“Oh, go on,” Vanya drawled. “He’s such a stuffed shirt. I’m sure the Dunya treatment is good for him.”
“Don’t, Vanya,” she said a little shakily. “I know I behaved terribly.”
Vanya reached forward and ruffled her hair. “You don’t know the meaning of the words. Trust me, you weren’t so bad.”
“I’ll take you,” Trelawny said quietly. “I want to speak to Jane, too.”
“I thought you were going with Lizzie to the French embassy?” Vanya said.
“We can all go to both,” Lizzie decided. “Mrs. Fawcett likes Dog,”
Dunya frowned dubiously before the howls of laughter around her told her it was a joke. “Why are you going to the French embassy?” she asked Trelawny quietly. “You’re not going to see Etienne, are you?”
“Why should I do that?” he said, just a shade too smoothly. “No, Lady Launceton has promised to introduce me to the famous Madame de Talleyrand-Perigord.”
“Who won’t be receiving at this hour,” Lizzie said. “So you children take Dog for a walk while Vanya gets dressed and then we can leave him here while we invade Mrs. Fawcett.”
In the end, after Dunya had repinned her brother-ruffled hair, she and Trelawny accompanied the children and Dog on their walk, which turned out to be one of the more hilarious expeditions of her life. Dog was strong, ill-trained, and inclined to sudden lunges of friendliness, so whoever held his leash was anchored by at least one other person at all times. Which worked as long as no one let go of the leash. Michael had perfected a kind of flying tackle to deal with just such an event, which Dog clearly thought was great fun.
The Viennese they encountered all waved to the children or greeted them by name, making a fuss of the dog and asking after their brother and sister. They even laughed good-naturedly when they got tangled in Dog’s leash.
In all, it was the perfect way for Dunya to get over both her embarrassment at revealing so much to Captain Trelawny last night and the strange constriction she felt around her heart on encountering him again so unexpectedly.
“I didn’t know you and Vanya had grown so friendly,” she said.
“I don’t know that we have,” Trelawny admitted. “But we share a common interest. And besides, he’s curious about what game we’re playing.”
“He’s found a fine, mad life with this family,” Dunya approved. “I never expected this. My mother made them sound like grasping boors! But they’re nothing of the kind. They’re perfect for Vanya.”
They were walking across the Graben which Dunya had previously seen full of people, carriages, and horses. At this hour, it was much quieter, though hardly deserted. Ahead, Michael and Dog had stopped to watch two magnificent horses and riders cross their paths. Surely there was something familiar about…
Without warning, Dog barked. Just once, but extremely loudly and suddenly enough to startle one of the horses which bolted forward, the female rider clinging to its neck. Her companion immediately started after her, grasping the reins and calming the skittish horse. Major von Wahrschein. And his companion was Dunya’s sister.
“Anastasia,” Dunya said blankly. “What on earth…oh dear.”
Michael was calling an apology to the riders while he hauled Dog in the other direction, his sisters hanging on to him.
Dunya said, “I’m not sure that’s what I meant when I told her to stop being so dull.”
“She’s only out riding,” Trelawny said mildly.
“No,” Dunya said with certainty. “Something is…troubling her. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in myself, I’d have known it before. She’s being bad.”
*
Apologizing to Jane didn’t go quite the way Dunya had planned. The hoped-for private talk in one corner of a quiet room seemed increasingly unlikely since Lizzie had brought the children, of whom Mrs. Fawcett seemed inordinately fond. The other Mrs. Fawcett, Mr. Fawcett’s mother, on the other hand, didn’t seem fond at all. She looked and sounded as outraged by the presence of children as she would have been by a menagerie in the drawing room.
“I wish we had brought Dog,” Dunya whispered to Trelawny, whose eyes began to sparkle with laughter, even though his lips remained in repose. They’d chosen a sofa slightly more distant from the center of the room, in the hope of enticing Jane into some semblance of privacy. To Dunya’s relief, Mr. Fawcett was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps fortunately, the Fawcett ladies were entertaining a couple of other callers at the same time, people who seemed used to encountering the Gaunt children there and were amused by them.
“Well, they are amusing,” Dunya insisted. “Even if Mrs. Fawcett uses them as a social tool.”
Opportunity for a more private discussion with Jane finally offered when refreshment was served. Henrietta was helping Jane distribute cups of tea, and Jane, who’d greeted Dunya with rigid civility, seemed inclined to let the younger girl serve them. Until, at the last moment, she turned abruptly toward them with a cup and saucer in each hand.
“At last,” Dunya breathed.
Trelawny stood to receive his tea, inviting Jane to sit in his place. But Jane, gazing at a spot about an inch above Dunya’s eyes, said stiffly, “Actually, I was hoping for a private word with your betrothed about matters at home, if you wouldn’t mind lending him to me for two minutes.”
“As many minutes as you wish,” Dunya replied at once. “If only you’ll allow me a moment of your time first?”
Reluctantly, Jane lowered herself onto the sofa beside her. Her back was ramrod straight, her expression icy. Trelawny strolled forward a few paces, exchanging words with the other guests.
Dunya took a deep breath. “I behaved ill last night. I wish to offer you my apologies for my rudeness. Please forgive me.”
For an instant, the cold blue eyes shifted down an inch, actually meeting her own. Dunya imagined they were searching for an ulterior motive.
Jane said distantly, “There is nothing to forgive.”
“You are gracious,” Dunya replied, responding to the words rather than the ice behind them. “But please know I do deeply regret my behavior.”
“That is between you and your Maker, Countess. I have no idea to what you refer. Excuse me.”
She rose with absolute poise, leaving Dunya alone with an uncomfortable flush rising to her cheeks. The words were said, but her apology was certainly not accepted. Worse, Miss Reid was clearly too well bred to have even noticed Dunya’s blatant flirting with Mr. Fawcett. Except, of course, Dunya knew that she had.
Well, Dunya had apologized, and there was now no more she could do except avoid Mr. Fawcett in the future.
The thought was no sooner in her head than the door opened and Mr. Fawcett himself strode in, his eyes scouring the room until they landed on Dunya, when he broke into smiles.
Oh no…
Remembering himself, he bowed to the older ladies and greeted the room in general. He even accepted a cup of tea from Henrietta.
Don’t sit here, don’t sit here, don’t come near me…
But of course, Jane had deliberately left her alone, with a vacant seat beside her, and Fawcett walked across the room, beaming, and sat beside her.
“Countess, what a lovely surprise. When I heard you had called on us, I rushed down immediately.”
Mortified, Dunya tried to make her smile as glacial as possible. But unfortunately, it wasn’t what she did best.
*
Only a few hundred yards from Mrs. Fawcett’s hired residence, in the French embassy at the Kaunitz Palace on Johannesgasse, Etienne de la Tour was summoned to Talleyrand’s dressing room. Here, the prince was just completing his elaborate toilette. His valet was removing his master’s robe, beneath which he was dressed in impeccable buckskins and a shirt and necktie so white they dazzled.
“Ah, de la Tour. Ferrand,” Talleyrand said, rising to his feet and indicating the man who just then stepped out of the shadows in the far corner. “Ferrand, the Comte de la Tour, I’ve no idea
and less interest in whether you’ve met before. The important matter is, I have a commission for you. You will work together to complete it with discretion.”
Etienne had no idea either whether or not he’d met Ferrand before. The man had neither the name nor the presence to be remembered. But right now, he would have worked with the devil himself if Talleyrand had asked him to. Until he had Jane Reid’s money firmly in his grasp, he needed this position and he needed to be successful in it.
“Of course,” he said, nodding distantly to Ferrand. “What is it you desire of us?”
Talleyrand limped the few paces to the full-length mirror and gazed upon his exquisitely groomed person. He brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from one sleeve of his blue coat and waved his valet away. The man bowed and effaced himself. Talleyrand walked toward the door with his peculiarly elegant limp.
“Ferrand will inform you. Be prepared to leave tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow night? Etienne only just prevented the dismayed words spilling from his lips. He wasn’t ready to leave yet… Unless it was only for one night, or even two. He would have lost very little, although he had the feeling the time to press his advantage was very close.
Hastily, Etienne followed the prince from his chamber, and watched him shut himself in his private office with his secretary.
“This way,” Etienne said impatiently, leading the way downstairs to the room he’d established as his own office. It wasn’t large, but opening right on to the first floor landing, it was well-placed for seeing who visited whom. And, besides, it had the advantage of being next to his hostess’s salon, where she entertained her own, always interesting guests. She’d always welcomed Etienne to her gatherings, and he was quite used to snatching a few moments there away from his work.
This morning, it was really too early for visitors, although the low murmur of voices told him Talleyrand’s niece by marriage was entertaining the charming officer, Clam-Martinitz, who was totally besotted with her. No one could really blame her if she returned his affections, her own husband being only conspicuous by his constant absence from her side.
“In here.” Etienne pushed open the door to his office and made sure the connecting door into Dorothée’s salon, was firmly closed. As was his habit, he left the main door ajar, so that he could see who came up and down the staircase. “So what is this commission?” he demanded, throwing himself into his chair behind the desk.
Ferrand sat without permission. “His Excellency wants Bonaparte removed from Elba.”
Etienne blinked. Talleyrand was hardly alone in that desire. Most people would have preferred the one-time emperor’s prison to be rather more distant from the center of Europe, but the other European leaders had been presented with a fait accomplit. The Tsar of Russia had already agreed with Napoleon the terms of his abdication by the time the other allies caught up with them. They could have renegotiated—after all the Tsar had no right whatsoever to have acted on his own in the matter—but at that time, everyone had been so anxious for peace, and for friendship between the allies, that it hadn’t been considered worth squabbling over.
“I really don’t think that’s up to either the prince or us,” Etienne said dryly.
Ferrand examined the nails of his left hand. “Actually, it is. The security of Elba has been studied, the habits of the guards and the ships noted. It’s undeniably lax and will be relatively easy to get to him and remove him.”
Etienne stared at him, his heart swelling at last with possibilities. “Remove him where?”
Ferrand shrugged. “That’s your part of the job. The British favored an island in the middle of the Atlantic, but there are other places a lot less accessible than Elba. You must have a few ideas of your own.”
Etienne sat back, his head spinning. For years, he’d blamed Bonaparte for his exile, for the fall of his family. In fact, it happened during the earlier revolution when his parents had fled the Terror. Bonaparte had just compounded the loss by giving the best of the de la Tour lands to some jumped-up sycophant of his own who’d understood nothing about land except how to ruin it. Throughout his shuddering years of squalid poverty, and his humiliating times as the plaything guest of various patronizing aristocratic families like the Savarins in Russia, he’d thought of where he’d put Napoleon Bonaparte.
Hell was still his preferred choice.
He leaned forward. “Talleyrand wants him out of the way. The king, the whole of France, surely wants him out of the way. Europe wishes the problem that is Bonaparte gone. We have a permanent solution within our grasp.”
Ferrand’s soulless eyes met his. “Permanence would exceed our authority,” he said, clearly understanding Etienne.
“Really? Do you not think that’s what he really wants? Why else would he involve you? Don’t be shy, M. Ferrand. I do know your name.”
“I am more than an assassin,” Ferrand said mildly.
“Which is why we may do it discreetly. But I know you worked for Bonaparte for many years and so you may not be up to this—”
“I didn’t say that,” Ferrand interrupted.
Etienne smiled. “Then let us give the Congress a little peace present.” He drew a sheaf of paper toward himself and picked up a pen. “So let us make plans, monsieur, as to how we may accomplish it.”
Chapter Twelve
As usual, Jane’s face gave away very little. As she joined Trelawny and they moved casually toward the window, he said, “Are you still angry with her?”
“Why should I be?” Jane asked carelessly, although she spoiled the effect somewhat by adding, “Did you put her up to it?”
“To apologizing?” Trelawny asked, startled. “Lord, no. She told me she needed to, so I came along since you and I need to talk, too.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, we do, and I do thank you for coming, Richard. I… I have got myself into a little…problem.”
Trelawny gazed at her. When she said no more, he prompted, “What problem?”
She turned to the window, drew in her breath, and whispered in a rush, “The Fawcetts believe I’m an heiress.”
At that moment, Fawcett himself entered the room and Jane glanced around in mingled alarm and irritation, as if afraid he would somehow disrupt their tête à tête. She needn’t have worried. Fawcett barely noticed her. His little eyes lit up, though when they found Dunya.
“How,” Trelawny asked, “did they come to entertain such a bizarre belief?”
“I’m afraid I told them so…or at least implied it. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Do you know how hard it is for a girl of even above average looks to be noticed in London society? I had the chance of one season with my cousin, just one. I only meant to draw a little interest while I had the chance, before the rumor died down again, only it just seemed to get bigger and Mr. Fawcett’s attentions grew so particular that… Well, he is so rich that I thought it wouldn’t matter that I was poor, only now that we are engaged, the lawyers are involved and his men of business are instructed to get in touch with mine about settlements, only of course, I have nothing, and my father won’t have a clue what his letter is about…”
“Oh dear,” Trelawny said. “You have got in a bit of a mess.”
Fawcett had sat himself down by Dunya and was talking to her with more animation than Trelawny had ever seen in him before. Poor Dunya was responding in monosyllables, looking both nervous and mortified, but Fawcett didn’t seem at all put out.
“You’ll have to tell him the truth,” Trelawny said sympathetically. “If he cares for you, he’ll forgive you.”
“Do you think so?” Jane turned toward him, so that her gaze fell on Fawcett and Dunya.
“Yes, I do,” Trelawny said firmly. “But it would have to come from you and not the lawyers.”
Jane swallowed, averting her gaze from the sofa. “He’ll think I lied to him.”
“You did,” Trelawny said brutally.
“Not in so many words,” she pleaded. She waved one hand toward the sofa. “Wh
at does it matter, anyhow? He is likely to break it off for quite other reasons. Perhaps I should just let it happen and then he’ll never know I’m not the heiress he thinks me.”
“Do you care for him?” Trelawny asked curiously. “Do you want to marry him?”
She faced the window once more. “Of course I do,” she said miserably. “Or at least I thought I did. He was everything I’d ever wanted in a husband. Only this money business seems to have muddled everything up, and I find myself thinking of escape, or wishing he was more like you, or like—” She broke off, flushing. “But that is silly talk.”
It could also have been hurtful talk, if he’d still cared for her in the same way. In fact, even a week or so ago, her words would have sunk his spirits to know that he’d always been so far from her ideal husband. He might even have been grateful that she wanted her betrothed to have any of his qualities. He might. As it was, he felt a somewhat unworthy impatience.
“If you want to keep him, and retain any kind of happiness in your marriage, you must tell him the truth before he finds out,” Trelawny said. “I will be happy to talk to him on your behalf after that, but the first confession must be yours.”
She looked up at him, a hint of desperation showing in her normally cool eyes. “I hoped you’d find me a different solution,” she admitted.
He sighed. “Sometimes, there is no easy way out. You just have to take the difficult course and do the best you can. It’s easier when you know you’re doing the right thing.”
“Is it?” she said bleakly. “And what is the right thing to do to lift one’s family from poverty?”
He blinked. “Jane, your family doesn’t live in poverty. They just don’t live in the lap of luxury.”
“You’re quibbling,” she retorted, reminding him more of childhood squabbles than his post adolescent infatuation.
“Is that why you span some tale of them being with your uncle?”
“I thought the Fawcetts wouldn’t bother them if they imagined they were indisposed and away from home.”
Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Page 13
