“Well done, children, well done,” she told them, wiping her moist fingers on a handkerchief. “Let’s take a short rest. Afterwards Hecki and Les can perform one of their pieces.” The boys had rehearsed simple folk pieces suitable for the recorder flute.
She had half an hour to mingle with the guests and do what she had been sent here to do: spy. While she had been performing, she’d been far too immersed in the music to do so.
The problem was: how did one spy when one had no idea how to go about doing it?
Her eyes swept across the room of well-dressed people. Here she encountered another problem. How was she to report who said what to whom when she had not an inkling of who these people were? Most of them spoke French. It was the common language of diplomacy.
Lena understood enough French to follow a conversation, but she was rather rusty in it.
Near the fireplace were two gentlemen. One lean gentleman in plain, dark evening clothes and a pale, angular face leaned against the mantelpiece with his arms folded across his chest as he listened coldly to the tall, moustached man in a blue uniform.
“This is unacceptable,” the uniformed man said tersely. “I insist that Prussia has a historical claim to the territory in Poland, especially if we are to restore the status quo as it was before the war. As for Saxony, our aim is to create a buffer zone to protect Prussia from further French aggression. Surely, Saxony’s allegiance to Napoleon during the war cannot be overlooked.”
“Your Majesty,” the lean gentleman replied, unmoved, “the annexation of Saxony stands in stark contradiction to the principle of legitimacy and the restoration of the political order. Britain will not budge an inch from this position.”
“Damnation, Castlereagh, Britain will have to budge eventually.”
So this was Castlereagh, the one Karl had mentioned the other day, the representative of the British delegation. Her eyes wandered to the tall gentleman in the blue uniform who was scowling. Could he possibly be Frederick William, the King of Prussia? Her hand wandered to her mouth to cover her gasp. If so, she was standing in the presence of a king.
“Do we?” Castlereagh raised an eyebrow, a flicker of steel in his gaze. “Prussia has much to gain from a stable Europe. Perhaps a compromise can be reached on the Polish borders. As for Saxony, surely his majesty will agree that a strong, independent, but contented Saxonywould serve as a better buffer against French aggression than a resentful one under Prussian rule?”
Lena leaned forwards to listen further, but several people moved in front of the couple by the fireside, so she could no longer hear what they were saying.
That would have to do, she decided. Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry. Espionage made one thirsty. She grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of the nearest footman, not caring that it might be inappropriate as she was not a guest.
She wandered into the next room, drinking thirstily. There, too, were groups of people standing about, deep in conversation.
Her eyes fell on a handsome man who seemed to be watching her. He was well-dressed, medium height, with receding dark blond hair slicked back from his high forehead. When their eyes met, he curled his lips into a half-smile and—goodness! Had he justwinkedat her?
She glanced over one shoulder, then the other, then looked back at him, but there was no one else he could have meant.
A blush crept up her neck. Why did he do that? How dare he? She was just a musician, hadn’t he seen her perform? How dare he flirt with her?
The man, now smirking outright, raised his glass as if to greet her, which threw her into even greater confusion. Did they know each other? She was certain she’d never met the man before in her entire life. Then he turned to his companion, an older gentleman with a wig, silk breeches and stockings, who was leaning on a stick and looking bored as he listened to the blond man talk.
Now that particular gentleman seemed vaguely familiar. Why was that? It took her a moment to register his identity. Didn’t Karl say earlier that he was dressed in an old-fashioned style, just like she was? Excitement filled her. If so, then thismustbe Monsieur de Talleyrand…
As she tried to organise her thoughts about what she knew of the French statesman, her gaze drifted to the palm trees by the window, where a tall, dark-haired gentleman stood, staring at her as if she were a ghost.
Their eyes locked.
There was a stern, pale expression on his face, his jaw was set, and his eyes, his eyes…oh, heavens, his eyes!
They penetrated her very soul.
Her heart fluttered wildly and she began to tremble.
Who was he? And what did that look in his eyes mean? There was shock, anger…agony? No one had ever looked at her like that before. She was certain he was a stranger. Then why did she suddenly feel like bursting into tears?
Dazed, she began to drift towards him.
Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Helena. Hector has disappeared.” Lena blinked and looked up into the familiar watery blue eyes of Adam Klein.
“Adam. What…what is the matter?” She blinked at him as if waking from a dream.
She glanced at the window again, but the man was gone. Had he been a mere figment of her imagination? It was hot and stuffy in the room and she’d downed that glass of champagne too quickly, leaving her dizzy. Butsurely, she couldn’t be drunk from just one glass of champagne?
“Helena. Are you well?” There was a look of concern on Adam’s face.
