“Only how long will we have to wait for the evening gowns?” she asked. “Will we have one each at least by the day of the concert?”
“Oh yes,” the countess said comfortably. “There are so many parties here that the dressmakers can run you up the most complicated of garments by the next day, or even the same day if your need is dire.”
She spread hers skirts more comfortably and briskly laid her hands in her lap. “Now, tonight, Mrs. Fawcett, a kind if somewhat eccentric English lady, is holding a ball, to which we are all invited. My aim was to introduce you formally to Vienna at our own ball, but I know you won’t want to wait. And in any case, this is a masquerade ball, so I thought it might be fun for you both to go, and to slip away before the unmasking. There’s nothing like a bit of mystery to stir male attention.”
“Masks!” Dunya exclaimed. “How wonderful! Oh yes, do let’s go. We should have bought masks!”
“There are hundreds in the house,” the countess said carelessly.
“What do mean about stirring up male attention?” Anastasia demanded, as though the words had just registered. “I am a married woman.”
“Dunya is not,” the countess said dryly. “I do not ask you to commit adultery, merely to cultivate a little social success for the sake of the family.”
“Oh, it will be fun, Asya,” Dunya cajoled. “And you must come—if for no other reason than to see I don’t overstep the mark of propriety. Talking of which, are we visiting Vanya and Lizzie on the way home?”
“Lord, no, they’ll have no room for us,” her mother said dismissively.
“Oh, but I said I would,” Dunya protested.
“Well, you and Anastasia may go for a little while. I’ll send the carriage back for you.”
“Oh no,” Anastasia said quickly. “I’ll just come home with you, mother.”
Dunya caught her eye and lifted her brow. Anastasia flushed but tipped up her chin. She was being a good wife, but not nearly as proud of it as she was pretending.
The carriage changed direction and trundled over the cobbles into a wide, open space that the countess called the Graben. Here, Anastasia suddenly sat forward, staring.
“Mother!” she exclaimed. “Look at that man! The tall one in the white and gold uniform. Doesn’t he look exactly like the Tsar?”
Dunya and her mother peered, too. Dunya presumed they were talking about the tall, fair man striding along the road, swinging his walking stick in a jaunty manner. He appeared to be alone and in a hurry. Anastasia had met the Tsar during her trip to St. Petersburg before the war, but Dunya had never laid eyes on him, so couldn’t comment on this man’s similarity.
The countess laughed. “My dear, that is the Tsar. The city is so full of princes, kings, and emperors, that things have become rather relaxed—perhaps too relaxed for imperial dignity.”
“He is handsome,” Dunya allowed with awe, standing up in the carriage so she could keep him in her vision for longer. The carriage swerved around a corner and Dunya was thrown against her sister. By the time they’d untangled themselves, the carriage was stopping outside a tall building in a narrow street. A footman was dispatched to see if Lizzie was at home, and Dunya, being impatient, alighted from the carriage to watch his route through a narrow lane at the side of the house to a gate, which he opened.
Quite without warning, a white, hairy flash exploded out of the gate, barking exuberantly. The footman was sent spinning into the wall.
From the garden beyond the gate, a child’s voice cried, “Oh no! Catch him!”
“You must be Dog,” Dunya guessed, instinctively leaping in front of the alley opening just as the dog got there and crashed into her. Her mother cried out, and the coachman yelled.
Dunya landed on her back with the huge dog gazing down at her, panting. It was the look of faint surprise in his gaze that undid her. As her shoulders began to shake, the dog wagged its tail, sniffing at her face before licking it.
Dunya reached up and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck to hold him. And then a girl of around ten loomed over the dog’s head, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him off.
“I am so sorry!” she said in German. “He won’t actually hurt you—”
“Don’t you think it’s already hurt her?” Dunya’s mother demanded, hurrying over from the carriage.
The child, who clearly knew the countess, bestowed a smile upon Dunya as she struggled to rise. “Ah! You must be Vanya’s sister! I’m Georgiana Gaunt. I hope you aren’t hurt. I’d help you up, only if I let him go, he might bolt.”
“My dignity is in tatters,” Dunya said, gaining her feet and dusting off her gown. “Beyond that, I’m fine. Your dog let me down gently.”
Georgiana looked doubtful. “No one’s ever said that before. He is gentle in nature, but he’s so big and clumsy you’d never know it!”
“What breed is he?” Dunya asked curiously, stroking the excited dog’s head.
“No one knows. Oh Lizzie, thank goodness, I can hardly hold him.”
Lizzie ran out of the alley and hastily attached a leash to the dog’s collar, apologizing profusely to Dunya in between politely greeting the countess and waving to Anastasia who was still in the carriage.
“We need to rethink the fence,” said a boy who’d followed Lizzie—presumably the illegitimate half-brother. “Perhaps we need a fence within the fence, so he can’t get out whenever anyone visits us via the gate.”
Lizzie nodded, handing him the lead. “You and Georgi drag him back into the garden.”
As the dog was hauled back down the narrow passage, the countess drew closer. “Dunya, let Pyotr help you back into the carriage,” she commanded.
“But I’ve only just got here,” Dunya said in surprise.
“You must be bruised black and blue,” her mother exclaimed.
“Oh dear,” Lizzie said, distressed.
Dunya laughed. “I’m not remotely hurt. I threw myself in the dog’s path knowing full well he couldn’t stop in time. We had a crazy wolfhound like that once, do you remember, Mother?”
“No,” the countess said flatly.
“Well, Vanya will. May I visit you, Lizzie, or is it a bad time?”
“Oh, no, please come up. All of you. Vanya isn’t at home, though. He’s had to go and discipline some of his Cossacks. They get into fights when they have nothing to do.”
“Change your mind, Mother?” Dunya suggested, although she looked at Anastasia who was gazing out of the carriage window with something approaching longing. Her sister seemed deprived of fun. Dunya was torn between pity and annoyance with Anastasia for not seizing the opportunities.
The countess excused herself and departed while Dunya accompanied Lizzie along the alley and through the gate into the yard which was, indeed, rather small for such a large dog to get much exercise in. An iron stair led up the back of the house to the attic. Lizzie led the way, apologizing for all the steps.
“It gives us the illusion of privacy,” she said. “Otherwise, we have to share the front door and the hallway with the rest of the house. Besides, as Vanya said, it is good exercise for Dog!”
Dunya laughed, following Lizzie through the door at the top of the stair and into a bright, large attic room with two sofas, lots of bright cushions, wall hangings, a couple of tables, a slightly bashed-up sideboard, and a bookcase.
“Oh, this is lovely.” Dunya enthused. “Like a huge tree house.”
“That’s what I said,” claimed the girl kneeling by the hearth with a book. Once Dunya had looked at her, she found it hard not to stare, for she was surely the most beautiful creature Dunya had ever seen.
“My sister Henrietta,” Lizzie said. “Henri, this is Vanya’s sister, Dunya.”
Quite unselfconsciously for so lovely a girl, Henrietta rose and greeted her with the same friendliness as her siblings. Then the children set about preparing refreshments, with a mingling of argument and giggles that reminded Dunya of her own childhood.
Lizzie showed off her attic with pride. On either side of the charming if unconventional sitting room, were bedrooms, one belonging to Lizzie and Vanya, the other to the girls.
“Poor Michael has a cupboard just at the top of the stairs,” Lizzie said. “But mostly, he keeps his things in there and sleeps on the sitting room sofa. It doesn’t matter since he’s always up early anyway to let Dog out.”
“You have a happy attic,” Dunya said warmly. “It’s very…Vanya! I’m so glad marriage has made neither of you staid and dull like…well, like most married people,” she finished in a rush, unwilling to be disloyal to Anastasia.
“I like being with Vanya,” Lizzie said candidly. “And I can’t imagine marriage making you dull. I look forward to making the acquaintance of Captain Trelawny.”
“I’m hoping he’ll call this afternoon,” Dunya confessed. After all, she didn’t yet know where he was staying, and they’d made no definite plans. She brightened. “Perhaps he will be at this masquerade ball tonight, since he is English…if he’s well enough.”
“He’s ill?” Lizzie asked in surprise.
“He was wounded in the spring at Toulouse and lost his arm,” Dunya said. “But I believe they’ve just recently had to dig something else out of his shoulder because it caused pain and corruption and prevented him from healing properly. His brother is a physician and sent him to an Austrian surgeon. He is recovering.” She sat on the sofa, frowning at the memory of Jenkins’s words. “I would like to help him.”
“By marrying him?” Lizzie inquired.
Dunya shot her a quick glance. Lizzie was amusing but she clearly wasn’t stupid. “Before I marry him.”
Lizzie nodded. “That would be best,” she agreed.
“Are you going to the ball tonight?” Dunya asked.
“Probably not. I don’t like to leave the children too often. But you will like Mrs. Fawcett! She is my honorary godmother and has been very kind to Vanya and me. You might meet my aunt, Mrs. Daniels, and my cousin, Minerva.”
“I’ve never been to a masked ball before,” Dunya confided.
“They are all the rage in Vienna, although there may be fewer over the next month because it will be Advent. It’s been decided, apparently, that Roman Catholics may not have dancing at their houses during Advent, but that Catholics may still dance in other people’s houses.”
“That makes no sense,” Dunya stated. It crossed her mind that she wouldn’t be able to dance with Etienne at the French embassy. But if he came to Mrs. Fawcett’s masked ball…
Chapter Five
By the time of Mrs. Fawcett’s masquerade ball, Dunya’s excitement was married by worry and pique, both caused by the absence of Captain Trelawny. She was afraid he’d grown more ill with being dragged to Vienna by her, quite against his will. She was only too aware that while he’d seemed entertained by her schemes, people often were until they realized the trouble she’d put them to. And she particularly didn’t want to have troubled Captain Trelawny.
There was something very appealing about him, something that went beyond his kindness and her natural impulse to make sad people happier. She liked the captain. Which, was, of course, the source of her pique. And though she could laugh at herself about that, it didn’t ease the worry about his health.
On the afternoon before the ball, she encountered Vanya’s servant, Misha, leaving a message in the hall, presumably from Vanya himself. With a squeak of pleasure, she ran to him. She’d known Misha all her life, and for a large part of it had regarded him as an extra brother. He was, in fact, some distant cousin, on the wrong side of the blanket. A few years older than Vanya, Misha had served her brother most of his life, had travelled everywhere with him, and even gone to war with him. So it felt quite natural to be enveloped in his bear hug and to hug him back, before dragging him into the empty dining room.
There she demanded to hear all his news and then asked him to discover Captain Trelawny’s direction. “I particularly don’t want Vanya to know I asked you,” she said anxiously.
“If you’re doing it behind the colonel’s back, you shouldn’t be doing it,” Misha said, dragging his bushy black eyebrows down in a huge scowl. “And neither should I.”
“Oh it isn’t badness,” she assured him. “You must know that I am engaged to Captain Trelawny, but he isn’t in good health and I only wish to inquire after him. If you discover him, you may even take the message yourself, and tell Vanya you’re doing so, if you must.” She flushed. “I just don’t want Vanya to know that I don’t know where the captain is. If you understand me.”
“Not sure I do,” Misha said doubtfully. But at least he nodded. “I’ll make inquiries.”
It was the best she could do. “Thanks, Misha.”
About to leave, he paused and turned back to her. “One thing you could do for me, Dunya Petrovna…”
“Of course, if I can!”
“Engage a lady’s maid.”
Whatever Dunya had been expecting, it wasn’t that. She blinked at him. “Why?”
“I understand you don’t have one, though your mother and sister both do.”
“It always seemed an unnecessary expense,” Dunya said. “Especially before Vanya’s English inheritance. Since when have you interested yourself in our house servants?”
To her amazement, Misha’s weathered cheeks flushed. “Not so much your servants as someone else’s,” he muttered. “There’s this girl I know, Maria. Trained as a lady’s maid, works for an Austrian woman. Truth is, she isn’t happy where she is and can’t find a new place. Her mistress isn’t exactly respectable, you see, and so none of the gentle ladies will look at her.”
“Who is her mistress?” Dunya asked, intrigued. “How is she not respectable?”
Misha curled his lip. “Madame Fischer,” he uttered. “She and her husband hold gaming parties in their apartment for all the rich foreigners. She lures them in—she is very beautiful, I’ll give her that—and her husband fleeces them.”
“She doesn’t sound very nice,” Dunya allowed.
“She’s nasty,” Misha said flatly. “And ill-treats Maria to boot. Maria doesn’t feel safe there.”
Misha couldn’t have said anything more guaranteed to win her sympathy. “I’ll ask my mother and Vanya, and you can send her—”
“With respect,” Misha interrupted. “The countess won’t want her from such a source.”
Dunya had to admit he was right. “Then we need a fait accomplit. Unless Lizzie takes her on?”
“Wouldn’t be suitable,” Misha said hastily, and Dunya guessed Vanya had had some kind of disreputable dealings with her—or more likely her mistress. “In any case, they’ve no room for a maid.”
Dunya considered. “What if I don’t like her, Misha?”
“You will,” he said reverently.
Dunya regarded him with greater interest. He’d never asked her for a favour in his life before, and at last she understood the reason behind his very odd request. “Aha! Misha is in love at last!”
He flushed again, much more deeply. “Don’t be daft. She’s too refined for the likes of me. But if you met her, I know you’d be happy with her.”
“How do I do that?” She brightened. “Oh, I could sneak masked into their house of ill repute!”
Misha’s scowl returned. “No you couldn’t,” he growled.
“What, then?”
He thought. “She’ll go with Madame Fischer to the public masquerade at the Apollo Saal tomorrow afternoon. Her Nibs finds rich and gullible men there. The tickets are cheap and it’s respectable. Maybe Nikolai Ivanovitch could take you. I’m sure you could arrange that. And I’ll bring Maria to you.”
“That sounds much more fun. Anastasia will love it, too!” Smiling, she danced off to consult with her sister who seemed quite intrigued by the prospect of a masked tea dance.
Dunya’s other source of pique that day was Etienne’s failure to call. At the very least, he owed her mother a courtesy call after the hospi
tality he’d enjoyed with them in both St. Petersburg and the country estate. But it seemed the countess hadn’t yet encountered him anywhere in Vienna.
Since the new gowns weren’t yet ready, Dunya and Anastasia wore ball dresses they’d brought with them from Russia, duly refurbished by their mother’s and Anastasia’s maids. Anastasia’s was silvery gauze over grey silk, while Dunya wore angelic white muslin trimmed with gold.
Once fully dressed, combed, and bejeweled, the sisters examined each other.
“Do you know, I thought that gown dull when you bought it,” Dunya admitted. “But I was wrong. It’s so bright and ethereal with the silver. You are delightfully elegant and beautiful, Asya!”
“Why, so are you, Dunya. You will slay hearts by the dozen.”
“I’d settle for one,” Dunya said indiscreetly.
Anastasia’s eyes grew sharp. “Captain Trelawny?” she enquired. “Or is it still Etienne?”
Dunya smiled and reached for the white and gold mask on the dressing table. “I am engaged to be married,” she said firmly. Although it would have been useful to know the whereabouts of her betrothed.
*
Comte Etienne de la Tour had been cultivating the British community in Vienna for at least two weeks. His prize was a coveted invitation to the masquerade ball at the house of the alarmingly eccentric hostess, Mrs. Fawcett.
The rich and powerful thronged to Mrs. Fawcett’s whenever she raised a finger, largely because they were sure to be entertained by something just a little out of the ordinary. Sometimes, you discovered beautiful, precocious children mingling with adults. Sometimes, you got a glimpse of scandal or intrigue. She had certainly been involved in the capture of a notorious English spy, and the secret assignations of Lord and Lady Launceton. The crowned heads of Europe danced at her balls. More important to Etienne’s immediate plans, so did Miss Jane Reid, the betrothed of Mrs. Fawcett’s nephew.
Etienne spotted her at once. Tall, graceful, demure, and wearing a dusky pink mask and matching domino cloak over one shoulder to reveal her white muslin gown trimmed with unusual pink lace of exactly the same shade. Miss Reid’s attire was always tasteful, like her pale, almost icy beauty. She was not the sort of girl men noticed as soon as she entered a room. It was only when one was close to her, actually speaking to her, that one tended to realize she was beautiful as well as rich.
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