“Yes, I believe so,” she managed. “Apparently, there is an older wound which the joust irritated and prevented him competing anymore.”
It was a story she had to repeat several times before she even reached the bottom of the steps. Descending, she found the scene spread out before her almost more unreal than the tournament had been; a sea of brilliant people, sparkling with diamonds. Among the dazzling jeweled heads, Esther glimpsed the red hat of the Pope’s representative, bobbing close beside the exotic turban of the Ottoman ambassador. While some people surged in waves for the exit and the path to the Emperor’s banquet, others lingered to greet friends and gossip, which made the movement as a whole appear almost like a chaotic dance.
Stepping into it at last, Esther found progress difficult. After several minutes, she saw a walking stick waving in the air, over the heads of the throngs, and an instant later, she glimpsed the artificially aged figure of Michael Gaunt with Lizzie, Vanya, and the old ladies. In spite of herself, she started to smile, and then Lord Harry appeared at her side.
“Good evening, Mrs. MacVey, Miss Lisle, General. What a squeeze, eh? What did you think of the Carrousel, then? Worthy of all the expectation?”
While her father and Juana responded, Esther stood on tiptoe, wondering if Garin were still here, or if he’d taken Otto away somewhere—back to prison, perhaps, or to his father.
“Can I cut you a passage through to the banquet hall?” Harry asked jovially. Gazing over most people’s heads, his gaze fixed on something, and widened faintly. Almost hastily, he offered Esther his arm.
She took it, remembering her plan to rouse Garin to jealousy. She only wished he could see her, for she could find no trace of him.
“What are you up to, my lord?” she murmured, as Harry eased them through the crowd, with the general and Juana following.
He grinned. “Just caught sight of the King of Kriegenstein and Count von Meyer, making straight for Prince Otto. I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall at that meeting!”
“Hasn’t our government given up all hope of gaining anything from Kriegenstein?” Esther inquired. “After all, our influence with the king amounted to nothing in the end.”
“True, but it’s still dashed interesting.”
Esther thought so, too, but for entirely different reasons. Through the gradually thinning crowd, she glimpsed Garin, standing beside and a little behind Prince Otto. His watchful gaze seemed to be on Meyer and the king approaching Otto. He didn’t even glance in Esther’s direction, and yet her heart beat so hard she was afraid he’d hear it.
*
Clearly, there was to be no tender reunion between father and son. Garin was not surprised when, as they met with parade ground precision, Otto merely clicked his heels and bowed.
The king said, “Otto. A fine performance in the Carrousel. Most manly.”
Carefully, Garin kept his gaze on Meyer. He couldn’t pretend the moment didn’t matter to him. It mattered for all sorts of reason, most of which were completely different from those he’d first imagined of this meeting. As a child, cold and hungry and fearful for his mother’s life, he’d once imagined his father seizing him in his arms with abject tears of apology, and declaring his love for his firstborn son.
He remembered that pain now, relived it like an echo. But this was a new pain, a different kind of loss, the loss of any desire for that love. The king was not a father he could be proud of; at best, he was a callous stranger. Garin’s pride was in his mother.
But he couldn’t afford to be distracted by the past, or to relax his guard for an instant. He just hoped Baron von Hager had received his message and would join them soon. Otherwise, he’d just finish it in his own way. He had enough men in the immediate vicinity—and enough violence in his heart—to do so.
“It was a particular pleasure,” Meyer said, while the king nodded gloomily in response to the general’s commiserations, “to see Prince Otto in the Carrousel. The sight of him has been lacking over the last week.”
Otto stared at him. “I was injured.”
“And I was lied to,” Meyer said softly, his gaze quite firmly on Garin.
Meyer thought, he really thought, that he could face Garin down in public and overwhelm him with the force of rank and the glittering occasion which, of course, Garin attended not by invitation but by the necessity of his work—a dirty word to most aristocrats. It was time, past time to show them who held all the cards tonight.
He straightened, unwinding as he’d learned to do so long ago. God knew this was one stage he needed to control. And as usual, it worked for him. The man who had almost blended into the walls for all the attention accorded him by his companions, now held everyone’s gaze. He dominated the scene, even if they didn’t all yet acknowledge it. The king blinked, staring at him. Several passersby en route to the exit, glanced his way. He felt their eyes linger, but couldn’t afford to pay them any attention.
To Meyer, he said, “I never lied to you. It was you who told me the prince was dead.”
Meyer smiled, his eyes like flint. “And so you found one of the king’s sons for me—in which I rejoice, although I believe the task I gave you was to find the other.”
“Your task was so simple,” Garin said with undisguised contempt. “I took it upon myself to provide a bonus son.”
Behind him, the Riding School was gradually clearing. But at least Baron von Hager finally stood beside him. He needed him here, as a witness, although he couldn’t be sure of the police minister’s support in what he was about to do. Hager, inevitably, had larger interests than the simple righting of wrongs. Class, the protection of reputations, of the Congress itself, must play their parts in all his instructions and decisions.
“What are you talking about?” the king demanded, turning on Meyer with a scowl. “Have you found my other son?”
“So this man informed me,” Meyer sneered. “I have yet to see the proof.”
“And yet it stands before you,” Garin said deliberately. “Prince Otto, you have something to say?”
Otto snatched in a breath, dragging his uncomprehending gaze from Garin to Meyer, and spoke with undisguised hatred. “I accuse you, Count von Meyer, of shooting me in the Vienna Woods last week. In short, you tried to kill me.”
“What?” The king reached out for support and leaned against the wall. “What?”
“I most certainly did not,” Meyer said calmly. He wasn’t surprised by the accusation; he must have known it was coming. “This man—your man, Hager, in whom you have been sadly misled—has kept the prince prisoner, if I’m not much mistaken. My investigations show that he, Agent Z, shot your highness, and when you didn’t die, he took you to his hidden lair of thieves and killers—”
“To tend my wound and make me well,” Otto interrupted dryly, taking Garin, as well as Meyer, by surprise. “Even if I hadn’t seen you pull the trigger, Count, your story makes no sense.”
“And yet he did kidnap you,” Meyer snapped.
“No, I arrested him,” Garin said gently. “For assault on Miss Esther Lisle, among other women, whom I will not mention here. I arrest you now, Count, for the attempted murder of Crown Prince Otto, and of Miss Lisle; and to say nothing of your separate conspiracies to set the Congress at naught by easing the Prussian invasion of Saxony through Kriegenstein. As I’m sure you’ll point out, the consequences to you of such crimes is beyond my remit, so I formally pass the whole matter to Baron von Hager.”
All eyes, slightly dazed, turned to the police minister, who stood now beside Garin. Garin met Hager’s cold eyes. He’d worked with the baron for several years now and knew the signs. Hager was angry with him. Aside from anything else, he didn’t want to deal with such important people in public. And he didn’t want to spoil the success of the Carrousel. Garin didn’t care. He just wanted Esther to be safe.
Hager bowed coldly and Garin knew he’d lost him. His heart sank, for if the baron let them go, it would be all to do again tomorrow.
<
br /> Hager said, “Although it pains me, Your Majesty, I’m afraid I must place the prince and Count von Meyer under house arrest until the morning.”
Garin, already turning away, swung back in relief. For an instant, his gaze locked with Hager’s. The police minister’s eyebrow flew up and Garin knew he would suffer tomorrow. He didn’t care about that either. In sheer relief, he inclined his head in acceptance.
“You are being manipulated, sir,” Meyer objected, before the king could speak. “If this agent of yours is in reality who he is implying he is, he thinks to benefit from Prince Otto’s disgrace—and mine. He is acting on a grudge, not evidence. And he thinks to take advantage of your indulgence.”
“That, too, will be investigated,” Hager assured him.
Meyer’s hand strayed to his belt. Garin stepped forward. “I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. Two men appeared on either side of Meyer, whose hand fell casually back to his side.
Meyer’s lip curled into an unpleasant smile. “I always knew,” he said, “that you would never amount to anything.”
“And yet here I stand. Free. And legitimate.”
“Wait, what is he saying?” Otto demanded, ignoring the men who stood waiting for him, while his gaze bounced from Garin to the king, to Meyer, and back to Garin. He peered more closely. “No. You’re not him.”
The king reached out as if he couldn’t help it, before letting his hand fall back to his side. “Zelig?” he whispered. “Little Zelig?”
“Ask him,” Meyer said bitterly, “what he wants of you. He wants revenge. He wants Otto’s wealth and legitimacy to enjoy it!”
In his original fantasy, this was where he threw it all back in his father’s face. I have made a good life without you. I serve the Emperor of Austria, and wish no other master. Keep your lands and your riches. I have my own.
In their way, they would still have been sweet words. But they’d been formed before Esther Lisle had come into his life. Now he would say anything, do anything, to keep her there, to make her his, to bring her happiness and comfort.
His father, who’d so hurt and humiliated his mother, who’d sent them into the most abject poverty in exile, was staring at him with all the shock Garin might once have wished for, and yet with more the air of a lost child than a deposed tyrant receiving his just desserts. Garin waited for the old anger to enfold him, even to feel the old, reluctant love for his father. Something did indeed churn below the surface of his calm, but the face swimming in his imagination was neither the king’s nor Otto’s. It was Esther’s. For his father, for his brother, he felt only…pity.
“I will not trouble your life,” he told his father shortly. “I want only what is mine. You will receive all the proof you need.” And with that, he swung away and gazed straight into the distraught face of Esther Lisle.
His foot faltered.
Damnation. Clearly, she’d heard…if not everything, then enough. This was not how she should have found out. She should not doubt his motives…Motives for what? He’d asked her for nothing.
And yet her eyes, boring into his, seemed huge with some tragedy he couldn’t even comprehend. Rare as it was for him, in that instant, he floundered.
And then she simply brushed past him on the arm of Lord Harry Niven.
“Your Majesty,” she said lightly, curtseying deeply to the king. “We just wished to pay our respects. Good evening.”
She barely allowed Niven to finish his elegant bow before she tripped away with him, clasping his arm with both hands as she laughed up into his face. She had never looked more beautiful.
*
In Esther’s odd glimpses of Garin as they’d fought their way through to him, he’d looked relaxed, even a little bored, but she’d got to know him now in many situations, and she knew he was neither. Tension coiled in him like a spring, and yet still, for everyone but her, he seemed to project his no one character.
Although she didn’t see him throw it off, by the time she and Harry approached him, he’d assumed control. He looked tall and severe and unbending and worth several of any other man in the room. Her heart gladdened with pride in him. Until she heard Meyer’s words.
And the king’s: Zelig? Little Zelig?
And then Garin’s admission: I want only what is mine.
Not Garin Zelig after all, but Zelig Garin. Not just the son of the King of Kriegenstein, but his legitimate heir. She felt as if her heart were breaking under the weight of the lie, and then he turned and saw her and she knew from his dismay that it was all true. This was what her father had discovered. His silence on the issue had bought her betrothal to a crown prince…who was, in fact, the illegitimate brother. Garin had always been the king’s true heir.
Her heart might have crumpled into some tiny, wounded thing, but from deep within her, sheer anger saved the day. It sent her forward to the king, ignoring Garin, and it enabled her to laugh and chatter with animation as she walked with Harry out of the Riding School and along the winding path to the banquet.
The banquet, of course, was a magnificent affair. The sovereigns had their own table, with gold place settings. Although it looked splendid and magnificent, at least it made Esther laugh out loud just when she thought she never would again. A large semicircle had been cut out of one part of the royal table and it was only when the royal party trooped in that she realized why. It was to give the obese King of Wurttemberg room for his enormous paunch.
As the sovereigns sat, Esther sought to control her slightly hysterical mirth, though from across her own table, Lady Castlereagh’s sparkling eyes cast her a speaking glance that almost set her off again. In fact, Lady Castlereagh herself seemed to be drawing a lot of comment due to the very odd ornament in her hair—her husband’s Order of the Garter.
“Well, you know what the Viennese are saying,” she murmured to Lord Harry. “The Emperor of Russia makes love for everyone. The King of Prussia thinks for everyone. The King of Denmark speaks for everyone. The King of Bavaria drinks for everyone. The King of Wurttemberg eats for everyone…”
“And the Emperor of Austria pays for everyone,” Harry finished. “At this rate, His Majesty will be bankrupt, so enjoy the feast while you can.”
Quite aside from the emperor’s magnificent banquet, it was an occasion for displays of riches that would at any other time have been considered vulgar. Her father remarked with awe that he could fight an entire season’s campaign for the wealth draped so carelessly around the ladies that evening. But beauty, jewels, and obesity were not the only topics under discussion. From the looks cast Esther’s way during the banquet, rumors had already spread about Prince Otto and Count von Meyer.
And later, as two gentlemen passed behind her, presumably on their way for a convivial smoke, she distinctly overheard one say to the other, “Seems a third engagement is up in smoke there.”
“Indeed,” murmured his friend. “And it looks like poor Harry Niven is next.”
Esther felt the heat of anger rise into her face at such injustice. She wanted to jump up and shout at them, “I’m not deaf, imbeciles! For your information and that of any other fools who wish to sully my name, know that my first betrothed died. My second turned out to be both dishonest and dishonorable, and the third never truly existed.”
But of course, she said nothing. The only thing she could do was smile at her dining companions and pretend to be deaf.
Beside her, Harry murmured, “I’m so sorry, Esther. I never thought my brilliant idea would leave you so vulnerable to such insult. I can’t even call them out, for fear of giving weight to their nonsense.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, laying down her cutlery.
“Of course it does. Let me make amends.”
“How?” she asked wryly. It was a rhetorical question because they both well knew there was nothing either of them could do except wait for another subject of gossip to eclipse this one.
“By what I said last night. Allow me to speak to the general and marry you. It w
as always my intention, Esther.”
She smiled faintly and patted his arm. “It was never mine, though. I thank you but I have no intention of ever marrying anyone. Especially not to stop fools gossiping! Oh good, I think it’s time to dance.”
The final part of the night was the inevitable ball, where even more guests were squeezed into the palace ballroom. In a hectic effort not to think, Esther danced constantly—with Lord Harry as promised, with Vanya, with Mr. Corner who was betrothed to Lizzie’s shy little cousin Minerva, and with the Russian officer who’d charmed her at Metternich’s ball the night she’d first danced with Garin. Her cheeks flushed with exertion, she couldn’t settle and refused to sit any dance out—until Major Belling approached her and she was forced to think of someone other than herself.
“Come, let us sit down here,” she suggested, spying two chairs and a pleasant table in a little alcove off the main ballroom, “and enjoy a few moments of relative peace.”
“You would rather be dancing than attending an old crock like me.”
“Nonsense, we’ve barely spoken since you came to Vienna.” She sat quickly, so that he could, but he perched on the end of the seat, resting his stick on the floor as if he had something unpleasant to say. With a twinge of conscience, she understood what it was.
“And so, is it true?” he blurted. “Is your engagement at an end?”
“Yes, but you know it was never really an engagement in the first place.” She stopped, for she knew it wasn’t really what he wanted to hear. She drew in a deep breath. “Major,” she said determinedly. “You believe your fortunes rise and fall with mine. They don’t.”
He smiled sadly and patted her hand. “There, I don’t blame you—how could I? But I know Juana will never leave you until you are settled.”
“Then we must make her,” Esther said.
Major Belling blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Let us be frank, Major. We both love Juana and with reason—she is the kindest soul alive—but we both know also that she is indolent!”
“Peaceful,” the major corrected faintly. “She has a peaceful disposition.”
Vienna Woods (The Imperial Season Book 2) Page 22