“It’s ray,” Lena said absent-mindedly. “Cah-suhl-ray.”Then she blinked. “Strange that I know that,” she muttered more to herself than to him.
Karl threw down his ribbons impatiently. “Ah, look at this, it’s unbearable! Here we are again, stuck until doomsday. It will take us a good hour or more to get through the Schottentor. It’s like a bottleneck, with everyone and everything trying to squeeze through. Emma will be furious that we're late again.”
“The children are also waiting. Next time we’ll walk. It’s faster.”
“Most definitely. See that there?” Karl pointed his whip at a sleek, dark green berline carriage with a royal gold crest on the door cutting in front of them. “Driving like madmen. It’s one of the imperial carriages, of course. Our emperor had three hundred of them made especially for his guests. The amount the emperor is spending on the Congress is outrageous. All these foreigners have to be lodged, fed, and entertained. They don’t want plain farmer’s bread, no sir, they want oysters and caviar. They don't want an ordinary bed in a sensible lodging, but a baldachin bed in a palace, yes, my lady. That British viscount already threw a fit because his lodgings weren't good enough. Now he’s moving into a palais at the Minoritenplatz.” He shook his head. “A baroque palace with twenty-two rooms! Insanity. The rich and famous are so high in the instep, they live in another world entirely. While the likes of us struggle to feed our children.”
Lena agreed wholeheartedly. Her own children ate her out of house and home. Securing commissions tosustain their livelihood had become a constant source of anxiety for her.
She sat up straight as an idea occurred to her. “Oh! Speaking of entertainment. Do you think I should knock on the door of that carriage to ask whether that aristocratic occupant would deign to hire us for musical entertainment?” She’d meant it as a joke, but her fingers gripped her seat tightly in anticipation.
Karl grunted in disagreement. “I wouldn’t do it. Better for the likes of us not to approach the high and mighty. We don’t mingle well.”
Lena chewed on her lower lip, debating whether she should tell him that she’d wasted a good four hours waiting in front of the Palais Metternich to seek an introduction—all in vain. She had been turned away rudely without having even been able to enter the hallowed place.
She heaved a sigh.
Competition for performance opportunities was fierce. It was not easy for musicians without reputation to gain admittance beyond smaller assembly halls and restaurants, not when Beethoven was performing his newest symphony to a packed concert hall. For who had ever heard of the Arenheim family? “Aren-who?” they asked. Yet they were as talented as anyone else, Lena thought fiercely. Theo, the oldest, played the cello to perfection, while sixteen-year-old Mona was a virtuoso with the viola. The two younger boys, Hector and Achilles, were adept at playing the violin and flute, but they were too young to perform in public. She herself played the pianoforte masterfully and sang a lovelycoloratura soprano, having memorised the score of entire Mozart operas.
Together, they performed as well as anyone—no, better. But talent wasn’t everything. The world of music was competitive. If one did not know the right people, if one did not have a wealthy patron, if one was not a member of the correct guild, if one did not have the right connections, or, heaven forbid, if one was a woman, the doors would not open.
Lena was convinced that they needed only one chance, one single performance in one of those glittering aristocratic soirees. Where music was appreciated, where the intellectual elite gathered, or even better, where the diplomats and statesmen convened at Prince Metternich’s palais. The most glittering, glamorous fêtes were held there. Once one performed there, one’s name was made. That would be grabbing for the stars, indeed. It was an impossibility. It would never happen. Yet one could dream, could one not?
The court carriage in front of them inched forwards slowly.
“At this rate, we'll be home tomorrow morning,” Karl groaned, leaning back and lighting his pipe.
“I wonder which of the guests is in that vehicle? It could be anyone, really. Do you think it could be a royal?” She sat up with a gasp. “Could it be Tsar Alexander?” He was already very popular amongst the Viennese.
Lena stared at the golden double-headed eagle engraved on the door. The carriage that had almost struck her had been a green court carriage, a four-wheeledberline with a closed roof. It had been that mad Englishwoman’s carriage. A liveried footman stood at the back, and the driver sat on a black and silver embroidered cloth that draped his seat. Did that mean that the Englishwoman was one of the aristocratic visitors attending the Congress? A steep frown formed on Lena's forehead. She was troubled with the single-minded way in which the woman had insisted on calling her Catherine. Surely there was nothing to it. Lena wasn’t really worried about that, was she? Then why couldn’t she let go of the incident?
“Unlikely. I don’t think it's the Tsar's carriage. Haven’t you read the papers?”
Lena shook her head. “No time.”
“The Tsar is to arrive with Frederick William, the king of Prussia, tomorrow. Our emperor will receive them. There will be a parade of pomp and glory as the three monarchs enter the city.” Karl pulled out a dirty handkerchief and wiped his nose loudly. “Emma says she wouldn’t miss it for the world. It can't be helped. I suppose I shall have to accompany her to gawk at them.”
Lena suppressed a grin. Despite his protests, Karl was as starstruck by the foreign aristocratic visitors as much as any of them were.
“My children will want to see it too, I suppose.”
She had to admit, it was a sight to behold, seeing the elite strolling along the Bastei, riding under the chestnut trees in the wide lanes of the Prater, dressed in the latest expensive fashions, conducting themselves with an air of arrogant distinction. People stopped and gaped in awe atthe foreign princes, dukes, and marquesses who suddenly mingled freely among them.
The sound of wheels crunching on the cobblestones signalled that the vehicles had begun to move again.
“Otherwise, did you have a good day?” Karl asked distractedly as he led the cart through the narrow streets.
“Yes.” Lena’s brows furrowed. “But I have to say, it was strange. Very, very strange.”
Chapter Two
Julius Stafford-Hill,Duke of Aldingbourne, sat in a yellow satin fauteuil in the drawing room of his luxurious palais on the Graben reading diplomatic dispatches, his long legs crossed. He was tall and dark-haired, with an eagle nose and high forehead, and a narrow face too austere to be called handsome. His thick, dark brown hair fell boyishly into his forehead, however, breaking up the austerity. His lips were thin and humourless, and there was a cold arrogance playing about his entire being that terrified anyone who dared to approach him. Cold and intimidating, powerful and knowledgeable in foreign affairs like no other, this was the Duke of Aldingbourne.
He had made himself indispensable to Viscount Castlereagh, the British Foreign Secretary, and it was agreed that he would attend the Congress in Vienna as an advisor, with his sister Evangeline accompanying him. The whole world feared him—except for Evie, who claimed he had a heart of gold encased in an icicle.
Evie was now pacing up and down in front of him, wringing her hands like a tragedienne. “I swear, Julius, it was her!”
He wondered if she’d copied that gesture from Sarah Siddons, the legendary actress at Covent Garden. Evie had a penchant for theatricality and a tendency to brim over with enthusiastic energy that seemed unladylike and unfashionably over the top to onlookers, but it was rare for her to be this distraught.
