Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Page 8

  She was glad to see Anastasia as excited as she about the evening’s concert. Her spirits, which had sunk quite low during the journey and their inevitable quarrels, seemed to have risen dramatically between the afternoon and evening. Nikolai, although not truly interested in music, was happy to escort his wife and her family to the Redoutensaal, the ballroom in the imperial palace where the concert was to take place.

  Dunya exclaimed with pleasure at the Hofburg building, the charming mish-mash of ages and styles that made up each wing, and at the opulence of the Redoutensaal itself. The countess, inevitably, had obtained the best seats in the gallery above the main room, where chairs had been set out in row-upon-row on plush red carpet. At the front of the hall rose a stage for the orchestra and a podium for Herr van Beethoven himself to conduct the music.

  Despite Dunya’s impatience, their carriage had been held up in the crush and they arrived at the hall door just ahead of the Tsar. Dunya, who’d never met him before, couldn’t help staring. Clearly in an informal mood, His Majesty, the Tsar of all the Russias, greeted Countess Savarina with friendliness, raising her quickly from her curtsey and allowing her to present her daughters.

  “My Anastasia Petrovna, you’ve met before, of course, and her husband Nikolai Ivanovitch. This is my younger daughter, Avdotya.”

  The Tsar’s sweeping smile lingered flatteringly on Dunya. “Charming,” he murmured. “Truly, quite ravishing. You will save a dance for me at the next ball, will you not, mademoiselle?”

  Dunya laughed as she rose from her courtesy. “All of them, if you command, sire!” It was easy to say when she knew he wouldn’t remember her the next time they found themselves in the same room.

  But the Tsar’s sparkling eyes remained fixed. “I shall have cause to remind you of that, I’m sure. Ah, here is our genius come to greet us. Herr van Beethoven, at last!”

  Dunya, while excited by her first meeting with her Tsar, was utterly awed by the presence of her musical hero. Leonine and huge in sheer presence, he had rather disarrayed hair, as if he tugged at it constantly, and the fiercest, most intense eyes she’d ever seen, beneath thick, bushy brows.

  Having bowed the Tsar inside, Beethoven murmured a few slightly impatient words to each of the escorts, among whom he seemed to number the Savarins. “Welcome,” he murmured to Dunya. “I hope you enjoy.”

  And Dunya, stunned that he’d actually spoken to her, could think of nothing to reply. She merely smiled weakly until he’d passed on.

  Dazed, Dunya followed her mother inside and up one side of a double staircase, where they were conducted to seats that had an excellent view of the stage. In fact, leaning forward, Dunya also found she could see most of the hall below and the audience crushing into their seats for the performance. The noise of mere chatter was spectacular.

  After a few moments, Dunya’s eye was caught by two waving arms that appeared to be directed at her from the center of the hall. Blinking, she distinguished Michael and Georgiana Gaunt, and stood up to wave back with enthusiasm. The children grinned with obvious pleasure to have been recognized. Beside them stood their other sister, and Lizzie and Vanya, who were in conversation with two other people.

  Since Vanya had his back to her and seemed to be ignoring Henrietta’s tug on his arm, Dunya leaned over the gallery rail and called over the racket of the other voices between them. “Vanya! Up here!”

  “Dunya!” Nikolai hissed, mortified.

  But Vanya and Lizzie both looked round and waved back. Dunya laughed with sheer exuberance.

  “Unbecoming,” her mother snapped, catching her arm and jerking her back into her seat. And it was true she seemed to have garnered a little disapproving attention from those in the gallery nearby. Glancing downward again, she saw Vanya and his family settling into their seats. Heads turned swiftly away from her as she scanned the rest of the audience. Apart from one which kept gazing right at her. A tall, lean man near the back of the hall, in an understated dark green military uniform. Dark blond hair flopped rather fetchingly over his brow, beneath which distinctive hazel eyes regarded her without blinking.

  Her stomach dived with sheer pleasure. She couldn’t have prevented the smile that broke out on her lips if she’d tried. “Captain Trelawny,” she breathed. “At last.”

  *

  While the orchestra played, she could shut out everything else, and yet she was conscious all the time of a deeper happiness rising to meet her joy in the music. It was probably relief, because he looked so much better than when she’d last seen him, and because now they could execute their plan together.

  It probably helped that the first piece was called “Wellington’s Victory”, celebrating the Battle of Vittoria, in which Trelawny had undoubtedly fought. This was a spectacular and rousing performance, which included a cacophony of sounds like real cannon fire and gunshot, produced by a mechanical box on the stage. Only when it drew to its crashing, triumphant close, did Dunya consciously release her breath and break into spontaneous applause with the rest of the cheering audience. She let her eyes drift from the bowing Beethoven on the podium to the back of the hall and Captain Trelawny.

  A woman sat beside him, a young woman, talking animatedly. Had he found his Jane and persuaded her already without Dunya’s help? It would certainly explain the change in his appearance. She was glad for him, if so—only it would make things rather awkward for him to continue their engagement masquerade. Unless she was a very good-natured betrothed!

  His head turned toward her at last, but the hall was quietening again, and the orchestra preparing for their second piece, a cantata called, The Glorious Moment, which Beethoven had written in honor of the Congress. Dunya directed her attention back to the stage. It wasn’t hard.

  Beethoven waved his baton at the orchestra with passion and they responded wonderfully and for Dunya, the time flew by.

  After The Glorious Moment, there came an interval. This time, Dunya was prepared and while still applauding the performance, she leaned over the rail to catch Trelawny’s eye. To her relief, he smiled at her with what looked like spontaneous pleasure, so she beckoned to him openly.

  “Dunya,” Nikolai said in despair.

  “What?” she asked innocently. “We’re engaged.”

  “Dunya,” her mother said. “You remember Count Boris Lebedev, do you not?”

  “Boris? Boris Kyrilovitch! Of course,” she exclaimed, giving her hand to the sophisticated man standing before her. She’d last seen him when she was thirteen years old. “What are you doing in Vienna?”

  Boris waved his hand toward the Tsar’s entourage. “I’m one of those,” he said deprecatingly.

  “Goodness. You’re not at all as I remember you!”

  “Covered in mud after wrestling with Vanya? Neither are you.”

  Dunya laughed, but registering a movement to her left, she looked around, hoping to greet Captain Trelawny. Instead, she gazed into the smiling face of Etienne de la Tour.

  He bowed, speaking with all his old, easy charm. “Countess Dunya. After two years without setting eyes upon you, how wonderful to see you twice in two days!”

  “It certainly is,” Dunya’s mother interrupted. “Most wonderful, when you haven’t called upon me in two months!”

  Etienne bowed even lower to the countess, his hand on his heart. “Forgive me,” he mourned. “I did not know you were here until last week. I heard you put up at the Imperial Hotel, but when I asked for you there, they said you’d gone and refused to give me your forwarding address. How fortunate I finally ran into Dunya last night. I am enchanted to see you all here.”

  What response, withering or otherwise, the countess might have made to these excuses, Dunya never discovered, for looming over Etienne’s shoulder as he kissed the countess’s hand, came Captain Trelawny. Dunya leapt to her feet at once, even before she saw that he’d brought his female companion with him. From sheer impulse, she made to clasp his arm, but he deftly deterred her, capturing one of her hands in his in
stead.

  “Captain,” she said happily. Everyone had turned to look at them, and her tongue knotted itself on silence. More than anything, she wished to introduce him to Etienne as my betrothed, but if he had reached an understanding with his Jane, such an announcement could ruin everything for him.

  He bowed over her hand, raising it to his lips. At the same time, he glanced up at her, his brows lifted in interrogation. Ever so slightly, she twitched her head in Etienne’s direction and knew immediately that he’d understood.

  He straightened, retaining her hand as he turned to the quiet lady beside him. She was a striking, dark-haired woman of more character than beauty, but she had intelligent eyes and her smile was good-natured.

  With proper etiquette, he was clearly about to present his companion to Dunya—the rest of her family, and Boris had been caught up with some other acquaintances—when Etienne forestalled him.

  “Captain Trelawny,” he drawled. “You must be the new betrothed.”

  Dunya itched to slap him. It was clearly meant to undermine whatever relationship she had with the captain. Words and tone both implied tolerant disbelief in their engagement. In which circumstances, they also displayed appalling carelessness of the feelings of Trelawny’s companion. She, however, seemed quite unput-out, although she did cast clear glances at both Etienne and Dunya.

  “Etienne de la Tour,” the comte said, casually offering the captain his hand.

  Trelawny glanced at it, as though with distaste, but he did shake hands, very briefly before turning back to the ladies.

  “Allow me to present to you Mrs. Ambrose, the wife of my very good friend. They’re allowing me to lodge with them while I stay in Vienna. Julia, this is Countess Dunya.”

  Mrs. Ambrose curtseyed. “I’ve heard so much about you, Countess.”

  “Really?” Dunya said, genuinely surprised, if pleased. “I expect you think me very odd, then! Is your husband here with you, also?”

  Mrs. Ambrose sighed. “Sadly, no. Music is wasted on my husband, so I prevailed upon Captain Trelawny to escort me instead. I knew he particularly wished to go.”

  Dunya couldn’t help smiling at Captain Trelawny, because he’d remembered her wish to meet him here.

  “A glass of lemonade, perhaps?” he suggested.

  “Oh yes, just the thing,” Dunya agreed. “Let’s go quickly before they begin again. It is to be a new symphony next. Etienne, you’d better spend some time groveling to my mother. You have much ground to make up!” She didn’t wait to see his reaction, but started immediately along the gallery toward the stairs.

  “Nicely if cruelly done,” Trelawny murmured in her ear. “I don’t think he knows what hit him.”

  “I think it’s going well,” she confided. “I’m showing no interest in him at all.”

  “Well, I’d say he’s piqued and baffled and probably jealous.”

  “Excellent.” Pausing to let an older pair of ladies go ahead of her to the stairs, she smiled up at Trelawny. “I’m so glad to find you here. You’re looking well, much better.”

  “I’ve been nursed and coddled by my friends,” Trelawny said lightly.

  “Don’t believe a word,” Mrs. Ambrose advised, brushing past him to walk downstairs beside Dunya. “He refuses to be coddled, always has. I’m just glad John ran into him.”

  “Your husband is a soldier, too, Madame?” Dunya asked.

  “Yes, indeed. He and Richard served together in the Rifle Brigade all through the Peninsular War.”

  “And you followed the drum also?”

  “Ever since our marriage in 1810, yes. So delightful to see more of Europe at peace, now. It is a great thing, this Congress. I do hope the powers that be don’t let it fail.”

  In the smaller hall, they discovered Vanya and Lizzie and Lizzie’s siblings, guarding many glasses of wine and lemonade.

  “For us?” Dunya demanded. “How efficient of you, Vanya!”

  “We ordered huge quantities for the children, but do help yourselves.” Lazily, Vanya offered his hand. “How do you do, Trelawny?”

  Dunya quickly introduced Mrs. Ambrose, and Lizzie presented glasses. After a short if enthusiastic discussion of the music so far, Dunya drew Captain Trelawny to one side.

  “How goes your own search?” she asked, taking his arm as they promenaded around the hall.

  “My search?” he repeated, glancing about him.

  “For Jane!”

  “Oh. Well, to be honest, I haven’t looked,” he confessed.

  “Well, you’re bound to come across her before long. You are coming to our ball tomorrow night?”

  “I haven’t been invited.”

  “I didn’t know where you were. Give me your direction and my mother will send cards—for your friends, too.”

  He was silent for a moment. Several covert and overt glances were being cast their way, but Dunya ignored them. He said, “I’m happy to make your Etienne jealous when I can, but you know, the Ambroses and I don’t really move in your circles.”

  “Well, you’ll have to, being engaged to me,” Dunya retorted. “And you needn’t worry about the world thinking you a fortune hunter, because everyone knows I have no fortune to hunt.”

  “I have no interest in the world’s thoughts of me.”

  “Then you’ll come? We should be able to find someone who knows Jane. She might even be there. What is her surname?”

  There was another pause. “Reid,” he said with an odd mixture of reluctance and fascination. “Dunya… Countess—”

  “Dunya,” she said impatiently. “You’re having second thoughts about disrupting her life, but truly some people need to be disrupted occasionally. Besides, if you discover her happy and unregretful, you have done no harm and may simply draw back. Whereas, if you don’t meet her again before her marriage, you’ll always wonder, will you not?”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. A smile flickered across his lips. “You are an odd mixture of wisdom and recklessness.”

  “I wish you would tell my family about the wisdom!”

  “What of Etienne? Does he not think you wise?”

  “He thinks me a child.”

  “I doubt that,” Trelawny murmured. “You draw all eyes, you know, for quite other reasons.”

  “Do I?” She cast another glance around the watching room. A man had given her a rose this afternoon, too. Perhaps she could even become fashionable, like Anastasia in St. Petersburg. She laughed at the idea. “That’s because I’m walking with you,” she said wryly. “Gossip fodder.”

  His eyes smiled along with his lips. “I should take you back. I think the second part of the concert is about to begin.”

  “Oh good! I’m really looking forward to the symphony. I liked the music of the other pieces, but somehow, since the war, I don’t really care for even pretend cannon fire.” She turned to him impulsively. “Why don’t you—” she began, then broke off.

  “Why don’t I what?”

  She shook her head, flushing slightly, because she’d been about to ask him to join her family in the gallery. She shouldn’t monopolize him, not when they were only pretending to be engaged. “Why don’t you write your direction on the back of a card or something?” she finished, quite cleverly. “Give it to me at the end of the concert.”

  *

  “And you’re actually engaged to marry that whirlwind of a creature?” Julia Ambrose said to Trelawny as they walked back to their lodgings after the concert.

  Carriages rumbled up and down the narrow, cobbled streets. People of all classes and nationalities past them by, some idly chattering, others silently determined about their business.

  Although the streetlights barely penetrated the darkness in this part of the city, Trelawny’s mind was full of brightness, the concert, and Dunya’s rapt face as she leaned forward, her arm resting on the gallery rail, quite lost in Beethoven’s intricate music. And of the same face, alive with conspiratorial mischief, as she’d taken his printed program with his ad
dress scribbled at the top, and whispered, “You must call on us, too!”

  Trelawny laughed. “So it would seem.”

  “But why?” Julia asked, unflatteringly curious, although, of course, it was what the rest of the world would think, too. She gave his arm a little squeeze. “Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Richard, you’re a charming man as well as a good one. You make people laugh, and women like you. But that girl is a Russian countess with Europe at her feet!”

  “I know. Bizarre, isn’t it?”

  “Do you love her?” Julia asked, direct as always.

  Trelawny smiled into the distance. “I barely know her,” he admitted. “She intrigues me.” She’d taken a frightened servant from an unpleasant mistress, and almost wept in private because music moved her. She hadn’t recognized him in his mask and yet he knew he’d thrown her. He’d thought at first, she wouldn’t take the rose, but she had, and then, most touchingly of all, she’d warned him about the Fischers. It didn’t matter that he’d already guessed.

  Julia gave his arm a little shake. “Do you not think you should know her before you marry her?”

  Julia’s gaze bored into his face. With reluctance, he turned his head and looked at her. “It will never get that far,” he said, honestly. “But I’m enjoying the campaign.”

  Chapter Eight

  The following afternoon, once more wearing his regimentals, since they were the smartest clothing he possessed, Captain Trelawny called upon his affianced bride. He was shown into a small salon, where she sat with her mother and married sister, surrounded by male admirers.

  Trelawny, entering close on the heels of the servant, was fairly sure Countess Savarina frowned at the sound of his name being announced. Otherwise, neither she nor anyone else seemed to pay much attention to his arrival.

  Except for Dunya. One of the Russians who’d been with her at the concert yesterday stood behind her. Etienne himself sat next to her and someone he’d never seen before seemed inclined to perch on the arm of the sofa. They all appeared to be vying for her attention, but as soon as Trelawny was announced, her face lit up and she jumped to her feet, shedding her other admirers like layers of unwanted clothing. And although he was thoroughly aware of her ulterior motives, his heart still soared to be so welcomed.