“His Grace has cancelled all events for tonight, saying you and the children need time to get accustomed to being here. Tomorrow will be a busy day, with the dressmaker coming here to measure you for a new wardrobe.”
Lena ran her hand down her faded dress. “I suppose I do need something a little more appropriate to wear.” She could hardly continue wearing Emma’s dresses from the attic that she usually used for performances. She had to be more fashionable now. She supposed having one or two additional dresses wouldn’t hurt.
She ended up having two walking dresses, four morning dresses, four afternoon dresses, two carriagedresses, three ballroom gowns, a riding outfit—even though she protested that she did not know how to ride; or did she? A vague memory of her nervously riding on a vast green estate in England resurfaced, but the image slipped from her mind before she could grasp it. Then two new nightdresses, spencers and redingotes, shawls and shoes and fans and gloves and petticoats, and oh! More stockings! The most beautiful things of the finest silk. Lena stroked them but found the first pair the Duke had given her was her favourite. She was wearing them now.
“That is only the beginning,” the dressmaker had said, satisfied when everything fit her to perfection. “More is to come.”
Mona and the boys also received new outfits, much to the chagrin of Les and Hecki, who insisted that their new satin suits were stiff and uncomfortable, and “one could hardly go fishing in them.”
Lena adjusted the plainly tied neckcloth around Hector’s neck after he’d tugged at it. “You look like a young gentleman now, Hector. Behave like one.”
“I’ll make sure he does. Come on, Hecki, let’s slide down the banister in the great hall. I wonder if we can go all the way from the fourth floor to the ground floor in one ride?” Before Lena could say another word, the two boys had scampered off.
Mona was in seventh heaven. Not only was her room pretty in pale lemon, but she had an extra room of her own, her very own drawing room, where she could play her viola to her heart’s content, without being disturbed.
“I like it here, Mama. I can read, play my viola, draw,because there’s plenty of light, and if I get bored, go shopping, because the best shopping street in Vienna is right outside!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
Only Theo was subdued. Lena assumed it was because he was still struggling with his broken heart, because moving into the city meant being away from his Rosalie, even though she had made it clear that they could never be together. She had become engaged to someone else. Somehow this move made things even more final. Also, the hospital and the Josephinum where he had his anatomy and physiology classes were further away.
“On the other hand, it is exciting to live in the heart of Vienna, isn’t it? You won’t have to perform anymore, and you will be able to focus entirely on your studies. That is an advantage, isn’t it?” Lena stroked his hair.
“Yes.” Theo moped. “I suppose so.”
Lena’s suite of rooms contained a pianoforte in her drawing room. It was a Walter piano, an elegant pianoforte of walnut wood, the kind that the great masters like Beethoven, Mozart and Haydn owned.
Lena ran her fingers reverently over the black ebony keys and pressed them down.
The instrument was finely tuned with full sound.
She sat down, closed her eyes, and played.
“This Congress doesn’t move forwards,it dances!” the Prince of Ligne complained to Julius after a particularly harrowing diplomatic meeting. They’d conversed in French, and Julius had been contemplatingthe wit of the remark and how difficult it was to translate the double entendre of ‘ne marche pas’ into English. On the one hand it referred to a lack of forwards movement, but on the other, in simpler language, it meant that the thing was simply broken and didn’t work.
Julius could not but affirm the truth of these words. Not only did they all prefer dancing the waltz to sitting down and working in the literal sense, but the few who were actually working—often in smaller, private groups gathered informally amid social functions like balls, soirees, ridottos, and dinners—found themselves treading in place as if stomping grapes in a vat, or, at best, moving round and round in circles, making no progress at all. At least if they’d been treading real grapes they’d end up with some good wine. In this case, there would be no such reward.
It was enough to make even the most patient man lose his temper.
Julius rubbed at his eyes tiredly.
They’d just had another pointless four-hour meeting, and it had ended, as it so often did, with the Tsar storming out of the room and slamming the door like an overindulged infant.
Come to think of it, even infants were better behaved than that.
Then Metternich had sidled up to him with a smug smile and poked him in the waistcoat with his lorgnette. “I know who paid you a visit the other day.”
“Do you now?” Julius had replied wearily. “How extraordinarily shocking.”
“I have known about your friendship with Lindensteinfor a long time, of course. You and Lindenstein and Hartenberg are exceptionally close friends, almost like brothers. The three of you met on a Grand Tour when you were but young, green boys. Where did you meet, again? Ah yes, I recall. I have an excellent memory, you see. I remember every detail, no matter how insignificant. It was at an inn in the Tyrolean Alps, before the revolution and all the other madness broke out.” He grinned suavely. “Impressed by what I know, aren’t you?”
Julius shrugged. “It is no secret that the three of us have known each other since our youth.”
They’d all been stranded in a seedy inn due to inclement weather, the road blocked by a mudslide, making it impossible to continue their journey. Julius had noticed two youths sitting at a table by the window, a good-looking blond and an older, edgier, darker-haired one with sharp eyes, recklessly gambling as if the sky was falling, with real money, too. The older one had a cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth and they were drinking huge jugs of what looked like beer. He couldn’t help being impressed by them and sneaking glances at their game, for his tutor had strictly forbidden him to touch cards, cigars, and heaven forbid, beer. His tutor was now sick in bed, and Julius was bored.
The two boys must have noticed his interest, because they put their heads together, whispered, and looked at him slyly.
Without much ado, Julius had got up and walked over to them.
“Julius Stafford-Hill, the Marquess of Drayton.” He bowedstiffly.
