It was too late in the evening to make an unannounced visit, so I instead sent a note to the countess telling her to expect me in the morning. I hoped her contacts with the British intelligence community might prove useful to me. After Meg helped me into a favorite gown—crimson silk covered with intricate beadwork—I joined my friends for dinner in the hotel’s dining room, where the food, all of it delicious, was more French than I would have expected. The next morning, the concierge gave me directions to the von Langes’ house, and I left the Imperial by eight o’clock, feeling not the slightest concern that I might be calling too early. Though I should be loath to admit it, I rather liked the idea of disturbing Kristiana. Regardless, I’d given her fair warning.
I’d expected that Cécile would not be able to come with me. She was here, after all, to see her friend, the empress. But although she left the hotel at the same time I did, her destination was not the imperial palace. Instead, she headed for the studio of an artist whose work I greatly admired: Gustav Klimt. He was to paint her portrait. When I asked her if the empress would mind that she did not come to her first, Cécile smiled, and there was a wicked gleam in her eye.
“No one would understand better than Sissi,” she said, stepping into a carriage and leaving me at the curb.
The Viennese were early risers. Already, people bundled in furs were streaming in and out of shops, bakeries, and coffeehouses, rushing across the narrow snow-covered streets that cut through the city like a spider’s web. My feet were wet, my unlined leather boots no match for the snow, and by the time I reached the countess’s imposing residence, it felt as if the very fabric of my coat was frozen. The von Langes’ house was palatial, its baroque grandeur dwarfing the very street on which it stood. The interior, full of stuccowork—cherubs and scenes from mythology everywhere I turned—overwhelmed me with its intricate beauty. As a servant in formal livery led me to an impossibly warm drawing room, my opinion of Kristiana thawed along with my toes.
For a moment, that is.
She kept me waiting nearly half an hour before she glided into the room and sat directly across from me. “You poor child. You look positively frigid,” she said. “Something warm to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m perfectly comfortable.”
“I didn’t expect Colin to bring you to Vienna so soon.”
“He’s in Berlin. I came on my own, and am hoping that you can assist me.”
“Berlin?” She smiled, laughter in her bright eyes. “Is that what he told you?”
“I’m here because Robert Brandon thought you might know something about a message Lord Fortescue received while we were at Beaumont Towers.”
She laughed. “Oh, dear, you shouldn’t involve yourself in these things. It’s unseemly.”
“For me but not for you?” My limbs were beginning to throb as the numbness faded from them. “I don’t like you any more than you like me. But the fact is, we may be able to assist each other. It would be foolish to let our personal—”
“Assist each other? How do you plan on assisting me, Lady Ashton? I can’t imagine any way in which you could do so.”
“I’m discreet and able to keep a secret. No doubt at some point in your own work, you might benefit from an ally.”
“Do not flatter yourself by thinking you could ever be my professional equal.” She was resting her elbow on the arm of the sofa and raised a single finger to hold up her chin as she scrutinized every detail of my face. “There is only one thing you have that I want.”
I met her gaze and held it with my own. “Colin?”
She nodded. “Release him to me, and I will tell you what you desire to know.”
“I don’t have him on a chain, Countess, and I’m not the one who decided to leave you.”
“Of course not. He would never stand being on a chain. But if you were to change your behavior—flirt in a more serious manner with other gentlemen, for example—he might be more inclined to see me again. If you took a lover, he would too.”
“I won’t do that,” I said.
She shrugged. “Then Mr. Brandon’s life is worth very little to you.”
“I’ll find out who sent the message on my own.”
“Not before they hang your friend.” She laughed again, and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to slap her.
“Frankly, I’m shocked that you would stoop to seek my assistance to seduce your former lover,” I said. “I assume he was your lover? Wouldn’t you be humiliated to have me hand him back to you?”
“You’ve no idea the depth of pain that comes when you are forced to accept that you will never have the man you love.”
“I didn’t think it was love that was between you.”
“Then why did he beg me to marry him?” Her smug smile taunted me.
“I’m the wrong person to answer that question,” I said, feeling a burning heat rushing to my face. Was she telling the truth? Colin had admitted a relationship with her, but had said nothing that suggested this level of seriousness. I was overwhelmed with discomfort.
“My husband is rather fond of you. Perhaps you’d find him entertaining. He and his most recent mistress had a falling-out a few weeks ago. You should talk to him.”
I stood to leave the room. “I’m sorry for you. You must be deeply unhappy.”
As I left the Von Langes’ house, I was stopped briefly by the count, who effused delight at finding me in Vienna. Charming though he was, I found it difficult to speak with him after the conversation I’d had with his wife, so I stepped outside, feeling as battered as the snow crushed under the fiacres traveling up and down the street. Unsure of what to do, I started to walk aimlessly, not wanting to return yet to the Imperial. It was growing colder, and snow had begun to fall, but no graceful soft flakes. Icy edges strengthened by the wind slashed at my cheeks.
My mind was uneasy, though I knew I had no right to the feelings consuming me. I could not fault Colin for loving someone before he’d met me. But faced with the woman who came before, I felt wholly inadequate. She and I were so different. How could he have loved us both? Would he find in the end that I was a poor substitute for what he’d known in the past?
I was walking along the Michaeler-Platz, looking over at the sprawling Hofburg, residence of the Imperial family, when a gentleman slammed into me. He apologized quickly and walked on. I watched him cross the street towards Schauflergasse and duck into a café. The golden light escaping through the windows looked inviting; I followed him.
Inside, round tables filled a room with an arched stone ceiling. Newspapers hung on wooden racks or were scattered in front of gentlemen bent over them with eager eyes, many of them scribbling frantic notes in the margins. I took a seat in the back of the room, and the man I’d followed turned and glared at me. I ignored him, smiled at the waiter who’d appeared next to me, and ordered a coffee mehr weiss. He brought it almost at once, along with a glass of water. My friend was still scowling at me. Despite the milk in it, the coffee was too hot to drink, so I walked to the nearest newspaper rack and pulled down a copy of Weiner Literaturzeitung. A man at the table next to it smiled at me.
“A disgruntled former lover?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” I answered in German, wishing, not for the first time, that I spoke it as fluently as I did French.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to offend.” He jumped to his feet and bowed. “I am Friedrich Henkler.”
“Lady Emily Ashton,” I said, hesitating, never before having encountered someone bold enough to introduce himself to a total stranger. I backed away, slinking to my table and sitting down. I spread the paper in front of me, hoping I looked engrossed, then tasted my drink and cringed.