That he was still the same person deep down?
If so, if he truly hadn’t changed, then…what was keeping her from fully trusting him?
Her teeth grazed her lower lip as she paused with her sewing, the needle mid-air.
“Did you finish sewing the button?” The lady turned impatiently.
“One more stitch, my lady,” Pippa mumbled. She made a last crooked stitch in the fine muslin, cut the thread and got up.
When the women retired several hours later, only the gentlemen remained, and the conversation turned to politics. The air thickened with tension and cigar smoke, and the voices turned clipped and caustic. From behind the stove where she was sitting, Pippa realised they were conversing in English and French. She leaned forward, peering through the leaves of the plant that covered her, and saw him.
The Archduke lounged in an armchair, his extended legs crossed, and looked handsome as sin in a dark blue suit that moulded to his form to perfection. His long curls brushed his shirt points; his lips curved in a lazy smile; his eyes were half closed, glittering with amusement. He exuded a practised indifference that made him seem at once aloof and untouchable.
She had never seen him like this before, and her heart twisted. The conclusion she’d reached only moments earlier disappeared in a puff. The man she’d known in private—the one who could be earnest, passionate, kind—was decidedly gone, replaced by this jaded creature of the court.
Across from him, leaning against the mantelpiece,was Prince Hardenberg, Prussia’s chief negotiator. He was holding forth about Saxony with a booming voice that carried through the room.
Next to him stood Castlereagh, stiff and elegant. “Prussia annexing Saxony will upset the balance of power,” he said sharply. “It will destabilise Europe and turn the centre into a Russian-Prussian bloc. We must prevent that at all costs.”
“Saxony deserves to be punished,” Hardenberg thundered. “For conspiring with Bonaparte.”
“Gentlemen, Austria will not allow Central Europe to become a playground for Russian ambition.” Another voice entered the fray, low and smooth, sending a shiver down Pippa’s spine as she recognised it.
Metternich.
When had he joined the party?
She moved her footstool slightly forward so she could observe the group of gentlemen as they conversed.
“A Russian-controlled Poland would make her too powerful,” he continued. “If Prussia swallows Saxony whole, Austria will be pressed between hammer and anvil. A balance of power shall benefit us all.”
Castlereagh’s tone was cutting. “I am relieved to find you for once in agreement with us, but what guarantee have we that you won’t change your mind behind our backs?”
“Austria would, naturally, expect territorial concessions elsewhere if Prussia took too much of Saxony.” Metternich pulled out a silken handkerchief and inspected it.
“Of course.” Hardenberg leaned forward, bothelbows on his knees, fixing him with a penetrating stare. “You have your eyes on Venice, do you not?”
“Amongst other things.” Metternich polished his quizzing glass with the handkerchief.
The Archduke gave a languid yawn. “Such as Istria, Illyria, Dalmatia, Lombardia, Tuscany, Parma, Tirol—did I forget something, Prince? In short, all the lands that once belonged to the Austrian crown before Bonaparte took them.”
“You speak as though you wish to restore the Holy Roman Empire. How very like an emperor’s son,” Hardenberg scoffed.
“The chances of my ever inheriting the emperor’s crown are as likely as Bonaparte returning from Elba—nil,” the Archduke replied lazily. “But why should Austria stand idly by while the rest of you feast at the table, hm?”
Castlereagh’s smile was thin. “And here I thought Your Imperial Highness was not interested in politics. Aldingbourne said you were not to be underestimated. It seems he was right.”
The Archduke shrugged. “Frankly, I care not a whit. The entire business is fatiguing. That is why we have our most excellent minister of foreign affairs to see to it. Am I right, Prince?”
He flashed a gleaming smile at Metternich, who bowed back with exaggerated grace. They seemed in agreement on this point, at least. And yet, watching them, Pippa sensed the tension beneath the courtesy.
Then Hardenberg’s fist crashed down. “And I say Saxony shall beours!”
The glasses rattled. One toppled and shattered. Wine splashed across the carpet and onto the guests.
Metternich hissed, “My stockings!”
Castlereagh let out a sharp scoff.
