The Accidental Empress (22 page)

“I do apologize if my coming displeases you, Franz. Surely you know I came to support my sister.”

“Ha. So, you want me as your sister’s husband?” Franz sputtered out a bitter laugh. “As your
brother
?”

“I did not arrange it, Franz.” It was as bold as she could be without crossing propriety’s line.

“Do you love me as a brother?”

Sisi knew the truthful answer, but not how to say it.

“Does this,” Franz waved his hands between them, “feel like how a brother ought to feel for his sister?”

“I don’t know,” she stammered, turning away. “No, of course it does not.”

“How could I have fallen in love with Helene with you beside her? How could I?” His tone was different now; it was as troubled as she herself felt. “Perhaps, if I had never met you, Helene and I could have had a chance.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tousling the auburn waves that he usually wore so neatly. “But now, now . . . it would be akin to sipping vinegar after tasting the sweetest of wines.”

“Vinegar? You do realize that it is my beloved sister of whom you speak?” Sisi answered, an edge apparent in her voice; her defense of Helene was instantaneous, instinctive. But what else was that feeling? Hope? Yes, hope.

“I mean no offense to Helene. She is a lovely girl and will make some man a wonderful wife. But that man is not me. Helene is not the one for me.” Franz paused. The gurgling of the fountain was suddenly roaringly loud, and Sisi did not know how she could stand his silence a minute longer. Finally, he looked at her. He took a step closer. Her heart clamored so wildly that she felt it between her ears.

Franz, opposite her now, lifted his hand. His eyes, lit by the soft glow of the moon, searched hers. He took her chin in between his thumb and forefinger, angling her face to his. And then he spoke, his voice quiet. “Don’t you see, Elisabeth?”

What?
She longed to ask.

“You have ruined me,” he said.

She shut her eyes, trying to steady herself. When she opened them again, she felt a single tear slip down her cheek, and then the touch of his hand as he wiped it away.

“How must I feel, Franz?” She lifted her hand to rest on his where it held her cheek.

“So then, I am not wrong, Elisabeth? But—you left the ball so quickly last night. And after I had made my intentions so plain. So then, I am not a fool for hoping that you feel the same way that I do?”

She could have laughed. Or wept. How did he think that anything about their situation was
plain
? “No, Franz, you are not wrong.”

She saw understanding spread like daybreak over his darkened features. And without further consideration, she leaned forward and met his lips with her own. A moment of shock, as she stood, suspended, registering what she had just done. He tasted like brandy and salted herring, and the novel act of kissing a man struck her at first as slightly odd. But the longer she rested her lips on his, the more pleasing this strange new sensation became.

He didn’t seem troubled by her impulsiveness. Rather, his whole frame seemed to awaken opposite hers, answering her with equal interest and longing. He lifted his hands and cradled her head in them as he kissed her, gently at first, but then with a hunger and an ardor that caused her whole body to warm. Now their embrace no longer felt odd or disagreeable to her. No, kissing Franz felt like the most natural, most desirable thing that Sisi could ever do, and she allowed herself to soften entirely into his arms.

When he seemed like he might eventually pull away, she reached forward, drawing him back to her, not allowing him to end this perfect moment. Eventually, he tried again, lifting his face from hers, and she realized that she stood before him breathless.

“You have ruined me.” It was a gentle whisper, his exhale almost louder than his words. But she liked it less the second time she heard it. Why was it ruination? Why couldn’t it be salvation?

Before she could summon the courage to ask this of him, he stepped back. His body suddenly out of reach. Standing tall, rigid, he declared, “I must go.”

“Franz.” She reached for his hands, clutching them in hers. How could he leave her just now? “Please, wait.”

“No,” he spoke forcefully. “I must go.”

“But—”

“Good night.”

As she faltered, grasping aimlessly for the right words, he turned, leaving her in the quiet garden, even more alone—even more lost—than before he had come.

Sisi passed a sleepless night, but the thought of seeing Franz at breakfast filled her with small splinters of hope. At least she might possibly steal a moment to speak with him. What had last night meant to him? Hadn’t he confessed to feelings similar to her own? Then why had he left suddenly? And without explanation?

Perhaps, Sisi thought, she had offended him with the abruptness of her kiss. But then, he certainly hadn’t seemed offended as he had kissed her back. Then perhaps it was all just a game to him; perhaps now that he had had his fun with her, he would move on to the next conquest. Perhaps now that she had confessed to her own feelings, she was less desirable to him. But that certainly didn’t seem like Franz. Did it? Then again, did she even really
know
Franz?

She left her bedroom resolved, certain that she wouldn’t untangle these troubled thoughts until she spoke to Franz directly. But when Sisi and Helene entered the breakfast room the next morning, she noticed with a stab of despair that only her mother sat eating.

“Good morning, girls.” Ludovika looked up when they entered. They had not told their mother of their own private conversations. And yet, surely Ludovika knew that something was amiss; she had, after all, been witness to the past few days.

Sisi sat down at the table in silence.

Ludovika studied her younger daughter, eyes narrowed in keen interest. “You look tired, Sisi.”

Sisi forced a smile, a shrug of her shoulders as she turned over the cup before her for coffee.

“How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” Sisi lied.

Ludovika looked appraisingly from one daughter to the other as she spread soft cheese on her toast. Her eyes took in their clean, formal gowns. “You both look very nice this morning.” It was more like a question than a statement.

They had each dressed with care, as if to prepare for a tumultuous series of battles. Helene wore a gown of gray charmeuse with black trim. Sisi wore a soft silk gown of pale rose, a dress that complemented her coloring and hugged her figure. A dress like the one she had worn to the ball, when Franz had asked her to dance.

“And you, Helene? How are you this morning?” Ludovika took a second slice of toast from the breakfast tray. “I’ve seen you girls less than I’ve seen Agata.”

But before Helene could answer, another voice spoke. “Ah! I’m surprised you are awake this morning.” Sophie hovered at the doorway. “I would think you would be exhausted after your rendezvous last night.”

Ludovika and her daughters turned confused stares on the archduchess, who now swished into the room. She paused before the table, knitting her hands in front of her waist. Her gown, belling out to each side, made her appear as wide as she was tall.

“Breakfast, Archduchess?”

Sophie answered the footman with a dismissive flick of her wrist:
No
. With that, the servants holding the pastry trays and coffee seemed to retreat backward, hugging the brocaded walls of the room.

Sophie didn’t sit. Sisi watched her, uneasy, as Sophie smiled; an expression of calm, yet forced, cordiality. Pressing her two hands onto the table, her fingers laden with rings, she leaned forward. Her voice, though sweet-sounding, was just as unnatural as her smile. “I’m just impressed you were able to do it. How have you managed it? After everything I have taught him about self-control, and duty, and honor. What must you have said?”

It became clear to all three at the table that the query was directed at Sisi, but Ludovika answered.

“What is your meaning, Sophie?” Sisi’s mother continued to slowly spread the cheese across her warm bread, attempting a measured tone, but her face had tightened in concern. Or fear. Yes, Sisi realized, Mamma had known this was coming. She had braced for it, probably since the moment Franz had asked Sisi to dance.

“You know perfectly well what it is, Ludovika, and please don’t think you can deceive me. Why, the whole thing was brought about by you and your daughter.”

“Please explain yourself, Sophie.” Ludovika gently placed her knife down beside her plate, her voice as artificially calm as Sophie’s.

“You never could accept it, could you?” Sophie leaned forward now, her voice quiet. “That I was the archduchess, and a Habsburg? You always regretted that you had made the worst match of us sisters. Why, Elisa is queen of Prussia. Marie Anna is queen of Saxony. My son is the emperor. While
you
—you wallowed in that beggar’s household at Possenhofen. No, you saw your daughter and you thought of my son, and you set your sights on my throne.”

Ludovika lowered her gaze, absorbing the sting of these words with stoic calm. “Sophie, I don’t understand your meaning. Please recall:
you
are the one who asked that my daughter be engaged to your son.”

“I wanted
that
one!” Sophie pointed at Helene, looking at her for the first time. “But you, you knew that the elder one was weak. You knew it, just like we all knew it. You brought her here, looking homely and plain . . . dressed in
black
!”

“We were in mourning,” Ludovika mumbled, barely audible.

“And you brought this one in—chirping like a little bird. Going on and on about her love for horses. Her hair in braids, her childish eyes, smiling at my son from the moment she entered the hall.” Sophie now turned toward Sisi, staring at her as if to size up a foe. “You don’t think I saw your designs? How you trotted her out, even though she’s just barely out of the nursery and knows nothing of the life my son leads.”

Ludovika turned to look at Sisi, her expression clouding over with—what was it? Pity for her younger daughter? Surprise? But Sophie had not finished.

“This one is wild and unruly, and I will not allow her to disrupt my . . . Franz’s court.” Sophie still spoke quietly, but her neck and chest had turned as pink as the strawberry pastries on the table. “None of you know the first thing about surviving at court. You have no idea what it takes.”

After several measured breaths, Ludovika answered, folding a napkin in her hands as she did so. “Sophie, if there is some attachment which has formed between your son and my younger daughter, it was a result of a natural and unanticipated affection. Nothing was engineered or . . . designed.” And now Ludovika threw a sidelong glance at Sisi before turning back to her sister. “But I must say that I find your response to these unplanned developments troubling.”

“
Unplanned?
Don’t act as if you didn’t plan this,” Sophie said, a short laugh escaping her tight lips. “I will not be derailed—not after everything I have done to secure my son’s position in a treacherous court.”

“Sophie, I beg you to remember that we are your family. We would never come here with designs on your—”

Sophie lifted a hand, silencing Ludovika. “My own sister, a guest in my house, acting as though she has no schemes of her own.”

“That is correct, your own sister,” Ludovika said, nodding. “And I can say, as your sister, I, too, want what is best for your son. Why should he not make this choice for himself?”

Frustrated by her sister’s soft yet persistent opposition, Sophie turned toward her niece.

“Elisabeth, surely you know that you have no legitimate right to marry my son. You are the second daughter of an inconsequential duke.” Sisi winced at this insult, but Sophie continued on. “Something as important as an emperor’s marriage really ought not to be left up to a momentary fancy. Just because my son might be . . .
besotted
 . . . does not mean you can be his queen. You are no more than a child. I won’t see our Habsburg ministers forced to become tutors, our state rooms filled with the frivolity of a nursery, do you understand that?”

Sisi did not answer. Sophie, seeing Sisi’s silence as an advantage to press, leaned forward, her voice gentle.

“Elisabeth, you are a smart girl.” Sophie’s face drew up into a smile now, but her upper lip quivered. “I’ve been very good to you since you arrived here, and I will continue to esteem you highly. I will even make you a fine match . . . something way beyond what you could have previously expected.” Her tone was laced in condescension. “I will do that for you. I just need your guarantee that you will not accept my son’s hand, should he be foolish enough to make you an offer.” Sophie reached forward, taking Sisi’s hand in her own two and pressing them together, her palms clammy. “Can I trust you on this?”

Sisi, repressing the urge to pull her hand away, did not need long to consider her response. “I apologize, Aunt Sophie, but no.”

Now it was Sophie’s turn to be stunned. She dropped Sisi’s hands, her smile slipping from her face. “What is this?”

“No, I cannot promise that I would decline your son’s proposal. If Franz wished to marry me, I would happily say yes.”