“These are the games Metternich plays, and I have no sense for them.”
“It is all rather childish, is it not?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Julius said heavily.
That elicited a chuckle from Lena.
“I vow, if the Duchess of Sagan would just elope with her new-old lover and remove herself from Vienna, I am certain Metternich would stop being distracted and finally focus on what really matters, and that is to move this deuced Congress forwards. As for now, as things stand, he is allowing himself to be drawn further and further into her snares. That woman over there, by the by, is her rival.” He nodded to another glamorous creature in a revealing dress that clung to her curves so voluptuously that it made Lena blush. She stood against the wall, slowly fanning herself.
“That is Princess Katharina Bagration, another of Metternich’s former lovers.”
The Princess stared daggers at the Sagan, then moved her narrowed gaze to Metternich, who was offering his arm to his wife.
The orchestra began to play the stately strains of a polonaise that always opened the ball. Only the highest and most noble dignitaries, princes, and monarchs entered the ballroom with their ladies, starting with Emperor Francis. There was Metternich, of course, and Tsar Alexander. He was a tall, blond man with a charming face and full lips. He nodded to all right and left, especially to the ladies. The line of couples in the polonaise was almost endless.
Lena grabbed Julius’ arm. “I may be imagining it, but isn’t that—Lindenstein?”
She hardly recognised him. There was not a trace of the cheerful boyish charm that she’d come to associate with him. He was in a white uniform, looking proud and bored, leading a haughty-looking lady who wore one ofthe most extravagant tiaras Lena had ever seen. He raised their joined hands, forming a bridge so that other couples could pass underneath. She had never seen anyone dance with less enthusiasm.
“Correctly observed.” That was all Julius said.
Lena turned to him, blinking. “But that means that he?—”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t we go and greet him?”
“No.”
“But…why?”
“Because he asked us not to.”
Lena digested this.
“He threatened fire and brimstone to hail down upon us if we do,” a deep voice spoke up next to her, seemingly out of nowhere. “I have yet to test the matter.”
She jumped and whirled around. A man in a field marshal's uniform stood beside her. He had short greyish brown hair, and his sharp grey eyes sparkled merrily at her.
“Blast you to hell and back,” Julius exclaimed. “You just appeared out of nowhere. What the devil are you doing here?”
“Likewise, brother, likewise.” He thumped him on the shoulder. “I see you are healthy and well. Since you are as rude as ever and not introducing me to your wife, I must do so myself.” He made a military salute. “Gestatten, Field Marshall Georg von Hartenberg at your service. It is a delight to finally make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
“Oh! I have heard of you. You are one of Julius’s, Imean, Aldingbourne’s friends.” She had met Lindenstein before, but never Hartenberg.
He took her hand and kissed it. “I hope only good things. As for the things I have heard about you, I had to come and hear the story with my own ears. Before we do so, where is she?”
“Who?”
“My lovely betrothed.” He raised a jagged eyebrow that looked like a comma. “Your sister, Lady Evie, of course. The woman I am to marry. I presume? Though she may be in the frame of mind to call it off at the moment.”
“Evie?” Julius’s brows puckered to a frown. “She said she was visiting a friend—the devil.”
“She was indeed visiting a friend.” Hartenberg’s face was deadpan.
“And now?” Julius barked. “You’ve met? She is back? Since when? Is she here?”
“So I assumed. But it appears I lost her. Again,” he muttered.
