Dare to Love (42 page)

The stories they wrote about my friendship with the students were just as preposterous, but then who would believe that Elena Lopez could entertain rowdy groups of young men without sex entering the picture? How surprised the journalists would have been to see me serving ale and cheese in the elegant drawing room, patiently listening as my young admirers engaged in heated discussion about painting and poetry. Encouraging them in their ambitions, pleading with them to be temperate when they railed against the influx of even more soldiers from Sturnburg, I tried to be a wise and gracious hostess. But despite my good intentions, the newspapers apparently chose to believe only what they wanted to believe. And when a particularly bitter clash erupted one day between soldiers and students—a clash provoked by too much ale and too many hot words—I was the one the newspapers blamed.

The stories didn't bother me in the least. I had long since grown immune to sensational journalism. The increasingly grave political scene did disturb me. I knew my presence in Barivna had added further tension to an already tense situation, but I also knew how much Karl needed sympathetic companionship during his dark periods of melancholia. It wouldn't have helped the political situation one jot if I had left, and my presence gave comfort and support to a man who needed it desperately. I had received anonymous letters filled with threats, and once, late at night, my carriage had been pelted with stones by a group of men in uniform, but I wasn't about to let such things frighten me away.

Growing weary, muscles stiff from sitting so long in the same position, I sighed. Stieler stepped back from the canvas again and, frowning, came over to the dais to rearrange a fold of my black velvet skirt. Returning to the canvas, he picked up his brush, stared at me and resumed his work. Trying to relax my neck muscles, I touched the spray of red carnations and thought about my relationship with Karl, so different from my relationships with Brence or Anthony or Franz and, in some ways, more fulfilling than any of the others had been.

I needed to give of myself, and with Karl I was able to do that without reservation, without fear of rejection. I gave warmth and understanding and concern, and it was received freely, appreciated fully. He listened to my opinions with respect, and our conversations were spirited. The bond between us was not physical, and for that reason there was none of the stress or friction, none of the contention and subtle rivalry that marked my relationships with other men. When I was with Karl there was no need for guile, no need to keep up my guard.

I knew full well that I was living in a fool's paradise which would soon come to an end, but after so much pain I was content to live from day to day, to deny those other needs that had brought about the disastrous relationship with Franz. My devotion to Karl and, to a lesser degree, my friendship with the students helped me to forget. If, occasionally, there were restless nights when memories plagued me and I was filled with a terrible ache inside, they always passed.

“There,” Stieler said, applying a final daub of paint. “You can relax now, Countess. It's finished except for the background work I mentioned earlier.”

I stood up and stretched, the folds of my black velvet skirt rustling softly. Stieler wiped his hands with a cloth and then opened a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket of ice. The cork popped loudly. The champagne fizzed. Stieler filled two glasses and handed one to me as I stepped down from the dais.

“I thought a bit of celebration might be in order,” he said. “Care to see my masterpiece?”

Smiling his ingratiating smile, he led me over to the canvas that he had refused to let me look at until now. I felt a strange sensation as I gazed at it. Stieler had surpassed himself. The woman in the painting was the essence of feminine allure and loveliness. I couldn't associate her with myself at all. The ebony hair was rich with blue-black highlights, the spray of red carnations standing out in sharp relief, the lace mantilla a fragile drift of lighter black. The skin glowed, cheeks delicately flushed, and the sapphire blue eyes were sad and wise and full of longing.

“It's glorious,” I said. “I—I can hardly believe I sat for it.”

“I like what I've done with the texture of the velvet,” Stieler remarked. “The dark black nap seems to shine with a silvery haze, and the maroon brocade of the chair provides just the right contrast, very subtle and quiet.”

Finishing his champagne, he surveyed the canvas with a look of great satisfaction. “I'll fill in the background with pale gray hazy with mauve and gold shadow and deliver it to the King tomorrow. I've a feeling he's going to be pleased.”

“Undoubtedly. You've done a magnificent job.”

“I had a magnificent subject to work with.”

A loud ruckus in the adjoining room prevented him from paying me further excessive compliments. I was relieved when the door flew open and my escort spilled in with noisy abandon. Ever since the incident in which my carriage had been pelted with stones, Eric, Hans and Wilhelm had insisted on accompanying me to and from the studio each day, a totally unnecessary precaution which was really merely an excuse for them to spend more time with me. They filled the studio with youth and noise, exclaiming over the portrait, pounding a highly disconcerted Stieler on the back, and finally whisking me out of the studio and into the waiting carriage.

Hans plopped down beside me, Eric and Wilhelm onto the opposite seat, and the carriage started down the street. As we settled back, I noticed a nasty purple-blue bruise on Wilhelm's right cheekbone. It hadn't been there the day before, nor had the cuts on his knuckles. When I asked him about them, Wilhelm scowled, angrily shoving a lock of dark red hair from his forehead.

“Sodding soldiers!” he snarled.

“There was another incident?”

“You mean you haven't heard?” Hans exclaimed. “It was a regular free-for-all, the biggest brawl yet! Several wounded—mostly military. It happened at the university, right outside the dormitories!”

“All because of the curfew,” Eric added.

“Curfew?”

“Schroder's idea,” Wilhelm said. “He has decreed that all students must be off the streets by nine o'clock each evening.
He
decreed, just as though he had the authority to do so! When the announcement was made we went crazy, I can tell you! Schroder had to call in a troop of his men.”

“We gave 'em a run for their money!” Hans bragged. “The brawl lasted at least an hour before the soldiers had the sense to retreat, dragging their wounded after them.”

“Several students were injured, too,” Eric said quietly. “One isn't expected to live. This wasn't merely another clash, Elena. It was an act of outright aggression.”

“We're not taking this sitting down!” Wilhelm vowed hotly. “No sodding Captain is going to impose a curfew on us!”

Hans and Wilhelm continued to rail against the military as we drove through town. There were far more soldiers in evidence than usual. The cafes and beer gardens seemed to be full of arrogant brutes in tight white breeches and green tunics who acted as though they owned the town. Eric informed me that a fresh detachment had arrived from Sturnburg that morning. So many new men had come that the barracks wouldn't hold them and tents were being pitched on the parade ground.

“Everyone's outraged,” he said, “not just the students. The shopkeepers are complaining, the farmers as well. They're expected to provide food for the new men, without reimbursement, mind you. Bad feelings are running high.”

“We're not going to stand for it!” Wilhelm declared. “This time the citizens of Barivna are fully behind us. Either the soldiers go, or there's going to be hell to pay!”

I couldn't really become too alarmed. I had heard such fiery declarations all too often to take them seriously. The students would rail against the injustice of it all, but eventually they would return to their books and concern over really pressing matters such as exams and passing marks. Schroder had not dared order his men to fire on the students. But even though the military regime was still maintained loosely, the arrival of the new men was certainly discomforting.

We drove on past the lake, and within minutes the carriage drew up in front of Chez Elena. My three young gallants helped me out and escorted me to the door, their good mood restored. Hans was babbling about his new epic, and Wilhelm was asking Eric if he'd taken notes during that morning's history lecture.

“I'm not giving you my notes,” Eric said firmly. “If you expect to pass, you'll have to attend an occasional lecture instead of spending all your time in the gymasium.”

“Thanks,” Wilhelm retorted. “You're a great help. Wait till I get
you
on a wrestling mat!”

“May we call on you tonight, Elena?” Hans asked.

“I'm afraid not. I'm expected at the palace. The King and I are going to dine with Franz von Klenze, the architect responsible for so many of the magnificent buildings in Barivna.”

“Has von Klenze finished his designs for the new Greek Gallery?” Eric asked.

“We're going to see the blueprints tonight,” I replied. “I understand it's his most impressive achievement yet.”

“And the most expensive,” Wilhelm added. “Sturnburg is going to love that. They're going to scream like stuck pigs when the King starts dipping into the coffers to finance it.”

“Tomorrow night?” Hans persisted. “I want to recite my new epic for you. It concerns a Norwegian nobleman during the Middle Ages who falls in love with a peasant maid and—”

Wilhelm grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “Come along!” he growled. “We've heard enough about your sodding epic! I don't suppose
you
took notes this morning?”

“Skipped the lecture myself. Had to finish my epic.”

“We'll see you later, Elena,” Eric said.

“Thank you for escorting me.”

After they departed, I spent the rest of the afternoon writing letters. I had owed Millie one for some time, and two more from Phillipe had arrived only yesterday. Both of his had been rather grim in tone. He was very unhappy in Touraine. Most of his time was spent riding about on horseback supervising tenant farmers and examining livestock. Repairs had begun on the ancestral chateau; scaffolds surrounded the place; workmen swarmed about every day. Phillipe told me quite a bit about the chateau and the history of his family which, it seemed, could be traced all the way back to Charlemagne.

As I read his letters over, I recognized his loneliness and his longing. He missed me a great deal, he wrote, and he wished I could visit the chateau. I would find it very beautiful, very spacious. He never used the word love, but his letters were love letters just the same, subtle, understated, written by a shy, sensitive young man who had developed a hopeless infatuation for a worldly woman. I knew I shouldn't encourage it by answering his letters, yet I hadn't the heart to deny him that consolation. I was extremely fond of Phillipe, and I missed him, too, but our worlds were far too separate for there to be. anything but friendship between us.

My letter to him was bright and chatty and friendly, with nothing he could possibly misinterpret. He would stop writing to me before long, I fancied. He would meet someone in Touraine, and he would fall in love with her, genuinely in love, forgetting all about his infatuation for the exotic creature who had bedazzled him. Sighing, I sealed the envelope and began my letter to Millie. By the time I had finished, it was time to bathe and dress.

I always took special care to make myself as glamorous as possible for Karl. After I had bathed, I slipped into a sapphire blue petticoat, the bodice very low, half a dozen skirts spreading out in rustling layers. Minne helped me with my hair. Pulling the ebony waves back sleekly, she arranged them in an elegant French roll. Her eyes were even dreamier than usual, for the stalwart Klaus had given up his energetic wooing of all the other maids and was devoting full time to Minne. She was holding out for marriage, and I expected an announcement any day.

I brushed a pale blue-gray shadow on my lids and used a touch of faint pink rouge to emphasize my high cheekbones, applying a richer pink rouge to my lips. Satisfied with the results, I stood up to don the gown Minne had taken from the wardrobe. Of shimmering silver cloth, it was perhaps the most exquisite gown I had ever worn, certainly the most expensive. The dress belled out over the sapphire underskirts in gleaming silver folds. When she had finished fastening up the gown, Minne opened my jewel box and took out the diamond and sapphire necklace that had been a gift from Karl.

Fastening it around my neck, I stepped back to examine myself in the mirror. The diamonds glittered with dazzling prisms of light, ashimmer with silver and violet fires, four scalloped strands with twenty large sapphire drops. The sapphires blazed with deep blue flames that danced and darted. The woman in the mirror might have been a queen, but why were her eyes so sad? Why did I keep thinking of that girl who had roamed over the moors of Cornwall, wild and free and full of dreams? I was a countess, with my own small palace. I wore a silver gown and a necklace that Marie Antoinette would have envied. I had come a long, long way, yet my heart was full of longing for the one thing that had been denied me.

“You are a vision,” Minne said. “I've never seen you look so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Minne. Is that a carriage coming up the drive?”

“It sounds like one. Yes, it's stopped. Someone's getting out.”

“I wonder who it could possibly be? The students know I'm going to the palace tonight.”

“Want me to go down and see?” Minne asked.

“Would you, Minne? I'd appreciate it.”

She hurried out of the room, and I gazed into the mirror again and wondered why, amidst all this splendor, I should feel such discontent. It was foolish. It was self-indulgent. Why should I expect happiness? Happiness was a bright illusion, shimmering in the air, always out of reach. The girl in Cornwall had believed in it, had tried to grasp it, but I was no longer a naive young girl. I was older and wiser, and this longing inside was something I had learned to live with. Happiness? I had fame and riches, everything the world valued most. That should be enough for any woman.