by Sue London
Casimir sighed upon hearing the honorific. He checked the hall to ensure no one was nearby before they slipped out and back to their duties.
*
George could barely breathe. The carriage from “Aunt Martha” had picked her up an hour ago and was steadily carrying her to a waiting ship. She would join the minor group being dispatched to the Congress of Vienna in support of Britain’s ambassador Castlereagh. Fortunately she had kept a close eye on the news as Robert instructed, and knew that Britain was key in the negotiations that were being used to ‘redraw the map’ of Europe after Napoleon’s war.
She would pose as an attache’s wife, known to all in the delegation as Mrs. Appleton. Gina Appleton. She detested when anyone tried to shorten her name to Gina, but Robert had explained that a name similar to her own would make it that much easier to maintain her cover. She remembered how much Robert had enjoyed pulling their pigtails when she and the other Haberdashers had been little girls, and was somewhat suspicious that he very well recalled she hated the nickname. But it was neither here nor there. She had an assignment, a real assignment. She couldn’t be happier.
Her conveyance rolled to a halt on the docks at Dover. The air was heavy with the scent of water and she could hear the the ships thumping in their moorings, the wood twisting and settling with a cacophony of groans. When the door to her carriage opened, a man she didn’t recognize offered his hand to help her down.
“Mrs. Appleton,” he said cheerfully. But while his tone was merry, his eyes were appraising her. He kissed her hand and asked, “How was your journey, love?”
So this was to be her husband. Her false husband. He was handsome enough. Tall, barrel-chested, and given to a slight portliness around the middle that he was still young enough to carry off without looking slovenly. In a few years his luck might change if he cared more for port than sport, which he looked like perhaps he did. She gave him a shy smile and said, “It was pleasant.”
George was not in the least shy, but she was clever enough to hold her own counsel until she had appraised the situation. Applegate knew, of course, that she was a British agent of some sort but not her specific assignment. It was, Robert had said, for the best if each assignment was held as confidential as possible.
Applegate gave her a false smile and squeezed her hand. “Come, my love. It is time to board our ship.”
Her gaze swept over the small gathering waiting for them as they approached. Two maids, a footman or valet, she wasn’t sure which, and another gentleman at least as well dressed as Mr. Applegate. The vessel they stood before was fairly small.
Applegate kept a proprietary hand on her as he made introductions. “Mrs. Applegate, this is Mr. Sims. Sims, this is my wife, Mrs. Applegate.”
The gentleman, small and dark-haired, gave her a slight bow as his eyes appraised her. While Applegate looked the type inclined to drink and leisure, Sims vibrated energy. He bore watching, she thought.
Applegate turned to indicate the servants. “Critchfield, Anna, and Maria. Maria will do for you.”
George nodded, accepting the pale, brown-haired girl as her lady’s maid. She wondered at why they had two maids, but as Anna was buxom and comely, George could surmise a reason. Applegate escorted his ‘wife’ onto the ship with her hand firmly tucked into his elbow. This would certainly be an interesting journey.
*
Casimir had a mild smile on his face, nodding at the instructions that the attaché Otto was giving him. Diplomacy, it seemed, was dependent on two things: alcohol and paperwork. Somewhere in the midst of all that there were undoubtedly discussions. Important discussions that would unintentionally shape lives for hundreds of years. But from where Cas sat in the grand scheme of things he didn’t see or hear those discussions. He saw paperwork. Stacks and stacks of letters, missives, maps, and drawings. He heard instructions on how to move that paperwork from one stack to another. He ran messages to his peers who were minor players in the other delegations. It was mind-numbing. It was, honestly, lowering. Yet he knew that he was lucky to have wrangled this coveted spot in service to the Prussian prince. That it was all luck and guile that allowed him to step into a role reserved for a Prussian gentleman. And for all of the mind-numbing, lowering moments he might experience, he was still here in the halls of the Ballhausplatz and had at least a chance to influence the outcome. A slim hope of doing something for Poland, for his people. So he would watch and he would wait. He would befriend the other gentlemen, flirt with their wives at the endlessly scheduled balls, and observe the diplomats as carefully as a mouse would an alley full of cats.
*
George set foot on Austrian soil not a minute too soon, for her taste. The journey from England had been interminable. She’d had to fend off the amorous intentions of not only Applegate but Sims as well. It was clear they had expected her to be free with her favors. Although seduction had certainly been a part of her training, it wasn’t mandatory. And it wasn’t as if she would practice it on two minor British gentlemen who had little to nothing to do with her objective. She flicked a tiny mote of dust off her sleeve. Robert had been quite reticent on that aspect of her training, in fact. Few things made Robert uncomfortable, but apparently encouraging his little sister’s best friend to use her wiles in service to the Crown made him quite uncomfortable indeed. The most he would say on the subject was that although it was standard training and certainly a weapon in her arsenal it was “not required” and that she should remember she was a lady. A small smile stole over her features as she recalled how Applegate had seemed less inclined to consider her a lady, so she had instructed him on the subject while her stiletto was pressed to his manhood. While she might not want to waste seduction on him, she was always happy to continue honing her skills with her knives.
CHAPTER THREE
Another day of paperwork, another night of wine and dancing. Certainly there were those who considered this the ideal life, but Cas wasn’t one of them. Having exhausted the potential discussions of the evening, he was now holding up a pillar at the edge of the room and swirling wine in his glass in the hopes that a footman wouldn’t be inspired to pour more for him. Due to their perceived difference in station, he couldn’t even chat with Wladek at these soirees to distract him from the utter boredom of it all. He wished he could go home. His real home. It had been years now since he had been in the forest, or smelled his mother’s dumplings cooking when he came home. He missed it in all the spaces between his heartbeats, with every moment between his breaths. But if he did not succeed in his mission here he would never be able to go home. And most likely couldn’t even if he did succeed.
There was movement at the door and two men he didn’t recognize entered. It wasn’t of any particular surprise, since the minor staff of each delegation forever had someone coming or going. Then the taller, bulky fellow moved and he saw her. Just the upsweep of her pale blond hair, the gracefulness of her neck, her smooth cheek. But something in him responded to her, like the magnet in a compass swinging to north. Surely this moment of intrigue would prove to be passing, but for now at least an introduction would be diverting. He strolled over to Hans von Rosen.
“Who are they?” he asked without preamble, head tipping to the new guests.
Hans gave a ghost of a smile although his posture remained stiff, betraying his military background. “What makes you think I know?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Hans,” Cas said with a grin. “We all know you know everything.”
“Not everything. But perhaps I know something of them.”
“And?”
“British. I didn’t catch the names. They only arrived this afternoon.” Now Hans did smile as he looked down at Cas. “Certainly it should take at least one full day to learn everything about them.”
Cas chuckled and slapped Hans on the shoulder. “All right, I’ll give you the rest of a day. But that was enough for now anyway.” After saluting the Prussian officer with his wine glass, Casimir ambled towards John Howards. John was th
e British clerk that Casimir exchanged missives with during the day. A decent enough fellow, if a bit anxious.
Switching to English Cas greeted him. “Good evening, John.”
“Yes. Yes, quite.”
At least half of what Howards said sounded like a verbal nervous tick rather than real conversation.
“I see that your delegation has some new arrivals.”
“Indeed. Yes, yes.”
Casimir let the conversation lag into an awkward silence.
“Would you…” Howards’ voice strangled off, then he tried again. “That is to say, I would be pleased to introduce you.”
Casimir gave the man an encouraging smile. The British could always be counted upon to be excruciatingly polite, especially if a conversation waned at a critical juncture. “I would be delighted.”
Howards pulled at his cravat as though it were too tight and set off across the room, Casimir strolling in the man’s wake. As they approached the group Casimir finally saw the woman clearly. She was looking up at her companion with a blank, pleasant expression until the man happened to look away. Then it was clear that she would happily run him through with a hat pin if one should be available. When her gaze settled on Casimir he almost stumbled. She had schooled her expression into that blank pleasantness again, but she was… Well, she was arresting. Her delicate bone structure and pale coloring indicated fragility, but her dark eyes burned with intelligence. Taken one at a time her features might be awkward: a longish nose, wide mouth, and sharp chin. But the overall impression she gave was of elegance. Her eyes narrowed briefly as Howards stopped in front of her party.
“Appleton,” Howards said. “Allow me to make an introduction.”
Casimir saw a flush creeping up Howards’ neck. It was possible that this introduction would be the sum total of social engagement that Howards would be able to stand for the week. Tomorrow Cas would visit the bookshop to find a tome that the quiet Brit might enjoy.
“Mr. Appleton, Mrs. Appleton, Mr. Sims, may I introduce Mr. Rokiczana from the Prussian delegation. Mr. Rokiczana, the Appletons and Mr. Sims.”
Casimir bowed to each of them. Appleton certainly didn’t deserve such a lovely wife. But her irritation with her loutish husband could be a boon to Casimir. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for yet, but he knew he needed allies and information. Unhappy wives could be among the best finds for a man in his position. Although he was tempted to immediately ask her to dance, it wouldn’t do to alienate her husband, a man who might also prove useful.
Instead, he engaged them in the banal conversation that greased all social interaction. “Your journey to Vienna was pleasant, I hope?”
“As pleasant as something like that can be,” Appleton said in the bored tone that certain Brits thought conveyed a worldliness that they didn’t have. Mrs. Appleton looked up at her husband, a very mild quirk of her lips telling Casimir that she had some quibble with the statement.
“It was easier for me, of course,” Casimir continued in a friendly tone, “being so close and only needing to cross the Danube. Hopefully the weather wasn’t a deterrent for you. I find traveling in the winter hardest of all. Of course, if it were summer, I would be complaining about the heat.”
Mr. Sims, the smallest of the three of them, had beady eyes and a progressively sour expression as the politesse continued. “So tell us, what work do you do here at the Congress?”
Casimir raised a brow slightly. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a gentleman. And by definition gentlemen don’t work.”
Mr. Sims’ expression soured more but Appleton guffawed at the jest. “Just so, Mr…”
“Rokiczana,” Casimir supplied helpfully.
“Just so. I didn’t know you had any entertaining friends, Howards.” Appleton slapped the nervous Howards on the back.
“Speaking of our friendship,” Casimir said, turning back to John, “didn’t you express an interest in billiards earlier?”
Howards looked surprised for a moment, and then recognized the opportunity to escape for what it was. “Yes, yes. Indeed.”
Casimir led their retreat from the ballroom as he knew there was nothing the man would appreciate more than an opportunity for a quiet pursuit. And Casimir always rewarded those who helped him.
*
George watched the two retreating figures with interest. Her sense was that her party had been “had,” but she wasn’t sure exactly how. The elegant young man from Prussia and the junior British clerk seemed an oddly matched pair, yet she couldn’t complain that she wasn’t already making acquaintance with her targets within hours of arriving in Vienna. And to think, she had been concerned over how she would be introduced to the Prussians at all. Hopefully she could soon circulate on her own, as no young woman of fashion was expected to spend the entirety of a ball with her husband. Quite the opposite.
She wondered what she could find out about this Mr. Rock-something. She was usually good at pronunciations, but his name had confounded her. Although her curiosity was piqued, it wouldn’t do to ask about him directly. At least not so soon. But he was a handsome, friendly man so it was quite likely that the other ladies would mention him on their own. He was no taller than herself but had what her mother called “presence.” His figure was lithe and looked well in the immaculate attire he was wearing. His valet was undoubtedly proud. His coloring, which could be considered unremarkable with brown hair and brown eyes, managed to seem luxurious instead, reminding her of the gleaming wood in her father’s study. Rich chestnut locks and warm walnut eyes. Yes, the other ladies would mention him. She just needed to make friends among them to begin her research and identify if by pure luck the first Prussian gentleman she met was her path to successfully completing her assignment: knowing what the Prussians were planning so that Britain could turn it to their own best interests.
CHAPTER FOUR
Casimir had faced many challenges. Living on his wits both in the wilds and on the streets. Bitter cold. Facing down soldiers when he was barely more than a child. Reinventing himself to be accepted as a gentleman when his father had sent him to university. He would, he thought, happily do any of it over rather than this infernal shuffling of paperwork. Whereas before he had considered himself capable of conquering anything, now he found himself in sympathy with Sisyphus. Every day they rolled the stone of diplomacy up a hill, and every day it fell back down to the bottom. He had nearly given up on finding anything useful or even interesting in the constant stream of missives. Periodically he would find some mention of Silesia, but it was never enough to give any clue as to the expected disposition of the land at the conclusion of the Congress. More mention was made of Poland, but the term meant so many different things to so many different people that it was hard to establish which version of Poland to which they referred. His homeland had been sliced up like a pig at a feast so many times that it was difficult for anyone to know what the real boundaries were. But part of that was because the boundaries weren’t something to be found on a a map. What defined his homeland were the people. The ones who knew in their heart they were Polish. Regardless of geography, regardless of names, regardless of what ruler dictated their future.
But something else was eating at his peace of mind, as well. Typically he didn’t look forward to the balls, but this time he would see her again. Mrs. Applegate seemed a poor moniker for her. He found his mind turning to her the last few days more often than he would like, but there was something about her that intrigued him. He knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew what it was.
*
George positioned herself in the midst of ladies chatting near the door. A dreamy gasp followed by the fluttering of fans around her made her glance to the entrance. Yes, her Prussian gentleman had arrived, but the reaction of the ladies around her was even more dramatic than she would have expected. Then she watched him saunter towards the group with a pleased smile on his face that managed to make him attractive rather than arrogant. His coat was the color of a ripe pl
um, the velvet flashing a deep purple where it caught the candlelight. Having approached their bevy he began to greet them individually, in each lady’s native language. George was cynically impressed with his ability to flirt with ten women at once. Then it was her turn to be greeted. Her rational mind cataloged the aspects of how he engendered a response. He stood a bit too closely, yet without crowding. His grip on her hand was firm without being tight as he raised it to his lips to kiss. His touch was warm, even through her gloves. His eyes never left hers as he murmured a greeting, his voice low enough to infer that he only wanted her to hear it, perhaps even lean closer to hear it.
“Good evening, Mrs. Appleton.”
Oh yes, he was good. Even while her mind analyzed his movements, she felt a shiver of awareness go through her. Being wise to his machinations did not, apparently, make her immune. She wasn’t sure if he had studied seduction or was just a natural at it. But thus far he was her only potential entry to the Prussian delegation so she would play his game. She dipped her chin like a shy ingénue while shifting slightly to draw attention to what chest she did have. Looking up through her lashes she whispered, “Good evening, sir.”
She saw some emotion flicker through his eyes that looked suspiciously like disappointment. Then he moved on to greet the next lady in the group.
George felt a keen disappointment that he had let her go. A mild frown tugged at her lips. Although she had yet to have carnal relations with a man, her training had certainly included a number of encounters similar to this one. All of the men at Madame Blythe’s were attractive and practiced, but none of them had caused this flicker of desire with so brief a contact. And she knew that her body language had clearly communicated desire, how could he find that disappointing?
He chose one of the other ladies to dance with and her frown became even more pronounced. As he led the lady to the floor he glanced back and met her gaze, and upon seeing her expression he gave her a devilish smile. Now she was confused as well as irritated. What on earth did that mean?
