A Foreign Affair (20 page)

“. . . is tragic, simply tragic,” the voices exclaimed behind her.

“Poor Razumovsky. That magnificent palace. What a loss.”

“And all his paintings. All the Titians, the Raphaels, the Reubens, and so little time to appreciate them all. He has been working too hard on the negotiations to get any sleep, much less enjoy his new palace and all its treasures.”

Metternich? Talleyrand? Helena could not be sure, but it certainly sounded like the clipped speech of the Austrian chancellor and the more cultured tones of the French ambassador, but she was too anxious to turn around or even to care.

“Such a great pity. And such a lovely party as it was. How thankful I am that we left when we did. If we had not decided on the way home to stop in and call on you, Monsieur Talleyrand, who knows . . .”

“Mama?” This voice was definitely one that Helena recognized. She whirled around to see the princess standing there looking as elegant as if she were sitting in the French ambassador’s sumptuous quarters in the Kaunitz Palace.

“My dear, what ever are you doing here? I had thought you retired ages ago.” The princess’ eyes traveled critically over her daughter’s warm, but eminently serviceable-looking cloak and then down at her own sable-trimmed one. “Indeed, you look as though you just snatched anything to hand and rushed over here without thinking.”

“I did,” Helena replied bluntly. “Mama, I thought that you were in ... But never mind, I must stop him! Here.” And thrusting Rex’s reins into the princess’ hands, Helena hurried off before her astonished mother could open her mouth to protest.

Completely oblivious to endless lessons on the conduct becoming for a gently brought-up young lady, Helena pushed her way ruthlessly through the mass of onlookers, shoving aside anyone who got in her path— foreign dignitaries and humble citizens alike—until she reached the edge of the crowd that maintained a respectful distance from the burning building.

Parts of the roof, beams, and columns traced fiery trajectories as they plummeted to earth. Too desperate to care what anyone might think, Helena pushed forward calling Brett’s name, but aside from a few curious glances, she received no reply. However, the noise of the fire was such that even a few paces away a person would not be able to hear her.

“A man,” she gasped, clutching the arm of a knowing-looking gentleman clad in the sober garb of a civil servant, “did you see a man go into the building just now?”

“No I did not, Fraulein, but I have only just arrived.”

“No,” another onlooker chimed in, “there has been no one seen lately except those two chimney sweeps trapped on the roof—poor fellows.”

“Look! There!” His companion pointed to the middle of the trampled ground that separated the crowd from the inferno. “Isn’t that someone there?”

Helena could not make out anything against the black background of the sodden ground, but she struggled forward through the mud, hoping that when the figure, if it was a figure at all, got close enough to the building, it would be silhouetted against the blaze.

At last she caught sight of a bulky shape poised to enter the only doorway that was not completely engulfed in flames. It paused a moment to adjust its protective covering and then advanced slowly, steadily toward the blazing entrance.

“Brett! Brett!” she screamed stumbling through the mire as best she could. The mud clung to her skirts, slowing her down and making her slip and slide with every step. He could not hear her. How ever was she going to reach him in time?

“Brett! Brett!” Sobbing with the effort she struggled on, but still he did not hear her.

He placed one foot on the first step.

Desperate, Helena hurled herself the last few feet, trying frantically to stop him without pushing him further into the conflagration. Fortunately for both of them, she slipped just before she flung her arms around his waist.

Bundled up as he was, Brett was able to catch her and steady her as he fought to maintain his balance and keep both of them from tumbling into the flames. “Helena, I must. There is still a chance . . .”

“No. No.” Tears of relief made crooked white tracks through the soot covering her face. “Mama is safe.”

“Safe? How did she . . .”

“She left hours ago and went to Talleyrand’s. I just saw her now among the people watching.”

“You are sure? You are not just . . .”

Helena drew herself up. “Of course I am sure. I may look a complete madwoman at the moment, and I was frantic with worry over you . . . er Mama, but I still am enough in command of my faculties to recognize my own mother.”

And then she totally ruined the effect by bursting into tears for the second time that night.

Brett pulled her close, or as close as the wads of wet blanket would allow, and held her in an awkward embrace, gently stroking her hair until the worst of the sobs had subsided. “Hush, my girl. It is all right. Everyone is safe.”

She could not understand why she had been so suddenly overcome or why she was helpless to stop the tears now, but it had something to do with the solid, comforting reality of him and the terrible fear she had suffered just moments ago when she had thought she had already lost him to the fire.

There was a resounding crash as the beams in the doorway he had been about to enter collapsed in a shower of sparks. “You might have been there. I might have sent you ...”

“Hush.” He laid a gentle finger on her lips. “It is over now. Everyone is safe. Now we must get you home.” And slowly, comfortingly, he led her back through the crowd to the spot where he had left her holding Rex.

Chapter Twenty

The princess was still standing there.
Rex’s reins dangling from her hands as she gazed abstractedly at the spectacle, Talleyrand at her side. Metternich had left, but the little group had swelled by now to include Talleyrand’s niece, the Countess Edmond de Talleyrand-Perigord and her escort.

“Helena, wherever . . . Good heavens. Major, where on earth have you been?” The princess gasped as her gaze took in Brett’s bulky costume and the soot-blackened faces of both the major and her daughter.

“You see, mama . . . you were not home, so I thought you were . . .” Even now, Helena could not get the words out.

“Miss Devereux was concerned that you might still be at Count Razumovsky’s.”

 Helena nodded dumbly. How was he able to explain it all so simply and so calmly, when she, who had been a mere spectator, was still too overcome to be coherent. A moment ago he had been ready to risk his life, yet now he was unwrapping himself from the blanket and folding it up with no more fuss than if he had just returned home from a ride in the Prater.

“You went to rescue . . . Oh, my!” The princess gazed at him with renewed respect. No other man she knew, except perhaps her husband, who also took a soldier’s simple pragmatic view of emergencies, would have even contemplated such a mad endeavor.

“However, having now assured myself of your safety, I shall be happy to escort you and your daughter home.”

The princess glanced dubiously at Rex. “That is very kind of you. Major, but there is no need to trouble yourself. Monsieur Talleyrand very kindly brought me here in his carriage.”

“And we cannot simply just return home to our beds after such a dreadful event,” the Countess Edmond de Talleyrand-Perigord chimed in. “Count Clam-Martinitz here has taken me to Paperl’s more than once. They serve an excellent breakfast there with superb
marillen knodel.
And it is nearly time for breakfast now. Let us all go there.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, but Brett, seeing that Helena was utterly worn out after her exhausting night, turned without a word and lifted her up into the saddle. He climbed up behind her, and turned Rex back toward the city. Then they began to make their way slowly, silently back home, each one too worn out by the emotions of the evening to do anything but let the horse carry them back through city streets that were now slowly coming to life as merchants swept their doorsteps and peddlers began to appear with their carts.

The door to the palace in the Braunerstrasse swung open the instant they arrived as the princess’ entire staff, agog with worry over the fate of their mistress and her daughter, huddled anxiously in the doorway. Even before she allowed Brett to help her down, Helena quickly reassured them that the princess was not only safe but in the best of company.

“Not only that, but we are all indebted to Major Lord Brett Stanford for helping me to find her,” she added with a shy smile as she slid from the saddle into his waiting arms.

Now that she was safely at home, reassured that her mother was also alive and well, Helena felt all the tension drain from her only to be replaced by an exhaustion more overwhelming than she could even imagine. Yet, even though her feet felt like lead and she could hardly hold up her head, she was loath to say good-bye to him and to end the magical protective spell that had surrounded her from the moment she had seen Brett coming down the stairs toward her at the British delegation.

“Your coat!” As she clung to his arm, Helena suddenly became aware of the dampness seeping through her gloves. “It is soaked through. You must come inside and let me dry it out at least a little bit before you go home. Potten will see to it that your horse is taken care of and that the fire is lit in the library.” Helena turned to the butler, who was struggling to appear impassive while he absorbed the astonishing spectacle of his young mistress in the arms of a man. While it was true that the major had only been helping Miss Helena to dismount, it was clear to even the most casual observer that it was more than simple assistance. Something special existed between Miss Helena and the major. To someone like Potten who had known the fiercely independent Miss Helena since childhood, this turn of events was nothing short of a miracle.

The butler could not remember many instances when she had accepted help from anyone, or recall a time when she had not insisted on doing it, whatever
it
was, by herself. Now she was gazing up at the gentleman as if her life depended on him. Not that the gentleman did not deserve such a look. From the very first time the major had called on the princess, Potten had thought that Major Lord Brett Stanford presented an impressive figure of a man, and that favorable impression had only grown over time. Not only did the gentleman make a fine figure of a man, but his manners were those of true quality. He knew how to recognize and appreciate everyone, from the princess to her servants. And most impressive of all was that he also apparently knew how to make Miss Helena glow with happiness.

Potten motioned to the stable boy, who had magically appeared, to take Brett’s horse and then sent a hovering footman to make sure that a fire was laid. The butler had witnessed scores of handsome gentlemen calling at the princess’ over the years, but none of them could begin to compare with this one, and none of them had ever evinced the least interest in Miss Helena, or she in them. What, he wondered as he led his mistress and the major to the library, was to become of all this? Whatever it was, it was bound to be interesting. Life with the princess had never been dull, but this was a first, even for her. Gently the butler closed the door behind Helena and Brett and hoped for the best.

“Here, let me help you out of that wet coat.” It only made sense to offer assistance, and Helena had only offered it out of purely practical reasons, but her cheeks grew hot the moment the words were out of her mouth.

“Thank you.” Brett grinned. Helena might not be fully aware of the color flooding her face or the reasons behind it, but he was. It had taken her a long time to become aware of such things, yet he felt sure that she would awaken to them eventually. He refused to admit the other part of that wish, which was that this revelation would occur in his company. He had always been proud of his ability to retain his aloofness where women were concerned, an aloofness that had made it possible for him to avoid messy entanglements. He had always cherished that aloofness and the invulnerability that it had conferred upon him, but lately he had found that aloofness slipping away as he discovered himself spending hours at a time thinking about Helena Devereux, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking, and if she was happy. He told himself that he was certainly not about to give that invulnerability up now, especially for a self-reliant young woman who possessed more brains than beauty and was far too independent for comfort, but he looked down at her again, and he was lost.

The touch of shyness in her tentative smile, coupled with an ironically humorous twinkle in the hazel eyes made him both uncomfortably aware that she knew what he was thinking and also surprisingly pleased that she did. It was the oddest sensation. He had never felt so close to another person in all his life, had always scoffed at the very idea of kindred spirits; yet here she was standing right next to him.

He shrugged out of his coat and watched approvingly as she hung it up in a businesslike fashion, close enough to the fire to dry but not so close as to be singed by a stray spark. Usually his women were well versed in the ways between men and women, but totally unaware of life’s more practical aspects. Helena, on the other hand, was quite the reverse, and he found it dangerously attractive. “You hang up a wet coat as though you were the veteran of a score of campaigns.”

“I wish I were.” She sighed. “I have seen so very little of the world beyond Hohenbachern except for the few dim memories of England, which, I suppose is more than most women my age, but . . .”

“But?” He took the seat opposite her, watching the way the firelight flickered on her face, emphasizing its wistful expression.

“But I should like to have been able to go more places and do more things instead of being confined to the few tame activities that are acceptable for a woman. I would like to have my life make a difference the way yours has.”

Brett reached over to grasp one of the hands that was twisting with the other in her lap. “Believe me, you
are
making a difference. You study the issues, form your own opinions, and speak what you believe. You influence people.”