Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Prince Lucifer throws all principles to the wind and finds himself pressed to seek the help of the man he has sworn to avoid at all costs, then things must be desperate, indeed.
With a sigh, Klemens dragged his feet up the marble staircase in the Metternich residence, his faithful adjutant Kovacz in tow, whose frown between his brows grew heavier with each step they ascended.
“Is this really necessary, Highness? You could have just summoned him to the Hofburg.”
“He’s too busy conspiring with the congress attendees.
Don’t you know that he’s so elusive, it’s become legendarily difficult to have a personal meeting with him?
I heard Prince Talleyrand himself complain that it has become impossible to meet the man.
Though,” he added in an afterthought, “that may also be a political strategy on his side.” It galled him to have to throw all principles overboard and take this step, but he was at his wits’ end.
His dislike of Metternich notwithstanding, the man had a political cunning and influence over his father, the Kaiser, that few others had.
“The man is as slippery as an eel,” Kovacz stated. “I don’t trust him.” He announced the Archduke. Whatever Metternich was doing now, he’d be forced to interrupt his activity, no matter how important, and greet him. For one does not let an archduke wait.
Klemens bid Kovacz wait in the antechamber as he entered the study where Metternich would receive him.
“This is a surprise.” Metternich entered through a tapestried side door, paused, and made a bow.
“Has His Imperial Highness decided to join our negotiations? I would not have thought you were that politically invested. Even though I may have to revise that impression, judging from your rather surprising observations at our last soiree.” He dangled his quizzing glass from his fingers and regarded him closely.
“You uttered some unexpectedly astute statements in favour of our demands. Such political support coming from you, of all people, was rather unanticipated, given your reluctance to show your colours.”
Klemens grimaced. “This is not why I’m here. I do need to discuss something with you that is private, not of a political nature.”
“I have always considered the personal to be political.” He gestured with a hand at the group of settees in the centre of the room, and they sat. “I confess I am rather curious now as to what that could be.”
“I will be direct. It is no secret that you have become one of Europe’s most influential matchmakers, particularly with dynastic marriages.”
Metternich inclined his head, a faint smile playing about his lips.
“Ah yes, I confess I take some pride in that reputation. The union of Archduchess Marie Louise with the Emperor of the French was, at the time—forgive me for praising myself—a masterstroke of statecraft. It was a necessary evil. I am proud of that accomplishment. It was no triumph of the heart, I assure you, but of necessity. It bought us peace, however brief, and extricated Austria from a most perilous situation. For a while, it worked. One must take such victories where one can.”
Klemens leaned forward and looked at him intently.
“And with this same purpose in mind, you are secretly manoeuvring to arrange my marriage to the Grand Duchess of Russia. Mind you, it is not really a secret, for the entire country seems to be informed of the date of the formal betrothal announcement, except for me. One cannot help but ask why you seek to forge such a union between our nations when your official stance at the congress is that of stability and balance between the powers. A union with Russia, surely, would upset such a balance.”
Metternich pulled out a handkerchief and polished his quizzing glass. “If you suggest that I am playing a double game, you are quite right. Let us call it prudence; an ace up one’s sleeve, should the official negotiations fail.”
Klemens scowled. “It is my future you are toying with, and you are using me like a political chess piece, moving it at your whim. I object to that.”
Metternich nodded. “That is entirely understandable. I would feel the same way. They call me the chess master of Europe, after all. And yet,” a cunning light entered his eyes, “what you call manipulation is simply, for lack of a better word, fate. You are an archduke of Austria, and it is your duty to marry to stabilise the realm. It is what you were born to do.”
Klemens jumped up. “Mention the word duty one more time and I shall challenge you to a duel.”
At that, Metternich laughed outright. “I see I touched a sore wound. It would be a pleasure to meet you in a duel. And no, you wouldn’t be the first. Haven’t you heard?
The Tsar is so incensed with me he has threatened to call me out.
Mind you, he was half drunk at the time and in one of his infamous tempers.
” He pulled a face. “He is difficult and unpredictable, more of an overgrown toddler wearing a crown, nothing more.”
Klemens paused. “Wait. The Tsar called you out? Why on earth?”
Metternich had the grace to look embarrassed. He rubbed his neck. “Over a woman.”
“A woman,” Klemens echoed, and fell back onto the sofa. “Naturally. If you mean the Princess Bagration, I must assure you that her presence in my rooms that night was entirely because of her own machinations. I am fairly certain the Tsar has tired of her.”
Metternich waved a hand. “The only relation I have with her currently is that she is the mother of my daughter Marie-Clementine. She is not the woman I meant.”
Klemens wondered briefly how many mistresses Metternich had, and how many illegitimate children they had borne him. Not that it was any of his business, mind.
“I meant Wilhelmine.” A faint sheen of red crawled up Metternich’s neck.
“Wilhel—oh. The Countess of Sagan?” She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it, voluptuous and stately and proud, impeccably dressed and the perfect society hostess, if one’s tastes ran to that.
His certainly did not, for he much preferred a less refined, daintier slip of a girl with a whirlwind of black curls, an honest tongue, her heart in her eyes and the sharp brains of three mathematicians combined filling her head.
For nothing in this world or the next would he want to swap his Pippa for a society cocotte like the Duchess of Sagan.
Metternich leaned back with a groan. “We had an argument.”
“Believe me, I know the feeling,” Klemens muttered darkly.
“She won’t see me.”
“That’s of course…a dilemma.” Klemens cleared his throat, wondering why this conversation was suddenly veering off into these waters.
“Not only that, you see, she won’t even answer my letters! I’ve been sending her daily missives, sometimes even twice a day, and what does she do? She does nothing at all.” He threw up his hands dramatically.
“Well, sometimes no response might also be a response,” Klemens muttered under his breath, thankful that Pippa, at least in this regard, had been crystal clear about her intentions.
After their fight, he had wallowed in a full day of intense self-pity, nursing his wounds like some tragic hero in a third-rate opera.
“I have tried everything: sent her pralines, jewellery, the latest fashionable bonnet, and while that might induce her to reply with a thank you, it is but a curt, polite missive.” He looked at Klemens with despair.
“As though I were some distant acquaintance she barely tolerates. It is as though she were pushing me away deliberately.”
Klemens went very still.
As though she were pushing him away deliberately.
“Yes, I know she loves me. I’ve seen it in her eyes. So why would she say such things unless—”
The thought struck Klemens like a thunderbolt.
Unless she was trying to protect him.
Of course, of course Pippa loved him. How could he have ever doubted that?
Wouldn’t it be entirely in her nature to be contrary and sacrifice everything, even her love, if she believed it would harm him?
All her talk about the differences of their stations and propriety was merely a pretext, a shield she’d raised between them for his sake alone.
He would not have it.
A warm feeling spread through him. When Pippa loved, she did so with a loyalty and fierceness that encompassed her entire being. Their problem was not affection but politics.
He would simply have to be diplomatic.
“What do you think it means?” he paused. “Highness?”
Klemens snapped out his reverie. “I would say that’s rather evident—” Then he interrupted himself. If he wanted to get Metternich on his side, he would have to approach this differently.
“Do you truly want my advice?” Klemens asked bluntly.
“Pray, yes.” Metternich pulled at his hair.
“At the next ball. You are to host one soon, are you not?”
Metternich nodded. “Indeed. Saturday next.”
“Well then. Have the name cards switched at the last moment so that she sits right next to you at the supper table. Then she is forced to talk to you, and you use the opportunity to clear the air.”
Metternich stared. “Such a simple solution?”
“Sometimes, simple solutions are the best.”
“That is…brilliant advice!” He jumped up and walked about. “Truly. I wouldn’t have thought of this myself, Highness.”
“Well, there it is, then. When it comes to arranging marriages, you may be the grand master of them all, but I daresay I also know a little about the workings of the female heart. Sometimes simpler is better. Possibly fewer missives and presents, but something more heartfelt, honest instead.”
“Something heartfelt and honest. What on earth could that possibly be?”