Epilogue
The Austrian army, much to its commanders’ chagrin, had not yet finished crossing the Rhine when Waterloo settled matters in late June, leaving the great force of over two hundred thousand men to make its slow way through Alsace toward a Paris that no longer needed conquering.
“What terrible timing,” Evie observed, setting down her teacup with a chink. “All that marching, only to discover the most important battle had already happened without them.”
“I am certain things were more complicated than that,” Pippa put in. “There were skirmishes, at least. They met Rapp’s army near Strasbourg at the end of June.” She paused. “Although I believe the French actually won that one.”
“That is true. Hartenberg did an excellent job. And what is more important, he is alive and well.”
“He looked healthy and brown and happy at the grand review on the Champ de Mars yesterday,” Pippa confirmed. “Much like Klemens.”
The two women had remained in Heidelberg through the campaign rather than return to Vienna, and had travelled to Paris in August, once the city was safe and their husbands had established themselves with the occupation.
And though Evie would never admit it to anyone, she was secretly glad that Georg had not been present at that terrible battle at Waterloo.
Pippa got up. “I must go. My father-in-law requested that I visit and have a cup of tea and a round of chess with him before the ball.” Pippa’s father-in-law was none other than Francis I, the Emperor of Austria, with whom she had developed a particularly close relationship.
He had come to Paris, as had Tsar Alexander and the Prussian King Frederick William, to negotiate the Second Peace of Paris.
Metternich had come as well, and wherever he was, the Duchess of Sagan was never far away.
It was as though all the players of the Congress of Vienna had relocated to Paris during those autumn months.
“Papa says it helps him settle his mind before major events. He is uncommonly fond of me,” Pippa said with a smile. “Shall I see you tonight at the Embassy ball?”
“Indeed. It is hosted by Wellington, and Georg and I cannot get out of it.”
“Tonight, then.” Pippa gave her a quick hug and left.
The afternoon sun warmed the Parisian drawing room. Evie rang for another pot of tea and curled up in her armchair.
When the door opened, she did not bother to turn around. “Merci, Giselle. Can you bring some scones as well? Or is that too much to ask of our French chef?”
“Our French chef will most likely resign if you ask him to bake scones,” said a male voice.
Evie whirled around.
Georg had entered, bearing the tray himself, which he set carefully on the little table in front of her.
“Georg. I did not expect you back so soon.” She flung herself at him; he caught her up and kissed her.
“I escaped the meetings.” He pressed a second kiss to the top of her head.
A gurgling laugh escaped her. “When did we last see each other? A mere two hours ago?”
“An eternity.” He sat down in the armchair and drew her onto his lap. “I am tired of it all. The work, the endless socialising. I just want to sit here and stare at you all day.”
She drew her fingers through his hair. “Who would have thought our field marshal would become so domesticated? And in so short a time, too.”
“I know. Shocking. It does not bear thinking about.” He gave a mock shudder. “And yet here we are.”
“Says the man who vehemently declared he did not believe in love.”
“I was a fool. I shall spend the rest of my life convincing you otherwise.”
* * *
A deadly agent. An English Rose. And a promise neither could forget.
When Clara Honeywell encounters the man who once broke her heart, she has no idea he has become Metternich’s most lethal weapon. Don’t miss Clara and Julian’s story in Once a Promise.