The Accidental Empress (20 page)

And with that, while the applause still drummed around her, Sisi fled from the hall. She did not look back into the room—did not wish to see the bewildered face of Franz or the unapproving grimace of Sophie. She couldn’t bear to see the dashed hopes of her mother. But, above all, she had no idea how she would ever face the confused, stricken look of Helene.

Sisi flew down the long hallway past guards and footmen. She ran quickly up the steps, her lungs protesting as her breath grew uneven. It wasn’t until she had regained the dark privacy of her bedroom that the dam burst.

Sisi felt her self-control drain from her, and, collapsing onto her bed, she allowed herself to weep. She surrendered completely, finding release in the long, despairing sobs that burst forward from the pit of her insides. She wept like a child. A petrified girl. A confused girl. A girl who felt overpowering hope, and, at the same time, immeasurable guilt.

The sobs racked her frame, pressing up against her corset, causing her to wince and gasp in pain and shortness of breath. Clutching her breast, she welcomed that pain. It was just a small penance to be paid for the selfish, inexcusable act of falling in love with her sister’s groom. And what was worse, for feeling happy at the indisputable fact that
he
seemed to love her in return. Loved her,
Sisi
, even when Helene was meant to be his bride. And so, in the darkness, she cried.

Much later the door opened and Helene appeared. “Sisi?” Helene tiptoed into the room, closing the door behind her. “I would have come sooner, but Mother insisted I stay. Your leaving caused such an uproar. Sophie flew to our sides and tried to put on a brave face. She told us to smile and chat as if nothing were amiss. I was forced to stay. Oh, but Sisi, are you all right?”

“Helene,” Sisi answered, toneless. “Oh, Helene. I am so sorry.” Those were the only words she could choke out before she began to weep anew.

“Sisi. You should have seen the look on his face when you left.”

Sisi stared, blankly, at her sister. Amazed that Helene could even stand to be in her presence.

“He appeared as if he himself felt pain, Sisi. He asked if he might send his physician to attend to you.”

Sisi shut her eyes, wishing she could vanish under the layers that were piled atop the bed.

“He kept insisting that it was his fault. That he had taken you on too strenuous a ride earlier today. And then, forced you to dance. He thought perhaps you had overexerted yourself.”

“Helene, how you must hate me. I promise, I never intended—”

But Helene lifted a gloved hand, silencing her sister as she pressed on. “He seems to care for you, Sisi.”

“No.” Sisi’s voice was faint, and she swallowed hard. “He is kind to worry, but he need not trouble himself with me. Helene, it’s not too late. You can still . . .” But her voice faltered. What could Helene do? What could either of them do?

Helene exhaled, looking at her sister as she sank down into the bed beside her, both of them still in their gowns. “Sisi, it’s clear to everyone. Especially me.”

“What is?” Sisi asked, hoping futilely that her sister wasn’t about to say what she suspected.

Helene grinned, that kind, open grin. The grin that Sisi had been searching for, ever since they had arrived in Bad Ischl. It broke Sisi’s heart to see it now.

“Sisi.” Helene reached for her sister’s hand and looked her directly in the eyes. Sisi’s palm burned, all the more so against the cold, clammy flesh of her sister’s skin. “Why, the bouquet of flowers? Mother said that it is some tradition in which the emperor tells the court which lady he favors. Sisi, it is clear to all of us that Franz loves you.”

“Helene.” Sisi erupted into a fresh sob. It took her several moments before she could even form the words through her tears. “Helene.” She squeezed her sister’s cold hands. “I am so sorry. I really am so sorry. I don’t even understand how this happened.”

Helene moved closer, nestling her head into the crook of Sisi’s neck. “Don’t be sorry.”

Sisi kept crying.

“Sisi, hush. Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry.”

Sisi shook her head.

“Sisi, come now.” Helene offered her sister a handkerchief.

Taking it, Sisi asked: “How can you even bear to look at me?”

“I had a lot of time to think. First, when he didn’t invite me on the ride. And then when he didn’t ask me to dance.” Helene flashed a soft smile, lifting her hand to stroke Sisi’s braided hair. “I’m not a good match for him.” Helene paused, pulling her hands back into her lap. “He knows it, and I know it. I’m not right for him. But . . . you are.”

“Helene, please do not say that.” Sisi shook her head, astounded that Helene did not despise her.

“Sisi, hush.” The way Helene looked at Sisi seemed odd—as if Helene was not disappointed at all. In fact, Helene’s eyes glowed as if she were happy for the first time in days. Weeks, even.

“Helene, why are you looking at me like that?”

The elder sister only smiled. “Seeing you, standing up there opposite him tonight.” Helene threw her head back, shutting her eyes. “God, but the thought of having to do that makes me tremble. But you, Sisi? You looked just right. And he . . . he looked at you with such affection.”

“Helene, no, it’s not too late—I can still make this right. I didn’t mean to ruin—”

Helene raised a finger, silencing her younger sister as she pressed it to Sisi’s lips. “I tried my best. As much as you don’t believe me, I
did
try. I confess, I was even quite cross with you. But I’m not blind. I can see that there is someone better suited for him. Better suited for his life. It’s his choice, don’t you see?” Helene leaned forward now, her features brighter than they had been since Bavaria. “And that means . . . I’m
free
.”

Sisi absorbed this in silence, her lower lip falling away from her mouth. When Helene spoke next, she leaned close. “You really do make quite the pair—you with your dark golden braids and lively smiles, him with his auburn hair and military uniform. Sisi—the way he looks at you.”

“Helene, really.” Sisi wiped her eyes, her mind racing.

“Do you . . . love him?” Helene’s eyes were filled with genuine curiosity, but as far as Sisi could tell, held no trace of anger or jealousy.

She could not lie, not to Helene. Not anymore. “I . . . I fear that I might.”

“Well, that’s good. Then you must be feeling the same thing he is.”

“But my feelings don’t matter. And besides, I am not good enough to be his queen. You, my sweet Néné, would be the perfect queen. So tender and good—your subjects would adore you, just as they adore him.”

“The thought of having
subjects
 . . .” Helene shuddered. “All those people constantly staring at me? Why, I can barely survive a court dinner.”

“Helene, you should see the way they love him. The people.”

“I don’t know about his subjects, but I can tell that
you
love him.” Helene smiled.

“It’s irrelevant, though. How many times have we heard that?”

“Not if it’s what he wants, too,” Helene argued. “He is emperor, after all.”

Sisi thought about this, thinking back over her conversation with Franz in the hills. At the dance. “But his mother wants you, Néné.”

Helene thought a minute, and when she spoke, it was with a resolve which Sisi had rarely seen in her sister. “He’s a good man, Sisi. But I do not love him, and he does not love me. There is another way, and it would involve all three of us getting precisely what we each want.”

“Helene, you can’t really mean that you will—”

“Tomorrow I must tell Mother that I cannot marry our cousin. I will suggest that you become his fiancée instead, Sisi.”

The statement, once voiced aloud for her ears to comprehend, quickened Sisi’s heart, but she soon quashed the involuntary hope that it conjured. Foolish hope.

“Helene, be reasonable. We both know that Sophie will never allow it. One does not simply tell Sophie how things will happen. You were the girl she chose as his bride. If you reject her son, she will be done with our family.”

“Perhaps not, Sisi. She is a clever woman, and I am sure that she sees what we all see. That her son is besotted with you.”

“How many times has she said it, Néné?
If only you were the firstborn.
I am the younger daughter of a minor duke. My dowry and prestige are much too small for the emperor.”

Helene sighed, thinking this over. “What does that matter to a man so very much in love?”

“What does love have to do with kingdom making?” Sisi asked, reiterating the cold, glum realism of their upbringing. Of the truth that her sister refused to accept.

Helene did not have a retort, and the two of them lay beside one another in silence. Eventually, Helene spoke. “I will have to tell them tomorrow: I do not wish to marry Franz any more than he wishes to marry me.”

“Néné, you heard Mother.
One does not send the emperor of Austria packing
.”

“Precisely, Sisi.” Helene rose to undress. “Which is why I expect you to accept his hand when he offers it. I am certain he will.”

Sisi remained in bed, puzzling over their situation. Tomorrow, her meek, shy sister would do what no other young lady in Europe would have the audacity to do: she would turn down the emperor of Austria’s suit for marriage. It was an affront to both Franz personally and to his kingdom. Franz would no doubt take it graciously, Sisi surmised. He was a gracious person, and perhaps it
was
in line with his own desires.

But what about Sophie? Surely she would not abide such insolence. Especially not an insult against her beloved son. And she would not tolerate such disregard for her carefully laid plans. Sisi was sure of it: Sophie would send them back to Possenhofen without so much as a farewell, and they would most likely never hear from her again.

As of tomorrow, their stay at court would be over. Sisi would be forced to forget Franz. She would never see Vienna. She would return to Possenhofen, and with a sister as disgraced as Helene would surely be, Sisi would probably never have a single suitor. No eligible bachelor would ever waste his time on the younger sister of the girl who had jilted the Habsburgs.

Sisi saw her life stretching out before her, the same as it had always been, except now she would know that a man such as Franz existed. A man whom she could have loved, and been loved by in return. And that that love, as warm as golden sunlight when it had shone on her, would never be hers. How, she wondered, was it possible to ache for a life with someone so badly, when, just days earlier, she had not even known him?

And now there would be no way to stomach living with Karl. Her brother would watch with smug, insufferable satisfaction as their carriages returned to Possenhofen, depositing them just weeks after they had departed—their hopes for the future and matrimony dashed. Disgrace and failure their only souvenirs from their brief stay with the emperor. Just as he had predicted. Destined for spinsterdom while Karl would inherit the duchy. They would be at Karl’s mercy. If he, or, eventually his wife, decided to throw them out of Possenhofen Castle after the death of their father, that was his right. Probably even his duty.

It was in this dismal and dreary torrent of thoughts that Sisi slipped into a fretful sleep, which, mercifully, brought with it no dreams.

Sisi took her breakfast with Helene in the bedroom the next day, the day of the emperor’s twenty-third birthday.

“You are still planning to do it?” Sisi asked, spreading strawberry compote on a piece of toast for which she had no appetite. Outside it was another clear, warm day. The sounds that floated up to their windows from the courtyard below—hurried footsteps, carriage wheels on cobblestone, barking dogs—spoke of a household staff busily executing its tasks on a sultry summer morning.

“I am resolved,” Helene answered. “I’ll tell Mamma first, to warn her. And I’ll see whether she advises that I should speak to Aunt Sophie, or to Franz directly.”

How was it that suddenly her meek sister was so resolute, so determined? Sisi wondered glumly. Sophie would receive this news as an affront and an embarrassment. There was no telling how she might respond, but if their mother’s cowed quietude in Aunt Sophie’s presence served as any indication, there was reason to fear the woman’s temper. She would send them home, to be sure.