The music went on, the dancing and the ball around them went on, and she stared. The noise of the ball receded to a faraway murmur. Hartenberg, too, paused, and waited for her patiently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to suddenly stop in the middle of a quadrille to gape at one’s partner as the revelation of a lifetime crashed about her.
She had fallen in love with him.
Hopelessly. Deeply. Impossibly.
It jolted through her, that knowledge, like a lightning bolt, and her jaw may have dropped at the greatness of that revelation.
He was saying something now, but she could not understand a thing, because she was too busy gaping at him. He had to repeat it three times before she heard him.
“Would you prefer to rest?”
“P-p-please.” She had clearly lost all ability to speak.
With a nod, he took her arm to lead her to the refreshment room.
She stumbled once more, for clearly she had also forgotten how to walk. She heard him chuckle softly as he caught her once more.
She pressed her cool glass against her heated cheek after she had gulped it down.
Hartenberg was still next to her, chatting genially with another military man.
She peeped up at him sideways through her eyelashes.
He, Hartenberg. He would be her new family. He would be steady and steadfast, quiet and loyal.
He would be home and she would be safe.
She loved him so dearly everything inside her squeezed together, leaving her breathless. She drew in a deep, shaking breath.
And the very same breath that delivered this discovery delivered the next, that this, precisely, was what she would never have in return.
After the dance was over,people approached to congratulate them, more champagne was poured, more glasses raised. Metternich climbed the podium again to make yet another speech lauding the progress of the congress, and how well things were proceeding.
The man standing next to her snorted. “The Prince has an exquisite sense of humour, for the only thing that has been progressing of late is the amount of champagne poured down our throats.” He spoke in French, wore a wig and silken knee breeches and, instead of waltzing, tapped his cane on the ground in time with the music, watching the crowd with lively eyes under his bushy eyebrows. He had been introduced to Evie as Talleyrand, one of the most famous French statesmen of all time. Hehad bent over Evie’s hand with practised gallantry, congratulated her, and observed with a sweet smile that it was a cunning piece of statecraft on her part to have secured one of the most powerful men of the empire. “The congress has accomplished nothing half so clever,” he concluded.
“Maybe that is because there are only men sitting around the congress table who inevitably end up arguing with each other. You should have included some women. Women are more pragmatic, and tend to settle things with greater efficiency.” Evie was relieved to have regained at least some of her wit, for it wouldn’t do at all to spend the entire evening staring at Hartenberg like a mute, lovelorn sheep.
“Indeed, milady. I wholeheartedly agree.” Talleyrand’s eyes glinted appreciatively. Turning to Hartenberg, he said, “Your bride is not only beautiful, but she has wit and intelligence.”
Hartenberg looked Evie straight in the eyes, his face deadpan. “Indeed. There was never any doubt about that.”
“Liar,” Evie muttered under her breath.
With a lazy smile he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on it.
Evie did not know, until then, that she was capable of blushing down to the soles of her feet. She was wearing gloves, for goodness’ sake. He was kissing her gloves.
And yet…she felt the warmth and softness of his lips through the fabric and all the way through her.
Talleyrand’s attention, however, had drifted back to the stage.
“Dear me.” He lifted his lorgnette. Metternich had just finished his speech, and a second gentleman was climbing the stairs to the podium, swathed in black from head to toe,black neckcloth and all. He exuded danger. He leaned forward to murmur something in Metternich’s ear.
“I wonder what he is doing here?”
“Who is he?”
“Heinrich von Dornhoff. They call him Metternich’s dog. A rather unsavoury and dangerous sort of person, more associated with the underworld than with polite society. How unfortunate that his uninvited appearance should cast a shadow over so charming an evening.” Talleyrand tutted.
