“Oh fiddlesticks. Dunya! We all know that for a ploy to get Etienne’s attention! But I think you know already that duck won’t fly, and a good thing, too, because he hasn’t got a bean more than your Trelawny. But if Mr. Fawcett prefers you to Miss Reid, I would not stand in his way.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Dunya exclaimed, springing to her feet once more. “Well, I would. Even if I liked him to begin with, such faithlessness would give me quite a disgust of him.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Such refinement of feeling didn’t appear to concern you last night.”
Dunya flushed. “I was not myself and I behaved ill. I have apologized, and there is the end of the matter.”
Nikolai, who had sat in distracted silence throughout this exchange, now looked up, his gaze shifting between mother and daughter. “So, that is all any of you feel is necessary, whatever the behavior, whatever the wrong? You just say sorry and everything is as it was before? I suppose, for you, it must be.”
“Well, perhaps we are quick to take offence,” the countess said defensively. “But we are equally quick to forgive.”
Nikolai looked distinctly skeptical. “As you’ve forgiven Lizzie Gaunt for the crime of marrying Vanya?” His gaze swung on Dunya. “Or you’ve forgiven Etienne for freeing you to marry more sensibly? No, you have one law for each other, and another for the rest of the world.” He rose to his feet. “You must excuse me. I need some air.”
Chapter Thirteen
“The truth is,” Jane said, her body rigid with humiliation, “that while I have never pretended wealth in so many words, neither have I mentioned my lack of it. When you offered marriage, I was too flattered to discuss such things, but of course, I do see that it makes a difference, that it is something you should know.”
She forced herself to stop talking. Making excuses would not help her now. She’d finally secured a private interview with him when everyone was retiring to dress for the evening’s visit to the theater. They stood in Mrs. Fawcett’s otherwise empty drawing room, facing each other over several yards of space, almost like duelists, Jane thought wildly.
At first, Mr. Fawcett hadn’t seemed to take in what she was saying. His polite smile didn’t waver as she made her confession, and even when it faded, his face became merely impassive, quite without expression. She understood that she’d shocked him and had tried to explain it, but she knew she was merely making things worse.
She drew in her breath. “I am sorry you’ve been misled, and of course I will understand if you wish to end the engagement between us.”
At last he moved, his head leaning slightly to one side. His eyes grew distant as he regarded her, as if in his mind he saw something else entirely. Then, just as it became an effort not to fidget under his gaze, he blinked and looked her up and down.
“You don’t look indigent. Your dress is always fine, if modest.”
“In London, I refurbished the same two gowns many times. I am good with my needle, but even so, people noticed. Women noticed. They called me parsimonious rather than poor. Here in Vienna, I have done the same, although your mother has most kindly paid for gowns and wouldn’t hear a word about repayment. Otherwise, I could not have accepted them.”
She broke off again. He nodded once, stared at her for another moment, then simply bowed and walked out of the room.
What the devil does that mean? Am I still engaged? Am I cast off?
Whatever the truth of the matter, she did not feel remotely unburdened as Richard had seemed to expect she would. More than ever, she seemed to live on a knife edge of disgrace. But there seemed to be nothing she could do right now except what was expected of her. It was a familiar role, and so she was able to walk upstairs and dress with the aid of Mrs. Fawcett’s borrowed maid. When they were making travel arrangements to Vienna, she’d told the Fawcetts she no longer had a maid, since she’d lost access to her parents’ two servants when she’d left home for London. It wasn’t her fault they’d imagined some haughty abigail had left her in the lurch for a titled lady of greater fashion.
You didn’t really have to do anything for lies to grow up around you. You could build a whole world of them without ever opening your mouth. Sins of omission. Somewhere deep inside, she was ashamed. But mostly she was afraid and uncertain and waiting for the axe of disgrace to fall.
*
“Have you spoken with Nikolai?” Dunya asked when Anastasia rustled into her bed chamber. Maria had just put the finishing touches to her hair and for a moment both sisters gazed at their reflections in the glass.
“Spoken with might be an exaggeration,” Anastasia said lightly. “I begged his pardon most humbly.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He just nodded and walked out of the room.” She shrugged restlessly. “I suppose he will forgive me in the end. Or not. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.”
Frowning, Dunya spun around to face her. “How can you say that? He’s your husband! Of course his forgiveness matters. He was shocked, that’s all. It may take a little time. Or perhaps he was just distracted by something else.”
“Perhaps.” Restlessly, she paced around the room. “He always finds a way to put a damper on fun, does he not?”
“That isn’t true,” Dunya said, reaching for her reticule, a pretty thing embroidered with gold thread which picked out the trimming on her gown.
“Then why did you say it?” Anastasia retorted.
Dunya’s gaze fell. It was true. Anastasia had only repeated Dunya’s own words of several weeks ago, before they’d even left Russia. “Because I was angry. It wasn’t true then, either.”
“Wasn’t it?” Anastasia said restlessly. “He is so very…controlling.”
“He’s just looking after you, after all of us. As I recall, that was one of the reasons you loved him in the first place.”
Anastasia glanced at her own beautiful reflection in the mirror. There was no sign now of the wild fury she’d visited upon Nikolai only a few hours ago. On the other hand, her skin, her very bones looked suddenly paper thin and frail to Dunya. There was something…brittle about Anastasia tonight, as if she were about to break.
“True,” Anastasia agreed. “He made me feel safe. That he would keep all of us safe.”
The war, the invasion had affected all of them, torn away the protection gently born girls had always taken for granted. Nikolai had given Anastasia back her sense of security. Fortunately, she’d never grasped what Dunya had grown to understand, that sometimes no one could keep you safe.
“There you are, then,” Dunya said brightly. “Shall we go to the theatre?”
Anastasia continued to stare at her own reflection. “Is that enough, Dunya? Is that all there is, in the end? Safety and dull decorum?”
“And love,” Dunya said with urgency.
Anastasia laughed. “And love,” she agreed, swinging away from the mirror at last. “Come then, let us brave disapproval and go to the theatre. For love.”
Dunya’s reasons for wishing to go to the theatre, despite an annoying dread of encountering Mr. Fawcett there, were rather more practical than love. General and Miss Lisle were attending. And Miss Lisle was engaged to Vanya’s odd acquaintance, Herr von Zelig.
Well, some people called him Herr von Zelig. Others called him Herr von Garin. Still, others addressed him as Highness. Dunya hadn’t quite grasped his social significance, but she did know he was connected to the emperor’s police. Who better to ask about the assassin at the French embassy? Her stomach twisted at the thought she might learn more than she wanted to know about Etienne.
Nikolai had booked one of the imperial hired carriages to carry them to the Theater an der Wien. Although he handed the ladies into the carriage with perfect politeness, he didn’t exchange a word with his wife for the entire journey. Anastasia affected not to notice, merely joined in Dunya’s and their mother’s attempts to make easy conversation.
But the journey seemed excruciatingly long. The Theater and d
er Wien was not in the inner city but in the suburbs by the River Wien, and the roads were busy. So it was quite a relief to arrive at last.
At least the theater itself was delightful to look at, with its plush blue velvet curtains and seating. Dunya’s party was conducted to a box which had an excellent view of both the stage and the occupants of most of the other boxes. Dunya immediately started scanning them for a glimpse of the Lisles.
“Look, Dunya, there’s your captain,” Anastasia said, nodding downward into the hall where the seats were arranged in rows. At once, Dunya followed her gaze, leaning eagerly over the rail to see better.
The audience in the theater pit was composed largely of the less than aristocratic, with a smattering of poor gentility and a few gentlemen without female companions, at least of the respectable kind. Among them, she saw Major von Wahrschein, which might have explained her sister’s interest, and then, at last, Captain Trelawny.
Her heart lightened at once. In uniform, he sat with his friends, Captain and Mrs. Ambrose, looking upward as if searching the boxes for her. She smiled, standing up to attract his attention and waving to him. His eyes found her and he grinned before her mother yanked her back into her seat.
“Dunya, for God’s sake!” she hissed. “Show some decorum!”
“We’re engaged,” Dunya said defiantly. “There is no harm in waving to him!”
“There’s always harm in behaving like a fish wife,” her mother retorted.
Dunya turned on her, ready to do battle, but as she turned, she caught sight of Esther Lisle and her father in a box just a few along from their own. A shadowy figure sat just behind Miss Lisle’s elbow, presumably the mysterious and possibly princely policeman.
“General Lisle is here,” she said aloud. “May I go and visit Miss Lisle for a few minutes?”
“No,” snapped her mother, for the curtain was beginning to rise. “I’m sure the general will call on us after the first act.”
For once, Dunya found it difficult to concentrate on the music. She gazed at the stage, trying to appreciate the ballet and the skill of the acclaimed dancer, tried to lose herself in the music, but her attention kept straying, especially when she noticed the Fawcetts and Miss Reid arrive late in a box almost directly opposite. Then all her concentration had to be on not looking over there at all in case she caught Fawcett’s eye.
She felt little but relief when the first act ended. Below, Captain Trelawny had risen, hopefully to come up here to find her… But their first guests were people whose names she couldn’t even remember, and then the Lisles arrived, although, annoyingly, without Miss Lisle’s betrothed. Under the distraction of all the movement, Dunya slipped out of the box and into the passage, which was busy with people milling between boxes.
She’d counted the three boxes between her own and the Lisles, when she glimpsed Fawcett rounding the corner. Fortunately, someone addressed him jovially from the other direction and he didn’t see Dunya, who stepped promptly through the half-open door of the Lisles box and gazed into the coldest, hardest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.
Or perhaps that was simply her nervous imagining, for when the eyes’ owner rose and moved into the lamplight, she saw that he was merely surprised, and that he was indeed the man she wished to see. He’d been in her mother’s drawing room when she’d first arrived, although somehow, he’d vanished by the time she was introducing Richard to everyone.
“Miss Lisle isn’t here at the moment,” he said. “I believe she and the general are in your box.”
“I know,” Dunya said. “But it was you I particularly wished to talk to, and then I saw someone I don’t wish to see and I’m afraid I bolted in without knocking. I’m Dunya Savarina.”
“I know. We met.”
“I thought you might not remember. It was so chaotic that day.”
“How can I help you, Countess?”
“I thought,” Dunya said, lowering her voice to a murmur, “you might be able to tell me what’s going on at the French embassy.”
He blinked. “You should apply to someone at the embassy.”
“They wouldn’t tell me, would they?” she said reasonably. “Not if it’s secret.”
“And is it?” he asked, apparently fascinated. Although she couldn’t recall him moving, his body seemed to protect her from any prying eyes looking into the box.
“Well, yes, I imagine so. There is a spy there. Possibly an assassin and we need to know who he’s associated with.”
“Why?”
“So we can stop anything dreadful happening. And so we’ll know if a…a friend of mine is involved.”
“You really are Vanya’s sister, aren’t you? Who is we, in this case?”
“Captain Trelawny and I. He is a British officer.”
“I remember him, too,” Herr von Zelig assured her.
“It was he who recognized the spy. His name is Ferrand.”
The expressionless gray eyes searched hers for a moment. “Why do you not take this to your own people?” he asked abruptly.
Dunya’s eyes widened. “Actually, I didn’t think of that. It’s nothing really to do with Russia, after all.”
“Or Austria.”
“Well, everything that happens here is to do with Austria,” she said reasonably. “And I thought you might know about this Ferrand and his plans.”
“I know there is something afoot, and I thank you for your new information. You should return now to you family before anyone sees you here.”
“But you haven’t told me anything,” Dunya objected.
He considered her. “I don’t think you wish to hear anything I’m prepared to tell.”
Dunya frowned. “Tell me anyway.”
“Stay away from Etienne de la Tour,” he said quietly and opened the door. “Good evening, Countess.”
The passage was quiet now as the program was about to begin again. Dunya opened the door of her own box. The general and Miss Lisle, apparently the last of her mother’s guests, were just leaving. Dunya stood aside to let them, disappointed not to see Captain Trelawny there. But when she went inside and risked a surreptitious glance to the box opposite, she saw that he was taking his leave of Jane Reid.
Foolish jealousy seeped through her, because he’d gone to Jane first. But then, even if it had ended, his engagement to Jane had been real.
“Where’s Anastasia?” Nikolai said suddenly.
At once, all Dunya’s protective instincts surged, along with sisterly irritation. Was Asya trying to annoy her husband? The curtain went up on stage, but Dunya jumped to her feet.
“She won’t want to miss the start. I’ll just tell her…”
Although she spoke as if her sister was just outside the box, she knew it was unlikely. She hadn’t seen Anastasia there when she’d returned only moments before. Yet when she slipped into the passage, the first person she saw was indeed Anastasia, locked in the arms of Major von Wahrschein.
*
Anastasia had an assignation with Major von Wahrschein. They’d made it that morning while out riding, though in truth she only kept it in order to tell the major she wouldn’t ride with him again the following morning.
They met in an empty box on the next level, which he claimed was his though he never used it, preferring to sit instead in the pit or as a guest in other people’s boxes. Wahrschein, or George as he’d asked her to call him, was already in the unlit box when she arrived, and she had to fend him off when he tried to take her immediately into his arms.
“No, no!” she hissed. “You mustn’t! I only came to tell you I cannot meet you tomorrow. My husband would not be happy about it and I will not mislead him again.”
“He must be very unsure of you,” George observed, “if he forbids you even to ride without him. It’s quite insulting, actually.”
“But fair,” she retorted. “You kissed me in the stable!”
George laughed softly. “I’d kiss you anywhere. Everywhere.”
“Stop laughing a
t me,” she commanded. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Then can’t you see that he’s right? That it’s wrong for us to meet, to kiss?”
“Only if you don’t like it.”
She turned away, overwhelmed by misery at both her own foolishness and George’s casualness. But he caught her shoulders in gentle hands, drawing her tenderly but inexorably back against him.
“You’re right,” he whispered. “Of course it was wrong by the standards of the world. But it seems I cannot help myself. You’ve blown my world apart, Anastasia. We barely know each other and yet I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I can’t bear not to see you again. I do not want to send you back to your husband, to think of him touching you—”
She let out a pained laugh at that. She couldn’t imagine Nikolai touching her ever again, not the way he’d looked at her tonight. Desolation swept through her and she didn’t even know whether it came from her quarrel with Nikolai or from giving up the forbidden excitement of clandestine meetings with George.
“Goodbye, George,” she said sadly, pulling away. But his hands held her firmly, turning her instead to face him.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered, with a desperation that couldn’t fail to thrill her.
“I have to.”
“No,” he said. “No.”
“I have to go.”
He swallowed. “Then kiss me, one last time…”
She couldn’t refuse him, not if it was never to happen again, if she was never to see him again and please only Nikolai.
It was a good kiss, desperately passionate, and yet tender and, God help her, seductive. And when it ended, he seized her even closer in his arms, pressing her face to his shoulder.
“I can’t do it!” he gasped. “I can’t give you up. And yet I know this dishonors you. You deserve so much more than sneaking behind your husband’s careless back… If I do not deserve you—and trust me, I know I don’t—neither does he. He should give you nothing but love and laughter. I would give you those things. Oh, but I would.”
“But you can’t,” she said into his shoulder. She couldn’t help her regret, or the leap of her heart toward the life conjured up by his words.
Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Page 15
