The Accidental Empress (61 page)

Sisi was fuming, and grateful that the halls before her stretched dark and empty. She passed no one but an alarmed footman, lighting the row of chandeliers that lined the hallway. “Empress.” The man bowed quickly, nearly dropping his candles. Sisi kept marching past. Alone.
Scurrying through the hallways alone.

It was late in the evening. Their dinner had gone so long that the rest of the court would have retired to private apartments by now: laughing over card games, singing songs over the piano, seeking out lovers for surreptitious trysts. How she missed Possenhofen and its quiet, dark familiarity. There, where she was more likely to be woken by the distant howl of a wolf than the giggle of a young, champagne-drunk duchess returning from her lover’s apartments.

Sisi didn’t notice the man approaching, not until she nearly bumped into him. “Excuse me,” she stammered, startled by the tall outline, the figure obscured in the dim shadows where the footman and his candles had not yet reached. “I didn’t see anybody there.”

“Your Majesty?” The voice was deep, laced with an accent that Sisi immediately recognized as Hungarian.

“Yes?” Sisi narrowed her eyes and looked up into the face opposite her, her eyes still adjusting to the dark. “Count Andrássy?”

“At your service, Empress Elisabeth.” Andrássy swept her gloved hand up in his and placed a kiss on it, bending into a deep bow before her.

“Hello, Count Andrássy.” Sisi completed a perfunctory curtsy before realizing that, as Empress, she need not bow to him.

“It’s a surprise to see you, Empress. And a pleasure.”

“And you, Count.” Andrássy was her husband’s former rival, the leader of the Hungarians who had clamored for independence. What was he doing at Schönbrunn?

“Many people are happy to have you back, Empress.”

“Back? But how long have you been here—I am surprised to find
you
at court, Count Andrássy.”

Andrássy laughed at her bluntness. “Why is that, Empress? We Hungarians and Austrians are friends now, are we not?”

Sisi thought about this. “Are we?”

“I certainly hope so. After all, it was your husband and I who worked so very hard to ensure that we would be.” Andrássy smiled at her, his dark eyes catching the flecks of the distant candlelight. Now he whispered, “As long as I keep my hopes quiet that someday my country will be free.”

“Ah.” Sisi looked over her shoulder out of habit before smiling, leaning toward him and whispering:
“I love those who yearn for the impossible.”

Andrássy cocked his eyebrows, impressed. “I had forgotten that Your Majesty reads Goethe.”

“Daily,” Sisi responded, equally impressed that he recognized it. She began to walk, continuing on toward her apartments. Andrássy fell in step beside her.

“Then in that case, I must insist that we be friends.”

“Good,” Sisi responded, turning a sideways glance toward him. Her eyes had adjusted now, and she saw that Andrássy looked as handsome as he had that night in Budapest, years earlier. He wore a simple black suit that was just a shade darker than his hair and neat mustache. He kept his hair longer than most men in the court, and it fell around his ears in thick, unruly waves. “I am glad of that, Count Andrássy. You are far too agreeable to despise.”

“But did you really despise me?” He asked, his eyes darting toward hers with a merry smile.

“Only until I met you, I suppose.”

He nodded, accepting that answer. After a pause, he spoke: “You look very well, Empress.”

“Thank you, Count.”

“I hope that your trip served its purpose? And that you feel recovered from whatever it was that ailed you?”

Sisi bit her lower lip but did not answer. She was grateful for Andrássy’s perception; he quickly changed the topic. “I had heard that you returned several days ago. Tell me, did you receive the bottles of wines I delivered to your suite?”

“The wine!” Sisi said, bringing a hand to her lips, remembering the crate that Herr Lobkowitz had brought in earlier that day. “You must think me so impolite. Yes, I did receive them. Thank you, Count.”

“But of course,” Andrássy said. “The gift comes not from me alone, but from all Hungarians. We have missed you at court. I think I speak for the entire nation when I say that you have become a sort of champion in our collective imagination.” He whispered this last part, “You are the most popular Habsburg in Hungary.”

She felt her cheeks growing warm.

Andrássy lifted his eyebrows in a playful expression. “Dare I say, the
only
popular Habsburg in Hungary?”

“But the least popular Habsburg among the Habsburgs,” Sisi answered. They both laughed.

“They are the same wines we served at my dinner party.” Andrássy leaned close to her, as if they were in a crowded room and not an abandoned hallway. “The night you honored me with a dance.” Now his dark eyes twinkled with mischief, and Sisi forced herself to look away.

“I’m afraid that fact went right over my head, Count. You give me too much credit when in fact I know very little about wine.”

“In that case, why don’t I speak to the cooks and plan a tasting for us tomorrow at luncheon? You have a Hungarian countess, Marie Festetics, in your household, do you not? It could be good fun for us, and the emperor should join us as well, if he is available.”

Sisi shook her head. “Tomorrow will not be possible, Count. I plan to see my children in the morning, and if everything goes as I hope it will, the meeting won’t be over by luncheon.”

“But of course that is your main priority, Empress.” Andrássy nodded knowingly. “I am sure they have missed their mother almost as much as you have missed them.”

Sisi thought about this, pausing her steps. “I fear not,” she said, surprised at the overwhelming need to confess. “I fear that there is no place left where I might find a foothold in their little hearts.”

Andrássy paused opposite Sisi, looking at her as he considered this. “But no one can ever fill the role of a mother, Empress. I am sure it is just a matter of time. Now that you are back they will get to know you and fall in love with you, as all who know you do.”

Sisi looked up at Andrássy, grateful for his kind words, even if he was merely being polite. They continued along in silence, Sisi stealing one more sideways glance toward Andrássy. He really did cut a striking figure beside her, so tall and strong and dark. But it was the intangible characteristic that made him truly attractive: his calm, unassuming self-confidence. Andrássy’s was a self-assurance that came not from a military uniform or a title, but a deeper, more immutable aspect. He was a well-liked and respected leader, a good man, and he knew it. He knew it without needing it validated—a truly rare trait in this court.

“Thank you for saying that,” Sisi said eventually, her tone quiet.

“I try to make it a duty to speak the truth,” Andrássy answered.

“And how about you—have you been well, Count?”

“Indeed.” Andrássy nodded, reaching into a pocket and retrieving a small portrait, which he offered to Sisi. “I’ve recently been married. Here is my Katinka.”

Sisi looked down into the face of a serious, square-jawed woman with dark waves and a plain, sensible bun. She wore a jeweled gown, surely her wedding dress. She looked older than Andrássy, and less spirited.

“My congratulations to you, Count.” And then, to be polite, Sisi added: “She is beautiful.”

“Thank you, Empress Elisabeth.” Andrássy tucked the miniature likeness back into his pocket and looked back at Sisi. “She remains in Hungary.”

“You must long for your new bride while you are here in Vienna.”

“I have been busy,” Andrássy said. Sisi studied him, noticing no warmth or husbandly pride in Andrássy’s tone as he spoke of his wife.

“She does not wish to see the court? I would welcome her gladly. She could join my household, if you wished that for her.”

“A truly generous offer, Empress.” Andrássy frowned. “And I thank you for it. But Katinka has little interest in policy or travel.” Turning to her, he said, “You have been quite the traveler of late, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“Madeira. Greece. Corfu. I followed your progress as best I could. It sounds as though you’ve been to some savage places.”

“None as savage as this court, I can assure you, Count Andrássy.”

Andrássy laughed and Sisi joined him.

“Do you plan to leave again soon, or will you stay some time in Vienna?”

“I plan to stay here as long as I can tolerate it.”

“That is how I plan my stays in Vienna as well, Empress.”

They continued to walk beside one another in a comfortable silence. After several moments, Andrássy spoke. “Well, you should know that you are always most welcome in Budapest. It is, after all, your kingdom. Please do let me know if you should ever like to travel there, and I’d be happy to arrange it.”

Sisi paused, looking toward him. She remembered the freedom she had felt racing across the plains, hugging the Danube River on horseback. It felt as if it had been in another life. It had been.

“It would be fun to teach my children to ride there,” she said.

“The plains of Pest,” Andrássy agreed. “No better place.”

Sisi nodded and continued her walk. “I am looking for a Hungarian attendant, Count Andrássy. Someone discreet. Someone whom I can trust in my chambers. The less she cares for Austria, for this court . . . the better.”

“Would Your Majesty like my assistance in filling this post?”

“I’ve asked my lady, Countess Marie, to assist me. Speak with her.”

“I know the Countess Festetics. I’m certain that, between the two of us, we can find a very worthy candidate.”

“Thank you, Count Andrássy.”

“It is I who must thank you, Empress. You do great honor to Hungary. And my people see this and appreciate it.”

They approached the corner that would lead them down the hallway toward Sisi’s suite.

“This is where I take my leave, Empress.”

“Wait.” Sisi paused, taking a hold of Andrássy’s arm so that he, too, paused beside her.

“Is anything the matter, Majesty?” His dark eyes peered down at her, concern suddenly evident in his expression.

Sisi shook her head, no. She was not yet ready to turn the corner and face the guards outside her door. And then, beyond the door, Marie and Franziska would be waiting, launching their questions: Had the dinner been a success? Would she reconcile with Franz? Her heart raced. Oh, she was not yet ready to surrender this quiet, peaceful moment. Not yet ready to leave Andrássy’s company and the reprieve it had somehow provided for her.

Before she understood what she was doing, Sisi leaned forward and swept Andrássy’s hands up into her own, lifting them to her, squeezing his palms. She clung to him, as if petrified that he might let go. It was a sudden, abrupt movement. An egregious breach in protocol.

Andrássy stood motionless. After a pause, he squeezed her hands once. An unspoken gesture, meant to give comfort, and then he slid his hands free.

Still watching her with his intent, silky-eyed gaze, he took his hands behind his back, crossing them, as if trying to conceal a crime.

“I’m sorry.” Sisi lifted her hands and cupped them in front of her face, wishing she could melt into the floor and out of sight. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think I went mad for a moment. Seeing Franz . . . the emperor . . . for the first time in years. And thinking about my children, knowing they are somewhere in this palace, and yet I cannot get to them. And knowing that I will have to face
her
 . . . the archduchess . . . again. And wondering at every turn if I might bump into one of my husband’s lovers. I went completely mad. And now I am telling you all of this, as if you care, and you must only be further convinced of my madness. Oh, I am so sorry.”

Sisi lowered her hands and stared at Andrássy, embarrassed by her decidedly unregal behavior. Reaching for a man like that, clinging to him like a shameless coquette at a dance. He looked at her for several moments, a quizzical expression on his face. And then, the sound of his laughter erupted throughout the quiet hallway. He tried to suppress it, but that only seemed to prompt him further, and Sisi was so relieved that she joined him, allowing her stomach to burst against her corset with full-bellied laughter. She clutched her sides, wincing, but she could not stop herself. The harder he laughed, the louder she did, too. They stood opposite one another, two powerless people in the throes of giddy, all-consuming hysterics.

Eventually, Andrássy spoke:
“We do not have to visit a madhouse . . .”

“. . . to find disordered minds.”
Sisi finished the Goethe line,
“The world is the madhouse of the universe.”

“A palace is no exception.” Andrássy nodded his head, his eyes alight with good-hearted amusement.

“Still, I am mortified.” Sisi brought her hand to her cheek, certain it was flushed a deep crimson.

“When you took my hands, Empress, I thought that perhaps you wished to dance with me again? As we did in Budapest years ago.”

So he remembers that night, too
. Sisi felt heat rise to her cheeks, to her neck, to the flesh of her breast.

“But alas, we lack the music,” Andrássy said, his eyes still twinkling.

Sisi swallowed, attempting to compose herself, to rein her features back into an expression of collectedness. “Thank you, Count Andrássy. Really.”

“For what?”

“For, well, for your understanding, I suppose.”

“I did not mean to laugh at your troubles, of course, Empress. I simply found it . . . unexpected.”

“What?”

“Here you are, our beautiful, beloved Empress. Half of your subjects in Hungary believe you are divine by birth. And you’re standing before me, spilling the cares of your heart. It comforts me to know that you, too, are troubled by the same woes as the rest of us mortals.”

“If you only knew, Andrássy.”

“I’m afraid that if you tell me, you might take a hold of me again.” He smiled good-naturedly. “And then, being a proper, chivalrous gentleman, I might feel compelled to kiss you in your distress.”