Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
The ballroom was ablaze with lights that shimmered in the crystal prisms of the chandeliers.
Pippa ran a nervous hand along the fine pink silk of her ballgown, while her gaze swept over the room, taking in the clusters of well-dressed people who stood about or danced, the orchestra, the flowers, and the candles.
She fixed on those, attempting to form a reasonable estimate of the total number of candles in the room.
Six massive chandeliers, she counted, easily a hundred candles on each.
Not to mention the lights affixed to the side columns and the walls.
How much would the total be, then? Her mind settled as she focused on the calculation.
Mimi stepped up to her and took her arm, tearing her out of her calculations.
“Come,” she said. “This promises to be an exceptionally interesting evening. Everyone is here.” Her eyes swept the room.
“And there is a particular gentleman I’ve had my eyes on, a military man, tall, distinguished, all the crack… ”
As she and Mimi threaded their way through the throng, a man stepped into their path. Elegant, suave, smiling.
Metternich.
He cut a dashing figure in evening wear as he bowed over the Archduchess’ hand, looking deeply into her eyes.
“Your Imperial Highness,” he murmured. “Dare I say you are the most charming of ladies attending this evening tonight?
There are few who could hold a candle to you, and none who would dare try. "
Mimi giggled. “What nonsense. You know how to flatter, Prince. Why anyone still listens to you, I cannot imagine.”
He placed his hand on his heart. “You misjudge me cruelly, Highness. I am the very soul of sincerity.”
The man could be quite charming when he wanted to be, though likely it was all based on political calculation. What did he hope to secure from Mimi?
He looked up fleetingly over Mimi’s head and met Pippa’s gaze directly. “Fr?ulein Cranwell.”
This was the moment. In a bold move, Pippa extended her hand for him to take and kiss. If he was a gentleman, he would ignore the impropriety of her action and follow suit.
Thankfully, he was a gentleman. He took her hand and kissed it.
Quickly she turned it and pressed a small note into his hand. In it, she’d written in cramped handwriting what she had overheard in the servants’ hall.
Aside from a knowing gleam in his eyes, he did not react at all. The note disappeared unobtrusively into the inner pocket of his evening coat.
Then he turned back to Mimi.
Pippa breathed a sigh of relief.
She had done her part. The rest was out of her hands.
Metternich led Mimi to make a formation for the polonaise, which signalled the beginning of the ball.
The first notes of music started. Pippa stood by the wall and watched as the couples walked into the room, according to their rank.
There was the Tsar, tall and blond and smiling broadly.
Pippa started when she recognised the lady: it was the selfsame woman who had been in Klemens’ chambers.
She was exquisitely dressed in a silver gown and laden with diamonds, beaming in all directions. Pippa was glad to see her smiling.
Then came the King of Denmark, the King of Prussia, and Metternich himself, escorting Mimi.
“The Kaiser is not attending tonight,” murmured a lady beside her, fluttering her peacock fan. “They say he is unwell.”
“I hope it is nothing serious,” her companion responded.
“ Influenza is making the rounds,” another replied airily. “Oh! Look! Our Prince Lucifer looks as divine as ever.”
Pippa’s head snapped up just as another couple entered the ballroom, the final pair in the polonaise formation.
She caught her breath. In his white uniform, with the broad sash and glittering orders across his chest, he looked almost unearthly: every inch the archduke, every inch untouchable. So familiar, yet strange. She was unprepared for the sharp, aching pain that shot through her.
He took his position in the polonaise. His expression was that of boredom, cool and imperious.
His gloved hand was extended, and upon it rested the delicate fingers of the Grand Duchess.
“She is beautiful, but aloof,” the lady next to her said. “Alas, it appears she has not been able to touch our prince’s heart. He looks as though he were carved out of marble. They say his heart was given away to someone else long ago.”
Pippa fidgeted uncomfortably.
“Do you know who she could be?”
“I daresay it must be the Naked Angel,” she tittered. “If not her, then possibly the Duchess of Sagan.”
“Not the Duchess,” replied the other woman. “She is Metternich’s woman. Whoever she is, they say he had a shouting match with the Emperor that was heard all the way into his reception rooms for everyone to hear. Shocking.”
Pippa had had enough of the gossip. She turned and elbowed her way through the crowd.
It was too hot in the ballroom; there were too many people, and the smell was overpowering.
She was entirely alone, as Mimi would dance for the next hour with Metternich, and there was no one she knew at all, no one to talk to, nor dance with.
She was invisible and entirely irrelevant in this society.
She stepped out through the double French doors onto the verandah and welcomed the cold, crisp air that kissed her cheeks.
The music and voices faded to a murmur. Leaning against the balustrade for support, she regarded the sky, allowing her heated thoughts to drift.
She thought of Papa, how long ago she had left home, of all the things that had happened in Vienna since.
The people she had met, everything she had experienced, from being the lowliest of palace maids to becoming the companion of an archduchess.
Klemens and the perpetual, dull ache in her heart that never went away.
She did not know how much time had passed. She lifted her head; the inky, velvety night sky was perfectly clear and dotted with ten thousand stars.
She lifted both hands to form a square, framing a small patch of the celestial spectacle. No, not ten thousand. It would result in no more than three thousand that were visible to the naked eye across the entire celestial sphere. She recalculated, frowned, and raised the number to eight thousand.
“With the help of a telescope, you would find your estimate woefully small,” said a voice behind her.
She whirled around to find Klemens standing in the doorway’s shadow.
“There are billions beyond what the eye can perceive, though I daresay you would attempt to count them all the same. The sole lesson one gleans from studying the stars is the rather humbling fact of their infiniteness. Trust me on this folly; I once attempted to count them myself.”
“Shouldn’t you be dancing with the Grand Duchess?” she blurted out.
“Should I?” He strolled forward. “What should I do, then? She is currently dancing with the Tsar, and the centre of all attention, for they make such a beautiful couple. I am loath to interfere.”
“But I thought the Tsar was dancing with the Princess Bagration.”
“She stepped out at the last moment. I was all too happy to pass on my partner to him.” He took another step forward.
Pippa backed away as he prowled closer, but she bumped into the column behind her.
“You should return,” she repeated, her eyes slipping sideways, looking for an escape. But there were none.
He was now so close she could feel the heat of his body, the smell of his cologne. Her heart began to race.
“And if I don’t?”
She felt the column behind her, the stone smooth and cold under her fingers.
“There will be talk.”
He reached out and pulled her forward against him, so she was pressed against his chest, his head on top of hers. “Then let them talk.” He took her hand in his, the other just below her shoulder blade, and guided her in a turn to the rhythm of the music.
It was a waltz.
The very same melody they had danced to that summer night beneath the chestnut trees of the Gasthaus garden, to the plaintive fiddling of a single violin.
Then it had been a simple, rustic L?ndler, but now the orchestra played it faster, the rhythm quick and bright, drawing the couples closer in greater intimacy to manage the turns.
It was the newest fashion and rather scandalous.
And Klemens, naturally, danced it to perfection.
Her defences crumbled.
He guided her through each twist and turn, perfectly attuned to the three-quarter beat and to her.
She lifted her eyes and met his burning gaze.
The next moment she no longer knew where the dance ended and the kiss began.
They moved to the rhythm of the music, kissing as they turned, with growing urgency and deepening desperation, melting into one another until there was nothing in the world but music, movement, and the two of them.
She felt drugged by his scent, her whole body trembling with awareness, her hand sliding up into his hair.
Klemens stumbled back against the balustrade, holding on to her, his chest rising and falling with the rough, uneven rhythm of his breathing.
He steadied her, keeping them both from falling, and he raised his hand and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb.
She blinked, disoriented, and only then realised that tears had been running down her face.
She gave a small, confused sound. “Oh.”
He made a motion as if to pull her back into his arms again, but she pushed gently against his chest. “We should not.”
“Pippa.” There was pain in his voice.
How burdened he must be by this situation, this entanglement, by her.
The desire to fulfil his father’s expectations, to honour his duty, which pressed upon him so relentlessly, and yet wanting to follow his heart.
Her. Caught between obligation and love.
It broke her heart to be the cause of such anguish.
“Let us run away.” Wild determination blazed in his eyes.
“Tonight. Now. We can return to Tirol and live there for the rest of our lives. Away from the court and everyone’s watchful gaze.
We can establish a village school and keep a farm with sheep and chickens, and we will have ten children and live happily ever after. ”
Pippa pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Pippa.” His voice cracked. “Please.” The look in his eyes held such unutterable sadness and longing that her heart twisted.
It was then, at that precise moment, that she nearly surrendered.
She opened her mouth to say yes, let us go, somewhere, anywhere, let us flee, right now, far, far away—when the door opened, and the music and rumble from within the ballroom suddenly swelled.
A babble of voices sounded as people emerged from within.
Pippa disentangled herself and stepped away from him as quick steps approached.
“Your Imperial Highness, I have been looking everywhere for you.” Kovacz’s voice was relieved.
“Not now, Kovacz,” Klemens snapped.
“But it is imperative. Your presence is required inside.”
Klemens turned to Pippa, but she had slipped quietly away into the shadows and out of sight.
The music had stopped; the dancers stood motionless on the floor while all eyes turned toward the raised platform where the chairs for the imperial family were arranged.
Pippa slipped back in at the rear and pressed herself against the marble urn beside the verandah door. Archduchess Mimi’s gaze swept the crowd, a sharp line drawn between her brows. She was looking for her.
Pippa took one cautious step forward, then froze as Metternich mounted the platform. Behind him came Klemens, a thunderous scowl darkening his brow.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Metternich’s voice rang out, smooth and commanding.
“Pray allow us to interrupt the dancing for but a moment, for I have a most important announcement.” He paused deliberately, the faintest smile playing about his lips, and extended his hand toward the Grand Duchess, who stepped to his side.
For a heartbeat, all the color seemed to drain from Klemens' face. “What the devil are you doing?” he muttered.
“Trust me,” Metternich returned under his breath, before turning back to the assembled company.
“It is my great pleasure,” he proclaimed, “to announce a union most eagerly expected. A symbol of friendship between Austria and Russia: the engagement of Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Irina Tatjana Alexandrovna, to His Imperial Highness, Archduke Leopold Klemens Alexander.”