The Enchanted Waltz

  THE ENCHANTED WALTZ

  The love of Wanda Schonbörn and Richard Melton would in these enlightened days quickly find its easy happy ending.

  But the Europe of 1815 was a deadly dangerous place – the politicians of a dozen countries were fighting over the remains of the exiled Napoleon’s Empire, and the vastly unimportant (except to themselves!) Wanda and Richard are enmeshed in the intrigues of the two most powerful men of the day – Prince Metternich of Austria and the Czar of all the Russias, Alexander I

  Chapter 1

  1815

  “The situation is intolerable!”

  The Prince de Metternich brought his fist down on the desk with such resounding force that the gold accessories rattled from the blow.

  “You expected the Czar to be difficult, dear,” his wife said quietly.

  “Yes, I know I did,” the Prince replied “but not as difficult as this. The man isn’t normal. He is – ”

  The Prince paused for a word.

  “Not made like his father?” the Princess suggested.

  “No, not as bad as that!”

  Prince Metternich strode across the room, his handsome, distinguished head thrust a little forward as always when he was deep in thought and then he added,

  “I wish I could put into words what is wrong with the Czar. He seems at times to be two men in one body.”

  The Princess gave a little cry.

  “It is extraordinary that you should say that, Clement! We were discussing such a possibility only yesterday and the Princess de Liechtenstein said that our doctors of medicine are working on just that theory – that a man can have a double personality and be God and the Devil both at the same time.”

  “The Czar should be their first patient,” Prince Metternich said sharply, “for at one moment he sees himself as the Ruler of the world, the supreme power in Europe – at another the benign Christian benefactor doling out freedom and liberty to all men.”

  The Princess sighed.

  The exasperation in her husband’s voice was very evident. She knew that he did not expect her to contribute much to the conversation. As always when he was confiding in her, he was content to talk, to clarify his own mind and his own ideas in the process.

  “That is not all,” the Prince continued. “Alexander is wrecking the Congress by the way in which he insists on conducting his own affairs. As you know, it was laid down very clearly that the Sovereigns should amuse themselves while their plenipotentiaries were to do the real work. The Czar breaks all the rules and insists on negotiating personally with me and Castlereagh. The wretched Count Nesselrode hardly knows what is happening from one day’s end to another!”

  “I can see how irritating it is, my dear,” the Princess said.

  “Irritating?” the Prince exclaimed. “It is intolerable. It cannot continue. Something must be done – but what?”

  He threw out his thin expressive hands in a gesture of despair. Looking at him, standing with his back to the window, the pale winter sunshine illuminating him with an aura of light, Princess Metternich thought, as she had thought every day since they were married, that her husband was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  It was not that his features had a classical beauty, but they were aristocratic and there was so much character and personality in his face, such a brilliant sparkle in his eyes, such an enticing twist to his lips that even the most libellous cartoon or drawing could not fail to make him appear distinguished. It was the face of a man no woman could fail to love, she thought suddenly, and felt her heart sink.

  “What can be done? What?” the Prince asked. “If we do nothing, the Congress will fail. Already the latest bon mot, ‘Congress dances, but does not advance’, is being sniggered about wherever I go. My enemies are saying that this will be the greatest failure of my career and they will be right – yes, they will be right, Eleanore, unless by some miracle I can prevent the Czar from wrecking everything.”

  “A miracle? Isn’t that asking rather a lot?” the Princess enquired with a faint smile.

  “Without it we are lost,” her husband replied grimly.

  He walked again across the beautiful Aubusson carpet. Everything in the Palace that Prince Metternich had erected for himself had been chosen by him personally. He called it ‘Villa on the Rennweg’, but the Emperor Francis had already said laughingly that he would exchange it for the Hofburg.

  Exquisitely designed, the Prince himself had supervised the planting of the surrounding Park with its formal arrangements of rare trees and shrubs.

  The Villa on the Rennweg was not only the centre of the festivities but it was also the heart and soul of the diplomacy for which the Congress had been called, for the axis round which everything and everybody revolved was the Imperial Minister, Prince Metternich himself.

  No one but his wife and his secretaries knew of the great strain he was working under and yet there was no sign of it in his bearing, in the sparkling wit of his conversation or the ease and charm of his manner to all the thousands of distinguished guests who had converged upon Vienna.

  It was in fact undeniable that Prince Metternich seemed to overshadow all the other personalities who had arrived that autumn with all the power and pomp that lay at their command. The Emperor Alexander of Russia had come with an enormous retinue, eager for the plaudits of the masses and determined that everyone should acknowledge that he and he alone had defeated Napoleon.

  There was Frederick William III of Prussia, the King of Denmark, the Kings of Bavaria and Württemberg and the Viscount Castlereagh as the personal representative of the Prince Regent of England.

  Gathered to meet them were all the most beautiful women in Europe and the most brilliant Society of their respective countries.

  Emperors, Kings, Princes, Statesmen, politicians, Courtiers, Grandes Dames and courtesans had converged on Vienna, but the central figure was still Prince Clement de Metternich. His penetrating clear blue eyes, broad brow, aquiline nose, pale fair skin and gently mocking mouth seemed to remain in the onlooker’s mind long after the balls, masques, parades and receptions were forgotten.

  But his extraordinary political genius made him many enemies who were only too eager to proclaim that the New Year of 1815 would see him beaten and discredited.

  “A miracle,” he repeated now. “Find me a miracle, Eleanore.”

  The appeal in his deep voice was something she could never resist.

  “If only I could help you,” she sighed.

  He walked across the room to her side and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “You do help me,” he said.

  The simple words, spoken with a quiet affection, brought the tears springing to her eyes, but she turned her head aside so that he should not see them.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The gesture made, he turned away from her again, his brows knit, deep in the throes of his political problems, before he noticed a servant standing inside the door waiting for permission to speak.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “There is a lady here, Your Excellency. She wishes to see you privately.”

  “A lady? Who is she?”

  “She gave no name, Your Excellency, but craved an audience. She has come from the country.”

  “I cannot see people without an appointment,” the Prince said testily.

  “Yes, Your Excellency, that was understood. I explained, but the young lady was insistent. She was quite certain that you would wish to see her.”

  “Tell her she must present her credentials in the usual manner,” the Prince instructed. “At the moment I am engaged.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  The servant left the room and the Prince returned to his pa
cing.

  “I cannot allow Poland to be a Sovereign State dominated by Russia,” he said aloud, but ruminatively as if, in fact, he spoke to himself. “It would give the Czar domination of Europe such as Napoleon himself did not enjoy. But Alexander has set his heart on it and King Frederick William is half inclined to agree with him, if only to spite me and the English. I think that what I shall have to do is too – ”

  He broke off suddenly for the servant re-entered the room.

  “What is it?”

  “The lady asked me to give this to Your Excellency.”

  The servant held out a gold salver on which reposed a pendant of turquoises set with diamonds. It was a pretty trifle, but not intrinsically valuable.

  The Prince stared at it for a long moment in silence.

  He remembered the moonlight on a white body, the warmth of two soft lips, her breasts had quivered beneath his hand and, as the blood drummed in his ears, he had felt the wild beating of her heart against his own.

  Slowly he reached out and took the pendant from the salver.

  “Show the lady in,” he muttered.

  The Princess rose from the chair where she had been sitting.

  “I will go and rest before the ball tonight.”

  She was smiling as she spoke and no one, least of all her husband, would have guessed the sudden arrow of fear that had pierced her heart.

  The Prince stepped forward to open the door for her and, when she had left the room, he walked slowly towards the fireplace, staring at the pendant in his hand, the stones very blue against the hard glitter of the diamonds that encircled them.

  The last time he had seen this pendant he had clasped it round a slim neck. It had cost him money he could ill afford at the time, but he had never grudged the expense.

  He could remember still the fragrance of the lilacs and the moonlit evenings when they had met in the little Temple in the forest. He could recall the magic of those hours still, after all these years when there had been so many other moments of magic, so many other moonlit nights.

  How young and rash and impetuous they had been, risking everything for those stolen kisses!

  He sighed suddenly.

  Carlotta would be nearly forty now. It was a pity to spoil the remembrance of that youthful ecstasy by meeting again after so many years!

  But women were all the same, he thought, they could never be content to leave things as they were and to remain in the past.

  The door was opening.

  Prince Metternich straightened himself and waited – and then, as someone came into the room, the faint smile on his lips faded and the expression in his eyes changed.

  This was not Carlotta.

  This was someone very different – a girl he had never seen before in his life.

  She came walking towards him so lightly that she seemed almost to float across the carpet.

  She was wearing a travelling cloak of green velvet over a gown of white mousseline and a tiny hat trimmed with green feathers was set on her red-gold hair. Her eyes were blue, as blue as his own, set around with dark lashes.

  She reached his side and sank into a deep curtsey.

  “I thank Your Excellency for seeing me.”

  It was an exquisite face that looked up at him, with a small tip-tilted nose, a full red mouth and those two unexpectedly blue eyes set in a small oval face.

  “Who are you?

  “I am Wanda Schonbörn. My mother said you would remember her. She has sent you a letter.”

  She held it out as she spoke and even after all these years he remembered the writing. He took the letter without a word, still looking at the girl who gave it to him, taking in every detail of the soft peach-like skin, the faint colour in her cheeks, the long proud column of her neck and the way her breasts curved beneath the tight bodice of her dress.

  “Yes, I remember your mother,” the Prince said and wondered if it was his own voice speaking, as it sounded so strange and far away.

  Then he opened the letter and read,

  “I am very ill. The doctors say I cannot live, but, when I am dead, Wanda will be sent to live with my late husband’s sisters in Bavaria. They are old and autocratic and do not understand young people. Let her have a little happiness before she goes, a little gaiety and a little music. Forgive me for asking this of you, but I feel when you see that Wanda you will understand.

  Carlotta.”

  Prince Metternich folded the letter between his fingers.

  “Your mother is dead?” he asked.

  “Yes, she died early in the summer,” the girl answered.

  “You do – remember her?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  The sudden smile that came to her lips was like the sun breaking through an April sky.

  “I am so glad. I was half-afraid, you see, that she was mistaken. When people are ill, they get fancies – and my mother was ill for a very long time.”

  “Yes, of course I remember her,” the Prince repeated and then, looking down into the blue eyes with their dark fringed lashes, he said a little harshly, “how old are you?”

  “I shall be eighteen next month.”

  “Next month!” the Prince repeated under his breath, “and you are christened Wanda?”

  “Wanda Maria Clementina, to be exact,” she smiled.

  The Prince gave a little exclamation. If he wanted proof, here it was. Clementina, his own name, and the memory of those evenings in the little Temple came flooding back so that for the moment it was not Wanda who stood there but Carlotta, holding out her arms to him, her lips warm and eager for kisses, her slim body trembling, as he had trembled too with desire and happiness.

  But Carlotta’s eyes had been grey and Wanda’s were blue – as blue as his!

  With an effort the Prince realised that the girl was waiting for him to speak, looking up at him with an interrogating look on her face.

  He remembered then why she had come and that she would be waiting to hear his verdict, to know if she might stay and if he would allow her to take part in the festivities.

  “So you are to go and live in Bavaria,” he said, playing for time, trying to collect his thoughts.

  “So my mother told me. I try not to think of what it will mean to be without her. I have nowhere else to go, nowhere – but oh, how I hate the idea!”

  There was a sudden note of passion in the clear young voice,

  “You dislike your relatives?”

  “Not only that, they are kind enough, but because I must leave all that is familiar – and Austria, too, my own country.”

  “You love Austria?”

  “Of course.”

  As always when an idea came to him, it seemed as if a sudden flash revealed its place and position in the intricate human chessboard where he was moving the pawns.

  The miracle he had prayed for, it was here.

  “You say you love Austria,” he said quietly, “in which case, will you do something for your country?”

  “But of course – anything!”

  “You are sure of that?”

  “How can you ask me to tell you in words? Give me something to do and, however hard, however difficult, I will do it – I promise you that.”

  “I think I believe you,” the Prince said slowly, “and now, before I say any more, you must forgive me for forgetting my manners. You have come on a long journey and must be tired and thirsty. Sit down and I will pour you some wine.”

  “No, no, there is no need,” Wanda said with a quick gesture of her hand. “I stopped at an inn on the outskirts of Vienna. I wanted to tidy myself before arriving here.”

  He smiled at the slight air of coquetry about her. At the same time the shrewdness of his mind appreciated her good sense.

  She had wanted to make an impression and from her point of view a good deal hinged on this interview, so she did not come to him travel-stained and dusty – she had prepared herself, she had even eaten and drunk. It showed a forethought that he of all peop
le appreciated. Her blue eyes were not the only assets she had inherited.

  “At least I can offer you a seat,” the Prince said with the smile that no woman had ever been able to resist or refuse.

  She accepted the chair he offered her and sat upright but with an inherent grace, her body still and attentive, her eyes dancing with excitement and anticipation.

  “Before you came I was praying for a miracle to help me in a particular dilemma,” the Prince said quietly. “I believe you are the answer to my prayer.”

  “What can I do, Your Excellency?”

  “That is what I am going to tell you, but you will need courage and intelligence. Above all, you will need your wits about you.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  “Very well, then. I will try to explain as simply as possible what I wish you to do. As I expect you already know, a Congress of the Great Powers has been called to draw up a formula of lasting peace for Europe. In my own opinion, peace can only be secured if there is a relative equality both in status and position where Russia, Prussia, Austria and France are concerned. In other words, a balance of power.”

  “I think I understand, Your Excellency.”

  “You will appreciate that I am putting this as simply and in as few words as possible.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The Czar of Russia, the Emperor Alexander, wishes to make Poland into a Sovereign State under his domination. Austria cannot agree to this and both England and France feel the same. The Czar is being difficult. He is a strange man, at times an idealist, at others a shrewd and calculating schemer.”

  “He sounds frightening.”

  “The greatest difficulty in a position like mine is to keep a jump ahead of one’s opponents and this can only be achieved when one has some idea of what they are going to say or do. Do you understand so far?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “One of the easiest ways of anticipating what one’s opponents’ attitude is going to be is to learn of their plans from those they associate with and since the beginning of time women have been the confidantes of men.”

  “And are you asking me to help in such a way?”

  Wanda’s tone was quite steady and he liked the way that her eyes did not fall before the penetrating gaze of his.