by Vienna Waltz
“So our friend from last night still wants the papers. I’m relieved.”
“How do you think he’ll conceal his identity?” Suzanne said. “Come masked?”
“It will be interesting to see.”
“It will also be more difficult to spy upon the scene in the anteroom off the grand salon than it was in the Metternichs’ garden.”
“So our mysterious friend has apparently decided. I’ll alert Czartoryski at the opera. If we can’t determine the man’s identity at the time, we can follow him. We’ll need fake papers.”
Suzanne nodded toward the escritoire. A bundle of papers lay atop it, tied with pink silk ribbon. “Not enough time for my best work, and obviously they won’t pass a close inspection, but I think they’re convincing enough to buy you time to draw the man out.”
Malcolm moved to his wife’s side and reached down a hand to brush his fingers against her cheek. “Have I ever told you you’re remarkable?”
“Usually under the oddest circumstances.”
Colin wriggled in Malcolm’s arms. “Ball.”
Malcolm set Colin on the floor and dropped down cross-legged in a triangle with his wife and son. “I can dress quickly,” he said, glancing from Suzanne to the clock on the chest of drawers.
Suzanne rolled the ball to Colin. “You’ve learned something as well.”
“Tatiana continues to surprise me.” Malcolm reached out to catch the ball as Colin rolled it slightly off track. “Apparently she was Bonaparte’s mistress in the months just before he abdicated and was exiled to Elba.”
“Sacrebleu.” He heard the scrape of Suzanne’s indrawn breath. “You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know a great deal about Tatiana. More even than I realized.” He kept thinking he’d have to ask her to explain things, only to be hit by the hard reality that he’d never speak to her again.
“Was she—”
“I think Talleyrand was behind it.” Malcolm bounced the ball to Colin. Colin gave a cry of delight. “After our meeting at the chancellery this afternoon I accused him of using Tatiana to communicate with Bonaparte after he was sent to Elba. From Talleyrand’s reaction, I think I was closer to the mark than I realized.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Suzanne go still. Napoleon Bonaparte’s empire might be reduced to the few rocky miles of the island of Elba, but his shadow hung over the Congress. Many throughout his former empire were still loyal to him and would welcome his return.
Colin picked up the ball and dropped it in an effort at a bounce. It thudded to a standstill. Suzanne reached for it and pushed it back to their son. “Why do you think Talleyrand was communicating with Bonaparte?”
“Talleyrand likes to keep a foot in all camps. He could simply want to keep an eye on Bonaparte. Or—”
“It could be more serious. Would Talleyrand try to restore Bonaparte?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so. It’s true that at first Talleyrand didn’t do as well with the restored king as he’d have liked, but he’s currently France’s foreign minister. I would think he’d see a return of Bonaparte as destructive. But the one thing I know about Talleyrand is that one can never be sure what he’ll do. Or why.” Malcolm pushed the ball to Suzanne.
Her fingers tightened for a moment on the red leather. “If Princess Tatiana was communicating with Bonaparte—could letters from him be among the papers the man who sent the coded message is so desperate to recover?”
“Along with whatever papers of Tsarina Elisabeth’s Adam Czartoryski is bent on retrieving? It’s an interesting possibility.”
“Me,” Colin said. The ball was now lying neglected between his parents.
“Sorry, old chap.” Malcolm pushed the ball back to his son. His throat tightened for a moment as he watched the concentration with which Colin caught the ball and the triumph on his face as he pushed it back to Suzanne.
It will change you. He could hear Tatiana’s voice when he’d told her he was going to have a child, light with familiar mockery and yet with an undertone that was uncharacteristically serious. She’d been sitting at a tavern table, a glass of wine in one hand, head tilted to the side, hair escaping its pins. Whatever the terms of this marriage and whyever you’ve gone into it, you won’t be able to take it lightly, Malcolm. Certainly not when you have a child. I know you.
Tatiana had had a damnable ability to see beneath his defenses. A trait, oddly enough, that Suzanne shared. Or would if he allowed her to get close enough.
He watched as Suzanne leaned forward, her carefully arranged ringlets falling against her cheek, and pushed the ball to Colin. Tatiana had been right. Being a husband and father had changed him. Among other things, it now mattered whether he lived or died. Which could be a damnable complication.
“What about the art treasures?” Suzanne asked. “Did Annina help you figure out how the princess acquired them?”
Malcolm told her about Gregory Lindorff. “According to Lindorff, Bonaparte gave her the Courland casket.”
“That would explain Princess Tatiana’s attachment to it. Although—” Suzanne’s gaze moved from Colin to Malcolm as they rolled the ball back and forth. “Malcolm, I don’t think Wilhelmine of Sagan’s quarrel with Princess Tatiana was entirely about the casket.”
She described the conversation she had had with the Duchess of Sagan after the Carrousel rehearsal. “It was as though the scene went into an entirely different key the moment I mentioned papers. Wilhelmine of Sagan is terrified of some secret Princess Tatiana knew about her. It’s as though she kept secrets about everyone.”
“A form of insurance.”
Her gaze skimmed over his face. “I’ve heard you say you abhor blackmail.”
Malcolm tossed the ball in the air and caught it. Colin giggled. “Tatiana had had to make her own way in the world for a long time. Perhaps longer than we realize, now we know her childhood may not have been what she claimed. I can understand her wanting insurance. That doesn’t mean I sympathize with the methods.”
Suzanne watched him a moment longer. “We keep coming back to Princess Tatiana’s papers.”
“I can only hope our rendezvous tonight reveals something.”
Suzanne got to her feet. “If you don’t start shaving, we’ll never be ready. Come here, darling, sit with Mummy.” She scooped Colin into her arms and perched on the bed.
Malcolm went to the dressing table and stirred shaving soap into a lather.
“Eithne knew about Fitz’s affair with the princess,” Suzanne said.
He met her gaze in the looking glass. “For how long?”
“She says she suspected almost from the first.”
How many hours had he spent with Eithne in the past weeks and not noticed? To have been blind to the pain she must have been suffering seemed even more egregious than failing to notice the affair. “How did Eithne seem?”
“Bitter.” Suzanne was playing pat-a-cake with Colin. “Angry. Partly at herself for not seeing the possibility Fitz could stray. Or perhaps for being foolish enough to believe in love.”
Malcolm grimaced.
Suzanne pressed her palms against Colin’s. “Darling, I know it sounds insane, but—”
“Yes, I know.” Malcolm picked up his razor and drew it down the line of his jaw, harder than he’d intended. Drops of blood spurted against the metal. “This means Eithne has a motive as well.”
Adam Czartoryski took a sip of champagne and glanced round the jostling crowd in the grand salon at the Kärntnertortheater. His face betrayed no hint of the information Malcolm had just relayed to him. “Your rendezvous with this man who wants to buy the papers won’t tell us where the papers really are,” he murmured.
“No. But any information about them may help us determine where they’re hidden. You’ll assist us?”
Czartoryski gave a soldier’s nod. “Of course. I don’t go back on my word.”
Malcolm nodded across the room at Julie Zichy. “We’ll get the papers back one way
or another,” he said. “And I’ll see you have what it is you seek. I know you have no reason to believe me—”
“But oddly I find I do.” Czartoryski sketched a half bow to Catherine Bagration. “You’re a man of honor, Rannoch. Which is a rare commodity in Vienna.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Perceptive, I think. I suspect—” Czartoryski broke off as Tsar Alexander materialized from the crowd round the bar, a champagne glass in hand. Hardly a surprise to find the Tsar of all the Russias mingling freely and getting his own drink. He was known to stroll into Vienna’s taverns and order himself a glass of beer, to the despair of Baron Hager’s security forces.
“Rannoch.” The tsar’s gaze settled on Malcolm’s face like a sword point. “I hear you’ve been asking questions about Tatiana.”
“I want to see her killer brought to justice. As I know you do, Your Majesty.”
“If I knew the man’s identity, I’d kill him with my bare hands.” Alexander’s gaze remained on Malcolm’s face.
“You assume it was a man.”
“You think it might have been a woman?”
“At this point it might have been any one of us.”
“How very true.” The tsar stared at Malcolm a moment longer, then jerked his head at Czartoryski. “Adam. Walk to my box with me.”
“Sir.” Czartoryski followed the tsar, with an apologetic lift of his brows at Malcolm.
Malcolm turned toward the bar and heard his name called.
“Rannoch.” A tall man in the gleaming dress uniform of a British cavalry officer strode toward him, hand extended.
A face from the past that took Malcolm back to card parties at the British embassy in Lisbon and dinners in the officers’ mess.
Frederick Radley.
18
Malcolm shook Frederick Radley’s proffered hand. Colonel Radley now. Radley had been two years ahead of him at Harrow, a hero on the cricket pitch who deemed bookish boys two years his junior quite beneath his notice. While the young Malcolm had had little time for someone who couldn’t tell Cicero from Catullus. But Radley had been in Lisbon a good deal when Malcolm was first stationed there. He was in the same regiment as Fitz’s stepbrother Christopher, so they’d all ended up dining together more than they might otherwise have done.
“I saw Castlereagh earlier today, but you were out,” Radley said. “Keeps you busy running his errands, does he?”
“The true life of an attaché. Glorified errand boy.”
“Hardly. As I hear tell, you lot are exposing secrets right and left and saving the Continent from a fate worse than Bonaparte. Besides, you never were just an attaché, Rannoch. I saw that in Spain.”
“Praise indeed from the hero of Vitoria.”
Radley gave a self-deprecating smile that was just a shade too calculated. Or perhaps, Malcolm thought, he was being unfair. Radley’s perfection had always grated on him.
“I didn’t know you were on such good terms with Adam Czartoryski,” Radley said. “Or is that the result of secrets too deep to be shared?”
“Nothing so interesting. I’ve got to know him a bit round the negotiating table.”
Radley glanced toward the door through which Czartoryski and the tsar had vanished. “I’ve heard Adam Czartoryski called the most dangerous man in the Russian delegation.”
“I suspect he has the keenest understanding. But that can be an asset in one’s opposite number.”
“So he’s an opponent?” Radley dug his scarlet shoulder into the paneled wall.
“He’s a Polish patriot. From his perspective, a restored Poland under Russia may be the best he can do. From our perspective, a Russia with Poland in its control has a bit too much power for comfort. As with so much of diplomacy, it’s a matter of balancing perspectives.”
“Not quite the excitement of Spain, is it? Still, I understand Vienna offers many diversions.” Radley’s gaze roamed round the jeweled ladies who thronged the salon. “I hear I’m to felicitate you.” His gaze settled on where Suzanne stood with Aline and Dorothée Périgord. “My compliments. Mrs. Rannoch is a charming woman.”
Malcolm would have said Radley held few surprises. He’d have been wrong. “I didn’t realize you knew my wife.”
Radley’s gaze remained on Suzanne. Her head was turned to the side, dark ringlets stirring about her face, diamond earrings glinting in the candlelight as she laughed at something Dorothée was saying. “I had the privilege of meeting Suz—Mrs. Rannoch—in Spain before your marriage.”
“When her parents were still alive.”
“Quite. Dreadful tragedy, the way they were lost. It’s good to see her looking so well. You’re a fortunate man. I trust you appreciate her as she deserves.”
“Believe me, Radley, I’m well aware of my wife’s worth.”
“She appears to be carrying off her role with aplomb. But I imagine Vienna has been an adjustment after Spain.” After only the briefest pause, Radley added, “I heard about Princess Tatiana. I’m sorry.”
“It’s a great tragedy.”
“She was a remarkable woman.” Radley’s gaze flickered to Suzanne again. “I don’t suppose the lovely Mrs. Rannoch knows about you and Tatiana.”
The boyhood longing to plant Radley a facer swept through Malcolm with surprising force. “My wife’s a very clever woman. She discerns a great deal.”
“Learned to be the perfect diplomatic wife, has she?” Radley gave one of the lazy grins that had grated so across the commons at Harrow. “Still, I don’t expect she knows it all.”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“Oh no, old man. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Radley clapped him on the shoulder. “You may not be a soldier, but we did fight on the same side.”
Dorothée looked across the grand salon. “Odd to think I was madly in love with him once.”
Suzanne glanced round the room. “Who?”
“Adam Czartoryski. Of course, to him I’m sure I was just a gawky girl scarcely out of the schoolroom, but I had my heart set on marrying him.”
Prince Czartoryski and Tsar Alexander were making their way toward the door. A few moments ago Czartoryski had been talking to Malcolm. Malcolm, Suzanne saw, was now talking with a man in brilliant regimental dress. Frederick Radley. She tightened her grip on her champagne glass.
“Prince Czartoryski is very handsome,” Aline said in the tone of one who didn’t generally pay much attention to such things.
“And brilliant.” Dorothée’s voice softened the way it does when one talks of a first love. “And a patriot with ideals, which are a precious commodity these days. When I was fifteen he seemed to me to embody every romantic virtue a man should have.”
Suzanne took a drink of champagne, a deeper drink than she’d intended. “Your family opposed the match?”
“Thanks to my uncle,” Dorothée said. “My future husband’s uncle, that is. Talleyrand wanted me for Edmond. He got the tsar to exert his influence on my mother.”
Aline wrinkled her nose. “At least we don’t have the prince regent interfering in our marriages. How disagreeable.”
“The life of a Courland.” A trace of her eldest sister’s cynicism crept into Dorothée’s voice. “Not that I expect I’d have been much happier with Prince Czartoryski. Oh, I think he’s a much better man than Edmond. But I don’t think he’s ever got over Tsarina Elisabeth. And I’d have loved him. Better a loveless marriage than to love someone and—”
“And not be loved in return,” Suzanne said. She could feel Radley and Malcolm both looking at her.
Dorothée bit her lip and took a sip of champagne. “Besides, if I hadn’t married Edmond, I wouldn’t have got to know—I wouldn’t be here.”
“You rate Vienna highly,” Aline said.
“Not just Vienna. Being at the Congress. Helping Talleyrand. Being able to—”
“Use your mind?” Suzanne asked.
“Precisely.”
“Being a wife can interfere with
using one’s mind if one isn’t careful,” Aline said. “It’s one reason I don’t expect I’ll ever marry.”
Dorothée touched her arm. “You say that now, chérie, but in time—”
“I doubt it,” Aline said. “I have my own fortune, and my mother won’t fuss. And I’m not the falling in love sort.”
Suzanne smiled at her husband’s cousin. Aline was only two years her junior, yet a gulf of experience separated them. “Love has a way of catching one by surprise.”
“I thought I was quite done with it,” Dorothée said. “And yet—”
“Yes?” Suzanne asked.
“More things seem possible now.” Dorothée glanced round the room as though seeking distraction. “Goodness, is that Colonel Radley? Talking to Malcolm.”
“You know him?” Suzanne asked. “Of course. He’s been stationed in Paris.”
“With Wellington and the allied army. In fact, I think I first met him at Princess Tatiana’s.”
Suzanne took a sip of champagne to cover her surprise. “I didn’t realize Radley and Princess Tatiana were acquainted.”
“I got the sense they’d known each other in the past,” Dorothée said.
Aline groaned. “Is there a man in Vienna who wasn’t her lover at some point?”
“I don’t think Radley was her lover actually.” Dorothée’s brows drew together as she puzzled over the past. “There was something between them, but not a love affair, I think, even a past one. Of course I may have entirely misjudged the matter.”
Suzanne turned her gaze back to Radley and Malcolm. Damn and double damn. She wanted nothing more than to stay as far away from Radley as possible. A connection between him and Princess Tatiana would force her to do quite the opposite.
Tsar Alexander strode down the corridor toward the Russian box. “I’ve never liked him.”
“Rannoch?” Adam Czartoryski made his voice light as he kept pace at the tsar’s side. He had known Alexander for nearly two decades and had learned to tread lightly when the tsar’s eyes had the restless glitter they currently possessed. “He strikes me as a decent man.”