A Foreign Affair (10 page)

“No. She only invited me because I speak both English and German.”

Brett shook his head slowly and emphatically.

“Oh.” Helena was silent for a moment while she digested this intriguing idea. “I had not thought ... I mean, I had rather hoped ... Do you truly think so?”

Her eagerness for his reassurance was almost childlike. He was oddly touched by it, and it was all he could do not to clasp the hand resting on his arm, raise it to his lips, and assure her that she was a person of value and importance.

“But I am only a woman, and .. .”

“That does not matter. Why there are women . . .” He caught himself just in time. She might have been born in England, but she had spent most of her life in Europe, or at least most of her adult life, and her sympathies clearly lay with the smaller German states. There was no need for her to know Wellington’s opinion that there were women in Vienna who had the power to affect the entire outcome of the Congress.

“Why, there are women.
What women?”

“Er, all I mean, is that there are women who are intelligent enough to be as well-informed as any man,” he concluded lamely.

The large hazel eyes regarded him thoughtfully. She knew that that was not what he had been about to say, but she would not press. She was too clever for that, far too clever. And she was more experienced at the diplomatic game than he was, Brett reminded himself grimly-”You must think it amazingly presumptuous for a rough soldier such as I, whose only experience in foreign relations has been with a pistol and saber, to comment on such things.”

She smiled at that and cocked her head to one side. There was something completely disarming about the man’s honesty, and something dangerously attractive in his refusal to indulge in even the ordinary self-delusions that most people practiced. “No. I realize that you may not have experience in European diplomatic affairs, but I believe your years in the Peninsula must have given you a very broad knowledge of people in general. Surely you must have been in many situations where your ability to judge a person was critical. Undoubtedly you became rather good at it over time, so I will allow myself to trust your judgement and say thank you, I think, for your positive opinion of me.” “And thank you for trusting my judgment.” The humorous twinkle in his eyes warmed her in a way she had rarely, if ever experienced. It made her feel extraordinarily close to a man she had only just met, a man she had not spoken to more than once or twice, a man she had been prepared to dislike on her well-established principle that any man who aspired to be one of her mother’s admirers was shallow and superficial. Yet this man made her feel understood and appreciated in a way no one else had. “You are welcome, Major.”

Her smile transformed her face, he thought. By the strictest conventional standards, it was not a beautiful face, not like her mother’s at any rate. The cheekbones were a little too prominent and the large hazel eyes with their thick dark lashes were almost too large for it, but it was a face that radiated intelligence and humor. Most men, and most women for that matter, did not necessarily find such a combination attractive, however, he found it oddly compelling. It was a face with character, a face that told even the most casual observer that a thoughtful and interesting mind lived behind it. But above all, it was the humor lurking in the ironic half smile, the twinkle in the eye that told anyone who cared to think about it that its owner, while she might be a serious person with serious interests, was under no illusions about herself in particular or life in general.

Chapter Nine

By now they had reached the pavilion where the troops that had marched down the alley were seating themselves at the enormously long tables arranged in the shape of a star. Sergeants from each regiment were distributing bowls of soup among their men as well as platters heaped high with pork, beef, and fritters, all accompanied with generous servings of wine.

Brett and Helena watched as the emperor and the tsar, standing together in the balcony looking out over the tables, raised their glasses in a toast to the thousands of men seated below.

It was an awe-inspiring moment, and Helena felt a lump rise in her throat. Her eyes misted over as she looked at the sea of men in front of her, veterans all of them from the wars with the French. Some had the grizzled faces of battle-hardened soldiers while some still had the fresh soft features of boys; but all bore the signs of war, whether it was in their grave expressions, the scar here, the empty sleeve there, or the crutches scattered throughout the crowd.

Seeing them brought the memories flooding back to her, memories of wounded stragglers she had tried to help back in Hohenbachern, of peasants watching as their larders were stripped bare, their livestock pilfered, and their crops burned by foraging armies. Friend or enemy, it had made no difference to the local villagers
  
who had lost the fruits of their labor to hungry soldiers and faced the cruelty of winter without provisions.

“And I hope that this is truly the end of it all.” Helena did not even realize she had spoken aloud until she saw Brett looking at her in some surprise.

“You do not think that it is? Surely we are all tired of war?”

“The soldiers, perhaps, but there are those to whom power is more important than peace, and, believe me, they are even now prepared to go back to war if they do not get what they want in this peace and if we cannot convince them not to, which is why I spend my time reading political pamphlets and attending the Princess von Furstenberg’s soirees. I am trying to help convince them not to, trying to keep them from fighting from all that terrible . . .” She could not go on.

“Are you all right. Miss Devereux?”

Helena blinked rapidly. “Yes . . . yes I am. It is just that I was remembering all those poor men I tried to help. We set up beds in one of the outbuildings of the schloss for the wounded and the sick, and we tried to care for them as best we could, but it is all such a waste—fine healthy young men destroyed in an instant, men who . . .”

She shook her head, swallowed hard, and continued. “If I were a man, I could do something to stop it all, but as a woman, I am forced to stay quietly at home and do nothing, nothing! And I hate it. I loathe being useless!”

“But you were not useless. You did something.” The fierceness of her tone had made Brett see with a blinding clarity how frustrating it must be for a woman as passionate and energetic as Miss Devereux to be confined to the female role as a decorative fixture in men’s lives. It even made him see why his mother and sisters clung to their duties as they did. Perhaps they were not so different from him as he had thought. They too wished to live productive lives, to make the world better, but their choices were far more limited than his. “Believe me. Miss Devereux, if you had ever been wounded, exhausted, hungry, and discouraged as I have, you would know that being given safety, shelter, food, and comfort is no small thing. It is everything, in fact. And it is the compassion of those like you who offer those things that bring back thoughts of home, thoughts that keep one alive, keep one fighting, that give us hope that we are better than savages or animals.” Gently he covered the hand that lay on his arm with his own.

Helena looked up into blue eyes that were dark with sympathy, and a sadness that touched the very core of her being. Who would have thought that this man who possessed the charm to impress her mother, could understand so well the feelings of the daughter. She was silent for a long time, mesmerized by the look in his eyes and the comforting warmth of his hand on hers. She wanted to thank him, to tell him that his words had given meaning to her life, had reassured her that there was value in what she had tried to do, but nothing would come out.

A burst of applause broke the spell.

“Yes, Franz, I agree with you, they may celebrate peace now, but who knows how long it will last?”

The voice of the man next to Helena echoed her thoughts exactly. Glancing over her shoulder, she could just make out the angular features of the speaker, a young man of medium height and build and an aristocratic bearing who appeared to be scrutinizing the major intently.

“To my way of thinking, it all depends on the English,” Franz replied. “It all depends on how strong they are. For if it were not for them, who knows that Napoleon would not still be the master of Europe.”

The aristocratic young man moved slightly forward. “And what do you think of our celebrations. Major?” He bowed to Brett and addressed him in English, but with a heavy German accent. “It is a pity we could not honor our British warriors here today as well, but there are so few on this side of the Atlantic. One hears that all the heroes of the Peninsula have been shipped off to America to fight the colonials. In fact, I am surprised to see you here. Major . . .”

“Stanford. Lord Brett Stanford, at your service, sir. And you are correct, I was . . .”

“Ahem.” A pointed cough and a squeeze on his arm reminded Brett that he was not alone. “Ah, do forgive me, this is Miss Devereux.”

“Delighted.” Clicking his heels punctiliously, the young man bowed to Helena. “Augustus von Stieglitz, also at your service. We are indeed fortunate to have an English young lady at our celebrations. I do hope that you are enjoying herself.”

“Miss Devereux is here with her mother, who . . .”

“Is a great friend of Lady Castlereagh,” Helena interjected quickly. “And I am enjoying the ceremonies immensely. They are indeed impressive, but I am afraid I find myself quite overcome with the noise, the heat. ..” Helena pressed her band to her brow, and doing her very best to imitate her mother’s charming die-away air, allowed herself to lean more heavily on Brett’s arm. “I beg your indulgence, sir, and yours, Major, but I am very much afraid I must
ask
you to restore me to our carriage, if you would be so kind.”

“But of course. It must be rather overwhelming for a delicate young lady.” Augustus von Stieglitz turned and held out his arm to clear a path for them through the crowd.

“I do apologize. Miss Devereux. You should have told me sooner that you were not feeling quite the thing.” Taken by surprise at this sudden sign of weakness, Brett glanced down at his companion.

“Oh, it is nothing, I . . .” Helena broke off as she tried unobtrusively to get a good look at the Franz, who had been talking to von Stieglitz and had remained behind when his companion stepped forward to converse with Brett. Taller than von Stieglitz, with a narrow bearded face and wearing clothes that were as common as his speech, he seemed an odd companion for the clearly aristocratic von Stieglitz. Yet his bearing had been the rigidly straight posture of a soldier. Helena frowned thoughtfully as she tried to make sense of the entire episode.

Even more puzzled by Helena’s sudden fit of abstraction, Brett studied her closely. The sudden weakness had seemed most uncharacteristic in the redoubtable Miss Devereux, who now appeared to have recovered miraculously once they parted company with Augustus von Stieglitz. She was as sprightly and alert as ever, though preoccupied, and she no longer dung to his arm as she marched determinedly back to the carriage. “Why did you not mention your relationship with the von Hohenbacherns to von Stieglitz? I would have thought he would have been delighted to encounter someone with such an interest in and sympathy for German affairs.”

“Saxon.” Helena corrected him.

Brett stared at her blankly.

“The man is a Saxon,” she reiterated fiercely. “I could tell by his accent when he spoke with the man behind us. After Napoleon embarked on his conquest of the German states. Saxony became one of his most loyal allies, and many of the Saxons, especially the younger generation, were his great admirers. In fact, they are still. Did you not think it odd that he asked you about the troops being sent to America, or that he was even aware of it?”

“No.” Brett was more at sea than ever.

“The more troops Britain has in America, the fewer she can call on here should there be war in Europe. Not everyone is glad to have Napoleon beaten and the old monarchies restored. Some of the younger generation of Germans welcomed the democratic ideals that the revolution represented and that Napoleon brought to the conquered territories. They do not want life to return to the way it was.”

“What? Surely you are not suggesting . . . why the man is miles away, on an island, cut off from the rest of Europe by ocean on all sides.”

Helena shrugged. There was a dismissive tone in his voice that she found thoroughly annoying. “That may very well be true, but as you have already admitted, you have not the least knowledge of European politics.”

“But it is absurd to think that Napoleon could possibly be a threat!” Finding her air of smug superiority to be equally annoying, Brett did not even bother to stifle his own irritation.

“Is it? You, after all, were on the Peninsula, where the troops you fought against were led almost entirely by Napoleon’s marshals. I, on the other hand, have seen firsthand the soldiers led by Napoleon himself and have witnessed his troops’ utter devotion to him. Even to the sick and the wounded he was both a hero and a god who could do no wrong. I have no doubt they would welcome him back in an instant and follow him anywhere should he reappear.” And with a triumphant nod of her head, Helena stalked off in the direction of the carriage without giving Brett a chance to reply.

Thoroughly taken aback, he stared after her. Then collecting his wits at last, he hurried to catch up. “But I thought you loathed the man.”

“Of course I loathe the man! But I am not such a simpleton that I cannot appreciate what enormous feats he has accomplished in a very few years, especially for the ordinary Frenchmen who fought under him.”

Brett ground his teeth at the scornful glint in her eyes. No man, and certainly no woman, had ever accused him of being a simpleton. True, she had not out and out stated it, certainly not directly, but the implication was dear enough. Simpleton he might be, stupid he was not, and he knew what she thought of him.