Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3)

by Mary Lancaster

  “Dunya!” Anastasia said, shocked.

  Richard’s mouth loosened and he pressed his cheek against hers before letting her go.

  “Don’t worry,” Dunya said shakily. “I’m going to marry him.”

  “I know,” Anastasia said, and she didn’t look disapproving at all.

  *

  An hour later, Trelawny sat in the arm chair by the coffee room fire. Dunya sat on a cushion at his feet, her head resting on his knee while they talked intermittently of this or that. Sometimes, to remind himself she was real—and because he wanted to—he stroked her hair.

  She’d bathed the graze on his chin and the slightly deeper wound across his side, plus the still bleeding cut on his shoulder inflicted earlier by Ferrand. Although he regarded all of them as mere scratches, Dunya had insisted that it was the duty of a soldier’s wife to tend her husband’s wounds and that she needed the practice. Secretly proud of her, he’d given in.

  In the end, Lizzie and the innkeeper’s wife had tended Etienne’s wounds, too. “Only because I don’t want you to die and get Captain Trelawny into trouble,” Lizzie had said, lest there be any doubt in the matter. Trelawny had been touched.

  Of course, despite his fury that Etienne had dared to try to abduct Dunya—had even seemed to imagine he had the right!—Trelawny had never meant to kill him, just give him a damned good fright. He’d come across men like Etienne before, who’d been taught play fighting, as Trelawny thought of it, and imagined, because they could beat other play fighters, that they were better than veteran soldiers, particularly those of lesser family. He’d got the measure of Etienne very quickly and had barely noticed the scratches until the ladies had pointed them out.

  Etienne, now sprawled on the sofa with his coat around one shoulder, occasionally groaned. No one paid him any attention, except Wahrschein, who, with a fine bruise shining on his jaw, said impatiently. “Pack it in, Etienne, you’re not dying!” His henchmen, who’d kidnapped Lizzie in mistake for Dunya, lounged resentfully nearby.

  Anastasia and Nikolai sat opposite each other at one of the tables, their hands clasped. Jane and Fawcett sat at another, decorously apart but talking seriously together. Lizzie helped distribute coffee to whoever wanted it.

  The landlord, hovering, said with impatience, “Look, when are you all going? I can’t have this sort of thing, these sorts of people at my house. The news of this will ruin me! I’ll have bravos of all sorts turning up here to fight and wreck my inn—”

  “I don’t see what you’re making such a fuss about,” Fawcett said unexpectedly. “Nothing was damaged, even by Captain Trelawny’s fight. And there is now absolutely nothing improper in us all staying here for the rest of the night. We have a married couple, and another married lady to chaperone the young ladies—to say nothing of the clergyman!”

  For an instant, all eyes turned to Mr. Roberts, asleep in the arm chair on the opposite side of the fireplace from Trelawny’s. His mouth was open in the midst of enthusiastic snoring.

  “Makes a damned racket, doesn’t he?” Trelawny remarked.

  Dunya smiled into his knee, and Nikolai gave an unexpected hiss of laughter. Trelawny stroked Dunya’s hair and let the happiness wash through him. It was an odd time and situation to feel quite so peaceful, but he’d learned long ago to take and treasure such moments whenever they offered.

  “Someone’s coming,” Jane said, a shade nervously. Closest to the shuttered window, she must have heard first the sound of approaching hooves. A horse neighed, and everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Perhaps we should all go into the private parlor?” Fawcett suggested, apparently forgetting his previous statement that their gathering was perfectly respectable. In any case, before anyone could move, the inn door burst open yet again, and a man in military uniform strode in with a huge, hairy and very familiar dog at his heels.

  “Vanya!” Lizzie said in clear delight, swerving toward him.

  “Oh no!” the landlord exclaimed, though whether at Vanya or the dog wasn’t clear. Dog let out a whine of joy and launched himself at Lizzie, all but knocking her over while licking her face with delight.

  “Well met, Dog,” Lizzie said, pushing him off with a big head ruffle while Vanya took in the bizarre collection of people gathered in the coffee room. “Didn’t you come on horseback, Vanya? How did you get him here?”

  “He ran some of the way, which is why he’s here at all. For the rest, he actually flopped over my lap. Not exactly comfortable, though he seemed to enjoy it.”

  Lizzie laughed. “But how did you find us?”

  “I saw Mrs. Fawcett’s note, and since you weren’t at home, I assumed you were here. I didn’t even try my mother’s place. But I’m sorry, nothing will persuade me that Fawcett eloped voluntarily with Dunya.”

  Fawcett looked alarmed. “I assure you, sir, I did no such thing,” he said earnestly. “Voluntarily or otherwise.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Dunya agreed. She lifted her head from Trelawny’s knee to speak, but didn’t otherwise move away. “In fact, Vanya, I’m one of the few people here who didn’t elope at all!”

  “Very pleased to hear it,” Vanya said distractedly, and pointed at the wilting Etienne. “What’s the matter with him?”

  “Richard stabbed him with his sword,” Dunya said happily.

  “I suppose he deserved it?” Vanya asked Trelawny. “Only, weren’t you meant to shoot him later on this morning?”

  “Don’t need to now, do I?” Trelawny said.

  “Suppose not. Incidentally,” Vanya added, his erratic gaze encountering the landlord’s, “did you know there’s an angry Frenchman locked in your stables?”

  Trelawny dragged his gaze away from Dunya’s face, frowning. “You didn’t let him out, did you?”

  “God, no. Had enough of angry Frenchmen to last me a lifetime. Did you stab him, too?”

  “No. But I did hit him with my sword hilt.”

  “He’s a Bonapartist spy,” Dunya explained.

  “Of course he is,” Vanya murmured.

  “And we’re not quite sure what to do with him because he seems to be working with Etienne, who is most assuredly not Bonapartist.”

  “Give him to Zelig,” Vanya advised.

  “I’ve sort of promised him to a Mr. Corner on Castlereagh’s staff,” Trelawny said. “Some connection of yours, I believe.”

  “Oh yes,” Lizzie said enthusiastically. “He’s betrothed to my cousin Minerva. I expect this will be good for his career.”

  Vanya, looking once more around the occupants of the coffee room, reverted to the previous subject. “So, is everyone else eloping? They don’t look as if they are,” he added humorously, pointing at Etienne’s grumbling henchmen, who glared back at him. “Nor do they look like friends of ours.”

  “They’re not. Jenkins tied their legs to the table, though, because…” Dunya broke off, no doubt perceiving the pitfalls of explaining exactly what had happened to her volatile brother. She exchanged glances with Lizzie.

  “They abducted me in mistake for Dunya,” Lizzie said in a rush, sliding her hand into her husband’s, “on the orders of the Comte de la Tour. Who is already wounded,” she added hastily, presumably in case Vanya might have forgotten.

  “They what?” Vanya exploded, starting toward them, dragging Lizzie in his wake.

  “I’m not hurt,” Lizzie insisted, hanging on valiantly, “and truly, Vanya, I think they’ve all suffered enough.”

  Vanya’s furious gaze flickered to Trelawny, who nodded once. “No, they haven’t,” Vanya said, pointing at them. “Dog! Guard!”

  Dog, who had been happily introducing himself to people he didn’t know, and fawning over those he did, trotted over at once and stood glaring at the three men, growling deep in his throat.

  “Goodness,” Lizzie said, awed. “I didn’t know he did that.”

  “Neither did I,” Vanya confessed. “Good Dog!”

  Dog wagged his tail but didn’t otherw
ise move from his spot.

  The landlord coughed. “Are there any more of you turning up?”

  “Not unless my mother gets wind of what’s been going on,” Vanya said with a crack of laughter. He glanced from one sister to the other. “If I were you, I’d get home before she knows you’ve gone.”

  “Or we could call on her on our way home,” Lizzie suggested. “I, at least, have to get back to the children.”

  “In a little while,” Vanya said, sitting down at the nearest table and pushing out a chair for Lizzie. “It’s surprisingly peaceful here, I’ve always found.”

  Lizzie smiled and sat. Vanya poured coffee. “Zelig and Esther are getting married on Christmas Eve,” he said. “He’s not going to wait for the title to be confirmed.”

  Lizzie nodded. “Good.”

  Dunya said, “When should we get married, Richard?”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, lazily. “Today.”

  “Very well,” she agreed, laying her head back on his knee.

  He laughed with sheer pleasure. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? Don’t you have any doubts?”

  She kissed his knee, sending sensation spiraling up his thigh. “No. Do you?”

  “No,” Trelawny said in wonder. “None at all.” And suddenly, temptingly, a mad new idea began to form in his head. He tried quite hard to talk himself out of it, for her sake. But the more he thought, the more he knew it was the only thing to do.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the end, nobody used the inn’s bedchambers. Instead, everyone fell asleep in the coffee room. The innkeeper gave up on the eccentricities of the nobility in general and this bizarre group in particular, and went to bed while Dunya and Richard were still talking quietly.

  At some point, their positions must have been reversed, for Dunya awoke curled in the armchair previously occupied by Captain Trelawny. Richard himself was gently shaking her shoulder, his finger to his lips.

  The fire had gone out, and there was only one, guttering candle still lit in the coffee room. It lent the predawn darkness a hint of eeriness. Humps and lumps of sleeping people were scattered across the chairs and the floor.

  Richard drew her to her feet, placed her cloak about her shoulders, and led her through the room, out into the chilly darkness.

  A carriage and two horses stood in the yard, lit only by the vehicle’s lanterns. Jenkins stood at the animals’ heads. Dunya smiled at him and he touched his hat in response. She thought he looked worried, perhaps because Dog was sitting on his box, surprisingly still, apart from his dementedly wagging tail.

  “Vanya and Lizzie are riding back to Vienna on his horse,” Richard explained. “They don’t really have room for Dog. Don’t worry. Jenkins has him tied up there.” He led her to the carriage door, opened it, and handed her inside.

  She’d already climbed trustingly in before she realized someone else was there already. But her inevitable twinge of unease died as Richard entered the carriage behind her.

  “Is this not Etienne’s carriage?” she asked.

  “It’s one of the Imperial fleet for hire, so it must be due for return.”

  A thought struck her and she sat forward, peering at the seat opposite. “Mr. Roberts,” she said in surprise.

  The clergyman gave her a weary smile, just as the horses set off at a good clip.

  “Aren’t we taking anyone else with us?” Dunya asked in surprise. “I’m sure no one wants to go back in the trap!”

  “No. No one else,” Richard said. “Just the three of us. And Dog.”

  The carriage bumped along the road rather faster than was comfortable. Dunya turned to her betrothed with suspicion. “What are you up to, Richard?”

  “I’m abducting you.”

  In his corner, Mr. Roberts groaned, which made Dunya smile.

  “To Vienna?” she asked wryly. “I’m not sure that counts as abduction, though I suppose my mother would be happier if we returned with Anastasia rather than Mr. Roberts.”

  “That won’t matter to her,” Richard said. “I’m marrying you out of hand.”

  Dunya’s breath caught. Her heart began to beat even faster. “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why we need Mr. Roberts,” she murmured. “And I presume we’re somehow making use of Etienne’s special license. Only…I don’t think anyone actually objects to our marriage any more—except, perhaps, my mother—so why are we doing it so clandestinely?”

  Richard leaned his head back against the squabs and looked at her with a smile that turned her heart over. The light from the outside lanterns played over his shadowed face, making him at once comfortingly familiar and excitingly strange.

  He said, “I thought it might be more fun.”

  Laughter caught in her throat. “You truly mean to marry me today? Are we not going back to Vienna?”

  “Once we’re married, we’ll go wherever you like.”

  It was as if the world tilted somehow, scattering fences and barriers to the four winds and opening itself up to her. To her and Richard, on a new and never-ending adventure. She lifted her hand from her lap, sliding it across the seat until it found his. His fingers threaded through hers and clasped.

  After a little while, the carriage turned onto the main Vienna road and picked up speed. Richard leaned forward, opening a basket on the seat beside Mr. Roberts. With a faint smile, he offered her some bread, cheese, and handed a flask of cooling coffee to Mr. Roberts.

  Dunya laughed, because it reminded her so delightfully of their first carriage ride together, when she’d come up with the idea of pretending to be engaged in order to win back their respective sweethearts. Although that hadn’t been such a good idea in the way she’d intended at the time, she could never regret it since it had won her Richard instead.

  Just as that first time, they watched dawn break over the Vienna woods. Dunya clung to Richard’s hand, wanting to laugh and cry at once. Especially when the carriage pulled up at the side of the road and Richard got out and handed her down.

  On either side of a familiar black horse, stood Vanya and Lizzie.

  Dog barked joyfully, scrabbling helplessly to get down to them.

  Dunya stared at Vanya in consternation. Although he didn’t look angry, precisely, he was uncharacteristically serious. She lifted her chin in challenge. “Have you come to stop my wedding, Vanya?”

  Vanya smiled.

  “We need witnesses,” Richard reminded her. “And since you’re not yet one-and-twenty, we also need Vanya’s signed permission. I had to tell him.”

  She couldn’t help the astonished widening of her eyes. “Truly? Mother will never speak to any of us again.”

  “Richard’s plan is faultless,” Vanya said wryly. “Do your worst, Mr. Roberts!”

  So there, on the edge of the woods, as the sun rose pink and gold over the outline of Vienna, Dunya was married to Richard Trelawny. In wonder, she accepted her husband’s kiss, and the hugs of her brother and sister-in-law. From the carriage box, Jenkins watched with a faint smile on his lips. He no longer appeared worried. Dog licked his face.

  They said goodbye to Mr. Roberts, who seemed pleased to have earned his fee at last. After exchanging cards, the clergyman mounted Vanya’s spirited horse somewhat dubiously and rode on alone, while everyone else climbed into the carriage.

  *

  Inevitably, her mother had hysterics when the news was broken to her. “Out of my sight!” she screamed, hurling a vase that belonged to their landlady. Fortunately, Richard, at whom it had chiefly been aimed, managed to catch it in his one arm. Replacing it on the table, he bowed, since he didn’t know what else to do.

  The countess paused in her rage, staring at him as though completely nonplussed.

  “Back out,” Vanya murmured as Lizzie went forward and took her mother-in-law’s hand, murmuring something they couldn’t hear. “Leave her to Lizzie.”

  “I thought she didn’t like Lizzie,” Dunya replied once they were safely in the
hall with the door closed.

  “Well, she didn’t like Lizzie. But now Lizzie does have not eloping in her favor.”

  “I think she was coming round to her anyway,” Dunya confided. “She always knows she’s being unreasonable or unkind in the end. And anyone can see that Lizzie makes you happy. She’s good for you, Vanya.”

  A smile flickered across Vanya’s face. “I know. And Richard’s good for you, so don’t pull any of your wilder stunts on him. Here,” he added, dropping a packet into Richard’s hand. “Wedding gift. Use it wisely. Or not.”

  “It wasn’t I who insisted on eloping!” Dunya said indignantly.

  Vanya laughed and ruffled her hair before strolling back into the drawing room.

  Richard watched from Dunya’s bedchamber door as she threw a few clothes and other necessities into her carpet bag.

  “I’ll come back for the rest when she’s calmer,” Dunya said, glancing back at him. She realized his gaze was elsewhere and followed it to the wilting but still vividly red rose in the vase on her dressing table. She smiled, remembering the incident at the Apollo Saal, and was about to explain it to him when his gaze shifted to her and their eyes met.

  Her breath caught. “It was you,” she blurted. “You tripped Fischer! You gave me the rose!”

  “I’m afraid it was and I did.”

  “Did you know who I was?” she asked curiously.

  “Of course.”

  “But I didn’t recognize you. I suppose my attention was all on other things.” She smiled. “But I did think you were mysterious and heroic and very sweet, especially when you gave me the rose. Why did you not say something? Or at least take off your mask?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to hold you to an agreement we’d made on the spur of the moment. I didn’t want to obligate you.”

  “Then why give me the rose?” she asked.

  He smiled slightly. “Because, I suppose, I loved you even then. Shall we go?”

  Richard offered his arm. She hugged it to her for a moment. Then, under the eye of the curious servants, including Maria, they left the house together and walked through the city to the rooms Richard shared with Major and Mrs. Ambrose.