And from then on, the whole tragedy had unfolded.
He realised with sudden clarity how foolish he had been to assume that giving her the locket and helping her to recover her memories would solve all their problems, when the opposite was true. They would unearth corpses that would best have been best left buried and forgotten. They would pick up right there where they’d left off, with all the pain and heartache and suffering.
She only remembered the happy memories now. How long would it take her to remember all the rest?
The temptation to give in to that sweet look had been too great. So, he’d distanced himself, physically and emotionally. The look of hurt confusion on her face had pained him.
But it was for the best, he told himself, running an agitated hand through his hair.
It was for the best.
Feelinga strong urge to get away from the Arenheims, he’d spent the whole day at Castlereagh’s domicile, which pleased Lady Emily Castlereagh, who fluttered about him, filling his ears with anecdotes and detailed descriptions of what she had worn to the masked ball the night before. “The ladies wore regional costumes, to represent different countries. I believe the Duchess of Sagan woman wore a Carinthian costume, which did not suit her at all. It was very simple and, if you ask me, she looked like a peasant. I decided to opt for something different. Who do you think I finally decided to impersonate, Your Grace?”
Julius almost barked at her, “I haven’t the damnedest idea.” Instead, he pulled himself together and offered in measured tones, “As Boudicca, mayhap?”
Lady Castlereagh giggled, and the sound of her laughter grated on his nerves. “Oh no, but close! I decided to go as a vestal virgin. Everyone stared at me, admiring my beautiful and original costume.”
“They were staring at my Order of the Garter which you had pinned to your chest,” Castlereagh put in dryly. “No doubt people wondered why I would let you wear it on such an occasion.” He looked at her with fond amusement. “But no more frivolous talk of balls and costumes. If you will excuse us, my lady, Aldingbourne and I must discuss the matters on the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting with the Tsar.”
Lady Castlereagh pouted, but Julius was relieved to change the subject.
He returned to the Arenheim home late that afternoon, exhausted and well aware that he had broken his agreement to spend the day with them. He’d needed to get away, needed time to think. Maybe he could renegotiate the whole arrangement before she remembered more and the entire sordid story came to light.
Maybe the right course of action was to bestow upon them a generous annuity and to just leave them be. His footsteps came to a slow halt and his hand froze as he reached out to open the front door of the Arenheim home as that thought sank in.
Leave Catherine to her new life and her new family.
Leave his son, Hector.
A dull pain in his chest told him he was too selfish to do that. He could never do it.
Thus, he entered the parlour with a thunderous frown on his forehead, and came to a halt at the entrance.
The scene he saw before him rendered him speechless.
An all too familiargentleman sat on the sofa, legs crossed. A wisp of dark blond hair that escaped his receding hairline brushed across his high forehead. He was speaking to an attentive audience, his finger raised for emphasis. No doubt, this was one of his favourite pastimes, Julius noted sourly—to hear himself speak. Next to him was his audience: Lena, sitting rather close,indecently close, her skirt brushing his trouser leg, her hands folded, facing him and listening intently.
He entered quietly and closed the door without disturbing the couple.
“I beg of you, what am I to do, madam?” Metternich said mournfully and continued without waiting for an answer. “She will not receive me. She is either indisposed, or out walking or shopping. She won’t even acknowledge my letters! And oh, the letters I’ve written! At least six hundred of them, if not more. I arranged the splendid feast last night only for her, you know. I had a special place made for her in a private nook, a trellis of roses surrounding us for privacy. I had those roses delivered all the way from Naples! Yet she managed to elude me all night. We exchanged no more than nine words, I counted them all: “Good evening, Your Highness,” and “It is a beautiful night.” Nine meagre words! I tell you. When I wanted to dance with her, she claimed her feet ached. I didn’t sleep all night. In fact, I haven’t slept for weeks.” His pale face and dark rings under his eyes appeared to confirm this.
A gloomy shadow crossed his face. “But when it came to dancing with her former lover Prinz Alfred of Windischgraetz a moment later, her feet seemed perfectly fine.”
Lena made a sympathetic noise.
“I beg you, madam. What does it mean? Does she not know how dearly, how passionately I love her? Does she not care? What am I to do?” He buried his head in his hands and sobbed.
Julius crossed his arms and leaned against the mantelpiece, suppressing a sigh. Metternich’s unhappy loveaffair with Wilhelmine von Sagan was well known, and it was no secret that the duchess’ interests lay elsewhere. The Prince had been pining for her quite publicly.
Lena made clucking noises and patted his arm in a motherly fashion. “Well, if you’re asking my advice, Your Highness, here is what I think.”
The Prince pulled out a handkerchief and dried the corners of his eyes. “I am all agog to hear what words of comfort a sensible, warm-hearted woman like you might have to soothe the pain in my heart.”
She grimaced. “I am afraid it will have to be a bucket of ice water, Your Highness. It appears that the lady in question is simply not…how shall I put this delicately? She may find herself unable to reciprocate with the same emotional depth that you are experiencing.”
He stared at her bleakly. “You are saying she doesn’t love me.”
“Well, um…er. The truth is…yes.”
