“The Baroness Brigitte von Arlsbach, whom the Queen originally chose for Friedrich before he renounced everything for Gisela.”
“Did she love him?”
A curious look crossed her face.
“I never thought so, although she has never married since.”
“And if he left Gisela, might he in time have married her, and she become queen?”
Again the idea seemed to amuse her, but it was a laughter that showed awareness of pain.
“Yes. I suppose that is what would have happened if he had lived, and gone home, and Brigitte had felt it her duty. And she might have, to strengthen the throne. Although possibly he would have found it politic to take a younger wife so that he might produce an heir. The throne must have an heir. Brigitte is now nearer forty than thirty. Old, for a first child. But she is very popular in the country, very admired.”
“Friedrich has no children with Gisela?”
“No. Nor has Waldo.”
“Waldo is married?”
“Oh, yes, to Princess Gertrudis. I would like to say I dislike her, but I cannot.” She laughed self-mockingly. “She is everything I think I detest and find irretrievably tedious. She is domestic, obedient, pleasant-tempered, becomingly dressed and handsome to look at, and civil to everyone. She always seems to have the appropriate thing to say—and says it.”
He was amused.
“And you think that tedious?”
“Incredibly. Ask any woman, Sir Oliver. If she is honest, she will tell you such a creature is an affront to ordinary nature.”
He immediately thought of Hester Latterly, independent, arbitrary, opinionated, definitely short-tempered when she perceived stupidity, cruelty, cowardice or hypocrisy. He could not imagine her being obedient to anyone. She must have been a nightmare to the army when she served in its hospitals. All the same, he found himself smiling at the thought of her. She would have agreed with Zorah.
“Someone you are fond of has come to your mind,” Zorah cut across his thoughts, and again he felt the color mount up his face.
“Tell me why you still find yourself liking Gertrudis,” he said somewhat irritably.
She laughed with delight at his predicament.
“Because she has the most marvelous sense of humor,” she replied. “It is as simple as that. And it is very difficult not to like someone who likes you and who can see the absurd in life and enjoy it.”
He was obliged to agree with her, although he would rather not have. It was disturbing; it threw him off balance. He returned abruptly to his earlier question.
“What does Brigitte wish? Does she have allegiances, desires for independence or unification? Does she want to be queen? Or is that a foolish question?”
“No, it is not foolish at all. I don’t think she wishes to be queen, but she would do it if she felt it her duty,” Zorah replied, all laughter vanished from her face. “Publicly, she would have liked Friedrich to return and lead the fight for independence. Personally, I think she might have preferred he remain in exile. It would then not have placed on her the burden and the humiliation of having to marry him, if that proved to be what the country wanted.”
“Humiliation?” Her remark was incomprehensible. “How can marrying a king, because you are beloved of the people, be a humiliation?”
“Very easily,” she said sharply, a stinging contempt at his obtuseness in her eyes. “No woman worth a sou would willingly marry a man who has publicly sacrificed a throne and a country for someone else. Would you wish to marry a woman who was half of one of the world’s great love stories, when you were not the other half?”
He felt foolish. His lack of perception opened up in front of him like an abyss. A man might want power, office, public recognition. He should have known a woman wanted love, and if she could not have the reality, then at least the outer semblance of it. He did not know many women well, but he had thought he knew about them. He had tried enough cases involving women at their most wicked or vulnerable, passionate or cold-blooded, innocent or manipulative, clever or blindly, unbelievably silly. And yet Hester still confused him … at times.
“Can you imagine being made love to by someone who is making love to you because it is a duty?” Zorah continued mercilessly. “It would make me sick! Like going to bed with a corpse.”
“Please!” he expostulated vehemently. One moment she was as delicate in her perception as the touch of a butterfly, the next she said something so coarse as to be disgusting. It made him acutely uncomfortable. “I have understood your argument, madam. There is no need for illustration.” He lowered his tone and controlled it with difficulty. He must not allow her to see how she rattled him. “Are those all the people who were present at this unfortunate house party?”
She sighed. “No. Stephan von Emden was there as well. He is from one of the old families. And Florent Barberini. His mother is distantly related to the king, and his father is Venetian. There is no purpose in your asking me what they think, because I don’t know. But Stephan is an excellent friend to me, and will assist you in my case. He has already promised as much.”
“Good!” he said. “Because, believe me, you will need all the friends and all the assistance you can acquire!”
She saw that she had annoyed him.
“I’m sorry,” she said gravely, her eyes suddenly soft and rueful. “I spoke too bluntly, didn’t I? I only wanted to make you understand. No, that is not true.” She gave a little grunt of anger. “I am furious over what they would do to Brigitte, and I desire you to come out of your masculine complacency and understand it too. I like you, Sir Oliver. You have a certain aplomb, an ice-cool Englishness about you which is most attractive.” She smiled suddenly and
