The Accidental Empress (35 page)

“You will freeze out of the covers. Come back to bed.”

Franz ran back toward his wife and hopped down beside her. “Here you go, my darling.”

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Sisi took her time unwrapping the gift. Tomorrow, Christmas morning, there would be gifts exchanged in the drawing room. Sophie would no doubt bestow an endless pile of goods upon her son and daughter-in-law—fine clothing, priceless jewelry, sweetmeats and candies. But this gift was different, special, and Sisi savored unwrapping it.

When she tore the paper aside, Sisi saw a necklace with a small gold pendant in the shape of a horse. “Franz, it’s lovely,” she gasped, admiring the delicate craftsmanship of the gold figurine.

“Diamant was our model. To commemorate your love of horses, and our marvelous afternoon in Bad Ischl—the day that I knew I had to marry you.”

“If you would,” Sisi unclasped the chain and handed it to her husband. “Put it on me. I shall wear it always.”

Franz fastened the chain at the nape of her neck. “Have you missed riding very much?”

“Indeed,” Sisi admitted, looking down at her swollen belly. “But it’s for a worthy cause.”

Franz leaned back and studied the necklace where it fell between her clavicle bones.

“How does it look?”

“Fit for a queen.” He winked, pouring himself a full glass of port. “I’m not done, though.”

“More?”

“Just one more.” Now he proffered a second package in similar wrapping but slightly larger in size.

Sisi opened this gift, ripping the paper aside to reveal a small baby’s rattle of glistening silver.

“For our little Helene,” Franz explained, sipping his drink. “Her first toy. And here you’ll see I’ve had it inscribed:
With love, from Mamma and Papa
.”

“You really believe it’s a girl?” Sisi asked, tracing the engraved letters with her fingers.

“I really do.”

“Why is that?” She asked, jangling the rattle to enjoy its crisp, playful ring.

“I am not sure.” Franz shrugged his shoulders. “Just a suspicion. I think you enjoy defying Mother so much that you’ll have a girl first, just to spite her.”

Sisi couldn’t help but laugh heartily at this prediction.

“And your final gift,” Franz continued, “was something that couldn’t be wrapped. Well, I suppose he
could
be wrapped, but that would not be very enjoyable for him.”

“Is it a horse?” Sisi guessed, excited.

“A horse? No.” Franz furrowed his brow. “Elisa, you have the entirety of the imperial stables at your disposal. You may have any horse in there you would like. Why, would you like a new horse?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t need any more horses. Besides, I love Diamant,” Sisi answered, tugging on her new golden pendant. “Then what is it?”

“I have hired you your own personal hairdresser,” Franz answered, a look of satisfaction on his face. He stared at her now, expectant, eager for her gratitude.

“Oh,” Sisi said, digesting the news. “A hairdresser.”

Franz crossed his arms. “You don’t seem excited, Elisa.”

“Well, I am.” She poured herself a glass of port now, angling herself so as to avoid his gaze. “Thank you, Franz.”

“No, Elisa. I can tell when you are happy about something, and you’re not.”

Sisi sighed, holding the drink in her hands. “It’s just that . . .”

“Yes? Let’s have it.”

“Agata has always done my hair. I like the way she does my hair.”

Franz nodded, uncrossing and then recrossing his arms.

“Do you not?” Sisi asked.

“I love the way she fashions your hair, Elisa, of course.”

She looked at him sideways, unsmiling.

“Why, I tell everyone I meet that the real crown jewels in the Habsburg-Lorraine family are my wife’s dark blond curls. Do not worry about that for a minute.”

“Then why change it?” Sisi sipped her port.

“Well, Mother thought that it might be a good idea, now that—”

“Ah,”—Sisi nodded, a sour grin affixing itself to her lips—“your
mother
thought I needed a new hairdresser.”

“Please, Elisa, no need to be combative. She meant it as a gift, not an affront.”

“What is wrong with the way Agata does my hair?”

“Nothing at all. Mother simply thought that . . . that you might want to take on a more sophisticated look. Nothing drastically different. Only that perhaps some hairstyles are beyond Agata’s ken.”

“So I should start to style my hair like whom?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea about these feminine matters.” Franz shrugged his shoulders, refilling his glass. “You know how Mother and the rest of the ladies at court fancy all these elaborate hairdos.”

“Tell me, is your mother’s hairstyle done according to
court procedure
? Why, I am to be surrounded only by people of whom she approves. To spend my days in the manner that she determines. I am forced to wear the slippers of her choosing. Wear gloves at every meal. Am I to begin fashioning my hair like hers now, as well?”

Sisi knew she was being antagonistic, but she couldn’t curb the resentment in her voice. Months and months of biting her tongue in the face of Sophie’s orders, and Countess Esterházy’s insinuations, even Franz’s obliviousness, seemed to have swelled into a noxious bile that she could no longer keep down. “Now you’d like me to try to look like your mother?”

“When you put it that way, Elisa. Of course I do not wish for you to look like Mother.”

“Can you do me this small favor, Franz—can we have just one evening in bed without your mother entering into the conversation?” She was being petulant. But voicing this anger felt like a relief—like a release of a pressure that had been mounting since before their wedding.

“It’s always ‘Mother said this,’ and ‘Mother thinks that’ . . . It’s bad enough that she has mastery over every minute of our day, but I’m fed up with your damn mother accompanying us to bed!”

“Elisabeth.” Franz stared at her, his mouth falling open for several moments before he spoke. “I can’t say that I find this sort of language at all attractive. I’ve asked you to stop insulting Mother. She does an awful lot for you. For me, too. For both of us.”

“Yes,
too much
, sometimes.”

“Everything she has ever done has been to help you.”

“Ha!” Sisi laughed, a sudden puff of air. “I wish she wouldn’t
help
so often.”

“You will stop this right now.” Franz’s face flushed a deep red, wearing a foreign expression that made him appear like a stranger beside Sisi.

“No, I will not stop. Not until
she
stops meddling.”

“This is the height of disrespect.”

“And what respect does she show us, Franz?”

He did not answer, and she, exhausted, fell silent. They sat opposite one another in strained stillness a few moments before Franz moved, sliding out from under the covers. Rising, he walked to the bench at the foot of the bed.

“Franz, where are you going?” Sisi sat up and watched him yank his dressing robe over his shoulders.

“I think I shall sleep in my dressing room tonight.”

“Your dressing room?”

“I feel entirely unwelcome in this chamber at the moment.” Franz refused to meet Sisi’s eyes as he tied the belt of his robe in quick, jerky motions.

“Franz, please.” Sisi rose from bed, ignoring the assault of cold air as she hurried toward him, wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t go, please.”

“I
shall
go!” He shook her off, prompting her awkward frame to lose its balance and wobble backward onto the soft support of the bed coverings. “And perhaps you will think twice next time you feel the urge to carry on like that.”

Sisi watched him leave, slamming the door without looking back at her. She stood, shivering. Perhaps she ought to call for a servant to rekindle the fire. But she didn’t. All she could do was stand there, motionless, watching the door through which he had exited. When several minutes had lapsed, perhaps even a quarter of an hour, she became certain that he would not return to her that night, and she hoisted her weary frame back onto the bed.

It was the first night they’d passed apart since their wedding, and Sisi cried for every minute of it. The days without him she had gotten used to—even though she hated it—but the night? The night was their time. How alone she felt without him beside her, without his warm body heating the bed and filling the quiet with the familiar sound of his even, steady snoring.

The night crawled on, silent, though Sisi’s mind clamored with antagonizing fears, chidings, and self-doubt. The more she thought about their argument, the more she regretted having made an issue of his mother. However much she resented Sophie’s meddling, it did her no good to allow those annoyances to alienate Franz. Sophie was an immutable reality in her life. Sisi had accepted that; she had had no choice.

When the feeble dawn came, at last, the winter sun slicing its way through the windows, Sisi rose. Outside, Christmas Day was dreary, a dove-gray sky that hung low, threatening freezing rain or snow. Sisi shuffled toward the fireplace, where she poked the dull ashes in the hopes of coaxing out some last drop of heat. She’d apologize at Christmas luncheon. That was settled. She couldn’t bear to have Franz cross with her, couldn’t bear the idea of passing another night without him beside her.

The banquet was a festive, drawn-out affair, its merry atmosphere discordant with Sisi’s dark mood. The footmen, maids, and imperial cooks must have been awake all of the previous night, for the hall at the rented villa had undergone a transformation. Silver dishes gleamed under coats of fresh polish. Pine boughs filled the air with their crisp, wintry aroma. Plates and saucers and bowls overflowed with gravies and puddings, fowl and meat pies.

Sisi had forced herself to dress for the occasion: she wore a gown of dark emerald that Sophie had given her, and she had placed sprigs of holly in her braided bun. But even in this fine attire, she suspected that she looked horrible. As she entered the room, she hoped that the court would blame her puffy eyes and wan expression on the fatigue of pregnancy.

“Merry Christmas, Elisabeth.” Sophie hurried to Sisi’s side, handing her a glass of warm mulled cider. “And Merry Christmas to my little grandson.” Sophie’s pudgy hands cupped Sisi’s stomach. Sisi tried not to recoil. “Next year, we shall have a little prince to spoil with toy trains and wooden soldiers and nutcrackers—won’t it be wonderful? Oh, my little Franzi used to
adore
his wooden soldiers!”

“Merry Christmas, Mother. Elisabeth.” Franz appeared beside them, hugging his mother before placing a cool, obligatory kiss on Sisi’s cheek. All around the hall, courtiers had bowed at his entrance. He waved now, allowing them to stand. Unlike Sisi, Franz appeared unbelievably fresh and handsome in his uniform, his hair brushed back and his mustache neatly trimmed.

“Franz.” Sisi turned to her husband, away from her mother-in-law, whose eyes observed the exchange. She leaned forward so that she might whisper only to him. “I didn’t sleep a minute last night. Please don’t be cross with me. I’m sorry.”

Franz did not reply, but rather seemed highly preoccupied with Grünne, who conversed nearby with a dark-haired beauty. A lady whom Sisi had never seen before.

Sisi noticed, with a stabbing sensation in her breast, how Franz’s eyes traveled from Grünne to the brunette, lingering on her brown-eyed smile. The full lips that whispered some witty remark, setting Grünne off into a peal of carefree laughter.

“Who is that?” Sisi asked, attempting to sound lighthearted. She swallowed hard. “Talking to Count Grünne?”

“Hmmm?”

“Franz, will you look at me?” Sisi tugged on the starched sleeve of his uniform.

“What is it?” Franz turned back toward his wife, his eyes like two cold marbles.

“You’re being very aloof.”

“I should go say hello to Grünne. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Gifts were exchanged in the drawing room, and Sophie insisted that Sisi be the first to unwrap hers. Seating her in a chair before the blazing fire, Sophie began with a toast to her daughter-in-law and the baby she carried.

Sophie had stayed true to her affinity for elaborate displays, and her pile of Christmas gifts for Sisi had to be carted into the drawing room by half a dozen footmen. There were four new dresses, all extremely wide in the middle but with the ability to be taken in once the baby came. There was a bassinet of finely carved birch wood, into which the shapes of little animals had been etched around the frame. There were several pairs of fur-lined booties for the little prince, as well as a wooden sword and a small toy drum. There was a case of champagne to be drunk by the new parents on the night of their son’s birth. And the grand finale was a tiara—presented to Sisi on a pillow of purple velvet—of silver, encrusted with a constellation of glistening diamonds.

“From our family’s collection. A crown fit for the Queen Mother, to be worn to your son’s christening,” Sophie explained to the crowded room, which erupted in applause at the archduchess’s unsurpassed generosity.

“Thank you very much, Aunt Sophie,” Sisi said quietly, feeling overwhelmed, and a bit overburdened, by her aunt’s generosity. The pastoral tapestry she had commissioned to give to her aunt suddenly seemed grossly inadequate.