettie wore it so often that I found myself refusing to purchase the color on principle.
It is so lovely to have a new gown of this kind that I assure you I am becoming quite reconciled to the color. The novelty will certainly make our next formal engagement less tedious, as the ladies’ questions will now be all about Parisian fashions and your time on the Continent. Mrs. H. will likely bring up Fanny’s attempted elopement, but that is one scandal I am sufficiently prepared to address.
25 July
I kept my letter open in the event that anything more interesting occurred, and am now in the happy position of being able to wish you great joy by the same post as your most recent missive. Oh Eleanor, you do indeed deserve every bit of happiness it is possible for Rupert to bestow! I am grateful beyond expression that you chose to send me an account of the ball. It was quite like reading a novel, only better for ending happily. It has put me into quite a cheerful humor, and I have gone over the details again and again in a little whirl of girlish excitement.
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 24
