Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Page 9

  “Thank goodness you’ve come!” she greeted him, taking his hand in both of her hers and tugged him at once toward her other admirers. “These gentlemen refuse to talk politics with me!”

  “Be reasonable, little countess,” said Etienne. “You have here a Russian, an Austrian, a Prussian, a Frenchman, and now two Englishmen. If we discuss politics, we will come to blows!”

  “Then what is the point of the Congress?” she demanded.

  “A lot of people seem to be wondering the same thing,” Trelawny said, amused.

  He resisted her pulling in order to steer them toward Countess Savarina so that he could pay his formal respects. The countess accepted them somewhat grudgingly, with bare civility and he then turned and bowed to Dunya’s sister Anastasia, who was looking pretty and slightly flushed under the attentions of a Prussian officer with excessively fine moustaches. Dunya introduced him as Major von Wahrschein, and an older gentleman as General Lisle.

  “Rifles, eh?” the general said, cocking one intelligent eyebrow at his uniform. “Surprisingly good outfit. Always acquit yourselves well.”

  “Thank you, sir. We try,” Trelawny said gravely.

  “I commanded the 23rd in the Peninsular campaign,” General Lisle informed him with a hint of wistfulness. “Last military action I saw. What about you?”

  “I got to chase the French over the Pyrenees and into France before I was sent home on invalid leave.” He flicked one finger at his empty sleeve.

  “So what brings you to Vienna?”

  “Countess Dunya, of course,” Trelawny said lightly.

  “We met him on the journey,” Dunya said. “He’d just been seeing an Austrian doctor when we ran into him.”

  “Ah, and so you became travelling companions.” The general nodded wisely.

  No one disabused him. Dunya and Anastasia avoided looking at each other.

  With difficulty, Anastasia said, “Captain Trelawny did us a great service, for which we owe him more than I can say.”

  Although perhaps not Dunya’s hand in marriage, Trelawny thought with wry amusement.

  “Oh, and we have cards of invitation for you and Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose,” Dunya told him. “For the ball tonight.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Trelawny assured her. “Though I should tell you it’s Captain Ambrose.”

  “Do you have a ballroom here?” asked the count everyone called Boris.

  “Sadly, no,” Countess Savarina replied. “But the drawing room is large. Dunya, go and see what the wretched servants have done with our tea. Sit down, Captain. What did you think of Beethoven’s concert yesterday?”

  “I enjoyed it thoroughly,” he replied, taking the only seat available beside Etienne.

  Boris said, “I heard he wasn’t really conducting the orchestra, that he is too deaf now. He went through the motions while they really took their directions from his assistant.”

  “That must be awful for him,” Anastasia said.

  “But there is no shame in it,” Wahrschein argued. “So why pretend?”

  As the conversation grew animated, Etienne spoke quietly to Trelawny. “You are quite a favorite with our Dunya.”

  Trelawny’s hackles rose at the proprietary our Dunya, but refusing to show it, he merely said lightly, “So I should hope, in the circumstances.”

  “I don’t believe I saw you at Mrs. Fawcett’s ball the other night.”

  “I’d be surprised if you did. I wasn’t there.”

  “Dunya was quite the bell of the ball. Everyone vied to dance with her.”

  “That does not surprise me.”

  Etienne lowered his voice, as though he were delivering urgent advice. “If I were in your shoes, I would escort my new betrothed everywhere.”

  “Would you?” Trelawny asked, with a lift of one eyebrow. “I understood that when you stood in somewhat similar shoes, you in fact left the country and—er…vacated the shoes.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed Etienne’s face before he blinked and smiled. “She told you about that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I was in no position to offer my hand,” Etienne said regretfully. “But with Dunya, one does rather get carried away by the moment. And one doesn’t forget her.”

  This, no doubt, was what Dunya wished to hear. It sounded very like stating his claim. And yet, Trelawny disliked the way he said carried away by the moment, as though claiming improper intimacy. As though encouraging Trelawny to doubt her and draw back.

  He met Etienne’s gaze steadily. “One doesn’t,” he agreed.

  “But then, one of her great beauties is, that Dunya herself never forgets. Unfailingly loyal.” Etienne smiled. “And so kind-hearted.”

  It was undeniably a barb. If Trelawny had truly been engaged to her, heart and hand, that was the one that would have hurt—to think she would marry him from mere kindness, from pity. He regarded Etienne thoughtfully. Since the Frenchman was jealous and hurt, he decided to reserve judgment, but he began to think that helping Dunya to reclaim her Etienne was a bad idea.

  “Let us all be grateful for that,” he said.

  *

  As soon as their callers left, the Savarin ladies flew into activity, putting the final touches to the cleared drawing room, which would be the ballroom for the evening. Somehow, Countess Savarina had filled the room with flowers in winter. The walls were hung with garlands and chains of them, and huge, filled vases stood on corner tables and plinths, which gave the illusion of alcoves along one side of the room. Dunya had to bite her lip to stop herself remarking on the similarity to the Apollo Saal.

  Card tables had been set up in the breakfast parlor and supper would be served in the dining room. Both rooms continued the flower theme.

  Downstairs, the cook was in hysterics because the hired porter had dropped one of her completed dishes, and there was no time to make it all again. Dunya had to go and cajole her back to work.

  Lizzie and Vanya dined with them before the ball, as did General Lisle, his daughter, Esther, and her betrothed, who looked vaguely familiar to Dunya. The countess called him Prince. Vanya called him Zed, for some reason, but the odd things was, Dunya couldn’t remember being formally introduced to him.

  “So where is Captain Trelawny?” Vanya asked innocently.

  “You’re right,” Dunya exclaimed. “Didn’t you invite him, Mother?”

  “I invited him to the ball,” the countess snapped. “What more do you want?”

  Dunya scowled at her parent, but resolved, eventually, not to make a fuss in public.

  After dinner, the ladies retired to make the finishing touches to their toilette. Helped by Maria, Dunya wore one of the new ball gowns which had been delivered only this afternoon—a snowy white muslin layered with a gorgeous violet trim that reflected the deep shade of her eyes.

  In the moment after Maria departed, before she displayed herself for her mother’s approval, she gazed into the mirror, taking deep, calming breaths in an effort to control her excitement. But it still shone from her eyes. The freckles of childhood had long vanished from her small nose and dimpled cheeks, leaving her taut skin fashionably pale and clear. She wished her mouth weren’t so wide, but at least her lips were well-shaped and pink. Although people told her she was pretty, she could never see it. Of course, until recently, she hadn’t really cared much about personal beauty. But now, tonight, she was pleased with her appearance. She looked well.

  “Tonight,” she whispered to the glass. “Tonight I will win him back. And tomorrow, the world will be different.”

  Her longing was a strange combination of an imagined future full of devotion and respect, and a slightly hazy memory of the weeks spent in Etienne’s company, when her whole, innocent world had been full of laughter and good will. Those weeks had been almost her last happiness before the war had come and torn that world apart with violence and loss and bloodshed, and she’d learned how to fear. Fear for her family, for Vanya, and the other soldiers she knew in
the midst of the conflict. War was not the clean, honorable thing she’d once imagined, but full of mud and gore and pain and lost limbs and men screaming for life…or for death.

  She shook her head to clear the images which were so far from the present gaiety of Vienna. Indelibly, Etienne belonged in that last spring of innocence, and she was aware that was part of his attraction. She yearned to take back that carefree feeling, add it to her new adulthood, and remember only good things for the rest of her life.

  Her mother bustled in at that moment and Dunya turned to be inspected. Her mother walked around her, her critical gaze moving from head to toe and back again before she smiled and nodded.

  “Perfect. My dear, you will break hearts!”

  Dunya laughed. “I don’t want to break hearts, Mother. I just want to dance!”

  The countess smiled indulgently. “Then dance all night and enjoy it! Tell me,” she added casually, “what do you think of Boris?”

  “Oh, he’s just as kind and funny as ever he was. Only grown up.”

  “He has a good position now with the Tsar. You could do worse, Dunya.”

  Dunya stared at her. “But I am already engaged to—” She broke off. She’d been about to say Etienne. “You know I’m engaged to Captain Trelawny.”

  “Dunya, you needn’t take gratitude so far,” her mother said severely. “I’ve been talking to General Lisle, and your captain’s regiment is not where the men of the best families have their commissions. I’ve no doubt he is a brave and honorable man, and a kind one, and certainly we all owe him friendship, but don’t, please don’t consider throwing yourself away on him. Neither Vanya nor I will allow it, you know.”

  Dunya dropped her gaze to stop them flashing fury at her mother. She knew her family only wanted the best for her, even if they didn’t understand what that was.

  “I shall not throw myself away on anyone,” she said lightly. “Come, let’s go down! You look positively regal, Mother, and I’m dying to see Anastasia’s gown…”

  For the first half-hour of the ball, Dunya, Anastasia, and Nikolai stood by the countess, welcoming guests, and Dunya’s feet itched. She was introduced to so many people that she’d no hope of remembering their names and she grew quickly bored with the activity. One high point came early on when Captain Trelawny arrived with Captain and Mrs. Ambrose. She gave her betrothed a huge smile and her hand, and greeted his friends warmly. Captain Ambrose was a spry, wiry man with sparkling eyes, whose regimental uniform matched Trelawny’s.

  Dunya, who felt she had many things to discuss with her betrothed, twice tried to escape her duties, and was prevented by Anastasia’s hand at her back. On the second occasion, she cast her sister a pleading look, but Anastasia only laughed at her and nudged her to greet the next guest. Plastering the smile back on her lips, Dunya turned and looked up into the face of her would-be wicked seducer.

  Later, her one consolation would be that he looked as stunned as she felt. The world tilted. For once, she was glad of Anastasia’s and Nikolai’s protective presence. Even that disintegrated for her when she remembered she couldn’t reveal who this was in case Vanya killed him. Not that she would really mind Lord Sebastian Niven being dead at this moment, but she didn’t want her brother in trouble over it.

  Inevitably, it was Niven who recovered first. He picked up her falling hand and held it when she would instinctively have snatched it back. But he only bowed over it, British fashion, before releasing her.

  “Enchanted,” he said in French. “I hope you’ll save a dance for me.”

  She swallowed. “Sadly, my card is full, sir.”

  “My terrible luck,” he murmured, and moved on so that she could greet his companion.

  “Lord Henry Niven,” Anastasia murmured.

  So this must be Sebastian’s brother. He was very similar in build and features, though perhaps lacking Sebastian’s more dramatic looks. He had an amiable smile, at least, and didn’t seem quite so…predatory.

  Since there followed a gap between arrivals, the countess raised her fan and spoke to Dunya behind Anastasia. “You could do worse than in that quarter, my dear.”

  “Which one?” Dunya demanded.

  “Either. They’re the sons of the British Duke of Kelburn. Younger sons, admittedly, but still…”

  “I thought I was to marry Boris,” Dunya muttered mutinously.

  “Dunya, I want you to have a choice!”

  “I’ve already chosen Captain Trelawny. May I go now? The room is quite full.”

  “Yes, very well. Look after her, Asya.”

  There was an instant as they turned away from their mother, that the sisters’ eyes met in conspiracy. They’d go their own ways and cover for each other. This sign of the old Anastasia lifted Dunya’s spirits. She even wondered what her sister was up to as she flitted through the crowd in search of Captain Trelawny. She planned to be dancing when Etienne arrived.

  Her mother had hired a small orchestra which occupied the far corner of the drawing room. By way of request, Dunya caught the violinist’s eye and turned a quick waltz step as she passed him. He smiled at her in immediate understanding, and as she spied out Trelawny and made directly for him, the orchestra finished up the incidental music and began the introduction to a waltz.

  Captain Trelawny, in conversation with Captain Ambrose, another military gentleman and a beautiful lady, glanced up and smiled when he saw Dunya. At once, he excused himself and moved toward her. Although the lady’s expression didn’t change, she watched Trelawny’s progress as she conversed with the other gentlemen.

  “Captain!” Dunya greeted him. “I have something particular I need to ask you. Is it—” She broke off, for he not only took her impulsively stretched out hand but spun her between two groups of people and onto the dance floor. Several other couples, including Anastasia and Count Boris, were already waltzing there. Somehow, Dunya came to a halt facing Trelawny, her body almost touching his, her hand in his in waltz position. Her breath vanished.

  As Captain Trelawny stepped forward, Dunya instinctively stepped back, reaching for his shoulder, and they began to dance.

  “What is it,” he murmured, “that you particularly wish to ask?”

  Dunya’s breath caught on a laugh. “I believe you’ve already answered. I wanted to know if you’d mind waltzing with me.”

  “Apparently, I don’t mind at all.”

  “I thought the waltz might be difficult with one arm,” she confided, “but I see that it isn’t.”

  “I’ve compensated by standing too close.”

  “Then it’s as well we are engaged,” she joked, with a laugh that felt just a little too breathless. “But I have lots to tell you. Lord Sebastian is here.”

  Trelawny’s brow flew up. “I trust he’s behaving himself.”

  “To be honest, I think he was more surprised than I to find me greeting him at the door. I really believe he’d no idea at the inn that I was a lady.”

  “I’d better have a word with him, make sure he’s disposed toward discretion. Does your family know who he is?”

  “Lord no! Vanya would call him out and get arrested again, so I’m afraid I pretended not to know the name of the man you saved me from.”

  “Probably wisest.”

  “Up to a point. Now my mother wishes me to consider Lord Sebastian as a husband!” She frowned quickly. “I don’t think she’s taking our engagement very seriously.”

  “Just as well if you’re planning to confront her with another in a week.”

  “True,” Dunya acknowledged.

  Feeling more comfortable now, Dunya cast a quick glance about the room. Several people, including strangers, seemed to be watching them. She felt rather proud of the picture they must present, she and her one-armed hero waltzing with impeccable and surely unexpected grace.

  Beneath her left hand, lying lightly on his shoulder, she could feel the faint movement of what was left of the missing limb.

  “Does is pain you still?�
�� she asked.

  He blinked, as though surprised by the question. “No.”

  She smiled in disbelief. “What a miraculous recovery.”

  “I had help.”

  “Captain Ambrose and Mrs. Ambrose,” she guessed.

  “And you. I find it never hurts when I think about you.”

  Blushing, she laughed with mingled pleasure and amusement. “You are very good at this, Captain!” She lowered her voice. “I don’t believe your Jane is here, by the way, or at least not yet. I listened for her name especially.”

  “I’d be surprised if she were,” the captain replied calmly. “She was always a modest creature and I can’t imagine her moving in your family’s circles. She wouldn’t be comfortable.”

  “You are.”

  “I was always more brazen. And besides, with Wellington’s army, we met all sorts. And danced with them!”

  She smiled, turning with him in the dance until she felt almost dizzy. Across the room, her mother welcomed a late arrival.

  At last! “He’s here,” she whispered to her partner.

  “Then I trust we’re making him jealous.”

  “I mustn’t look. You see and tell me.”

  Trelawny turned her again. “He’s bowing to your mother… Now he’s glanced toward the dance floor. I could almost believe he’s looking for someone… Now he’s walking away to the other side of the room.”

  “Did he see us?”

  “I think so. You tend to stand out.”

  “Perhaps he’s asking some lady to dance,” she said discontentedly.

  “Good. Then he’ll have an excellent view of you.”

  But Etienne didn’t dance. When the waltz ended, Captain Trelawny conducted her to a vacant chair near her sister. This also happened to be near enough where Etienne stood in conversation with a group of people, for him to see her if he chose to look.