Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Read online

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Captain Trelawny retorted. “If you want to be useful, go and find the landlady and have a room prepared for Miss Savarina.”

  “How kind you are!” Dunya exclaimed, delighted to have her faith in human nature restored by the captain. “Only I was wondering if I wouldn’t be better going on to Vienna tonight and finding my sister.”

  “Well, you don’t know where she is,” Captain Trelawny pointed out. “I’d be surprised if she weren’t looking for you, and there’s no guarantee she’s in Vienna. Besides, I doubt it’s safe for you to travel alone at this hour…” He eyed her with unexpected humor. “I know you hate safe—”

  “I’ve discovered I only hate it up to a point,” Dunya said ruefully. “You’re probably right and I should stay here.” She turned to the older man, who was limping to the door. “Thank you for your help, Sergeant Jenkins.”

  “Jenkins?” the captain called after him. “Make sure it’s a room with a sturdy lock and key.”

  Jenkins grunted and left again, closing the door.

  Dunya walked around the bed and sat in the room’s one, not very comfortable chair. “Are you going to Vienna, too?” she asked.

  “God, no,” the captain replied with unexpected fervency.

  “But the whole world is there!” Dunya exclaimed. “It’s the most exciting place imaginable. My mother is there already, and my brother with his new wife.” She frowned at the thought of Vanya’s scheming new wife, then banished her with an impatient wave of her hand. “Wouldn’t you like to be part of the momentous events that will change Europe forever?”

  “I sent Lord Castlereagh in my place.”

  Dunya laughed. “Well, you know what I mean, to feel part of it, even if all you do is speak to the important people, or dance with them. My mother tells me there are parties every night—masquerade balls and musical evenings and elaborate dinners where one meets all the great men and the cleverest, most beautiful women.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the rage of the Congress in no time.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “When Etienne and I are married, I plan to have salons full of the cleverest people and the finest musicians—Salieri, Beethoven—and I would love to invite you.”

  “And if I am within a hundred miles of your salon I will gladly come.”

  She eyed him. “But you plan on being well clear of Vienna by then, don’t you?”

  “I did.”

  She opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but a certain cloudiness of his eyes caught her attention, reminding her of sickness she’d seen before. She stood, going quickly to the bed, and laying her hand across his clearly startled forehead.

  “You feel feverish,” she said worriedly. “We need to send for a doctor.”

  “There’s no need. I’ll be right as rain by morning.”

  “You can’t know that—”

  “Yes, I can. It happens most evenings, but I sleep it off during the night.”

  She frowned. “Did your doctor allow you to travel in this condition?”

  “I don’t care to be around doctors for longer than necessary.”

  “But you surely travelled across Europe to see this one!” Dunya pointed out.

  “To please my brother. He is a physician and heard him highly recommended for such wounds as mine.”

  “Well, it’s my belief he would have told you to rest in one place for several more weeks.”

  “A belief based on what?” he challenged.

  She lifted her eyebrow. “On experience. My country was torn apart by war, you know. We cared for soldiers retreating before the French in 1812, and for those injured in the French retreat. I have seen many wound fevers.”

  His gaze fixed on hers until she felt herself blushing. She’d wanted to convince him of her good sense in this matter, not sound like some silly, boastful creature who imagined herself an expert after sending her maid with a flask of water to a dying soldier. She whisked away from him to the bowl of water and wash cloth on the dresser. Since the water was fresh and cold, she soaked the cloth and squeezed it out.

  “You are a lady of contradictions,” he observed.

  “I am,” she agreed, marching back to him. “Which is better than being contrary.”

  “Like me?” he suggested as she applied the cloth to his forehead.

  “Like you.”

  Almost to her surprise, he let her bathe his forehead, watching her face all the time. Then he caught her wrist, his grip warm and shocking. “I am perfectly cool, now. Thank you.”

  The door opened and he dropped her hand.

  Jenkins strode back into the room, brandishing a key and a lit candle. “Here you are, Miss. The room is made up already and a maid is bringing you some fresh water. It’s the door right at the end of this passage.”

  Dunya hesitated. She didn’t want to leave her new patient, and yet she suspected he was right that he needed sleep to recover. “Perhaps you would show me,” she said to Jenkins, taking the proffered key before replacing the cloth on the side of the washing bowl. “Captain, I’ll bid you good night and thank you once more for your rescue.”

  “Good luck, mademoiselle.”

  She smiled and tripped out in front of Jenkins, who’d lit another candle from the one he’d brought and now carried both. As soon as he closed the door, she demanded, “Is he fevered all the time?”

  “No, Miss. Comes on him some evenings, but he seems better by morning.”

  “Do you think he should be travelling?” she asked, walking in the direction Jenkins indicated.

  “No, Miss, I don’t. But at least I persuaded him to stay here for two nights.”

  “I think he should see his doctor again.”

  “He won’t,” Jenkins said simply.

  Dunya opened her mouth to denounce the idiocy of men who’d travel so far to see a man whose advice they then refused to take, but Jenkins spoke again quickly. “Won’t do him no good, anyhow. It’s not so much his body as his heart that’s sick.”

  “In what way?” Dunya demanded.

  “I don’t know. Seen it before, though. Sometimes, you’re around so much death that you’ve had enough of life.”

  Dunya gazed at him, remembering the numb and broken faces of the men who’d trailed through her family’s estate after Borodino. Her throat closed up. The good-natured young man she’d just left had once been a vital, fun-loving creature like herself. She’d glimpsed echoes and embers of it in his eyes, in his words.

  She swallowed. “Are you telling me he’s dying?”

  “I’m saying it’s a possibility,” Jenkins said roughly. And the reality would break his tough old heart. She could see that. The lines around his eyes relaxed, almost as though he’d forced them. “But not yet, Miss. Not yet. There’s always hope.”

  Dunya touched his arm. “I’ll pray for him,” she whispered. “Go back to him now, and call on me if you need me.”

  Jenkins gave her a genuine smile that revealed a gap for two missing teeth and handed her one of the candles. “Thank you, Miss.”

  Feeling horribly sad, she watched him hurry back to his captain in the pale, bobbing glow of his candle. When he disappeared into the room, she turned and walked on toward the door facing her at the end of the passage.

  As she opened it, distractedly, a movement from the connecting corridor to her right made her jump and hold her candle high.

  “There you are,” said Lord Sebastian Niven, emerging from the darkness. “My turn, I think.”

  Dunya stared at him. “I’m not quite sure what you mean by that, but I imagine it’s insulting.”

  Niven blinked. A short laugh escaped him, as though involuntarily. “Actually, yes, I meant it to be. I apologize for my ill nature. Shall we step inside? Or would you prefer my accommodation?”

  “Neither!” Dunya exclaimed. “How many more ways do I need to say it?”

  “Until you mean it,” Lo
rd Sebastian drawled.

  “Oh, for the love of—” Dunya began in frustration, then broke off, jumping back in alarm as Niven reached for her. If it came down to a contest of strength, she stood no chance. She bit back her rising scream, which would have disturbed only the sick captain, and held her candle so that it shone directly into Niven’s eyes. “If you lay so much as a finger on me—”

  “Trust me, it will be rather more than one,” Niven said. “Come, little bird, I tire of this damned game.”

  “Then retire, my lord,” said a familiar voice in the main corridor.

  Both Dunya and Niven spun toward it. Captain Trelawny stood in the shadows a few yards away, his shoulder leaning against the wall.

  Lurking behind him, loomed Jenkins, large and immovable.

  “That sounds altogether too much like a command,” Niven snapped.

  “It is,” the captain assured him. Although his pose was negligent, Dunya suspected the wall was necessary to hold him up. Still in his shirt sleeves and stocking soles, he appeared remarkably casual.

  Niven laughed. “And how exactly do you plan to enforce commands in that state? Send your man to try his luck?”

  “No,” Trelawny said. “I’ll just shoot you.” He raised his hand. It held a large, wicked looking pistol. There was a definite click as he cocked it and took steady aim.

  Dunya’s mouth fell open. Niven stared at Trelawny as if he couldn’t quite believe it either.

  A bark of savage laughter fell from Lord Sebastian’s lips. “Do you know what? The game has grown tedious. Madam, I withdraw my offer.” He gave Dunya a mocking little bow. “And as for you, Trelawny, you’d better not interfere in my affairs again. I won’t be so generous the next time.”

  “Neither will I,” the captain said carelessly as Niven turned and strolled away into the darkness of the connecting passage.

  Dunya started in Captain Trelawny’s direction, but he’d already heaved himself off the wall, walking toward her with the pistol held at his side.

  “Oh dear, I have to thank you again,” Dunya said shakily.

  The captain brushed past her and opened the bedchamber door. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. “Jenkins will make arrangements and conduct you to a carriage at dawn. I doubt his lordship will trouble you again, but to be on the safe side, don’t open your door again until you hear Jenkins’s voice.”

  Suddenly, Dunya wanted to cry. “I’m so sorry to put you to this trouble…” she said in a small voice.

  To her surprise, Captain Trelawny smiled. “It’s no trouble at all. Jenkins does all the work. Good night, Miss Savarina.” He stood aside.

  “Good night,” she managed, walking into the room.

  Although a recently lit fire burned in the grate, the air felt cold. She closed the door, inserted the key, and locked it. Only then did she hear the men’s footsteps retreating down the passage. Although they sounded perfectly even, she wondered if Jenkins was holding his captain up.

  *

  Returning to his own room, Trelawny was rather pleased to remain upright until he reached the bed, where he collapsed. Although vaguely aware of Jenkins undressing him and shoving him under the blankets, his vision was full of the Russian girl, in turn impulsive, kind, frightened, and fierce, but always incredibly, vividly alive. She reminded him of someone, but his tired, fevered mind couldn’t quite remember who.

  “Got herself into a bit of a fix,” Jenkins observed. “How’d she manage that?”

  “Too trusting,” Trelawny said vaguely. “And bored, probably. Hemmed in with restrictions that are no doubt meant to make up for her trusting nature.” Had he ever been that trusting? He couldn’t remember. But the restlessness, the zest for new experience—yes, he knew that. “You’ll hire a carriage and driver from the innkeeper, make sure she’s away from here safely by dawn?”

  “Aye, and make sure his nibs is well behind.” There was a pause.

  Trelawny opened his eyes to find Jenkins’s gaze on his face. “What?”

  “Or we could go with her. Escort her safely to her people in Vienna. Then you wouldn’t need to worry about her anymore.”

  Trelawny frowned. He wanted to avoid Vienna for reasons that had once seemed more important than anything else. But truth be told, it had never really mattered much where he was, and on the whole, he would rather be where she was. His frown deepened. Why was that?

  Because she was more alive than anyone he’d encountered in ages. And that was who she reminded him of. Himself. Long ago.

  He turned his face away from Jenkins. “Let’s do that. You’d better make sure I’m awake in plenty of time.”

  “Get to sleep then,” Jenkins said comfortably, and he did.

  Chapter Three

  In the pale gray of dawn, Trelawny climbed unaided into his hired carriage and settled back against the squabs. There was a biting chill to the late November air and he was glad of his old military cloak and the blanket.

  He’d awakened that morning to Jenkins’ first quiet “Captain.” He’d known at once the fever had gone, and more than that, for the first time in months, he found he was actually looking forward to the day. He might have been going to Vienna, where he had absolutely no desire to be, but he would spend the first hour or so in the beguiling company of the vivacious if impractical Russian girl.

  He watched her emerge from the inn, the same lavender gown she’d worn last night visible beneath an open fur-trimmed travelling cloak. Jenkins loomed beside her, and they hurried across the yard to the carriage. Jenkins opened the door and let the step down, and she climbed up.

  In the doorway, half into the carriage, she caught sight of Trelawny inside, and paused, her large blue eyes widening with surprise and, he guessed, confused alarm. Clearly Jenkins had not yet revealed the change of plan.

  “Good morning,” Trelawny said civilly.

  She swallowed, the only visible sign of nervousness. “Forgive me, Captain, but no one ever claimed I didn’t learn from my mistakes. I understood this was my carriage for the journey.”

  Trelawny gave her a lopsided smile. “Miss Savarina, even if I were strong enough to molest you, Jenkins would thump me at first lunge. Besides, here comes your chaperone.”

  One of the inn’s young maids, her cap askew, was running across the yard, a basket swinging on her arm. Dunya twisted around to watch, and a breath of laughter escaped her as she entered the carriage and sat opposite him.

  “You’ve thought of everything,” she said with a hint of admiration.

  “I try,” Trelawny said modestly, and she gave him a singularly sweet smile before the maid and her basket filled the carriage. The maid plonked the basket on the seat beside Trelawny and sat by Dunya.

  “Breakfast,” Jenkins said, nodding at the basket before he closed the door and climbed up beside the driver. In seconds, they were underway.

  Dunya smiled at the maid, quickly establishing that her name was Ilse, that she was expected back at the inn that afternoon, and that the basket, on Jenkins’s orders, contained bread, sausage, coffee, and cake. Correctly interpreting Dunya’s expression, Trelawny opened the basket and laughed as her face lit up.

  Ilse, taking her duties seriously, served her temporary mistress with bread and coffee, while Trelawny looked after himself. With the hated walking stick his brother had given him on departure, he banged on the carriage roof and received a clear stamp of Jenkins’s boot in return.

  Leaning forward, Trelawny pulled down the window, picked up the cup of coffee he had just poured from the flask, and maneuvered his head and good shoulder through the window, face up. He raised the cup above his head while Jenkins duly swooped downward from the box and seized the cup. Trelawny slithered back inside the carriage, falling back on the seat to find both women on the edge of their own, as if they’d been about to reach for him and pull him back inside.

  He smiled tiredly. “What?”

  Dunya gave one of her infectious gurgles of laughter. “I gather you are f
eeling better this morning.”

  “Better than Jenkins, I imagine, in this cold.”

  Dunya sat back and munched her crusty bread with evident enjoyment. Without her lively chatter to distract him, Trelawny drank his coffee and let his mind drift with the rumbling of the coach wheels along the winding track to the main Vienna road.

  He didn’t think they’d travelled far before Dunya’s voice exclaimed, “Look! Look, the sun is coming up over the hill. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  She was sitting forward in her seat, rapt as she gazed out at the sunrise, which was indeed beautiful. Pink and gold light spread across the sky above the hill, with streaks of deep purple. Although not such an uncommon sight, for some reason it surprised Trelawny, as if he’d forgotten what a sunrise could look like.

  “I wish I could paint,” Dunya said with enthusiasm. “But I’d never do it justice. I’ll try to play it instead if only I can keep it vibrant in my mind.”

  “Play it?” Trelawny repeated.

  “On the violin,” she said. “The balalaika would be wrong here.”

  “You’re musical?” he asked. That shouldn’t have surprised him either.

  “Well, I like music,” she said cautiously, “though I’m told I play with more enthusiasm than talent. My ambition is to make myself cry with my own music, not just other people.”

  Trelawny blinked. “A curious ambition.”

  Dunya smiled. “Or laugh, if you prefer, but one has to feel something if the music is remotely good. Don’t you think?”

  Trelawny opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again as half-forgotten memories jostled in his mind. “I suppose I did, once. I haven’t heard music for a long time.”

  She glanced at him, then back to the sunrise again. “Vienna is full of music, my mother says. Herr van Beethoven himself is holding a gala concert, if only we haven’t missed it. You should go.”

  Trelawny lifted his gaze from the girl’s face to the glory of the sunrise. “Maybe I will.”