“It seems ... I mean ... I think so too,” Helena answered slowly. “But then, I have been so involved with my own, ah, er,
thoughts
that I cannot be sure.” The blush that stained her cheeks left Brett in no doubt as to what those thoughts were.
A tiny gust of wind rattled the branches of the chestnut trees above them, and she shivered. Brett pulled her close, resting his chin on her hair. “We shall work this out, you and I, but for now, all that matters is that at last I have you, a woman whose existence I had not thought possible, a woman I love with all my heart.
Now”—he gently replaced the hat on her head—”you are getting cold and the horses have been more than patient. It is time we returned you to the warmth of your own stove and me to my duties, which, I am afraid, have suffered from my inattention far too long.”
Still too bemused by the thought that she could cause someone to love her, much less neglect his duties, Helena allowed him to lift her into the saddle without any protest, and she rode back to the Braunerstrasse in a glow of happiness that did not escape Potten’s attention. Nor did it escape her mother, who was waiting for her in the salon to discuss the gown she had ordered for the theatrical performance the next evening at the Hofburg.
Helena, though never so involved in questions of fashion as her mother, was so patently uninterested in whether the princess should wear pearls or emeralds with the stiff white brocade that had been designed according to the latest drawings from Paris that it was abundantly clear her mind was elsewhere. This was not just the usual abstraction that Helena often exhibited when interrupted in her perusal of her newspapers or political pamphlets, but the total preoccupation of a woman in love.
The princess smiled to herself and resolved to keep a closer eye on her daughter. Lately Helena had suddenly seemed far more serious than usual and had begun to shun all the social events that she had so recently begun to take an interest in. Such fluctuations in her daughter’s behavior were far from normal, for usually she could be counted on to be the most rational and dependable of individuals, and the princess had been forced to arrive at the unavoidable conclusion that Helena was definitely in love. “And what do you plan to wear tomorrow, my dear,” her mother asked, watching her daughter’s expression closely for telltale signs.
“What? Oh, the pink satin, perhaps, or maybe the Venetian crepe.”
It was a characteristically vague reply, but at least it indicated that she planned to attend, a major concession, given the studied reclusiveness of the past week or so.
“They are certainly equally becoming.” The princess kept her tone carefully neutral. Helena might take any sign of interest on her mother’s part as an excuse to forego the theatrical performance altogether and thus deprive the princess of the opportunity to discover which gentleman in the Austrian capital had been clever enough not only to pique her daughter’s interest, but to occupy her thoughts to such an extent that lately she did not even hear the questions her mother put to her.
At one time the princess had thought that Helena was falling victim to the considerable charms of Major Lord Brett Stanford, but the princess herself had barely set eyes on that gentleman since Wellington’s arrival in Vienna, and she very much doubted that Helena had either, which gave her cause to doubt the accuracy of that hypothesis.
In any case, all thoughts of love or intrigue were wiped from everyone’s minds the next evening almost from the moment the guests had taken their places in front of the temporary stage surrounded by fragrant boxed orange trees in full bloom that had been erected in the ballroom of the palace. As the candles in the torcheres were extinguished and the velvet curtains pulled back, one of the tsar’s aides-de-camp hurried up to whisper something into his master’s ear. Alexander immediately rose and followed him out, while the Austrian emperor murmured a few words of apology to the countess on his left. The countess turned to the baroness on her left, who whispered to the person sitting next to her.
And so, the news of Napoleon’s escape, known only to a few people earlier that morning, was within the space of a few minutes, made common knowledge throughout the ballroom.
The days that followed were a blur of rumors and counter rumors. Napoleon had landed in Italy. He was on his way to Switzerland and then to Vienna. No, he was on his way to France. It was not until several days later that a weary messenger arrived from the King of Sardinia with the definitive news that Napoleon had landed in Cannes.
Helena had seen next to nothing of Brett after their encounter in the Prater. He had stopped only for a moment at their apartments the day after Napoleon’s escape was announced to tell her that he was riding to Pressburg with Wellington, Talleyrand, and Metternich to meet the King of Saxony, who had just been released from captivity at the Schloss Friedrichsfelde, but that he expected to return to Vienna the following day. “My time is not my own, however,” Brett explained, “and as soon as we learn where Napoleon is headed, I expect that I shall be kept busy while the Allies decide what to do with him.”
Desperate for information of unfolding events, Helena, and even the princess, eagerly devoured every issue of the
Weiner Zeitung
and the
Oesterreich Beobachter
or any other paper they could lay their hands on, but the news only went from bad to worse. Regiments sent to Grenoble to arrest the former Emperor of the French had joined forces with him instead, and only a few days after that, the people in Vienna had digested the astonishing piece of news that Napoleon had marched triumphantly into Paris.
“The problem now,” Brett admitted late one evening during a hurried call on Helena and her mother, “is to amass an army large enough to march against Napoleon and beat him for once and for all. You were right, Miss Devereux, we are now in desperate need here of our gallant fellows who fought on the Peninsula, but most of them were sent to America, and there is no chance of getting them back in time to fight the French. We are forced to rely heavily on what the various German states can supply. And now”—he turned to Helena with a smile that made her feel as though they were the only two people in the world—”now is the moment that I am truly in need of your assistance. The Prussians are assembling a force, and I expect that the Prince von Hohenbachern”—he nodded to the princess—”and other German forces will be joining them as well. However, we could use all the men we can gather from the unattached German states. If you two could use what I know to be your considerable influence with their leaders, we should be most grateful.” He included the mother in his plea, but it was clear that it was really the daughter whose aid he hoped to enlist.
Helena smiled back, warmed by his confidence in her. “I shall do my best, though, mind you, I cannot promise you anything.”
“I will take whatever I can get and be most grateful for it.” He bowed to both of them and was gone.
“Do you really think you can win some regiments over for him?” The princess regarded her daughter with dawning respect.
“I shall try. Mama. Believe me, I shall try.”
But events moved too fast for any of them, and the very next day, Helena received a note from Brett begging her to meet him alone in the Prater that afternoon.
Mystified, she had Nimrod saddled and brought around. In a most reflective mood she trotted past the Gothic spires and multicolored roof of St. Stephen’s cathedral, across the river, which, swelled with water from melting snows, was threatening to burst its banks, and into the Prater, where he was waiting for her at the top of the alley.
“Helena.” Brett urged Rex forward until the two horses were nose to nose. He dismounted and turned to help her down. “There is no time. I leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But I have not had a chance to . . .”
“Ssh.” He put a finger to her lips. “I know. I know what I asked you to do for me, but there is no time for that now. At the moment, however, I care nothing for that. What I want to be sure of is that you know I love you. That whatever happens, no matter how much the world changes in the next few months, you know that I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”
“But the troops. How will you . . .”
“Hush, my love. Just kiss me and tell me that you believe me when I say I love you.”
He gathered her into his arms and her heart turned over at the sadness in his eyes. Could it be that they both had spent their lives never believing they could find a soul mate until now, just as the world was about to fall apart around them?
Her eyes filled with tears, but she would not let them fall. “I believe you,” she whispered. “And I love you too.”
“Never forget that.” He pressed his lips to hers and held her close, begging her, willing her to feel about him the way he did about her.
“And now, my love, there is no more time. I must go.” Tenderly, he lifted her back into her saddle, threw himself onto Rex’s back, and they rode silently back to the city, too full of their own worries for the future to say anything more.
Chapter Twenty-six
He was gone the next day, and Wellington soon after. Talleyrand, Metternich, and the major foreign sovereigns remained in Vienna, but there were no more grand gatherings at the Hofburg or any of the palaces. Everyone knew that, despite the continuing discussions and minor territorial disputes, the major scene of action had shifted northward and east to Belgium.
Even the Princess von Hohenbacher, apolitical sybarite that she was, complained of the dullness of the Austrian capital once the British ambassador had left to take command of the Allied armies in Belgium.
“But, Mama, Lord Clancarty and Sir Charles Stewart are still here, and Clancarty is head of the British delegation . . .”
“It is not the same, Helena, and you know it,” her mother replied more forcefully than usual.
“How can you say that, Mama? Monsieur de Talleyrand is still here busily working, as is Metternich and most of the foreign dignitaries.”
“Talleyrand, Metternich, bah!” The princess waved her hand dismissively. “Wordsmiths, all of them. They would rather discuss European affairs forever than settle them, talk rather than act. It is soldiers that we need now, not statesmen. Real men who will take the future of Europe into their own hands. Men of passion, men who know how to do something, how to live and how to fight. By the way, you have not had any letters from Friedrich recently have you?”
“Papa? No. Not since before Napoleon escaped. But he must be very busy now marching with his troops to join Blucher, I expect, if they are not already together.”
“I expect so too. Which means that sooner or later, he too will be arriving in Brussels. We must be there to meet him. I shall gave orders to Potten to pack up our things, and then I shall send some of the servants back to Hohenbachern, as I do not expect we shall be living on such a grand scale in Belgium. The rest I shall send on ahead with Potten to find us suitable lodgings in Brussels. We should be able to manage with our maids and a few footmen in addition to the grooms and the coachmen.”
It said volumes for Helena’s state of mind that it did not occur to her to demur, not even now, when the fate of the very German states that had previously preoccupied her hung in the balance.
Baron von Gagem, taking advantage of the Allies’ desperate need for troops, had formed the Association of Princes and Free Cities and stood ready to offer up the support of something between thirty-five thousand and one hundred thousand men, provided that each state was allowed to sign a separate treaty of accession.
“Our hour has come,” the Princess von Furstenberg informed Helena and her mother one afternoon as they sat drinking tea in the princess’ elegant salon overlooking the Graben. “It is only a matter of time before the Allies realize how critical we are to the success of their campaign against Napoleon. Naturally, Louisa, I understand and sympathize with your desire to join your husband, but Helena is more than welcome to remain here with me to help see through to the end the noble work to which she has dedicated so much of her time and interest.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” The Princess von Hohenbachern directed a grateful smile at her hostess. “That is most kind of you, and I am sure that Helena is most appreciative, but I am afraid that I, poor creature that I am, have my own selfish claims on my daughter, for I really cannot contemplate such a journey all on my own.” By now Helena’s mother had gathered a pretty fair picture of the way things stood between her daughter and a certain handsome major attached to the recently appointed commander of the Allied forces in Belgium, and she directed a conspiratorial wink in her daughter’s direction.
“Yes, Mama. Whatever you say. Mama,” Helena agreed meekly as she silently blessed her mother for being so wise in the ways of the world.
And so it was that less than a week after this conversation took place, the von Hohenbachern entourage, consisting of several traveling carriages and an impressive number of outriders, quitted the city through the huge wooden customs gate on the Schonbruner Weg and headed first for Linz and then the road to Brussels.
Having made up her mind to leave Vienna, the princess left it with all the speedy dispatch in which she had arrived, traveling day and night over the rough German roads, not stopping to rest until they reached the relatively cosmopolitan atmosphere and more hygienic inns of Nuremberg. “For say what you will about the discomforts of a carriage, they are infinitely preferable to the filth and the primitive accommodations to be found in most of the hostelries in Germany,” the princess remarked as they settled back against the velvet cushions of their luxuriously appointed berlin. “I, for one, agree with Madame de Stael, the Countess Bernstorff, and others who are accustomed to traveling in this part of the world. The roads are disastrous and the inns worse. Far preferable to have one’s bones shaken to pieces at night in one’s own carriage than risk heaven knows what dangers at some local lodging.”
They spent a comfortable enough night at a well-appointed inn in Nuremberg, but beyond that, and one other night in Koblenz, they passed their nights in the carriage, fortifying themselves from the plentiful hampers the princess had had packed to the brims with delicacies before they set off.