Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) (5 page)

“The tsar,” Sonia reported from the doorway. Having applauded his last few wins, she was bored with the game and ready to seek attention elsewhere.

Vanya sat where he was. Although quite ready to rekindle his old liaison with the countess, he reckoned he could win enough in another fifteen minutes, half an hour at the most—providing the cards stayed with him—and be free to pursue her wholeheartedly.

Somewhat to his surprise, his opponents didn’t immediately rush to fawn upon the tsar, either. Vanya could only suppose that His Majesty’s presence at such minor social gatherings had become too familiar.

And certainly, as he strolled into the card room twenty minutes later, the tsar’s manner was informal to the point of casual. Tall, fair, handsome, and well-made, Alexander, Tsar of all the Russias, was an impressive man. Vanya, who was and had always been quite prepared to die for him, thought it a shame that he couldn’t actually like him. To Vanya, he was a bad mixture of arrogance, brilliance, ineptitude, idealism, optimism, petulance, charm, and tyranny. People called Vanya volatile, but truly, the tsar was the embodiment of such a description.

Tonight, His Majesty was in affable humor, even pressing Vanya’s shoulder to prevent him rising when he realized the tsar stood behind him. “No, no, Colonel,” he said jovially. “My heroes shall not bow to me in private!”

Princess Bagration’s salons were hardly private, but no one argued.

“Are you winning?” the tsar inquired.

“Moderately,” Vanya said, to the accompaniment of snorts around the table.

The tsar was pleased to laugh and pass on. Which is when Vanya finally noticed the officers who flanked him. The one on the right was sneering at him openly when he should have been following the tsar.

“Blonsky,” Vanya said in surprise, although he did vaguely recall hearing Blonsky’s regiment had been assigned to guarding the tsar.

There was a time when he’d have cared, when at least hatred and anger would have risen at the sight of him. Now, the boy he’d been was so far removed as to not matter anymore. Even Katia had grown blurry in his memory. He’d shed too much blood in the last six years to be very eager to spill more. Even Blonsky’s.

Blonsky curled his lip and looked right through him, a difficult combination to achieve, then turned and marched off after the tsar.

“Bad blood?” one of the players drawled.

“No,” Vanya said. “It was never his blood that was the problem.”

The player leaned closer, confiding, “Did you know he is pursuing Countess Gelitzina?”

Vanya, about to deal the cards, paused for a fraction of a second. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“He’s dangerous in a duel,” the young man said bluntly.

Vanya glanced at him and set down the cards.

But the player on his other side had overheard with some amusement. “So’s Vanya. Who do you think gave Blonsky that sabre scar on his hand?”

“Play,” Vanya said impatiently.

Ten minutes later, Vanya swept his winnings into his pocket and, ignoring pleas for revenge from his erstwhile opponents, went in search of Boris.

“He left on some business of the tsar’s,” Sonia said when he encountered her in the hallway beside the cloakroom, receiving her flimsy shawl from a wooden-faced servant.

Vanya propped his shoulder against the wall, waiting for the maid to leave. “What is Blonsky to you?” he asked, when the girl had effaced herself.

Sonia glanced up at him, a smile just curving her luscious lips. “Jealous, Vanya?”

“I don’t care to step on another man’s toes.”

Sonia’s eyes flashed. “It didn’t bother you when my husband was alive.”

She had a point, of course. He shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps I’ve grown up.”

“Good night, Vanya,” Sonia said deliberately and turned her back, heading for the staircase.

Vanya straightened. “You could,” he suggested, “drop me at Boris’ lodgings.”

Sonia stilled. After a moment, she looked back over her shoulder and regarded him. He’d always liked the way her smoky eyes seemed to smolder.

“I could,” she agreed and walked on.

Vanya smiled and followed her.

*

In the quiet
of the morning after she’d given Johnnie the thief his instructions, Lizzie decided they should take the dog out for a long walk in the direction of the Vienna woods. Dog, thrilled to be outside of the confining walls of the house and garden, pulled on his leash so wildly that Lizzie was dragged all over the place. She only just managed to prevent him from throwing himself in front of a fast-bowling carriage.

By the time they reached the Graben, they’d developed a system whereby everyone else held on to the person who controlled the leash, ready to dig in their heels at Dog’s next lunge. It was quite an amusing way to travel and it caused a good deal of hilarity among the children and the few passers-by they encountered. Fortunately, fashionable Vienna was still abed, since it never went to sleep before three o’clock in the morning and frequently later.

However, Lizzie soon discovered that even this ridiculous method was not foolproof. As Henrietta controlled the lead, Dog walking nicely beside her, he made yet another lunge at a maid carrying several parcels – presumably containing food. Lizzie and the others applied the anchor as usual and Henrietta remained in place. However, the leash unraveled, allowing Dog to run rings around the poor maid and tangle her in the lead. When the maid dropped some of her parcels in fright, Lizzie knew they were in trouble.

“Oh no,” she said, releasing Henrietta and lunging after the dog. But Michael was ahead of her, throwing himself on top of the animal.

“So sorry,” Lizzie said, untangling the frightened maid. “He won’t hurt you but he’s greed personified.”

Georgiana and Henrietta were already picking up the maid’s parcels. Dog, under Michael’s restraining body, wagged his tail. The maid, looking more outraged than frightened, released a torrent of French, interrupted by a rather delightful peel of laughter from a lady Lizzie hadn’t even noticed. She was about Lizzie’s own age and exquisitely dressed in a blue morning dress and pelisse with matching chip hat. More than that, even holding her sides in mirth, she possessed an enviable, unconscious elegance.

“Thank you for rescuing my foolish girl,” she said breathlessly, coming up to Lizzie and quieting the maid with a flick of one casual finger. “And for the entertainment. That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen since I arrived in Vienna.”

“You must thank Dog for that,” Lizzie said dryly. “We are merely his slaves. Well done, Michael,” she added. “You can release him now, but slowly.” She shortened the leash to prevent the dog jumping on the elegant lady as soon as he’d bounced to his feet and shaken himself. The lady let him sniff her gloved fingers and stroked his big head. Dog fawned.

“He likes you.” Georgiana observed with unflattering surprise.

“I like dogs.”

“He’s more of a disgrace than a dog,” Lizzie sighed. “We never trained him properly. It didn’t matter in the country, but in the city he’s a menace.”

“A beautiful menace,” the lady insisted. Not many people would have called Dog beautiful, so Lizzie was disposed to like her.

“I don’t think he ate any of your parcels,” Lizzie said. “But if he’s damaged anything, you must let us pay.”

“Ah no, I believe this young man’s quick actions saved the day. Or at least my breakfast.”

Michael gave an embarrassed and slightly bedazzled grin.

Even more in accord with the lady, Lizzie said, “Well, if you find teeth marks in any of it, send word to me! I’m Lizzie Gaunt and staying with my aunt and uncle in the Skodegasse. Number twenty-five.”

The lady held out her hand. “Dorothée de Talleyrand-Perigord, and I’m staying with my uncle in the Johnnesgasse. I believe they call it the Kaunitz Palace.”

“You’re French!” Michael exclaimed, fortunately detracting from Lizzie’s astonishment with his own shock. Lizzie’s was more to do with the recognition of the name Talleyrand.

“Oh, the blood in my veins comes from all over Europe,” Dorothée said carelessly. “Besides, we’re all at peace now, are we not? Is your uncle with the British Embassy? Mine is with the French.”

Lizzie, allowing Dog the space to lift his leg at the nearby lamppost, caught her new friend’s eye with a wry twitch of her lip. “Madame, your uncle
is
the French Embassy.”

Dorothée laughed. “He will rejoice to hear you say so.”

By mutual if tacit agreement, they’d begun to walk together, the maid keeping a strategic distance behind, well away from the dog. Before they parted ten minutes later, Lizzie knew that her new friend was married, hadn’t seen her husband for months, and didn’t appear to mind, and that she had two children whom she’d left with her mother so she could come to Vienna to play hostess for her uncle. But more than that, they’d laughed together and Lizzie rather thought that if things had been different, they might have been close friends.

*

Vanya hadn’t yet
made it to Boris’ lodgings. Sonia had proved such a delightful distraction that he’d never got further than her apartment overlooking the Graben.

Vanya seldom slept in daylight, so he rose early, leaving her sprawled face down and contented in the bed. He flung on his clothes in careless fashion and sat down in the chair by the window to pull on his boots.

From here, he suspected, you could see the whole of Vienna pass by in a single day. Wherever you went, it was nearly always necessary to go via the Graben, this vast, open space stretching out before him. Even early as it was, several people were already abroad – scurrying tradesmen and merchants, a few servants and an elegant lady in blue…

He blinked, his restless heart suddenly soaring with unexpected excitement, for he’d just caught sight of a cavalcade of three young girls, a boy, and a large, hairy dog of indeterminate parentage. The youthful beauty of the family, Henrietta, was holding the dog’s lead while everyone else held on to her.

Vanya stood up and grinned, leaning one arm across the wooden window frame to watch them process across the Graben amidst a great deal of hilarity. The sight tugged at him, reminding him of more innocent days, of childhood fun with his own siblings and cousins, before war and the awfulness of fear and violence had soured him.

Not that many people would have called him sour. But the sheer
joie de vivre
of the English family made him laugh and ache at the same time, especially when the dog assaulted the maid.

His shoulders shook silently as the scene unfolded before him. He couldn’t tear himself away. The trouble was, he couldn’t help liking the whole eccentric family; and, of course, the lady in blue whom they adopted into the adventure of their everyday life was a stunning beauty by any standards. And yet for some reason, it was Lizzie his gaze clung to with ever-growing fascination. Something about her mix of innocence and boldness, fun and determination, surpassed even the unconscious loveliness of her face and figure which had first attracted him when she’d hustled him into her family’s carriage outside the theatre.

Actually, he didn’t even know if she
was
beautiful. Not like the tsarina or Sonia or the lady in blue who looked oddly familiar, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Sheer vitality surpassed mere beauty. Or perhaps merely enhanced it, for he defied anyone to find a pair of finer dark eyes than Lizzie’s. Somehow, they sparkled…

Sober, of course, he understood that she was off-limits to him for any number of reasons, but that hadn’t stopped her popping into his mind at all sorts of inconvenient and inappropriate moments, not least of which had occurred last night while he was making unbridled love to Sonia.

Something very like shame churned in his stomach as he glanced toward the bed. It seemed…
wrong
, to be here with Sonia, watching
her
. As if he could somehow sully the English girl.

And yet, still he didn’t turn away. He watched her laugh and hang on to the dog and all her dependent siblings while she made unlikely friends with the fashionable lady in blue. And he enjoyed it. He enjoyed
her
, even from a distance, with something that threatened to run far deeper than mere physical desire.