A Foreign Affair (15 page)

In fact for Helena, the rest of the evening passed in a confused blur of music, the buzz of conversation, the scent of candles and flowers, light gleaming on silks, satins, and jewels of every color and description, until she fell into bed exhausted as the moon sank below the hills to the west and a faint tinge of pink warmed the eastern sky.

Chapter Fourteen

The rising sun was not high enough, however, for its faint rays to penetrate the small attic room in the British delegation, where Brett was sitting at his desk struggling to focus his thoughts on the report he was writing. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the work in front of him, his thoughts kept drifting back to Helena. What was it that drew him to her so? Not since his childhood when he had idolized the young nursery maid for her merry brown eyes, smiling face, and infectious laugh, had he been so inexplicably attracted to a woman. From the moment he had outgrown his infantile crush on Lucy, he had always been able to retain enough command over himself to keep his perspective on any and every woman. He had been able to acknowledge that it was the beautiful face of one particular woman or the exquisite figure of another, or the lusty appetite of another that had attracted him to her. Not so with Helena. With her, all his cool analysis failed. He just knew that he wanted to be with her, and that was all there was to it.

The previous evening after dancing with her, he had forced himself to obey Wellington’s instructions to him and had allowed the Princess Bagration to lure him into waltzing with her. But his thoughts had all been of Helena as he had gazed admiringly at the princess’ décolletage and listened sympathetically to her chatter on about her adored Alexander and his noble ambitions for Europe, while she cast decidedly inviting glances at her partner and hinted more than once that he should call on her at the Palm Palace.

Brett had escaped from the Princess Bagration at last and then, giving into impulse with a weakness he had not thought possible, had again gone in search of Helena and her mother in the hopes that he could lure Helena into granting him just one more waltz.

As he had circled the room, he had struggled frantically to come up with some excuse to offer Helena’s mother, for the princess was bound to take exception to being upstaged by her own daughter, even if it was only an extra waltz with the major. But in the end, it had been a useless exercise, for the Princess von Hohenbachern and her daughter were nowhere to be seen when he finally succeeded in making his way back to the spot where he had left them.

Undoubtedly it was better that way, but Brett had been unable to quell the stab of disappointment at discovering them gone, even as he acknowledged that it was more comfortable for all of them, and he headed back to his quarters, where he sought to distract his mind from the dangerous paths it seemed to be straying down by laboring over his reports.

However, he was so unsuccessful at putting Helena out of his mind that after finishing his reports he only dozed an hour or so before washing up, changing, and hurrying off to the Prater in the hopes of encountering the woman who rode like an Amazon and danced like an angel, thundering down the alley on her powerful bay horse.

The weather, which had at last turned cold, was keeping all but the most dedicated equestrians away, but Brett still rode the length and breadth of the park, scanning the paths eagerly hoping to catch sight of one particular horse and rider.

Again, he was doomed to disappointment, and taking himself severely to task for allowing a woman to dominate his thoughts to such an extent, he rode home disconsolately. He was determined to regain his perspective as well as some of his former nonchalance and to put all the disturbing and enticing images of Helena Devereux completely out of his mind.

He was almost relieved when, returning to the delegation, he was greeted with the news that Castlereagh wished to see him, for it meant further distraction. However, he was less pleased when he discovered what the foreign secretary wanted.

Castlereagh was pacing back and forth in front of his desk when Brett entered his office. His gaunt face lightened just a little when he saw Brett. “Ah, Stanford, there you are. I have a mission for you, something for you to do after all the writing and translating that has kept you confined to your desk. I know you military fellows are always desperate for action, and now you shall have the chance for it. The thing is I wish to send a message to the tsar, inviting him to discuss various delicate issues with me, but I do not want the entire world knowing that I have sent it to him. Naturally, since I do not write French, I shall need your help in transcribing it. I shall also need someone I can trust to deliver it to him in a way that will keep the entire communication confidential. I know that you are acquainted with that Bagration woman, and I have also heard that you have the reputation of being something of a devil with the ladies, so it would not appear at all unusual if you were to call on her. One hears that she has a veritable stream of handsome young men haunting her doorstep. It is also well-known that one of her most regular visitors is the tsar himself. He usually calls on her in the afternoons, so if you were also to call on her in the afternoon, you would very likely encounter him there. You would then be able to deliver my note to him personally, and no one would be the wiser. There are pen and paper. Be a good fellow and write down what I have to say.”

It was a distraction all right, though not particularly the sort that Brett would have wished, but it was not distraction enough. Once he had completed the translation, he was free until the time he was to call on the Princess Bagration, and he again found his thoughts straying back to his waltz with Helena, of holding her in his arms as they moved to the music. Much against his better judgment, he soon found himself sauntering down the Herrengasse hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of her on some errand, though he knew very well that, unlike other members of her sex, Helena considered shopping to be excessively dull and a supreme waste of her valuable time. Still, his eagerness to see her kept hope alive, misplaced as it was.

Continuing to look for her, he suddenly found himself rounding the comer into the Braunerstrasse. Miss Devereux might scorn such frivolous occupations as shopping, but she might possibly be setting out to call on some acquaintance such as the Princess von Furstenberg. He passed the ornately carved portals of the palace where the von Hohenbachern apartments were, and felt his pulses quicken like some lovesick schoolboy’s.

“Damn and blast,” he muttered to himself as he paused, and then, giving in to the inevitable, raised the knocker on the massive front door and let it fall.

“Miss, Dev . . . er, I mean, the Princess von Hohenbachern,” he stammered, mentally cursing himself for a callow fool. But the grizzled butler either did not notice or preferred to ignore Brett’s confusion as he led him to the princess’ elegant gilt and peach-damask salon on the first floor.

“Ah, Major, how lovely to see you. The day has been decidedly dull thus far. I think it is the weather. This beautiful autumn lulled us into believing that winter would never come, but indeed it has. Do come sit here by the stove. It is one aspect of German culture we English would do well to adopt.

Brett glanced at the exquisitely painted porcelain stove in the comer. “Perhaps, but I find there is nothing so cheering as the sight of a good hearty blaze.” He took his place in the chair indicated. “I trust that you and your daughter are thoroughly recovered after the festivities of the evening.”
You and your daughter,
how transparent he sounded.

A mischievous smile tugged at the comer of the princess’ mouth. “But of course. I have not lived in such complete rustication as to be exhausted by a mere ball. And Helena is never fatigued by anything. She is in the library now. Shall I send . . .”

But there was no need for the princess to summon her daughter, for at that moment the ornate gilt door opened and Helena herself appeared. “Mama I ... oh, hello, Major.” Helena executed what she hoped was a convincing, though utterly false, start of surprise, but she could feel the heat of a telltale flush rising in her cheeks. Blast!

It was quite true that she had been in the library, but she had not been able to concentrate at all. Try though she would to focus on the newspaper, thoughts of the ball and Major Lord Brett Stanford would keep intruding. Then she had heard the sound of the door below and footsteps on the stairs and, hoping against hope, had peeped out of the door just as Brett was being escorted to her mother’s salon.

She had cursed herself earlier that morning for having missed her ride in the Prater and the chance to see the major, but contrary to her mother’s assertion about her boundless energy, she had lain awake for hours after the ball and had therefore awoken late that morning, too late to ride. She had luxuriated uncharacteristically in bed, recalling certain special scenes from the evening before in endless detail, and she had even been so abandoned as to allow Hannechen to bring her chocolate as she lay propped up against the pillows dreaming of waltzing in the Hofburg with one particular partner.

“. . . hope that this does not mean that the Prince von Hohenbachern . . .” the major’s voice broke in on her thoughts.

“I beg your pardon, I er, was not attending.” Helena’s blush deepened as she became aware that the major had been addressing both her and her mother.

“Do forgive my daughter’s abstraction. Major, her mind is often elsewhere.” The princess chuckled. “Try as I will, I cannot instill a talent for simple conversation in her. She concentrates to such a degree on her newspapers and pamphlets that she inhabits a world of her own sometimes.”

Observing the conscious look in Helena’s eyes and her flushed cheeks, Brett was inclined to disagree with the princess. Political tracts and the news of the day, no matter how momentous or absorbing, would never cause the redoubtable Miss Devereux to look the way she did at this particular moment. No, she had been thinking about something far removed from politics, something— and he hoped he knew what it was—that made her heart pound and her breathing come in gasps just as his did.

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, he continued. “I was just inquiring as to whether the prince was in any danger of being called upon to fight against the Prussians in defense of Saxony, if it comes to that. You did say, I believe, that he was stationed near there.”

Helena eyed Brett with dawning respect. “So you have been paying attention to European politics after all, Major.”

He shrugged. “It is only what one hears on the tongues of everyone in Vienna.” But he could not help feeling gratified by the approving smile in her eyes.

“Prussia take over Saxony? But what of Frederick Augustus? They cannot simply take away his lands. He is a king!” The princess was horrified.

“Kings have been losing their lands a great deal these past ten years or more, Mama,” Helena responded dryly.

“I realize that, my dear, but that was when that dreadful Corsican was rampaging about Europe. Now that peace is restored, we can all behave like civilized human beings once more. Undoubtedly Metternich is unaware of this, for he would never tolerate such an appalling state of affairs.”

Her daughter’s eloquently raised eyebrows were ample testimony to the naiveté of such an opinion.

“Surely Clemens does not
condone
such a dreadful thing?”

“I am not in his confidence. Mama, but I suspect that he is well aware of it.” Glancing at Brett, Helena was gratified to see that he too was having difficulty holding his amusement in check.”

“But this is dreadful! Why, if the Prussians can just take Saxony away from Frederick Augustus, they can take anything away from anyone, even Hohenbachern!”

“Exactly so,” her daughter responded acidly. “Which is precisely what I have been so concerned about and why I have been involving myself in all those
dull
discussions at the Princess von Furstenberg’s salon.” Helena struggled to keep a straight face.

“Then I shall just have to set Clemens straight. After all, he is a friend of Frederick’s from their university days and used to visit him often in Hohenbachem. Kings cannot just lose their countries willy-nilly. He must put a stop to this nonsense.”

“I am sure that if you were able to convince him to do such a thing, Mama, you would earn the undying gratitude of a great many people.”

“All of Saxony, in fact,” Brett murmured and, sneaking another glance at Helena, was rewarded by another look of surprised approval.

“At any rate, I shall speak to him about it at the very first opportunity.” The princess spoke with all the assurance of one who was accustomed to having attractive males hurry to cater to her every whim.

“But enough of such talk.” The princess turned to Brett with a conspiratorial smile. “You, Major, as a man of action must surely find all these politics as tedious as I do. We English are not accustomed to all this diplomatic wrangling. In fact, I have heard that one of the members of the delegation became so exhausted by it all that he was forced to leave. And I must say that Castlereagh does not look to be enjoying himself in the least either. The last time I saw him, he looked quite done in, poor man.”

Brett shook his head slowly. “Castlereagh is doing well enough; however, he recently received a letter from Liverpool at home warning him that the Opposition Party in Parliament has become so strong, that he may be recalled in order to rally his own party.”

“But who would take his place?” Helena broke in. “Not Charles Stewart, surely? Why, he is the laughingstock of Vienna. In the streets they are calling him Lord Pumpernickel.”

“I do not know. Miss Devereux. Wellington is an obvious choice, but according to his latest dispatch, the prime minister has plans for him as well. Liverpool wishes him to take command of our armies in America. It does make a good deal of sense, for many of the troops there now are his veterans from the Peninsula. On the other hand, there is no one who understands current European politics better than the duke, even Castlereagh.”