“There’s always cause to worry when you involve yourself with a man who is so quick to betray his wife.”
“A rich criticism coming from you,” I said. “I think he considers himself the wronged party,” I said. “And as I’m Colin’s fiancée, flirting with me is easy revenge.”
“I suppose I’m only jealous, but still, I don’t approve.”
“When did you develop morals, Jeremy? I’m not sure I like it.”
“Then I shall abandon them at once.” His eyes sparkled. “With your permission, of course.”
Friedrich walked into the café, a swirl of snow following him through the door. I waved him over at once. “Who is your friend?” he asked.
“Friedrich Henkler, meet Jeremy Sheffield, Duke of Bainbridge, Earl of Northam, Viscount Bridgewater. Am I forgetting any of your titles?”
“Scores of them,” Jeremy said, shaking Friedrich’s outstretched hand. “A pleasure. Coffee?” He flagged down Viktor, who brought Friedrich’s usual beverage and a torte without having to be asked.
“I’m surprised there are so many people here today,” I said. “I thought no one would want to fight the weather.”
“No one wants to heat his apartment,” Friedrich said, devouring his pastry.
“I understand you are soon to be the beneficiary of Lady Ashton’s machinations,” Jeremy said.
“Lady…oh,
“This has nothing to do with art.” I explained to him the plan Cécile and I had concocted. “She’s meeting with Anna and her mother right now. If all goes as planned, you should be able to see her at the Imperial in another day or two.”
“I cannot begin to express my gratitude,” Friedrich said.
“Please don’t try,” Jeremy said. “I haven’t the stomach for fawning this morning. Are you an artist?”
Friedrich nodded and passed his sketchbook across the table. Jeremy started to flip through it in his usual casual manner, but stopped after the first few pages.
“These are striking. So alive. I’m not much for art, you know. But this—this I like. Do you paint as well? Where’s your studio?”
“I share one with four other artists. We’re not far from Klimt’s. You know his work?”
“Of course,” Jeremy said. “Is your style similar to his?”
“Not at all. I’m afraid mine is rooted more in realism.”
“I’d like to see your work, Mr. Henkler,” Jeremy said. “I understand you did a magnificent sketch of Lady Ashton.”
“It would be my pleasure to show you.” Friedrich ripped a scrap of paper from his book and scratched an address on it. “If I’m not here, I’m at the studio.”
“Well, I won’t come until this dreadful snow has stopped. Tomorrow, perhaps? In the afternoon? Four o’clock?”
“Very good. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“We need to go,” I said.
“So soon?” Jeremy asked. “I’ve only just got warm.”
“You need better boots.” I pulled on my coat and hat. “Friedrich, if I don’t see you here tomorrow, I’ll have the duke let you know when you should come to the Imperial.”
“A million thanks, Kallista. Anna and I will be forever indebted to you.”
Jeremy leaned close to me as we walked towards the door. “It’s unexpectedly delightful to see you mingling with the masses.”
“Why would you say such a thing? Do you object?”
“Not particularly. It’s just surprising, that’s all. He seems like a capital chap. Where are we going now?”
“To the first address on the count’s list,” I said. “It’s a short walk from here. I looked at my map while you were discussing your new passion for art with Friedrich.”
“I’m certain I don’t agree with your definition of a short walk. Should I plan to freeze to death before we reach our destination?” We’d come to the front of the café, and he swung open the door, but I paused before exiting, distracted by the sight of someone sitting near the door, his face half hidden by a newspaper: Mr. Harrison.
“Coming?” Jeremy asked. “There’s going to be a snowdrift inside if I don’t close the door.”
I followed him out, and we crossed the street. We’d gone less than a block when I knew that we were being followed.
“This isn’t going to work,” I said. I looked around and saw the elaborate tiles of the Stephansdom’s roof, which was the only object in sight not covered with snow; the pitch was too steep to allow accumulation. I took Jeremy’s hand and pulled him towards the church. “I’ve always wanted to see where Mozart was married.”
Chapter 13
We ducked through a side door, disappointed to find that the massive Riesentor—the Giant’s Door—was closed, and walked down the nave in the direction of the high altar at the opposite end of the cathedral. I sat on an empty pew.
“What are you doing?” Jeremy whispered.
“We’re being followed.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. Harrison.”
“Is he in here?”
“I don’t know.” I looked around, but did not see him. “If he’s not, he’s waiting for us to come out.”
“So are we to spend the rest of the morning in church?”
“It will be good for your soul, Jeremy.” We sat quietly for approximately three minutes.
“I’m bored,” he said.
“Your attention span is astonishing. I’ll ask something that will amuse you. What do you think of the countess?”
“She’s gorgeous, obviously, in that devastating, self-assured, sophisticated way,” he said. “Smart too, from what I hear. An experienced woman of the world.”
“A nightmare.” I sighed.
“You’re not jealous of her?”
“Maybe a bit.”
“Does Hargreaves know?”
“No! Telling him would make me feel even less devastatingly sophisticated, self-assured, and experienced than I already do.”
“You’ve no need for worry.”
“I know. It’s just—” I stopped. “We’ve known each other since we were babies, Jeremy. Can I speak freely?”
“Of course. Shock me at will.”
“You’re…experienced. Do you ever regret the loss of a former mistress?”
“Em, this is a conversation you do not want to have.”
“I can’t imagine that it’s possible to simply stop loving someone.”
“Most mistresses are just amusing games.”
“I don’t think Colin plays amusing games,” I said, tipping my head back and looking at the vaulted ceiling.
“He’s quite good at chess.”
“You’re not being helpful.”
“No, and I can’t be on this count,” he said. “He’s the only one who can ease your mind.”
