Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) (21 page)

Herr Schmidt seemed baffled by such attention. Looking directly at Lizzie, he said in English, “I know you didn’t mean to shoot me. I know you weren’t knowingly involved in any plots against my government. I’m not going to arrest you for my own misjudgements.”

Lizzie blinked and then smiled.

“Huzzah!” Michael exclaimed. “Would you care for a game of cards, sir?”

Johnnie laughed. “Did you think leniency would get you off the hook, Herr
Schmidt
?”

The policeman glared at him. “I thought it might,
Herr Johnnie
.”

Lizzie, looking around for the cards, brought her gaze flying back to Herr Schmidt’s face. Although everyone knew Johnnie was an unlikely name for a Russian, she didn’t care for the hint of threat in the policeman’s mockery.

“Johnnie did no more wrong than I did,” she pointed out anxiously. “You’re not going to arrest him either, are you? You’d have died without him.”

“I’m aware of it,” Herr Schmidt said, his gaze still locked to Johnnie’s. “And no, I could hardly arrest him for what you did.”

“He just doesn’t like Russians,” Johnnie mocked. “We’re not in favor any more, now that our army has served its purpose and defeated Napoleon.”

“Are you trying to rile me?” the policeman asked without noticeable heat. If anything, he appeared to be amused, although it was hard to tell from that expressionless face.

Johnnie laughed.

“We weren’t in favor of Russians either,” Michael said, “on account of having a vile Russian cousin, but Johnnie’s different. He’s a great gun. Are we all playing?”

*

With Herr Schmidt
recovering his health, Lizzie felt able to turn her mind to other problems, namely those of her cousins. Minerva’s budding romance and James’ debts both required attention.

Once Mrs. Fawcett took up residence in her Vienna establishment, Minerva could meet unexceptionably with Mr. Corner there. James’ difficulties would require rather greater ingenuity.

She began to toy with the idea of visiting the Fischers, wild notions of threatening the husband or begging the intercession of the wife tempted her, though she didn’t hold out much hope of success from either ploy. Besides which, gentlemen’s gambling debts were hemmed in by such ridiculous rules.
Debts of honor
, she thought disparagingly. What was remotely honorable about a stupid game? Let alone about wagering money you didn’t have, or ruining a man’s family just to obtain money you didn’t need, won at said stupid game? Men really were
childish
at times.

In the meantime, she took advantage of any opportunity to observe Minerva and Mr. Corner together. One such chance arose when Aunt Lucy had claimed the rare attendance of her husband to go shopping on her own account, for once, rather than on Minerva’s. Thus, when Mr. Corner arrived with a large sheaf of papers, there was no one else to receive it from him.

While Minerva managed to blush and brighten at the same time, and the children tried to prevent Dog from knocking Mr. Corner over—he took it in good part, which was definitely in his favor—Lizzie received the papers and laid them aside for her uncle. She presented Mr. Corner with a pen to write a note to go with them.

While he did so, Lizzie said, “You are the solution to our problem, Mr. Corner!”

“I am?” he said, glancing up with raised brow, as if not quite sure whether to be alarmed or gratified.

“Minerva and I were wishing to take a walk around to my friend’s house,” Lizzie said blatantly. In fact, although it had been Lizzie’s wish to go to Dorothée’s, she’d mentioned no such thing to her cousin until now.

Minerva’s eyes widened.

“Only James is out,” Lizzie proceeded, “and we have no escort. Do you, perchance, have an hour to spare us, Mr. Corner?”

Mr. Corner straightened, laying down his pen. His gaze drifted to Minerva and he smiled. “Why yes, it would be my privilege.”

“Excellent,” Lizzie said, seizing Minerva by the hand. “Then give us two minutes to gather our things…”

Leaving the children to entertain the happy Mr. Corner, Lizzie dragged Minerva upstairs to their bedroom. In fact, Minerva had no need to do more than choose her bonnet and pelisse, though Lizzie had to change from her old, darned dress into the refurbished one.

“What friend?” Minerva demanded, fastening the gown for her. “Did you make her up? Or is Mrs. Fawcett finally in Vienna?”

“No, but I think she might come tomorrow. Or the next day. And I mean my friend Dorothée. I wasn’t going to go today, but when Mr. Corner appeared, it struck me we could all go with propriety. You and Mr. Corner may converse without the—ah… distractions of Dog and the curiosity of the children.”

“Won’t your Dorothée object?”

“Oh no. She and, indeed her sister, told me you are all welcome.”

However, as they turned into Josefstrasse, it seemed Dorothée had changed her mind, for a carriage pulled up beside them and Dorothée herself, stuck her head out of the window.

“Lizzie!” she exclaimed. “Are you on your way to visit me?”

“Well I was. We were—”

“I changed my mind. I’m going to my sister’s, instead.” She pushed open the carriage door and kicked down the step. “Come with me.”

Lizzie blinked. “I haven’t introduced my cousin, Miss Daniels. And Mr. Corner who’s on my uncle’s staff…”

Dorothée bestowed a blinding smile on them both impartially. “Of course, you must come, too. My sister will be as enchanted as I and, as you see, there’s plenty of room.”

“I don’t think we should intrude on your sister’s party—” Lizzie began, since it was not part of her plan to create a scandal around her cousin.

“Oh, it isn’t a party,” Dorothée said carelessly. “I doubt there will be anyone else there, but Wilhelmine is always good fun.”

Lizzie only hesitated a moment, for although the famous Duchess of Sagan was a rather more public figure than she would have chosen to host her cousin’s assignation, it could surely be quite unexceptionable in the afternoon.

Mr. Corner, certainly, appeared to be all in favor, for he handed Minerva into the carriage without protest and they all settled in for the short drive to the Palm Palace. On the way, Dorothée regaled them with amusing anecdotes of her sister’s rivalry with her fellow tenant, Princess Bagration, which was when Minerva at least began to realize who Dorothée’s sister actually was.

“Lizzie,” she hissed, as they dismounted from the carriage. “This will be as bad as the rest.” Meaning, presumably, all the other large social gatherings she was dragged to.

“Nonsense,” Lizzie replied bracingly. “No one will pay any attention to anyone save the Duchess, unless it’s to Dorothée, so you may just relax and enjoy the conversation.” Although, following Dorothée up the elegant staircase to the duchess’ salons, she hoped devoutly it was true.

Without any formality, Dorothée introduced them as her English friends and the duchess graciously remembered Lizzie. Although even more dazzling in her own territory, there was nothing but civil warmth in her welcome, and since there appeared to be just a few other people present, Minerva relaxed visibly.

“We’re having tea and cakes,” the duchess said, waving a hand to a table at one end of the room. Lizzie’s view was partially blocked by two men in front of it, deep in conversation, with their backs to her. “You must try them all, because each is decorated with the emblem of a Congress country. Even France, because, although they’ve been defeated, everyone knows they make the best cakes.”

Lizzie laughed, noticing as she walked with the duchess that Minerva and Mr. Corner were already at the table with Dorothée, pointing out various iced emblems to each other.

The duchess’ gaze swept across the table. “Vanya, what did you do with the Russian cake?”

At the sound of the name, Lizzie’s stomach performed an annoying somersault and she tried not to hold her breath as she followed the duchess’ gaze towards the window. However, her search never got that far. The two men by the side of the table both turned at the duchess’ accusatory question and as Lizzie’s gaze passed over them in pursuit of the elusive Colonel Vanya, it caught, instead, on the taller, darker man next to the table.

He wore a gorgeous green and gold uniform somewhat casually and a lock of unruly black hair fell across his handsome face. With laughter just dying in his rather hard eyes and on his sculpted lips, he appeared perfectly comfortable among his aristocratic companions. Nevertheless, he was, undeniably, Johnnie.

H
is carelessly tied
cravat would have appalled James; and yet he looked every inch a gentleman.

For an instant, Lizzie’s own shock seemed to be mirrored in his eyes, fixed unblinkingly on her face. Confused explanations tumbled through her brain: that their theft had been discovered and this was somehow part of her punishment; that Jonnie was in the midst of some fresh mischief that she needed to save her kind hostess from; that Johnnie wasn’t a thief and never had been, whatever she’d seen him do in the theatre that night; that he was something much worse, or much better…

Another faint, almost apologetic smile touched his lips and vanished as he dragged his gaze from her face to the duchess, and spoke in French. “It’s my belief Boris pocketed the whole Russian cake to give to the tsar.”

“Go to the devil,” said another voice close by, presumably Boris’.

Numbly, Lizzie registered that he knew these people, that they knew him, in whatever capacity. And then the duchess was inviting her to try the French cake and inquiring of Minerva what she thought of the Bavarian one. Like an automaton, Lizzie allowed herself to be herded away to a little circle of sofas and chairs around a low table. Before she sat, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder once more.

He was still watching her, although as soon as she met his gaze, he shifted his own, significantly, to another door at the end of the salon. Lizzie looked hastily away and sat, murmuring thanks for the tea, and began to eat her cake with the elegant little fork.

“Miss Gaunt, what a pleasant surprise,” someone greeted her in English. It spoke volumes for her distraction, that although she knew she’d met him, she couldn’t, for a moment, think who he was.

“Mr. Grassic,” she remembered at last. “How do you do?” Greetings over, she introduced him to Minerva and Mr. Corner, who seemed to be getting along famously on their own.

“So which patriotic cake has the honor of your plate?” Mr. Grassic asked humorously.

“The French, since we’re all allies now. And since I’m assured French cakes are always the best.”

“The Viennese might dispute it.” Mr. Grassic waved one hand to an abandoned plate on the occasional table, presumably his own.

“Austria is next on my list, although if I try them all, I’ll need six stout footmen to carry me home.”

Only when Mr. Grassic’s eyes lit with surprised laughter did she realize this was hardly a ladylike thing to say. However, she liked the laughter that lightened his rather secretive face. Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t give him the set-down she should when he inquired about the identity of Mr. Corner.

“He’s on my uncle’s staff,” she said repressively. “Almost one of the family and
excessively
respectable.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Mr. Grassic assured her. With a quick glance around them—in fact, for the moment, there was no one else close by—he lowered his voice further. “I was hoping your cousins weren’t
both
running wild.”

Lizzie, who’d used the moment to try to rediscover Johnnie, brought her frowning gaze back to Mr. Grassic. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I hear disturbing stories of the company James has been keeping and the debts he has incurred along the way.”

Again, it might have been distraction that prevented the set-down hovering on the tip of her tongue. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was a clergyman and that there was something very likeable about his worldly understanding. At any rate, she swallowed her sharp words, saying instead, “My cousin will find his own way. Don’t all young men learn from their mistakes?”

“Preferably before they fall flat on their faces,” Mr. Grassic said wryly. “Fischer’s is no place for him.”

“He knows it,” Lizzie said, suddenly uncomfortable discussing the issue which she thought of as private between herself and James. And Johnnie, she realized. “Excuse me,” she added as Dorothée caught her eye. Although it was hardly a summons, she used it as an excuse to stand up and move across the room to her friend.

All the time she listened to, and even conversed on, various subjects from the importance or otherwise of having more than the strongest powers represented at the Congress, to the best dressmakers in Vienna, she knew she needed to speak to Johnnie and find out what in the world he was doing here. After the first shock of over-speculation, she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Eventually, she excused herself from Dorothée’s little group, too, and wandered across the room, pausing to exchange greetings with the few people she already knew, mostly from Dorothée’s “at home”. Drifting through the door Johnnie had appeared to indicate into the next salon, she found it was empty, but, curious now, she walked through the elegant apartment and out the door at the far end, which led to a hallway. On the other side of the hall, Johnnie himself leaned in a doorway.