Dare to Love (37 page)

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.

“The King himself told me to come here,” he replied, as though that explained everything. “He gave me explicit directions.”

“I see.”

“He said you were with Liszt and that you might not want to come with me.…”

“Liszt and I are no longer—together.”

Phillipe smiled. “Good,” he said. “Perhaps I won't have to abduct you after all. Perhaps you'll come willingly.”

“Perhaps.”

“I'd hate to have to use force. I would, though. I used to beat up my younger brother at least once a week. He was a terrible pest, chasing after me like a gnat.”

“Surely you didn't really beat him?”

“Really. Thoroughly. At least once a week.”

He was such a charming young man—so sweet, so handsome, his nature as yet unmarred by the ugliness of the world. He aroused a tender feeling inside of me, making me wish I were still that innocent young girl who had roamed over the moors of Cornwall with a heart full of dreams and illusions.

“It's a long journey to Barivna,” he informed me. “If we leave immediately we will have to drive until dark, spend the night at an inn and drive most of tomorrow. But there's some lovely scenery and I'm sure you won't be bored.”

“I'm sure I won't.”

“Will you come peacefully, or shall I have to use force?”

I smiled, absolutely enchanted by Monsieur Phillipe Du Gard, the most delightful savior imaginable.

“I don't think force will be necessary,” I replied.

XXVII

The sky, a pale blue canopy, stretched above spectacular mountain vistas as the carriage moved up yet another perilously steep road. Peering out the window, I saw gorgeous peaks in the distance covered with green and studded with white and gray boulders, while two feet from the road there was a sheer drop. The carriage shook, bouncing on its springs, and I couldn't help being a bit nervous. Phillipe watched me, a teasing smile on his lips.

“We're not going to fall,” he assured me.

“What if one of the wheels came off right now? We'd go careening over the edge and tumble down thousands of feet. It's fortunate that you didn't tell me about the mountain passes yesterday, Phillipe. I'd never have come with you.”

“Yes you would have. Bound and gagged.”

“And kicking furiously,” I added. “Look, there's a cloud. I could almost reach out and
touch
it. I shan't try. I don't dare lean out the window. It might throw us off balance.”

Phillipe laughed, enjoying himself almost as much as I was. He was a marvelous traveling companion, amiable, attentive and wonderful to look at. We had spent the night in a comfortable inn, and he had arranged everything in advance, clean, cozy rooms for both of us and one for the driver as well. Phillipe and I had dined in splendor. There had been caviar, pâté, champagne chilling in a silver bucket.

We had stayed up talking until after midnight, and he told me how he, a young Frenchman, happened to have a position at Barivna's Court. Phillipe had attended the university there and had fallen in love with the country. Through various friends, word had gotten back to the king of Phillipe's feelings for Barivna, and the king immediately sent for him and offered him a minor role at Court upon his graduation. Which Phillipe accepted with great pleasure.

The carriage hit another deep rut and I said, “I hope there is not much more of this.”

“The road will level off in a little while, and there'll be no more dizzying drops, no more narrow curves. Barivna is situated in a large, lovely valley nestled right on top of the mountains. It's completely surrounded by peaks, and there are half a dozen sparkling lakes.”

“You really are fond of Barivna, aren't you?”

“I hate the thought of leaving it.”

“Must you?”

“I've no doubt Father will win eventually. He usually does.”

Phillipe had grown up in Touraine where his father, Marquis Du Gard, maintained a large, ancient chateau surrounded by woodland. As a child Phillipe had swum naked in the Loire, scurried up trees to rob birds' nests and had been the leader of a rowdy gang made up of children of the tenant farmers. When he reached his teens, he gave up pretending to be a pirate or a red Indian and developed an interest in poetry and music, disappointing his father who wanted him to stop wasting his time and learn to manage the estate. Marquis Du Gard had opposed Phillipe's attending the university at Barivna from the start and was now demanding that he return to Touraine.

“Have you a sweetheart in Barivna?” I inquired.

A faint pink blush tinted his cheeks. “There's no sweetheart,” he informed me.

“Not even a rosy-cheeked barmaid?” I teased. “I understand the girls who work in the beer gardens are terribly fetching.”

“I spend very little time in the beer gardens.”

I smiled as Phillipe brushed a wave of silvery brown hair from his forehead. My first impression had been correct. Despite his personable manner and his adeptness at light banter, Phillipe was essentially shy and far more sensitive than one might expect.

“You can look out the window again,” he told me. “The sheer drop is behind us. We're moving toward the valley. In half an hour you'll have a stunning view of Barivna.”

“Is—is the political situation really as tense as I've heard?”

Phillipe frowned, reluctant to discuss it. “There've been a few clashes between the students and the Sturnburg militia,” he conceded. “Sturnburg is making unreasonable demands on the King and trying to impose restrictions, but there's nothing for you to be concerned about. Let me tell you about your palace.”

“I'm to have a palace?”

“A rather small one,” he hastened to add, almost apologetically, “that His Majesty has allocated for your use. But it's white marble, two stories high, with lovely gardens. And the interior is all white and gilding, with crystal chandeliers and exquisite French furniture and blue and violet and silver-gray velvet hangings. The King had it redecorated especially for you.”

“I—I'm amazed.”

“He put the decorators to work as soon as he returned from Bonn. He's renamed the palace ‘Chez Elena.' You'll have a complete staff, chef, butler, footmen, maids. His Majesty wants you to be very comfortable.”

I was silent, thinking about the sad-eyed king and all the preparations he had made for my arrival. Phillipe fell silent, too, and a short while later the carriage rounded a curve on the mountain road and I had my first glimpse of the tiny kingdom of Barivna, incredibly lovely in the distance, its capital iridescent in the late afternoon sun. Sumptuous palaces cast shimmering reflections in lakes and lagoons, surrounded by a landscape lush with trees and gardens. The university was a vast complex, the buildings almost as ornate as the palaces. A glittering stream, spanned by several bridges, wound through the streets of the town proper.

“It's beautiful,” I said.

“Much larger than it looks from here,” Phillipe informed me. “There are outlying villages and rich farmland throughout the valley. Barivna is extremely wealthy and commands a very strategic position.”

“I didn't see the barracks,” I said as the carriage rounded another curve and the view of Barivna was cut off.

“They're behind the town, blessedly hidden by groves of trees. The King refused to let Sturnburg build barracks within the town itself. They're not very pretty.”

“I can imagine.”

We fell silent again as the carriage began to descend into the valley, passing lush fields where cattle grazed and small, quaint villages where healthy, robust men and their stocky, pink-cheeked wives paused to wave at the royal carriage, thinking, perhaps, that the King was inside. On the floor of the valley now, there were fields and farms on either side; the town lay three miles ahead. The road broadened and became a wide avenue lined with tall, graceful elms, and soon we were riding through the capital, bowling past the shops and cafes, moving over stone bridges.

A loud, roaring noise startled me. Phillipe smiled, and I looked out the window to see a mob of young men deserting their tables at a beer garden to rush toward the carriage. They yelled and waved and pursued the carriage in a merry pack, their number constantly increasing. Had it not been for their obvious good humor I would have been terrified.

“What—what's that they're yelling?” I asked.

“‘Elena,'” Phillipe said. “‘Bravo Elena.'”

“But how did they know I—”

“All of Barivna knows I went to fetch you. The students have been expecting you, and when they saw the carriage they knew you were inside. When tickets to your performance go on sale they'll probably tear the theater down in their scramble for seats.”

“They're certainly exuberant.”

“Students must have an idol. You're theirs. You represent freedom, liberation from dull convention. You've dared to defy the bourgeois world, to live with color and boldness, breaking all the rules, making your own choices. They adore you for it.”

Phillipe opened the window for me to lean out. As I did so, the roar was deafening. The students swarmed around the carriage like a pack of puppies, running to keep up with the horses, cheering lustily. I felt a glorious exultation as I saw those handsome, glowing young faces and heard the students crying my name. I wished that I had flowers to toss, but I blew kisses instead, and they cheered all the louder. Finally, the carriage rumbled over a narrow bridge and the students fell back, unable to keep apace. Phillipe shook his head as I settled back against the cushions.

“You're going to love Barivna,” he promised.

“I've never had such a rousing welcome. They make the students in Oxford and Cambridge seem positively demure.”

As we drove on through the town I noticed stern-looking soldiers in white and green uniforms, their helmets adorned with stiff red crests. The soldiers strolled about arrogantly, and several lounged at outdoor cafes, staring at the carriage with sullen eyes. We went by parks and museums and circled one of the small, sparkling blue lakes, then passed a parade ground where more soldiers rode in formation on splendid chestnut horses. Still elated by the students' reception, I paid little heed to the large, brutish men in uniform. We entered sumptuous formal gardens, near the largest lake. A few minutes later the carriage slowed down and turned up a circular drive before coming to a stop in front of Chez Elena.

As Phillipe helped me out of the carriage, I gazed in wonderment at the small, ornate palace. It was even more beautiful than I had imagined; its white marble polished by sunlight, fountains splashing, gardens abloom with roses. The palace stood on the edge of the lake, and I could see the royal castle on the other side, across the water, an immense, majestic edifice that sprawled in splendor, white and gold, with elegant staircases and graceful wings and galleries that extended on either side of the main structure.

“How do you like your new home?” Phillipe inquired.

“I—I'm overcome.”

“There are only twenty rooms,” he apologized, leading me up the front steps.

“Only twenty?” I teased.

“The drawing room is huge, perfect for receptions, and the ballroom is grand.”

“I've always wanted my own ballroom.”

The household staff was assembled in the front hall to greet me, the chef beaming broadly in his white mushroom hat, the butler severe in black, the six footmen stalwart and sober in dark blue livery. Five of the maids wore black dresses with crisp white aprons. The sixth, a slender girl with dreamy blue eyes and long copper hair, wore violet-gray silk. Phillipe introduced each servant, and I learned that the blue-eyed girl, Minne, spoke perfect French and was to be my lady's maid.

The butler dismissed the servants, and Phillipe showed me through the house, as pleased as a child showing off a new toy. Each room was more spectacular than the next, the ceilings exquisitely molded with patterns picked out in gold leaf, the white walls with gold leaf panels. Magnificent chandeliers dripped with sparkling crystal pendants, and more pendants dangled from golden wall sconces. The rich velvet drapes and the upholstery of the elegant white and gold French furniture were further distinguished by the blue and violet and silver-gray motif that ran through the entire palace. A gracious spiral staircase curved up to the second floor, the bannisters white, the carpet a deep blue. Phillipe led me upstairs and took me to the door of my bedroom.

“I imagine you're tired,” he said, “and I must present myself at the palace and report to His Majesty.”

“When will I meet him?”

Phillipe hesitated a moment before replying. “The King is—rather shy, particularly with beautiful women. Don't be too disappointed if you don't see him right away. It may be several days before he sends for you. I'll return this evening to discuss arrangements for your performance.”

“Perhaps you'll dine with me.”

“I'd be honored.”

He smiled that lovely smile again, bowed politely, and left. I went on into the bedroom. Royal blue drapes hung at the windows. The carpet a pale, pale blue was deep and rich. The graceful white bed had a canopy of pale blue silk and royal blue satin, the counterpane of matching royal blue. Tall French doors stood open, leading out to a semi-circular balcony with a white marble railing. Stepping out onto it, I looked down at the gardens and across the lake to the royal castle.

I found it hard to believe that only yesterday I had been sitting in a chair at the inn, wondering how I was going to pay for a train ticket. It seemed weeks ago, somehow, and Franz and Wagner were already a part of the past. So much had happened so quickly. Was I really in this small, incredible kingdom, standing on the balcony of my own palace? I felt a curious disorientation, as though I were in the middle of a lovely dream and would awaken at any moment to reality. Sighing, I went back inside and looked around the room as though to determine if it were real or part of the dream.