“Emily—”
“Don’t scold me. I won’t stand for it. Perhaps you don’t know your friend quite so well as you thought. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. You’ve found me.”
“And now that we’re both in Vienna, we’ll have to waltz,” he said, an obviously forced smile on his face. There was no question that he wanted to move our conversation in any direction so long as it was away from his erstwhile lover.
“After Robert is exonerated.”
“You can’t work all the time, my dear. Every covert investigator needs periodic breaks. Besides, you never know where you might learn something that will prove to be useful. There’s a ball tonight at the Sofiensaäle. Strauss’s orchestra is playing. I’ll expect to see you there.”
There were an impossible number of balls in Vienna during the winter: masked balls, state balls, debutante balls, and court balls, where five hundred bottles of Moët et Chandon, the emperor’s favorite champagne, would be consumed in an evening. The most dedicated person could not manage to attend even a quarter of them. But the crush of people inside the Sofiensaäle, one of the city’s famous public ballrooms, made me wonder if the entire population of the city had decided to dance that night. Cécile and I had arrived late, bringing Jeremy with us.
The atmosphere was incomparable: spectacular dancing, effervescent music, beauty in every direction. We’d stepped out of winter into a summer garden, flowers spilling everywhere, swans swimming in a pool whose water reflected sparkling electric lights. The dance floor was so crowded it was difficult to waltz, but with effort, and a single-minded partner, it was possible to carve out enough space to turn.
“You’re certain to find someone who can amuse you here,” Cécile said, leaning close to Jeremy as soon as we’d ducked inside. “I don’t know a single person in Vienna who is not having an affair. If you don’t have a paramour by the end of the evening, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I’ve decided to become a paragon of virtue in what will undoubtedly be a futile attempt to impress Emily,” he said, a broad grin on his face.
“Futile indeed. You may as well dance with me,” Cécile replied, and they disappeared onto the floor. I made my way to a refreshment table and took a glass of champagne, then looked around for somewhere to sit.
“Lady Ashton! Can it be you?”
“Lady Paget,” I said. “How good to see you.” Walburga, Lady Paget, was the wife of the British ambassador to Austria. I’d met her on several occasions—she and my mother were friends—and she was one of England’s most respected ladies.
“Have you been in Vienna long? Are you managing the weather?”
“Only a fortnight, and I must confess to being utterly charmed by the snow.”
“No! It’s hideous. When I first came here, I wondered daily to what purpose such a climate exists. The wind is extraordinary. One can hardly breathe. But I suppose you are young enough to tolerate it. Did Worth design your dress? It’s exquisite—the perfect shade of blue. No one here has worn anything but pink for the past year. I wonder if it even occurs to them there is another color.”
Lady Paget was perhaps a bit hard on the ladies of Vienna. Yes, many wore pink, but the room was filled with every other color a person could want. My own gown, pale ice blue with shots of silver embroidery through the silk, had a skirt with enough fullness that it begged to be spun while dancing. The bodice was décolleté, the sleeves the barest caps. Meg had placed diamond pins through my hair and clasped over long, white gloves a wide platinum and diamond bracelet that matched the choker around my neck.
“The music is magnificent. I don’t know how I’ll bear anything short of Strauss himself at a ball again. I can’t wait to dance,” I said.
“Ladies, greetings.” Mr. Harrison stood in front of us, bowing.
“Oh! It’s so good to see you.” Lady Paget gave him her hand. “You, of course, know Lady Ashton?”
“All too well,” he said.
“A perfect choice of words.” I did not hold out my hand.
“Mr. Harrison is absolutely indispensable to the ambassador,” Lady Paget said. “I don’t know what we would do without him.”
“You’re too kind,” he said.
I should very much have liked to reply, but forced a thin smile instead.
“Lady Ashton was just telling me how she’s longing to dance. You really ought to—”
“That’s not necessary,” I said. “I—I—”
“I’m afraid I’ve no time for you this evening, Lady Ashton, and, regardless, I’ve already promised the next dance.” He kissed Lady Paget’s hand again, and disappeared. Lady Paget raised an eyebrow and turned to me, about to speak. Thankfully, just at that moment Colin approached us. He bowed neatly to me and bestowed on Lady Paget a perfect
“How Austrian of you, Mr. Hargreaves,” she said. “Please assure me that you haven’t completely abandoned your Englishness.”
“Not at all, Lady Paget. I’m merely embracing the local culture.”
“If I see you adopting the dreadful manners that I see in the Hapsburg court, I shall insist that you be returned to London at once.”
“Then I shall limit my emulation of the Viennese to the ballroom. It is there where one finds the souls of our Austrian hosts.”
“You are quite mistaken, sir. It is the copious libation of beer and the inordinate consumption of schnitzel and
“You have spent more time here than any of us, Lady Paget, so I shall defer to your superior knowledge. But I will say that I am rather fond of
“Dear Mr. Hargreaves, I worry for you. If you insist on being Austrian this evening, dance with your fiancée.”
“You have anticipated me, Lady Paget.” He took my hand.
“Do call on me soon, Lady Ashton,” she said. “I’ll make sure you’ve invitations to all the best parties while you’re here.” I thanked her without noticing the words I used. The moment Colin’s hand touched mine, my heart began to race, and the skin beneath my glove tingled at his touch.
“
“I’ve no interest in discussing pancakes with you.” He held me close and led me around the floor with a marvelous grace; I could hardly breathe. Our eyes held each other’s gaze as the room flew by us in a blur. Guiding me firmly, he spun us around and around more quickly than I would have thought possible. The Viennese waltz moved at a much quicker pace than anything I’d danced before. I do not think my feet touched the ground; it was intoxicating. An ordinary waltz would be a disappointment after this.
As we swirled again and again, a pair of figures caught my attention, snapping out of the haze and into focus: Mr. Harrison and the Countess von Lange, standing far too close together in the corner of the room.
