She had heartily tired of everything already, and the congress had not even officially begun.
Ah, but really, this congress! It was all so dreadfully boring.
All except that moment when Metternich had approached her, of course, asking her whether she wanted to spy for him (she did not). It had alarmed her that for a single moment she had considered it, if only to break the tedium.
She supposed that Hartenberg would have returned to Vienna as well if it had not been for Clara, poor girl. The girl he believed to be her.
She entertained, for a brief moment, the notion of telling him the truth.
Yet leading the poor man on turned out to be more entertaining than anything Vienna had to offer, so maybe staying here in Wolfsthal, as her own companion, was not the worst thing. Though, truth be told, the novelty had already begun to wear thin. What kept her in the role of Miss Honeywell now was something else entirely: freedom. She’d never had so much of it in her entire life.
No governesses and companions following her every move. No social obligations. No shopping with Lady Castlereagh, no tedious political dinners, no having to put on airs and impress anyone at the balls and concerts. Not having to see her brother making moon eyes at his lovely wife, Catherine.
She felt a pang deep down within, which she’d long ago identified as jealousy.
Julius and Catherine. Mira and Atherton.
The heavens had allowed them to marry their one and only love.
That was not something the women of the rest of herclass could ever expect. Women like her were married off to some stranger (like Hartenberg) with not a drop of romance in their bones (like Hartenberg), who would deposit her somewhere (possibly here in Wolfsthal), only to reunite once or twice a year for the purpose of procreation (if at all). And with some luck, she would give birth to a son.
Only to die in childbirth, which was more than common.
Alas, was this truly to be her fate?
She schooled her shoulders as she stood in front of the window.
But until that came to pass, she was determined to get the most out of it.
Now, she had freedom.
Now, she could, for example, steal outside the house and see what else was on the premises. Go exploring.
Without the shackles of a husband or betrothed.
Chapter Twelve
Whenever Georg neededto ponder on life, he went hunting. He put on his grey loden jacket with a green collar, leather breeches with thick woollen stockings up to his knees, his sturdiest pair of boots, and slung his flintlock over his shoulder. On his head, he wore the typical Austrian felt hat with a feather. The outfit was old and worn out, and when he donned it, he passed as any common forester or hunter roaming through the woods.
Whenever he was restless, troubled or needed to escape it all, he threw on this garb and climbed the mountains and roamed the fields and forests, until his brain cleared and the heaviness lifted from his shoulders. If he happened to come across deer or wild chamois, he would take them home as his trophies and mount them on his walls.
It had been his plan to do the same today; his intention had been to set out alone, for he had much to think about, and he craved solitude. But when he ran into Schneider early in the morning, as he swiftly descended the stairs in his hunting garb, the man promptly decided to join him.
Very well. He knew Schneider was a good hunter, so it would not be for the worse.
But then they ran into Miss Honeywell, that was to say, Lady Evie, his soon-to-be-wife, and the very reason why he craved to go on this expedition in the first place. She came skipping around the corner of the house, followed by his German hounds, who frolicked about her, eager to play.
“Where are you going?” She eyed his flintlock with interest.
“Hunting.” He gave a sharp whistle to bring his dogs to heel.
“Where are you going hunting?”
“In the mountains.”
“Are you joining him?” she addressed Schneider, who came through the door, and beamed a smile at her upon seeing her.
“Indeed I am, Miss Honeywell.”
