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Part 17

Posted on Wednesday, 19 June 2002, at 12:39 a.m.

Carl was sitting in his favourite coffee house, drinking a glass of wine and pretending to read a newspaper. This place had become a sort of refuge to him in the past few weeks, though, in earlier years, he had often despised those men who spent all their spare time in the Viennese coffee houses. There were lots of those men, too many for his taste - and now he had become one of them, too, dreading the coffee house's closing hour because that meant that he would have to return home.

He recalled the moment when he had asked Marie if she knew anything about Theresia's plans. Marie had been just as shocked as he had been. She had not known anything about it, and it had grieved her.

"She used to tell me everything, Carl, and she would definitely have told me something as important as this, if she had wanted me to know. I am afraid she does not trust me any more - what have I done, Carl?"

Carl had reassured Marie. He was certain it did not have anything to do with her. So Theresia had been serious when she had told him that "her room would be at Amalia's disposal as soon as possible". Had he known what consequences his interference would have, he would rather have bitten his own tongue off than saying a word to Theresia - but it was too late. He had never seen Theresia as unforgiving as she was at the moment. Usually, if she had been angry, it had been only a matter of days - at the utmost.
They had had worse quarrels than that - Carl remembered one particular occasion when she had even slapped his face. She had been thirteen years old then, and had probably been as surprised at her behaviour as he had been. The recollection made Carl smile. Little had he known then, and he knew exactly what he would have said, had anyone hinted that his feelings for his cousin might change one day. And now Theresia wanted to leave. She was in earnest, and there was nothing he could do.

The only hope he had at the moment was that the Emperor received Archduke John's petition in her behalf favourably. Only a small ray of hope, Carl knew that, but it was better than having no hope at all. If Theresia had enough money of her own to support herself, she would not have to work as a governess for the Lord knew whom.
Carl had not heard from the Archduke yet, and he hoped that it was a good sign. No news was good news, in that case.

"If you really want to give people the impression that you are reading, von Hertenberg, you should turn the pages now and then," someone said to him, and, in looking up, Carl recognised Fitzwilliam.

"I never thought you might turn out to be a coffee-house resident, Fitzwilliam," he said with a smile.

"No? Why did you introduce me to this place then," Fitzwilliam replied. "May I take a seat or do you want to go on reading?"

Carl laughed. "Sit down and stop being stupid, will you?"

Fitzwilliam took his seat next to him and ordered some more wine.

"Have you been here all evening," he asked Carl.

"No, I came here after supper," Carl replied. "It is quite nice here, really."

"Not as nice as at home, though," Fitzwilliam said.

Carl did not want to discuss his present situation with Fitzwilliam. They had done so quite often, but since nothing had changed, there was no use in discussing it any further.

"Depends on the circumstances," Carl only said, shortly. "But what leads you here at this time of evening?"

Fitzwilliam was not usually seen in coffee houses in the evenings. Carl could not help wondering.

Fitzwilliam waited until the waiter had filled his glass and had walked away, before he answered Carl's question.

"Do you want to hear the truth?"

"No, lie to me, please," Carl said dryly. Really, what sort of question was that?

"No need to become sarcastic. I met some old acquaintance of yours, or at least she used to work for an old acquaintance of yours. Berta Havlicek."

"Berta Havlicek? Now who is she? Hang on ... Berta you said? Did she work for Ilona Horvāth?"

Berta - that had been the name of Ilona Horvāth's lady's maid, if he remembered correctly. It could only be her, there was no other Berta he knew of that had worked for an acquaintance of his.

"The same."

"What the heck did you want from her, and how have you found her out?"

"It was not as difficult as I had imagined first," Fitzwilliam answered. "I wanted to know some more about Countess Bāthory."

"Whatever for," Carl asked in astonishment. "And why did you take all the trouble in finding Berta Havlicek when you could actually have asked me? There is not much I do not know about Countess Bāthory, believe me."

Actually, he knew more than he cared to know.

"I wanted to ask someone who had known her well - and someone who had lived in the same house as the Countess did."

"But why did you take the trouble? This is what astonishes me, Fitzwilliam. You are not the nosy sort. If you put such effort into something, it is quite certain that it is important to you."

For a moment, Fitzwilliam hesitated, and then he said, "I wanted to know what sort of man your sister is going to marry."

"I beg your pardon?" One of them had to be drunk, and Carl knew that he was the sober one.

"Your sister is going to marry Bāthory, and I wanted to know what he is like."

"Have you gone completely mad? Bāthory marry my sister? What did they give you to drink at Berta Havlicek's?"

What had given Fitzwilliam THAT ridiculous idea? This was even worse than his own folly concerning Captain Tilney and Theresia. This was....sick.

"Von Hertenberg, there is no need to deny it. He told me so himself."

Carl knew Fitzwilliam well enough to know that he would not say so if it had not been like that.

"You mean, he told you explicitly that he was going to marry my sister?" he asked, earnestly.

"He did."

"When?"

"You remember that evening when we were having dinner at his house?"

Carl nodded. "Why did you not tell me earlier? I mean, there is a man walking around telling people that he is going to marry my sister, and not a word of it is true - why did you keep this from me?"

"The way Bāthory had expressed himself gave me no reason to doubt what he had said," Fitzwilliam answered, "and so I assumed that you were already informed."

Carl sighed. So this was one of Bāthory's latest intrigues - he thought that if he scared away possible rivals, Marie would finally resort to marrying him. As if...

"Fitzwilliam, believe me, I knew nothing of this, and you can safely assume that if there was, indeed, a marriage in planning, I would be one of the first people to know. Bāthory is not engaged with my sister, and he will not marry her - no matter what lies he may have told you."

Fitzwilliam's face expressed infinite relief, but he was still sceptical.

"How can you be so certain about that," he asked. "He said that it was her guardian's wish..."

"Oh, I bet he said so," Carl answered dryly. "Did he also tell you who her guardian is?"

Fitzwilliam shook his head.

"I thought so. Well, let me inform you of one thing. My sister has two guardians - my older brother and myself. Even if my older brother consented to that marriage - I have no doubt he would, because when he likes people he loses his good sense entirely - you can be absolutely sure that I never would."

"But would not one guardian's consent be enough?" Fitzwilliam asked anxiously.

Carl shook his head. "No, Fitzwilliam, it would by no means be enough. Our father was a very intelligent man, and he was not blind to our faults. When he made his will, he made sure that, though we were Marie's guardians, no important decision could be made by just one of us. The other one will always have to be in favour of it."

"Which means your sister is not allowed to marry unless her chosen partner is to the liking of both her brothers?"

"Exactly," Carl said with a smile. "You see, your fears concerning my sister's happiness were unfounded. Whatever Bāthory may have told you, there is no chance whatsoever of his marrying her."

For a while, none of them said a word, then Carl said, "So he is going around telling people that he is going to marry my sister? I shall have to see to that, then."

He gave Fitzwilliam a broad smile. "And as for you, sir, I take it that your concern for my sister has its reasons."

"Why, yes, it has...after all, we are friends."

Carl nodded and said, with a grin, "Of course, friendship has a great deal to do with it. Anyway, who knows how long you are still going to stay in Vienna?"

"I beg your pardon?" Fitzwilliam looked at him with well-faked ignorance.

Carl laughed. "Usually it is me who acts this way," he said. "Just one well-meant piece of advice: one should let one's friends know about one's friendly feelings for them."

He rose. "I shall have to go home now, Fitzwilliam, and so should you. There is no need for you to be anxious on my sister's account. I will settle that Bāthory business once and for all."

On his way home, Carl reflected on what he had heard from his friend. It was impossible that Joseph had not been informed of all this - why had he done nothing to save his sister's reputation? Probably this had been a plot by Amalia - she had set her mind on marrying Marie with Bāthory, because she thought that this would raise her importance in society. My sister-in-law, the Countess Bāthory...
Carl knew that, depending on how many people were "informed" about that forthcoming marriage, Marie's reputation would suffer if she broke the whole thing off. Had this been a plot to force him into a consent he would never give under normal circumstances?

Drastic measures were needed. Carl knew that he had to tell Joseph everything he knew about Bāthory's first marriage. He would have to acquaint Joseph with details no one knew but Carl and Horvāth - and Bāthory himself, of course.
Horvāth had confided in Carl two years ago, had told him the truth about his sister's marriage and had shown him some proof as well. But he had asked Carl to remain silent on this matter, because he did not want to expose his sister's suffering to the public.
Carl had promised never to tell anybody, but now his own sister's happiness was at stake. Surely Horvāth would understand - but Carl decided to ask his permission first. He did not want to break a promise unless he had no other choice.

The next morning, Carl sent a message to Horvāth, but the messenger returned to tell him that the Major was out of town attending to some important business, and that he would return in two days, at the earliest. Carl sighed. The interview with Joseph would have to wait, then.

No one had the words to describe the relief Richard had felt when von Hertenberg had informed him that he was one of his sister's guardians, and that he would not give his permission for her marriage with Bāthory to take place.

Marie was safe, and had he spoken to his friend earlier, he would have been informed of all this without going through the pain that he had felt on her account.
Besides, von Hertenberg had hinted that the idea of a marriage between him and Marie was not at all disagreeable to him.
At last, he could tell Marie how much he loved her, and he had every reason to hope that she might return his feelings - or that she liked him, at least.

Who knows how long you are going to stay in Vienna, von Hertenberg had asked him. He had been right. The negotiations were going rather well, and it might be only a matter of weeks until he would have to leave this town again. If he wanted to secure his future happiness, he'd better make haste.

When Carl returned home that evening, he was in excellent spirits. It looked as if at least one of the tasks he had taken on himself was about to be resolved. In the afternoon, he had received a formal note from Archduke John, ordering him to meet him the next day, since there was news concerning his cousin Theresia's inheritance.

For a while, Carl had considered if he should tell Theresia about it, but then he thought the better of it. He did not want to raise her hope as long as there was no reason to do so. It would only make the disappointment worse if things did not turn out the way one wanted them to. No, he would wait until he knew something definite.

On passing the music room door, Carl stopped. Theresia was practising inside, singing a song that had always been one of his favourites. He wished he could go inside to listen to her, but he knew how this would end - she would stop, and she would probably leave the room, as she had always done in those past weeks. So he decided to stay outside and to listen to her song where he was.

However, one of the servants came around the corner after a few minutes, so Carl felt obliged to enter the room - it would have given the good woman a strange impression if she had caught him listening at the keyhole.

Theresia stopped playing immediately, and Carl cursed himself for having stopped at the door in the first place.

"Do not stop, Theresia, this was beautiful," he said apologetically.

"I had to take up practising again," she said, refusing to acknowledge the compliment. Instead, she began gathering her music sheets, and would undoubtedly have left the room, had Carl not stopped her.

"There is no need for you to go, Theresia," he said sadly. "You were in here first, and I shall leave the music room to you."

He did not wait for her to answer, but went outside immediately. There was only a certain amount of misery he could take, and it had just been enough. He would not allow Theresia to torture him like this any more - he had to try and forget about her.

Theresia had stayed behind by herself, startled. This was the first time Carl had commented on her behaviour towards him since their quarrel, and for the first time he had shown her that her conduct did not leave him untouched.
For a moment, Theresia was tempted to follow him and to apologise, but changed her mind when she had reached the door. He had hurt her, too, had he not?

The next day, Theresia called on Leonie, only to hear that Leonie's sister had not replied to her inquiry yet.

"To be honest, Theresia," Leonie said, "I think my sister does not need a governess any more. If she were so desperately in need of one, she would have answered my letter long ago."

Theresia nodded. So she had to start looking somewhere else. It did not make any difference, did it?

On her way home she dropped in at Novacek's place to have a chat with Rosa Novacek. Rosa was most happy to receive her, and they spent an hour or two talking about the latest Viennese gossip.

Shortly before noon, Theresia left Rosa Novacek and returned home. Amalia was not there, she had gone to visit a friend of hers, and Marie was not at home either. Theresia perceived with satisfaction that she would have the entire house to herself for some hours. She decided to use the time for reading - she liked to read, but usually Amalia reproached her for it because it was not ladylike, and besides someone like Theresia certainly had something better to do. Better meaning something more suitable for a penniless nuisance like her.

Theresia went to the library, found herself a book, and settled down in the drawing room for an hour or two of quiet and undisturbed reading. Who knew how long she could still indulge in such luxury.

"Your Highness, this is more than I had ever expected," Carl said to Archduke John after he had heard his offer.

The Archduke smiled. "It is hardly enough, if you ask me," he said, "but I am afraid this is all His Majesty is going to offer."

"I am infinitely obliged to Your Highness," Carl answered. "As I said, when Your Highness told me that there was no chance of retrieving my cousin's inheritance, I nearly gave up hope - this offer is generous, indeed."

"All your cousin has to do now," Archduke John said, "is to sign the necessary papers."

"I am sure she will be delighted when she hears the news," Carl said.

"You should tell her as soon as possible, sir, if you have not done so yet," the Archduke said.

"Is she not going to get any official message, then," Carl asked.

"She is," the Archduke said with a smile. "You, Colonel von Hertenberg, are going to deliver it." He took a letter from his desk and handed it to Carl. "You should not keep her waiting longer than necessary, sir."

Carl took the hint, saluted, and left. It was amazing - a member of the Imperial family caring so much for one single person, not even an important one - that he took the trouble to provide for her. No wonder Archduke John was so popular.

Carl left the Imperial Palace without delay. He had to tell Theresia that she was no longer penniless.

Theresia had not expected anyone to arrive at home so early. When she heard the front door open, she assumed it was Amalia returning from her visit, and thought it would be better if she took her book back into the library.
Then the drawing room door opened, and Carl came in. Well, it was not Amalia, but nearly as bad.

She wanted to hurry past him and go to the library, but he grabbed her arm and said, "Theresia, there is something we have to talk about. You do not want to talk to me any more, I accept that, but give me ten minutes to tell you some important news. It is not on my behalf I am going to speak."

He said this in a more earnest manner than she was used to hearing from him. Without answering, she went over to one of the chairs and sat down, casting a telltale look at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"I am listening," she finally said. She noticed the strange look Carl gave her, as if ... she was mistaken, certainly.

"I have got a letter for you," he began and broke off.

"A letter."

Carl walked to the window, looked out for a moment, and then returned to her.

"No, I'd better start the whole thing differently," he said. "Do you remember the evening when you met Archduke John?"

She did indeed remember - Captain Tilney's questions concerning her brother had nearly made her cry, and Archduke John's kindness, as well.

"I remember, yes," she said calmly.

"Good. Well, on that particular evening I thought that maybe Archduke John could be of assistance. I wrote a letter to him, pointing out your precarious financial situation, and telling him that it could be infinitely better if you could regain your inheritance from the French authorities. After all, even if your brother's fortune was forfeit in consequence of his rebellious activities, they had no right to take yours. You have never done anything wrong. The Archduke did not answer to my letter at first, so I thought he had forgotten about it."

"You really thought he could help me? You have always been an optimist, Carl," Theresia answered. Why did he start that painful topic?

"Theresia, listen to me first and judge then," Carl said. "The Archduke has exerted himself on your behalf, and today he told me that, although he was not able to get back your inheritance, the has been successful in procuring a compensation for you."

"A compensation," Theresia said.

"A compensation, Theresia. I shall give you the letter in a minute, but I thought you might need an explanation of all that legal talk...on the whole, Theresia, the compensation consists of your father's title and the right to pass it on to your husband and children, and the sum of twenty thousand pounds *."

"Twenty thousand.... and I am..."

"Baroness von Laudeck, yes." Carl gave her a smile.

"I can hardly believe it," Theresia said. This was beyond her understanding. One moment, she had been as poor as a churchmouse, and now she had twenty thousand pounds and her own title. This could only be a dream.

Carl handed the letter to her and said, "Read your letter then, it will prove everything I said. Well, my ten minutes are over."

He turned around and was about to leave the room, when Theresia called out to him.

"Carl, stay...please."

He turned around and looked at her. Theresia sighed. She did not know what to say ... at the moment she just felt utterly ashamed of herself.

"I cannot let you go without thanking you," she said, shyly.

"You need not thank me, Theresia," he said warmly. "I did not do that much for you, except writing a few letters, that is. I did it gladly."

Theresia only had to look at him to know that he had said the truth. He had done it gladly.

"Carl," she said, desperately suppressing her tears, "and all the while I was treating you so horribly. I am sorry..." She broke off, feeling that if she said one more word she would burst out crying.

He sat down next to her and said, quietly, "Theresia, I deserved it. Do not apologise."

Why was he still so kind with her, after all she had done? Theresia could not stop herself any more, she started to cry, and suddenly found herself leaning on Carl's shoulder, with his arms wrapped around her.

"There, there," he said, soothingly. "It was getting a bit too much for you lately, was it not?"

"You cannot...imagine...how..." Theresia sobbed.

"Yes, I can," he answered, and looked at her, with that cheerful smile of his she had missed so much lately. "Feeling better now?"

Theresia nodded, straightened up and wiped the tears from her face. What would he think of her now, letting herself go like that? At least he did not show it if he thought ill of her - she was glad about it.
He was watching her intently, smiling...she wished to know what made him smile like that.

"Can you tell me why you are so awfully kind to me, Carl, no matter how dreadfully I behave," she finally asked him.

He smiled, leaned towards her, caressed her cheek and said, quietly, "I think it is because I love you so much, Theresia."

Before she could think of an answer, she felt his lips touch hers, and responded to his kiss. This was the best way to answer, anyway. Theresia put her arms around his neck and forgot about everything around them for a moment.

Then Carl took both her hands and said, teasingly, "Now that I have practically ruined your reputation, Theresia, would you consider marrying me?"

Theresia laughed. "Sir, I am afraid I have no other choice - since you have ruined my reputation."

"Is this your only reason for marrying me, Theresia?" Carl asked, grinning.

"No, actually there are one or two others, sir," she answered, with a mischievous smile. "But I will not tell you, you will have to find them out yourself."

He laughed. "I am glad to have my old Reserl back," he said. "Please do not mend your ways, as you have threatened to do. I would not want you to."

"There is one more thing you will have to promise, though, Carl," Theresia said earnestly.

"Anything," he said, taken aback by her sudden change of manner.

"Never call me Reserl again."

He laughed and, with a kiss, assured her that he would do his best.

Marie had been most surprised to hear the news when she had returned home that evening. Carl and Theresia were going to get married... each of them had turned up in her room, telling her about it, and so Marie had heard the particulars of the engagement from both parties' points of view.

It amused her, and she was very happy. Their disagreement had made her suffer extremely; she had been in between and had not been able to take any particular part in it. Now, this matter was resolved, and besides this would mean that Theresia would give up her plans of becoming a governess. Marie was certain that Carl and Theresia would be very happy with each other.

At supper, Theresia announced, to the astonishment of everyone but Carl, that she would no longer have to depend on her cousin Joseph's kindness, and thanked Joseph for his support during those difficult years when she had had neither money nor connections.

Marie listened to Theresia's story with wonder. Amalia did so, too, but she did not seem very happy with that piece of news. On the contrary, it seemed to annoy her.

"So you have finally got the means to behave as high-and-mighty as you have done before," she said maliciously.

"Perhaps, Madam, I may behave even more high-and-mighty now," Theresia answered with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Just remember that money does not make any difference, Theresia. You will remain what you were before, even with a baronetcy and money."

"I sincerely hope that it will be so, Madam," Theresia replied.

"Trash will always be trash, you know," Amalia finished, so quietly that only Theresia and Marie could understand her...or not?

"Amalia," Carl suddenly said. "What is it that I heard you say just now? I hope I have misunderstood you."

"I only told Theresia to watch her behaviour in the future, even more than she may have done before," Amalia said sweetly.

"In that case, Amalia, I would advise you to use different terms to avoid misunderstandings," Carl said. "I would not wish you to refer to my fiancée as "trash"."

Amalia sat there, open-mouthed, not able to say anything. It was a rare sight, and Marie revelled in seeing it.

Carl turned to Joseph, and said, "I was planning to tell you after supper, Joseph, but considering the circumstances..."

Joseph nodded and gave his wife a warning look. It seemed as if Amalia was, for once, silenced.

* I know that British Pounds were not in use in Austria at that time, but I thought it better to use a currency that is familiar to all of us. ;-)

Part 18

Posted on Saturday, 22 June 2002, at 1:18 a.m.

Vienna, March 1815

Dear Cousin Darcy,
After a cold winter, it looks as if spring is about to arrive. It is getting warmer every day, the snow melts, and more and more people go out of their houses to enjoy the first rays of sun in the Prater area.
For once, everything in Vienna seems to run smooth. The diplomats have chosen to leave their personal problems with each other out of their business (you should have witnessed the Tsar's way of dealing with Metternich, and vice versa), and so negotiations seem to have had an effect. Great care has been taken to treat the defeated French justly, and I agree with Metternich, who says that a peace agreement that humiliates them would only lead to further problems.
I cannot go into detail yet, but our country will profit, as will Austria, Prussia and Russia. The Polish nobility will be disappointed - they had hoped for an independent Poland, but Poland remains as it was - divided into three parts, and the parts belonging to different states.
Speaking of Poland, I do not think I have already told you about Captain Tilney's engagement, have I? He seemed to be a rake at first, but in Vienna he became enamoured of a young Polish lady, Miss Potocka, a close friend of Miss von Hertenberg's, and he is going to marry her soon. If you had known him before, you would not recognise him any more. This is what love does to a man, but I guess I do not have to tell YOU anything about it.

You may have guessed by my letters that I think very highly of Miss von Hertenberg, and indeed I do. In fact, "thinking highly" of her is an understatement of the worst kind. I intend to propose marriage to her, and I have reason to hope that she will give me a favourable answer. So, cousin, if you hear that the Dancing Congress of Vienna is over, be not alarmed if I do not return home immediately. I wish I could see Aunt Catherine's reaction on that piece of news, however.

Colonel von Hertenberg, Miss von Hertenberg's brother, warned me on my first day in Vienna, and told me that this city had a certain effect on strangers - I did not believe him then, but I do so now. It seems to have a certain effect on its residents as well, though - Colonel von Hertenberg is going to get married soon.

I hope that everyone is fine at Pemberley. Was the music I sent to Georgiana to her taste? If so, I shall send her some more.
In your last letter you told me that your in-laws were coming for a visit. I hope your and Mrs Darcy's nerves have not suffered too much.

Give my regards to Mrs Darcy and Georgiana, but do not tell them about my plans yet. I shall write again as soon as everything is settled, and then will be the right moment to let them know.
In the meantime, may the Lord keep you all in good health.

Your cousin,
R. Fitzwilliam

Richard could imagine Darcy's surprise on reading this letter, but he had no doubt that Darcy would approve of his choice, once he met Marie. As for Lady Catherine, she would undoubtedly be furious. Another nephew had dared to cross her plans and marry a woman of his own choice.
He knew what Lady Catherine would say - she would probably accuse Marie of manoeuvring him into marriage, would say that with her foreign ways she would only make Richard unhappy (he was quite certain that Marie's being half English would not convince his aunt), and would refuse to receive him and his wife at Rosings. Well, so much the better.
As for his nearest relations, his parents, brother and sisters, Richard had no doubt that they would be pleased as long as he was happy - and Marie was the sort of person who would get along with them very well.
Richard decided to visit her this afternoon, and ask her the all-important question. He hoped that Baroness von Hertenberg could somehow be persuaded to leave them alone for five minutes.

Finally, Horvāth had returned to Vienna, and Carl had sent him a note, asking his permission to reveal the secret concerning Countess Bāthory's death. Instead of answering the letter, Horvāth came to see him.

"So, what is this business about," he asked Carl the moment he entered Carl's office. "You said it was important."

Carl explained the situation to Horvāth, and repeated his request.

"I know I promised you to keep silent on this matter, Horvāth, and I have kept my promise ever since - only now, I am afraid, I do not have any other choice."

Horvāth thought for a while. He was not the sort of man to make such a decision easily, Carl knew that, and he did not press him.
After a few minutes, Horvāth said, "You need not break your promise, von Hertenberg."

Carl raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, Horvāth?"

"What I mean is, that you will talk to your brother, tell him that you have severe charges against Bāthory and his character, and, if he does not believe you, I will prove it. So you will not have to break your promise - I never promised to remain silent."

Carl gave his friend a doubting look. "Horvāth, this is going to be painful for you - do you really want to do it?"

Horvāth nodded. "I owe it to your sister," he said. "I cannot allow her to be as unhappy as my sister was. She is a lovely girl, she deserves better. When are we going to speak to your brother?"

Carl shrugged. "What about tonight? Are you going to come to dinner? As far as I know, Bāthory is out of town anyway, so you need not fear meeting him."

"I do not fear meeting him," Horvāth said with a grim smile. "He ought to fear meeting me. I have thought about that man a great deal, von Hertenberg, and you know what? I have decided that I do not want him dead - as I used to, some time ago. I want him to suffer. Maybe we can bring on a bit of that suffering tonight. I shall be there, and bring some proof with me which even the most prejudiced judge would accept."

If Richard had thought that it would be possible to get rid of Baroness von Hertenberg, he had been wrong.
During his visit at her house, she did not even once leave the drawing room to give him some privacy with Marie, even though Miss von Laudeck did her best to lure her away. Richard gave her a thankful smile when she finally gave up, with an exasperated look. No doubt von Hertenberg had told her about his feelings for Marie - and he appreciated her attempt to help them. But, as long as the Baroness was around, there was no use trying it.

Now she kept him busy with her nonsensical gossip, and he had to act politely, when he actually wished to tell her that she was not wanted, and should get out.
Finally he saw that he could not stay any longer - General Tilney had ordered him to be at his disposal later in the afternoon, and he could not allow himself to be late. He took leave of the Baroness (with the sincere, though unexpressed wish that she might, perhaps, be a bit out of sorts tomorrow - just enough to make her keep to her room in the afternoon), and then said goodbye to Marie, telling her that he hoped to see her again soon. He saw Marie's beautiful eyes lighten up, as she replied, "Certainly, sir, we are always looking forward to your visits."

He gave her another smile, and then turned to Miss von Laudeck.

She smiled at him mischievously and said, in a low tone, "You ought to write something before you come here again, sir. If you cannot fight the dragon, you will have to outwit it."

Richard laughed, but he thought her suggestion worth a try. She was right - if everything else failed, a letter could reach Marie - and if he could not give it to Marie herself, he was sure that Miss von Laudeck would pass it on if he gave it to her.

Amalia was quite vexed when she heard that Horvāth would be their guest in the evening.

"Are those spontaneous invitations really necessary, Carl," she asked indignantly.

"Major Horvāth is a very close friend of mine, Amalia," Carl answered calmly, "and I did not think that it was such a great business if I invited him. I am certain he will not think ill of your housekeeping if he only gets a very plain, every day meal."

"Men!" Amalia exclaimed. "A plain, every day meal! Theresia, now you see what sort of man you are going to marry. He will drag all his friends in to dine with him, without giving you any notice beforehand!"

Lately, Amalia had taken to tell Theresia what married life was about - actually, most of Amalia's comments on marriage were designed to make Theresia think twice about marrying, but Theresia took them with the recommended pinch of salt.

"Oh, good," Theresia said with a smile. "I am already looking forward to it. Though I do not think I have anything to fear. I will hire a good cook and my husband will not think it necessary to drag his friends into our house. I am not such a bad hostess."

Carl laughed, and said, reassuringly, "Amalia, believe me, Horvāth is the last man in the world who would wish to be made a fuss of. Do not trouble yourself."

Then he turned to Theresia. "A good hostess," he asked, teasingly. "What exactly does that mean, Theresia?"

"A good hostess should be proficient in the art of making her guests feel welcome without being in the way, should they suddenly want to leave," she said, grinning.

"I have not the least doubt in your accomplishments." Carl said.

"You should not," she answered. "But now tell me, why did you invite Horvāth? And, which is even more interesting, why did he consent to come?"

Carl sighed. Theresia had a talent of noticing things - which was useful most of the time, only sometimes he wished she were not quite as perceptive.

"We have some important business with Joseph," he said, hoping that she would consider this explanation sufficient.

"Important business, indeed," Theresia said. "Are you not going to tell me what it is?"

"Would you like to know," Carl asked with a grin.

"No, not really," Theresia said, faking disinterest.

Carl laughed. "So why should I tell you then?"

"You are a villain," Theresia said, laughing. "Keeping me in suspense like that! Just wait until we are married!"

"What are you going to do then," Carl asked, smiling playfully.

"Would you like to know?"

"No, not really," Carl said, laughingly.

"Good, so why should I tell you then?" Theresia's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You will have sixty years to find out, Carl."

"Sixty years? Do you think I am going to live to such an old age, Theresia?"

"With me as your wife? Undoubtedly, I am going to take excellent care of you. AND I am going to be an excellent hostess to your friends. You'd better warn them."

That moment, the servant announced Major Horvāth, and Amalia's countenance changed from one moment to the next. Whatever she might have said before, it was certain that she did not want the Major to know that she had neither expected nor wished his visit.

During dinner, he was seated next to Marie, whose spirits had risen the moment she had heard that he was to come. Since Colonel Fitzwilliam had left in the afternoon, looking at her in that particular way as if he had wanted to say something, Marie had kept thinking what might have happened, had they been alone.
She had noticed Theresia's efforts to get Amalia out of the drawing room, but it was always the same. As soon as that woman noticed that she was not wanted, she was even more determined to force her presence on her.

Major Horvāth distracted her thoughts for a while.

"I heard you were out of town, Major Horvāth," Marie asked him.

"True, Miss von Hertenberg, I visited a friend of mine."

"The gentleman we met the other day, Mr Grum?"

"Mr Grum was one of the party, yes." Marie noticed Major Horvāth's smile when she had mentioned the name, and concluded that her conjecture had been right.

"Was it a nice visit then," she asked, trying to trick him into betraying something.

"Oh, just the usual sort of visit," he answered. "Nothing out of the ordinary, really. But how are you, Miss von Hertenberg? Now that the ball season is over, I take it that you will have to get used to a more secluded way of life. Are you not sad about it? After all, young ladies long to dance."

Ah, so he was trying to change the topic! Marie smiled.

"Sad? No, not really, sir, actually I think I am going to enjoy a bit of quiet for a change. Besides, things will not be so very quiet for long, with all those changes that will take place in my family so soon."

He laughed. "Indeed, I forgot those lovebirds, your brother and Miss von Laudeck."

"You should not speak of such a thing so lightly, sir. Who knows, perhaps you will be the next lovebird in town?" Marie said with a knowing smile.

"Not very likely, Miss von Hertenberg, I do not believe in love."

"One lady or the other might make you change your mind one day, sir," Marie said laughingly.

"And until then I do not believe in love, Miss von Hertenberg," he said, with a grin.

It looked as if the Major was a hopeless case.

Dinner was over too soon, Marie thought when she had to retire to the drawing room with Amalia and Theresia. She would have liked to spend some more time with the Major, trying to tease him into confessing that he did believe in love, after all.

As soon as the ladies had left the room, Carl looked at his friend as if to ask his permission to start on the rather awkward topic of Bāthory's would-be engagement with Marie.
Horvāth gave him an encouraging nod and left the room to fetch something he had left in a servant's care.
Carl stayed behind with Joseph, who gave him a surprised look.

"Where did your friend go," he asked.

"He will be back in a moment," Carl replied, and took a deep breath. Then he decided to ask Joseph straight-out.

"Joseph, has there been any agreement between Bāthory and you concerning our sister?"

Joseph looked at him as if he had asked him an indecent question.

"What makes you think so," he said.

"Nothing but the fact that Bāthory goes around in town telling people that he is going to marry Marie, and that it is to his and her guardian's wishes she will have to submit to. So, has there been any agreement or is he just the filthy liar I have always thought him to be?"

"You know you are talking about one of my closest friends, Carl," Joseph asked. "If you call him a liar, you should be able to offer me some proof."

"You did not answer my question, Joseph. Did you or did you not give Bāthory your permission to marry Marie?"

"If you need to know, Carl, I did say to him once that I would not oppose the match, that it would actually be a desirable thing to take place - but there has never been any definite agreement."

"Are you certain?"

"Carl, I am not such a fool as you may think, I know what I said!" Joseph burst out angrily.

"Did you actually tell Bāthory that he would never get my permission, whatever may happen? Or did you think that if you kept your plot secret for long enough, I would finally give in to your and Bāthory's wishes to save Marie's reputation?"

Joseph gave him an uncomfortable look. Carl knew he had hit a weak spot there.

"What do you have against him, I would want to know, Carl! He is an agreeable fellow, he is rich, and he would take good care of Marie. I never understood why you were against this match all the time. She could do worse."

Carl stared at his brother in disbelief. Even though he had actually told Joseph that his so-called friend was telling lies about Joseph's sister to anyone in town who cared - or did not care - to hear them, Joseph seemed to blame him.

"You are so right, Joseph, he would take good care of Marie, indeed, although I can hardly imagine that she could do worse - unless she married Bluebeard himself. His dealings with his first wife led me to the conclusion that he was the last man I would let my sister marry, Joseph, and if you had any regard for Marie you would think so, too."

"IF I had any regard for Marie? IF? What do you mean, man? I want to see her married with a respectable man, is that a sign of dislike?" Joseph exclaimed angrily.

"If you had chosen a respectable man, Joseph, I would perhaps not oppose your plans so strongly, but it is Bāthory we are talking about, a man who treated his first wife so badly that he is to blame for her death - do you WANT your sister to marry such a monster?"

Carl had resolved to speak of the matter calmly, but his anger had made him forget every good resolution. The two brothers were standing there, facing each other, and for one moment it looked as if they would start fighting.

Then Joseph said, in a dangerously calm voice, "You have just accused one of my friends of a crime, Carl, and I want you to prove it, NOW. If you cannot, you'd better consider if you want to stay under my roof any longer."

"I shall be gone soon enough, Joseph, but this will not make me change my mind. I will NOT allow a marriage between Marie and Bāthory. I do not accuse Bāthory of anything criminal, I just blame him for his wife's death, and as for that, I can prove it. - Horvāth!"

The door opened, and Horvāth entered the room, carrying some papers and a small book, bound in red leather. His presence seemed to calm both Joseph and Carl.

Horvāth looked from one to the other, and said, with a slight smile, "Do you want me to stay, gentlemen, or shall I just fetch the duelling pistols?"

"What does he do here," Joseph snapped. "This is family business we are talking about."

"I know," Carl said, having regained his composure. "It affects his family, too. Bāthory is his brother-in-law; in fact Horvāth is in the position where you would like to be. Listen to what he has to tell you, Joseph, and then decide if you still think that Bāthory is the right man to marry Marie."

"You mean I should listen to a man who has not spoken to Bāthory for more than two years, unless he had a chance to insult him?" Joseph said icily.

"You are right, sir," Horvāth said. "I took every chance I could to insult him. Would you care to know what my reasons are to deal thus with my own family? Or do you just think ill of me in general?"

Carl gave Joseph an entreating look. "You said you wanted proof, Joseph, and Horvāth is here to give you all the proof you have asked for - and perhaps even more. He has consented to reveal some things that have to do with his sister and her death, things that he has kept secret all those years, but he is willing to tell you everything because he does not wish Marie to suffer as much as his sister did."

Joseph gave a curt nod, and took a seat, indicating to Carl and Horvāth that they should seat themselves, also.

"What exactly do you have to accuse him of," he asked Horvāth.

"Let me ask you a question first, sir. I will tell you about my accusations soon, but first I would like to know one thing. How far are you acquainted with the circumstances of my sister's death?"

"I know that she died in an accident, while her husband was away from her, in ... well, I cannot quite remember where he was, but he was not with her when it happened. Therefore no one could accuse him of murdering her, as you seem to have done."

Horvāth shook his head. "I have never accused him of murder, Baron von Hertenberg, although I have to say that his way of dealing with her has caused her death just as surely as if he had killed her with his own hands. My sister's death, Baron von Hertenberg, was NOT an accident."

Carl watched his brother as the full meaning of Horvāth's statement dawned on him. Joseph stared at Horvāth in horror.

"What do you mean, it was not an accident? Everyone said it was, Bāthory himself said it was. I have never seen him so afflicted..."

"Oh, I am sure you did not," Horvāth said ironically. "I suppose it was his affliction that kept him away from Ilona's funeral. Believe me, it was not an accident, whatever Bāthory may have told you - and believe me that he was informed of what had really happened. I, myself, took care that he got to know the truth. People who are about to die in an accident neither send farewell letters to their husbands nor do they send their diaries to their brothers to offer an explanation for what is going to happen."

"Do you mean to imply that your sister...took her own life?"

Horvāth nodded. "I can give you an exact account of how my sister spent her last hours, sir, because she wrote to me exactly what she was going to do - and, to offer an explanation, she sent me her diary, too. If you want to examine it, I have brought it here with me - though I am afraid it will not be of much use to you, it is written in Hungarian."

Horvāth put the small red book on the table, and left it to Joseph to examine. Joseph did not touch it, however.

"What happened," he finally managed to ask Horvāth.

Horvāth sighed. "You know that things were not as they should be between Count Bāthory and my sister, don't you? I am certain you also knew about the Count's affairs - his way of life?"

"I did notice that there were quarrels, Major, although I attributed them to some ... well, no marriage is perfect, and it was not my business to interfere with my friend's domestic problems." Joseph said.

"Is it not interesting how little we know about our friends if they do not choose to give us an insight," Carl said to Joseph.

Joseph shook his head. "I cannot believe it," he said.

"It is hardly believable," Horvāth said. "Anyway, the main problem in their marriage was that, though my sister loved her husband dearly and would have done anything to please him, he was not at all interested in her. I do not know for what reason he had married her in the first place - you could ask him the next time you meet him. I guess it was her money, and I think he also fancied her in a way - but he had not the least regard for her, and he had no respect for her."

Horvāth pointed to the little red book on the table. "My mother gave Ilona this diary as a present when she went off to school. Ilona was ten years old then, and my mother told her that whenever she felt lonely and friendless and had the feeling that there was nobody she could confide in, this book would be her friend. Do you know when the entries started? Three weeks after her wedding, at a time of her life when no woman should feel friendless."

Carl noticed how Horvāth's voice changed. The remembrance seemed to be too much for him. He offered Horvāth a glass of wine, and he accepted it gratefully.

"Perhaps they had just had their first quarrel or something," Joseph said. "Things like that happen, even in the best marriages."

"Indeed, they do, but a husband does not usually spend his nights with his mistress after three weeks of marriage," Horvāth said.

"I shall not go into detail any more, unless you want me to. Bāthory betrayed his wife right from the beginning, and this led her into despair, slowly but surely. She still loved him, she tried her best to win his esteem, but without success. The final blow sent her over the edge - it happened on the evening before she died.

Bāthory had come to visit her on his Hungarian estate, but only to tell her that he was fed up with her company and that she should leave, go back to her parents or wherever, and that he did not want to see her any more when he got there next. He told Ilona unashamedly that he wished to install his recent mistress in that house - that she would have to give way to one of his women. Show me the woman who could take that blow."

Joseph shook his head. Carl felt sorry for him. It was not easy for a man to find out that his best friend had neither deserved his friendship nor his respect. It was painful for Joseph to find out, but he had to know - or Marie would have to suffer for Joseph's gullibility.

"Bāthory left her at once, telling her that she had three days to pack her things and leave. At that moment, Ilona must have made up her mind. She was not going to give way as he wished her to - though she would relieve him of her presence. Perhaps she thought that, if she were dead, he would feel some sort of remorse. If she believed so, I am afraid she was mistaken. Well, after Bāthory had left, she sat down and wrote some letters - one letter was to Bāthory himself, telling him what she was about to do, and the other one was to me. In this letter she explained her plans and gave me her reasons for doing so. I have got this letter here, as well, if you want to see it."

Horvāth reached out to Joseph and handed him a piece of paper. Joseph cast a short look at it and gave it back to him.

"I am afraid I cannot read it," he said.

"I shall tell you, anyway," Horvāth said. "Only, might I ask you to keep silent about this matter? My sister has been dead for two years now, I think there is no use in dragging her name into the dirt, is there? She has suffered enough as it was."

Joseph nodded.

"Good. Well, in her letter she described exactly what she was going to do. She would send her lady's maid to post her letters - and the parcel with her diary - and would get ready for a ride. She would take one of the fierier horses, because that would make it more probable that she had had an accident. She would ride out - unattended, as she sometimes did - would go to some secluded spot on the banks of the Danube - and would make an end of it."

"Make an end of it?" Joseph asked.

"This is how she expressed herself, yes," Horvāth answered. "You can imagine the alarm that I felt on receiving that letter the next day, and I started my journey there immediately. I arrived at Bāthory's estate late in the evening, and there the servants told me that my sister had not returned from her ride the previous day. During my journey, I had still had some hope that someone or something would keep her from accomplishing her plans - but the moment I heard about the supposed "accident", I knew that all that was left for me to do was to search the banks of the river for her body."

"This is terrible," Joseph said with a stricken look. "I had not the least idea...but why did people not talk?"

"Everyone had thought it had been an accident, and I was certainly not the person to correct the mistake," Horvath said, sadly.
"My sister had drowned in the Danube, and, after all, I could not have been absolutely sure, could I? Even though my sister had told me that she had intended to commit suicide, who can tell if she actually did it? There was nobody there when it happened - she may just as well have slipped while walking on the riverbank, or the horse might have shied and she might have fallen in. I thought it better to leave things as they were. My sister was dead, and to me it did not really matter how it had happened. But from that moment on, I hated Bāthory, and I hope, sir, that you do not blame me for it any more.

The saddest thing about it is that my sister loved Bāthory until the end - and had he returned her affection, had he only shown a little bit of respect for her and her feelings, she might still be alive. Think twice before you agree to a marriage between him and your sister, Baron von Hertenberg. My sister loved him, and she married him out of her own free will. Do not force your sister into misery."

Horvāth rose. "I think you will still have a lot to talk about," he said to Carl, "so I will join the ladies now, and leave you alone. I am sorry I had to speak so ill of your friend, sir, but believe me, I sincerely wish things had been different."

Joseph watched Horvāth leave the room, and then he said to Carl, "You knew about this all the while, did you not? Why did you not tell me?"

Carl sighed. "I had promised Horvāth not to tell anyone, that's why."

"But Horvāth's mother - she still associates with Bāthory...."

"She does not know the truth, Joseph. No one does - except Horvāth, Bāthory, and me. And you, from now on."

Joseph rose, walked to the window, and said, "How can anyone be so mistaken in their friends, Carl?"

"He is your friend, Joseph, and you like him, and you had no reason to distrust him yet. I knew that very well, but when I heard about those marriage plans...I had to do something. I hope you understand now."

Joseph nodded. For a few minutes, none of them spoke, then Joseph said, "Now I am beginning to understand why our father always thought that you were the smarter one."

Carl shook his head. "He never thought that, Joseph. Besides, I never was the smarter one. I remember back in school all the teachers kept telling me that I should follow my brother's example, or nothing good would become of me. I hated you for being so bright, you know." He smiled. "Every man can make a mistake now and then, Joseph, so do not be too hard on yourself."

"What am I supposed to do now," Joseph asked him.

"Regarding Bāthory? I do not think there is so much to do. Just tell him that since your sister refuses to marry him, you cannot give him your consent. That's it. He will have to accept it."

"He will, yes...." Joseph said, thoughtfully. "Carl...I am sorry for the things I said before."

Carl laughed. "Did you say something before? I think I have forgotten what it was."

The next afternoon, Marie was waiting for Colonel Fitzwilliam impatiently. Although he had not said so, something in his manner had led her to the conclusion that he would pay her a visit.
Somehow she believed that his afternoon visits had nothing to do with paying his respects to Amalia, but had actually been attempts to speak to her - alone, preferably.
Marie wished that some of Amalia's friends might call on her, or, even better, invite her, to keep her out of the way. But her prayers were not heard. Amalia was still at home, when Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived, and she showed no inclination of leaving them alone, if only for one single minute.

Marie saw the Colonel frown at Amalia and had to smile. It was obvious that he did not want her here - and he seemed to consider telling her so.

However, he was the perfect gentleman - as always. After some polite questions directed at Amalia, he turned to Marie and said, "It is getting warmer every day, Miss von Hertenberg. It will not be long until you can take up your daily walks in the Prater again."

"Actually, I have already done so, Colonel," Marie answered. Amalia sat there, listening to every single word they said.
She noticed how Theresia tried to distract her attention by asking her assistance with a particularly tricky piece of embroidery, but to no avail. Amalia just dismissed her discourteously and told her that, if she was not able to do this pattern, she should choose another one.

Theresia sat down again, glaring at Amalia angrily, and pretending to work on her embroidery.

"Indeed!" he said. He, too, had noticed that Amalia was determined to stay where she was and to hear everything that was said.

"Do you have any favourite places there, Miss von Hertenberg," he asked.

"Many," Marie replied. "There is one spot I particularly like, just off the main avenue and yet quite secluded. I sometimes go there in summer, taking my sketchbook with me...I could spend hours and hours there."

"You draw, Miss von Hertenberg," he asked, all astonishment.

Marie laughed. "I do, yes, a bit, though I am not really good at it. I am quite good at landscapes and such things, but no one should ever ask me to draw a likeness ..."

"True," Theresia remarked. "Her brother once said that she was not able to hit moving targets."

"Theresia!" Marie exclaimed. "Really, I am not that bad!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. "I am certain your brother only wanted to tease you, Miss von Hertenberg."

"I see you know him quite well, then," Marie said with a smile.

That moment, the maid entered with the afternoon coffee. When she handed the cup to Theresia, Theresia somehow managed to drop it - it fell on the floor and broke.
The mishap made Amalia scold Theresia severely, and while she was still busy telling Theresia what a clumsy half-wit she was, Marie felt how Colonel Fitzwilliam put something into her hand.

"Miss von Hertenberg," he whispered with an entreating look, "will you do me the honour of reading this letter?"

Marie put the letter into her pocket and nodded. She was now certain that Theresia had known what the Colonel had been up to and had taken the opportunity to distract Amalia's attention.

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave her another radiant smile and then he had to talk to Amalia again, complimenting her on her hospitality. When he took his leave however, he gave Marie a tender look and told her that he was "quite sure they might meet again soon".

Part 19

Posted on Tuesday, 25 June 2002, at 8:17 a.m.

When Colonel Fitzwilliam had left, Marie was anxious to read his letter, but she knew that if she left the drawing room too hurriedly, Amalia would notice something, and would probably spoil everything.
So Marie decided to wait until it was time to get dressed for dinner. Nobody would suspect her then, she would be able to read the note without any interruption, and would be at leisure to reflect on its contents. When Amalia finally rose and announced that she would retire to her room, Marie had to suppress a sigh of relief. She waited until she could be sure that Amalia would be in her room, and then hurried to her own room, not noticing Theresia's amused smile.

The moment she had closed the door of her room behind her, she took the letter out of her pocket and looked at it. It took her some courage to open it, she was aware of what this letter meant - had to mean. A man did not write letters to a lady totally unconnected with him unless he had some affection for her.

Marie sat down at her dressing table and broke the seal.

Dear Miss von Hertenberg,

First I would like to apologise for my boldness in addressing you thus, but I had no other choice. Unfortunately, during my visits at your family's home I could not speak to you privately, something that I longed to do for some time.

I need to speak to you, Miss von Hertenberg, in a matter of utmost importance to me, and, though I am fully aware of the impropriety of this suggestion, I hope that you will not reject it entirely. Please forgive a man whose sentiments have finally got the better of his common sense.

I shall walk on the main avenue in the Prater tomorrow, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, and I shall wait for you there. I hope you can meet me, to hear what I have to tell you.
Dear Miss von Hertenberg, I believe that you know by now what sort of declaration this is going to be. If it is disagreeable to you in any way, do not hesitate to tell me so. In that case, I promise I shall never allude to this subject again.
All my present hopes depend on the meeting tomorrow.

Yours, ever,
R. Fitzwilliam

Marie gasped. This was more than she had ever dared to hope for. True, she had noticed that Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to like her, but she had never believed that his feelings for her were that strong. In general, Marie had never thought of herself as a beauty, or as a woman anyone could fall in love with. In the presence of men who were not exactly members of her immediate family, she had always felt rather ill at ease - with two exceptions.
One was Major Horvāth, whom she had known ever since she had been a girl, ever since he had been in military school with Carl. He was, in a way, like another brother to her.
The other one was Colonel Fitzwilliam - simply because she loved him. But she had never gone so far as to suppose that he might feel the same for her.

Marie had to find a way to meet him, but she knew it would not be that easy. Amalia would hardly let her leave the house on her own. Somehow, she seemed to suspect what Colonel Fitzwilliam was going to do and wished to prevent it, Marie was sure of that.
No, she needed help, and she needed to confide in someone. There was only one person who could help her, and Marie hoped that she would not let her down.

There was a knock at the door, and the maid entered. Marie hastily put the letter into one of the drawers.
While the maid got her dress ready, Marie left her room and went to Theresia's. Theresia was sitting at her dressing table and had just finished getting ready for dinner.

She turned to Marie and said, with a grin, "What do I see? You are still not ready? What have you been doing all the time, Marie?"

"Theresia, I need your help," Marie burst out.

"Do you?" Theresia said, with a raised eyebrow. "In what respect?"

Marie explained the situation to her.

"Please, Theresia, you must help me..." she finished.

"Must I? Well, I suppose there is no harm done if I do," Theresia said. "I do not think I have to distrust the Colonel. I take it you need my help to get past the watch-dragon."

Marie laughed. "If you mean Amalia, yes, this is what I was talking about."

Theresia smiled. "I tell you what to do," she said. "Go to your room and get ready for dinner, and in the meantime I shall think of something." Ever since they had been girls, Theresia had always found a way to get out of scrapes. Marie knew she would find one now.

Marie thanked Theresia and hurried back to her room. There was not much time left for her to get ready, and she knew how Amalia hated to wait for someone. Usually, she did not care too much about it, but today she did not want to risk anything. If Amalia was displeased with Marie for some reason or other, she might not be allowed to go out tomorrow...

At dinner, Marie noticed Theresia's cheerful smile and wink. So she HAD been able to think of a solution.

The family were talking about commonplace topics; Joseph mentioned that he would have to go to his estate in the country again, to which Amalia strongly objected.

"I get the feeling that you delight in leaving me here all by myself," she complained. "But certainly, your estate is more important to you than your wife."

"My estate, Amalia, is what makes it possible for me to have a wife, and to support her," was Joseph's slightly irritated reply. "I only go there once a month, so you have no reason to complain."

Marie gave Joseph a wondering look. For someone like her brother, these were amazingly strong words, especially with his wife. Usually he just let her have her way.

Amalia did not respond to this, but one could see by her expression that the last word was not spoken on this subject.

Suddenly, Theresia said to Marie, "Marie, do you already have any plans for tomorrow afternoon?"

"Plans? Erm...no, not really, not yet," Marie stuttered.

"Good, because I thought you could accompany Leonie and me. We want to do some shopping - the spring season is about to start, and then we need to buy our wedding clothes. I thought I'd go with Leonie, I need some competent advice on clothes. We could also find some fabric for the dresses you are going to wear at the weddings. I am certain Leonie will find something really sweet that will suit you perfectly."

Marie noticed how angry Amalia looked when Theresia mentioned Leonie's competent advice. Amalia thought that she was the only reliable authority on fashion in their acquaintance.

"Do I really have to," Marie said. "You know I do not like to go shopping for clothes."

"You will just have to," Amalia snapped. "We do not want you to disgrace your brother on his wedding day."

"Amalia, I do not think that my sister has ever disgraced me on any occasion, and I trust that she will not do so on my wedding day," Carl said, casting an annoyed look at Amalia.

Then he turned to Marie. "I think you should go with Theresia and Miss Potocka," he said. "Some new clothes cannot do any harm, can they?"

Marie nodded. "If it means so much to you," she said to Theresia, "I shall accompany you."

After dinner, Marie went to Theresia and whispered, "Was this your idea? To drag me shopping for clothes?"

Theresia laughed. "Listen, dearest, this is my plan. We shall go out tomorrow - with Leonie. As far as I know, Leonie has already chosen three or four fabrics she would like you to wear. You decide which ones you want, you let Leonie's seamstress take your measurements, and then you are free to go wherever you want."

She gave Marie a wink. "Just make sure to meet me at St Stephen's at four o'clock, so we can return home together."

Marie laughed. "It would give our family quite a strange impression if I embraced you right now," she said. "But I certainly feel like it."

"Oh, I am always glad to be of assistance," Theresia said with a smile.

They left the house at one o'clock exactly the next day, and went to Countess Potocka's Palais to meet Leonie.

"Leonie was quite surprised about my message this morning," Theresia said with a short laugh, "but she was quite ready to go shopping with me. I hope you appreciate my sacrifice. I shall hear more about the recent fashion, bonnets, fabrics and jewellery than I care to know."

Marie grinned. It was true, once Leonie had her way and went shopping for clothes, it took her ages to finish.

They met the Tilneys at the Countess's, and, to their surprise, there was another young gentleman who looked a great deal like Leonie and was introduced to them as Leonie's brother, Henryk Potocki. He was tall, dark, handsome, and was perfectly aware of it. It took Marie only five minutes to decide that Henryk Potocki was the worst flirt she had ever seen - surpassing even Captain Tilney in his most capricious days.

He did not seem to care that Theresia was engaged with another man, and he had certainly made up his mind to make Marie the particular object of his courtesy - which only made Marie act with even more reserve than usual. She hoped that they would leave soon, so she could be rid of him and his attentions.

Once they had left the Palais, she could not leave Leonie and Theresia without raising suspicion, since the Tilneys were walking with them, attending them to the linen draper's, and there both Leonie and Captain Tilney seemed to be unwilling to part from each other and talked in front of the shop for at least a quarter of an hour.

Marie was impatient to leave now. It only took her about two minutes to choose the fabrics for her dresses, and then she left Leonie and Theresia.
"Do not forget, St Stephen's, four o'clock," Theresia said to her. Marie nodded, and hurried away. It was already quarter past two, and it would take her some time to reach the Prater. If she should happen to meet an acquaintance, she would have to stop to talk to them...she hoped she would be able to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam in time, or he would probably think she did not care about him.
Marie did not want to imagine what would happen then.

Richard had spent the previous night pondering, thinking if what he had done was right. Did he actually have the right to ask a girl to meet him secretly, if he knew that her family would not want them to be alone with each other?
True, one of her brothers had made it clear to him that he had no objections, but would he also approve of such methods? Or would this rather influence him against Richard?

He was at the Prater early, just in case, and walked up and down the main avenue, watching the people anxiously, keeping a lookout for Marie.
She did not come. He should have known, of course. Even if she had liked him before, she might have been appalled by this attempt to persuade her to meet him secretly. It was simply not done, and she might believe that his intentions were - in some way - insincere. He could not blame her for it, after all, he could have spoken to her brother first, he could have asked his permission to propose marriage to her, and then there might have been an occasion to speak to her as well. But he had thought that he would rather have her approval first, before trying to gain her brother's.

Richard looked at the different people, enjoying themselves in this fine, warm, spring-like afternoon. There were nursemaids with children, young men on horseback, and there were young couples as well...
Checking the time on his watch, Richard found that it was already twenty minutes to three. He sighed. Marie would not come, he was quite certain of that. He had to reconcile himself to the thought that he had to give her up. There had been no response at all to his letter, and she had not come to meet him - the message was clear.

With a sigh, he turned on his heels and decided that he would walk back to his lodgings. He would not stay here any longer, making a fool of himself.

However, when he turned around, facing the entrance of the park, he saw Marie coming towards him. She looked lovely - her face was flushed, her hair was slightly dishevelled,
and on recognising him she broke into a lovely smile.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said, a bit out of breath. "I am sorry I kept you waiting for so long...I thought I might never make it on time."

He found himself grinning like a lunatic, as he assured her that waiting for her had not really bothered him.

"Your being here now is the only important thing," he said, taking her hands. "It repays me for all the anxiety I may have felt."

She blushed, and he said, gently, "Will you walk with me, Marie? There is so much I need to talk about - I do not want to keep you standing here all the time."

Marie nodded, and held on to his arm, as they walked on.

"You seem to be rather silent today," he said with a smile.

She laughed. "To be honest, I hardly know what to say," she said.

At least she laughed - it was a good sign, and it did him good to see her laugh.

He led her to one of the benches that were situated on either side of the avenue, and they sat down.

For a while, none of them said anything. Richard was still trying to find the right words, it was not as easy as one might think. While he had been waiting for her, he had thought of a thousand things he could say to her, and now he could not remember any of them. But it had to be done. He had to make his intentions clear to her.

"Marie," he began, hesitatingly. "Marie, will you look at me?"

She turned to him, and looked at him earnestly. He could get lost in her eyes - he had always thought that they were remarkably beautiful. Her smile was only slight, she felt a bit uncomfortable, it seemed. Perhaps she was just as confused by the whole situation as he was.
But she looked at him...

Richard cleared his throat. "Marie, I...." He broke off. Somehow the simple words "I love you" did not express half of what he really felt for her. There was so much more he wanted her to know.

With a short laugh, he tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling and said, "Is it possible that I am losing my nerve, now that you are here?"

Marie smiled. "I never knew I could be that intimidating," she said.

"Intimidating? Marie, you are not intimidating, it is just..." He sighed.
"As long as I have not asked you, I need not fear a negative answer, this is all. Marie, the plain and simple truth is that I love you so much I cannot imagine living without you. I need you by my side to be happy - could you imagine spending the rest of your life with me? Do you want to become my wife? - There, now I said it."

He looked at Marie anxiously. What would she say? She had come here, so he could hope, but one never knew...

"Richard..." The sound of his name roused him. She had never before called him by his first name; he had always been "Colonel Fitzwilliam" to her.

"Did you ever believe I cared for anyone but you," she asked. "Would I have come here, had I not wanted to hear your proposal - and to accept it, too? Of course I want to become your wife, Richard."

These were the most beautiful words Richard had ever heard. Again, he took both her hands and kissed them.

"You cannot imagine how happy you are making me right now," he said to her, smiling blissfully. All the worry he had felt on her behalf was gone, and for once he felt nothing but pure happiness.

She smiled, but did not say anything. Richard longed to take her in his arms and kiss her - but considering all those people around them, he did not dare to. There would be plenty of time for this, once their engagement was known. No one would hesitate giving them some privacy then.

They got up again and went towards the entrance of the park. Marie told him that she had to meet her cousin at St Stephen's at four o'clock, and Richard agreed to accompany her there. It was a pleasant walk, and, which was even better, a long one.

Richard felt Marie's hand on his arm, and wished this walk would never end.

"I shall go to see your brother immediately," he told Marie. "Now that I have your consent, I only need his."

"Which of my brothers are you talking about," Marie asked him. "I am sure you will find Carl at the barracks at this time of day, and as for Joseph - I am afraid you will not be able to talk to him until he returns from Lower Austria."

"When will that be," he asked Marie anxiously.

"Not before the day after tomorrow, I am afraid." Marie answered. "But what can it matter? We have come to an understanding, and I think that Carl will be on our side - believe me, Joseph has never been able to withstand him if Carl has set his mind on something. Besides, we have nothing to fear, have we?"

Richard laughed. "You are right, of course. Forgive me my anxiety, Marie, only...did the course of true love really run that smooth, as far as we are concerned, that I have the right to be absolutely sure now?"

She sighed. "Richard, please do not spoil this moment for me. I am so happy right now; I do not want to think of anything that might blemish our happiness. I know that my brothers will consent to our marriage. There will be nothing to keep us apart for long."

"No, there will be nothing," Richard assured her. "I should not talk about these things, I know."

They were walking into town now, and Richard noticed Count Bāthory, staring at them furiously. Marie had noticed him, too, and she said, smiling, "Now this will finally convince him, I hope."

"Bāthory?"

Marie nodded. "Do you remember New Year's Eve? He had the nerve to ask me when I would marry him. Not if. When. I told him that I would never marry him, that I'd sooner not marry at all, but somehow I believe he was not quite convinced. He will have to be convinced now, after all I am going to marry someone else."

Richard laughed. "I would never have let you marry that man," he said. "I would rather have kidnapped you away from the altar."
Had she referred to Bāthory two weeks ago, it would have pained him, or would have made him furious, even. Now it did not make any difference to him any more.

"Now that would have been quite a scene," Marie said, laughing.

They were now approaching St Stephen's, and Richard noticed Miss von Laudeck in the crowd.

"It seems your cousin is already here," he said to Marie, taking her hand and kissing it.

He told her that he would now go to meet her brother to tell him about their engagement, and that he would come to see her the next day. Then she left him to join her cousin, and Richard watched them leave St Stephen's Square in the direction of their home.

When Carl came home that evening, he took Marie aside and told her that Richard had, indeed, paid him a visit and had told him about their engagement. He expressed his pleasure at the event openly, telling her that, if he had searched for the right husband for her himself, he could hardly have found a better one than Richard Fitzwilliam.

"So, may I presume that you have given your consent," Marie asked him with a smile.

Carl nodded. "But I hope you will understand, Marie, that we shall not make the engagement public until Joseph has had his say, as well. Not that he is going to have anything against it," he added hastily on seeing her alarmed expression. "Do not worry, in three days at the latest everything will be settled."

Richard was sitting at the breakfast table with the Tilneys the next morning, when he heard the doorbell ring. While he was still wondering who this might be, Garret opened the door and announced Colonel von Hertenberg.
Von Hertenberg practically followed him at his heels, entered the room and saluted the General.

"Gentlemen, much as I regret it, I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news today," he said.

"Bad news," General Tilney asked.

"I am afraid so, sir. Late yesterday evening, an amazing piece of news has reached Vienna, and the truth of it has been confirmed since. Napoleon Bonaparte has escaped from the island of Elba, and though we do not really know where he may be going at the moment, I think we can make an educated guess. In consequence of this, the Austrian Army has already been mobilised - I have got about three hours to pack and then we'll be on the march, protecting the borders. Sir, the Duke of Wellington wishes each of his men present in Vienna to join their regiments without delay. In short, we are in for another war."

Richard looked at his companions in astonishment. No one could have expected such a thing to happen, this was ... impossible. How had Bonaparte managed to accomplish this? Would there never be peace, as long as he was alive?

For a moment, no one spoke, but then the General thanked von Hertenberg for the information (just as if he had informed him of some horse-race taking place), and dismissed him. Von Hertenberg saluted and left. Richard followed him.

"May I have a word with you," he asked him.

Von Hertenberg turned to him, smiling. "Even two or three, if you care to. It does not look as if we will have an opportunity to talk to each other soon."

"How is your sister? How did she take the news?" Richard asked.

Von Hertenberg sighed. "She does not know yet. I have only just heard it and was told to inform General Tilney. Actually, I am on my way home to tell them - I dread it more than anything else, I can tell you. Once I am on my way, it will not be that bad, but the last hours at home...they are the worst - they've always been. I suppose you will want to see my sister - I have no objection to it. Talk to her, and try to comfort her."

Richard smiled. "We are not going to meet any more, before you leave?"

"Not likely," von Hertenberg said, curtly.

Richard reached out his hand and said, "I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me during this winter. I will never forget your friendship. Dash it, I am talking as if I am never to see you again, but we will...this war is not going to take so long, you will see, and after that I have reason enough to return to Vienna."

"I hope so," von Hertenberg said with a smile. "I have to thank you, too. And, though I do not like to tempt fate, I am not going to say goodbye. Auf Wiedersehen!*"

The news hit Theresia and Marie just as unexpectedly as anyone in Vienna. Theresia did her best not to show her affliction, but Marie noticed her distress. Tactfully, she left her brother and Theresia to themselves for a while to give them a chance to take leave.

Amalia had had a fainting fit on hearing the news, and had to keep to her room for the rest of the day. No one really missed her. Marie went to the library, to try and calm herself. The news was distressing to her as well - not only her brother was concerned, but Richard, too. What was she to do without either of them?
Why was life so cruel, that after one day of happiness she was left with nothing but worry? She did not understand it, but she had to reconcile herself to the thought of them leaving her. Her father had once told her mother on a similar occasion that, "in marrying him, she had also married his profession". This was true, but it was still not easy.

There was a knock at the door, and Richard came in. On seeing him, Marie could not resist, she jumped up from her seat and ran to him, throwing herself in his arms. He held on to her, saying nothing, only gently kissing her forehead and, when she raised her eyes to his, he kissed her lips as well.

"Do not cry," he said to Marie, seeing the tears in her eyes.

"I cannot help it," Marie said, sobbing. "I tried to hold those tears back, but I cannot..."

He sighed, and led her to a sofa, where they sat down. Marie looked at him. "I am sorry," she said. "I am being foolish, I know."

"Not at all foolish," Richard answered. "I confess I imagined our meeting to be different when I promised to visit you."

Marie sighed. "Carl told me all about it," she said. "You will have to leave, too, won't you?"

"I will, yes." Richard put his arms around her. "Soon."

"Today?"

"No, but early tomorrow morning. I am afraid this is the last time we can see each other before I have to leave, Marie. We have to get ready, and..." He swallowed. Marie realised that it was just as difficult for him to leave her behind as it was for her to let him go.

"I will wait for you," she said. "When all this trouble is over, you will find me right here waiting for you."

He laughed and kissed her. "It is a comfort to have a lovely girl somewhere waiting for me," he said. "I have got a present for you, by the way."

"A present?" Marie stared at him in astonishment.

"Yes, on my way here I found something for you. I know we are not officially engaged - your brother Joseph has not given his permission for our wedding yet, and the engagement has not been announced, and the way things are it will take some time until we meet again. Marie, I have bought this ring for you. You need not wear it, if you do not want to, but...keep it as a token of remembrance, will you?"

Marie looked at the ring. It was lovely, the most beautiful ring she had ever seen.

"Richard...I do not know how to thank you," she said. "It is...wonderful, but...I have got nothing to give to you."

"You have already given me more than you may believe, Marie," he answered. "I do not need any present from you to keep you in my heart."

He gave the ring to Marie, and though she did not dare to wear it on her finger, at least not yet, she decided that she would wear it. She unfastened her necklace and attached the ring to it. This was the perfect place for the ring - right next to her heart.

She spent another few minutes leaning on Richard's shoulder, listening to his soothing voice telling her that everything would be fine. Then Theresia entered the room, looking pale and with red eyes.

On seeing Richard, she tried to smile, however, and said, "I have heard you are going to leave us, too, Colonel Fitzwilliam. What do you think, will that Corse ever stop bothering us?"

Richard laughed. "Not until we make him stop, it seems."

"Good. Make him stop, then," she answered with a grim smile. "Or I shall."

Richard stayed some more minutes, talking to both of them, recalling the good times they had had together that winter.

Then he left, and Marie had to tend to Theresia, who was finally giving way to her grief and broke down crying.

* The German "Auf Wiedersehen" could be best translated as, "Until we meet again", or "See you!" It is the sort of farewell one uses if one expects to see each other again.

Part 20

Posted on Sunday, 30 June 2002, at 12:04 p.m.

A month had gone by since Carl and Richard had had to leave. Easter had been a dreary affair, since both Theresia and Marie had felt sad and worried about them. Only Amalia had been contented - her husband, after having been rather hard to manage lately, had become his old obedient self again, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, the troublemaker, was gone.

Soon after Richard's departure, Marie had felt that she ought to tell Joseph about her engagement with Richard Fitzwilliam. Joseph had been rather surprised, he had "not noticed any partiality on either side", but he had not made any objection to the engagement. He "felt that Colonel Fitzwilliam was a respectable man", and "if Marie had the impression she could be happy with him", it was "allright with him". All in all not a very enthusiastic reaction, but at least he did not oppose Marie's plans.

Theresia was, in one respect, better off than Marie. She received letters from Carl very often, he wrote to her as often as he could to assure her that he was well, and sometimes he even managed to make her laugh. The stories about his "glorious quarrels with Horvāth" were highly entertaining.

Still, Theresia felt worried continually, and it was Marie's task to cheer her up. Theresia had found out too often in her life that there was no such thing as certainty, and whenever she had been left behind by her loved ones, she had not seen them again - no wonder that she did not really believe in Carl's return, and needed to be assured.

Marie had not had a letter from Richard yet, and she was beginning to feel anxious on his account.

Shortly after Easter, a visitor arrived in the von Hertenberg Palais, a visitor no one had expected.
Theresia and Marie had just returned from a walk in the Prater with Leonie, when the maidservant told them that "a priest had arrived and was waiting for Miss von Laudeck in the drawing room".

"A priest, you said," Theresia gasped. "What does he look like?"

"A very handsome man he is," the maidservant replied, "and he is so witty, too - what a waste!"

Theresia laughed and looked at Marie. "I know only one priest who fits that description," she said.

"Who might that be," Marie asked.

"My uncle," Theresia said. "Though I do not know what he is doing in Vienna. Well, I am certain he is going to tell me soon."

Theresia handed her cloak and bonnet to the servant and entered the drawing room. On recognising the gentleman waiting for her, she uttered a shriek and ran towards him to embrace him.
Marie watched them from the door, feeling slightly embarrassed. She had heard a great deal about Theresia's uncle, but had never met him before.

Father von Laudeck was a tall, fair-haired man in his late forties, and he was definitely handsome. He greeted his niece with a warm smile, and told her that he had come to see her and to settle a few things about her wedding. Unfortunately, Theresia was rather touchy about this point at the moment - she thought it was bad luck to talk about the wedding while her intended husband was in continuous danger.
Marie left uncle and niece alone with each other; she felt that after years of separation the two of them should spend some time by themselves.

During supper, Marie had enough opportunity to get to know Theresia's uncle better. He was not at all like the priests she knew - he seemed to be a rather worldly sort of person, and when she mentioned this to him, he laughed.

"Miss von Hertenberg, who do you think I am," he asked. "I do not think that a priest ought to retire from the world, on the contrary, he should join people where they are. How am I to understand ordinary people's problems if I separate myself from them?"

Marie smiled. "There are many priests who do," she said.

"True. However, this would not be the right method for me. I would definitely miss something." He smiled at Marie as she apologised for her impertinent questions.

"There was nothing impertinent about them," he said. "I have heard more impertinent ones in my life, I can tell you. Not every student is led as easily as a lamb...some of them have a striking resemblance to mules."

"Theresia has once told me you were fond of hunting," Joseph said to Bernhard von Laudeck, thus interrupting Marie's conversation with him.

"I am fond of it, though I hardly ever get the chance to go hunting. But when I was younger - my father was a keen hunter, and he passed his passion on to his sons. And his grandchildren, too, am I right, Theresia?"

He winked at his niece. "I remember your brother was furious one day because you were a better shot than he was."

Theresia laughed. "That was a long time ago, Uncle, and I have never had the chance to practise my shooting ever since I came to Vienna. I am afraid I would be a disgraceful shot if I tried it now. But Joseph is very fond of hunting too, are you not, Joseph?"

Marie noticed Amalia's shocked expression when Father von Laudeck had mentioned Theresia's ability to handle a gun. She had to suppress a grin. Even the Empress was fond of hunting and shooting, so there could hardly be anything wrong with that habit. On the other hand, there was nothing Theresia could do right in Amalia's eyes.

The next day, Theresia received another letter from Carl. Marie observed that, if she did not live in the same household with her brother's fiancee, she would hardly hear anything of him.

Theresia settled down in the window-seat to read her letter, and laughed out loud.

"I hope Major Horvāth and Carl get some opportunity to fight the French as well," she said, "in between quarrelling with each other."

"They are quarrelling," Marie asked.

"It seems so. Let me read this bit to you. Yesterday evening, Horvāth and I had a discussion on modern warfare. Horvāth suggested that, instead of shooting each other, we could settle the affair by playing billiards against the French. I told him that this was out of the question - if Horvāth were to play on our side, we would lose the war altogether. A discussion on modern warfare, indeed," Theresia continued, grinning. "Who does he want to fool? I suppose they were sitting in some alehouse or other."

Marie laughed. "You should be happy that Major Horvāth seems to be Carl's only problem."

"Who says it is going to stay like this? It could already be very different today, without our knowing it." Theresia became serious again.

A servant announced Countess Potocka and her niece and nephew. Marie gave an inward sigh. Much as she liked the Countess and Leonie, she could not warm towards Henryk Potocki. He had been paying unwanted attention to both Theresia and Marie. Marie had in consequence tried to avoid him, while Theresia had unmistakably pointed out that she was engaged to be married and was therefore not the least interested in him. Unfortunately, this only seemed to make him more determined.

He seated himself next to Theresia, and did his best to amuse her. As long as he kept to everyday topics, Theresia treated him civilly, answering his questions and giving her opinion, but as soon as he tried to turn to more personal matters, she became as frosty as a glacier.

After a while, Henryk Potocki said to her, "Baroness, I get the feeling you do not like me."

"If you continue behaving the way you do, sir, you might be right," Theresia said icily.

"Oh, there is nothing wrong with the way I behave," he said, in an offhand manner. "No one could possibly disapprove of it."

"I do," Theresia answered.

"But why? Do I deserve such censure for trying to cheer you up until your fiancé comes back - IF he comes back?"

The expression in Theresia's eyes sent a chill down Marie's spine. She looked at Henryk Potocki with a look that might have had the power to kill him.

Quietly, she answered, "Do not bother yourself, sir, if I need someone to cheer me up, I shall know where to go - it need not concern you. For now, I shall be satisfied if you just left me alone. Do I need to speak more plainly to make matters clear to you?"

Then she got up and walked to the window, looking outside and trying desperately to keep her calm attitude, while Henryk Potocki looked at her in astonishment. He would have said something, without doubt, had not Leonie seen and heard what had passed between him and Theresia and asked him to go with her, as she needed to buy a parasol.

"Can you not ask someone else," he asked her.

"No, Henryk, I cannot. No one wants you here, so you shall just come along with me," Leonie snapped, and left, taking her brother with her. Marie had to grin nevertheless - she was sure that the gentleman was in for severe trouble with his sister - not that he had not deserved it.

A few minutes later, Theresia seemed to have recovered sufficiently to join the company again, but Marie saw that Potocki's careless remark still haunted her.

IF he comes back....

A few days later, Marie received her first letter from Richard. It had been misdirected at first, it seemed, and had therefore taken so long to reach her.
In his letter, Richard informed her that he was well and that there had not been any fighting yet. His situation at the moment was "not so much different" from the one in Vienna, he joked, and if the war went on like that, he might be able to face it, although he missed her very much. "Beautiful as Brussels is, I would like it infinitely better if I had you here with me."

"Since I have enough time to spare now," he wrote, "I shall send you a letter every day, hoping that my letters may reach you, and that you may be at leisure to answer some of them."

Tears ran down Marie's cheeks while she was reading the letter. Finally, she knew that Richard was fine, he was in good health, and there was nothing wrong with him. Only now she became aware of how worried she had really been about him - before, she had been too busy with comforting Theresia to think of her own problems.

She sat down to answer Richard's letter at once and hoped that he was not as anxious for her as she had been for him. Anyway, she would not let him wait for his answer any longer than necessary.

It was the beginning of May. The flowers were in full bloom, as were the trees in the Viennese parks. After a rather rainy April, the warm sun was a most welcome change. Many Viennese started to think of moving out of town for the summer soon. Following the Imperial Family to Baden, or visiting family members on the diverse estates on the Marchfeld, the plains surrounding the city, was an option for many.
Leonie's brother-in-law had finally made up his mind to come to Vienna, too - or at least to his estate fifteen miles away from the city, and had invited his wife's relations to spend the summer with them. Leonie had taken the opportunity to invite both Theresia and Marie to join them.

Theresia had hesitated to accept the invitation. She told Leonie that she would not feel comfortable in the same house with Henryk Potocki, who would be there, too.

Leonie sighed. "I understand you very well, Theresia, but believe me, he is going to leave you alone in the future. He is very sorry for what happened - I know he is often thoughtless, but please consider coming with us. If you do not come, Marie will stay at home, too, and I really believe the two of you could do with some change."

Theresia nodded. "I shall think about it," she said. "But what if Carl comes home and I am not here to meet him?"

Leonie laughed. "Do you think he would not find you, Theresia? I suppose he would - sooner than you might expect him."

"Perhaps he would," Theresia said with a smile, "but I would not want to miss a minute of his being here."

"Do not be ridiculous, dearest," Leonie answered resolutely. "You cannot spend the rest of your life at your husband's heels, anyway, and he would not want you to either. Believe me, he would approve of your coming with us and trying to distract your thoughts."

"We will see," Theresia said warily. "I shall give the matter some thought, but I do not promise anything yet."

She changed the topic, talking about the ball at Palais Kinsky. Countess Kinsky had invited the Viennese nobility to a ball "in celebration of a glorious spring". It was to take place the same evening, and Theresia had, after some pleading on Marie and Leonie's part, consented to go there.

"Are you going to wear your blue silk," Leonie asked Theresia.

"The one I wore at the redoute the other day," Theresia asked. "The one you gave me as a present?"

"The exact one," Leonie answered. "I think it becomes you."

"For whom do you want me to dress up like that," Theresia said with a mischievous grin. "Your brother?"

"Why not Count Kinsky, while we are at it," Leonie said laughingly. "He is devoted to you, as you well know."

Theresia shook her head and said to Marie, who was sitting between them, "Do you think Count Kinsky is interested in me?"

Marie laughed. "It was obvious the last time the two of you met, Theresia. Had Carl been there, he might have grown quite jealous."

"Do you understand men? One day they do not pay a girl any attention at all, but let her be engaged to someone else, and they crawl out of their holes and start pursuing her with their affection," Theresia said with a sigh. "Considering this, I should either stay at home or wear the oldest and ugliest thing I can find in my wardrobe."

The servant came in with the post and placed it on one of the tables, as usual.

"Is there any letter for me," Marie asked anxiously.

"No, Miss," the servant answered. "There are only letters for the Baron and Baroness today." She curtseyed and left the room.

"Strange," Marie said. "I thought I might get another letter from Richard soon ... well, perhaps it has been misdirected again, who knows."

"I have not heard from Frederick either," Leonie said with a sad smile. "But I am sure everything is fine. We would have heard of it if it were otherwise, Marie."

Marie nodded. For a while, she was contented to believe what Leonie had said.

The ball at Palais Kinsky was a grand affair. Everyone who could claim some importance in Viennese society had been invited, and even though the country was at war again, people were still inclined to celebrate as often as they could - perhaps even more so, since who could be really sure if there would still be reason to celebrate the next day?

As soon as the von Hertenbergs arrived, Count Kinsky joined them and asked Theresia to dance with him. Theresia did not object, even though she had, at first, not really wished to dance. Count Kinsky had given her such a pleading look when he had asked her that she had not had the heart to refuse.

Marie noticed that Count Bāthory was there, too, in the company of a very beautiful lady, whose taste in clothes, however, was rather vulgar. Even Amalia remarked that the lady wore "too much finery", which was remarkable, considering Amalia's own attire.
No one knew who that lady was, and Joseph refused to go and talk to Bāthory in order to find out. He said that, after all he had found out about this man, he did not wish to be on speaking terms with him any more. Amalia was furious, accusing Joseph of cruelty for not gratifying even her smallest wishes, but Joseph ignored her.

Lately, the relationship between the two spouses had changed. Joseph had become more steadfast in his opinions, and had begun to contradict his wife more often. Marie smiled. Perhaps there was still hope.

During the first two dances, Count Kinsky asked Theresia whether she had heard from her fiancé lately.

"I had a letter from him not too long ago, yes," she answered.

"Good. I thought I'd better ask you, since I have heard that one of our infantry regiments has been involved in some action."

Theresia went pale. "When," she managed to say.

"Oh, I do not really know," he said, rather carelessly. "But you said you have heard from Colonel von Hertenberg not so long ago, so I assume he is well."

"Which regiment was it," she asked. "Was it IR IV?"

"Even if my life depended on it, Madam, I could not tell you - I should have been quiet, anyway. Now I have spoilt your evening, I am very sorry. But believe me, I only wanted to know if Colonel von Hertenberg was all right - I was worried about him when I heard the news."

He gave Theresia an apprehensive look. "Would you rather sit down, Madam? You do not look at all well. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He led Theresia back to her seat, made her sit down, and did not move from her side until Joseph was with her and was acquainted with the situation. Then Count Kinsky took his leave, but only to get some wine for Theresia and, if that was possible, some more information as well.

Joseph sat down with Theresia and tried to calm her as well as he could. So did Marie, when the dance finished and she joined her party again. She warned Theresia not to overreact - there was more than just one infantry regiment after all, and even if it had been Carl's regiment, this did not necessarily mean that Carl had been harmed in any way.

Yet, Theresia said that she would rather go home - she did not feel like dancing and amusing herself any more. Joseph agreed to take her home in his carriage, and Marie decided to join them. She, too, was worried, even if she did not show it, and there was no point in staying. Only Amalia objected.

"This is one of the last occasions I am going to such an event for a long time, Joseph, and I do not wish to leave so early," she said.

For a moment, Joseph stared at his wife in disbelief, but then he only said, coldly, "Well, suit yourself. I shall take my sister and Theresia home, and you can stay as long as you wish. The carriage will be at your disposal."

Undoubtedly, Amalia would blame Theresia for her husband's behaviour, and would act accordingly. But this time this did not matter for Theresia. There was a much weightier problem at hand.

She had not heard from Carl for about a week, which was no reason to be worried usually, but in combination with Count Kinsky's information the fact became extremely disturbing.
Once they had arrived at home, Theresia sat down at her writing desk immediately and began to compose a letter to Carl, telling him what she had heard from Count Kinsky and asking him to write as soon as possible to let her know that he was fine.

Joseph, in the meantime, worked out a way of getting at further information. The news that there had been a fight had reached Vienna - and, no doubt, the news also contained a casualty list. He would try to see that list - it would be proof for Theresia that Carl was alive and well. Joseph did not want to believe anything else. A man did not survive such a long war only to be killed in a comparatively insignificant fight.
Very often, Joseph had regarded his brother as a rival - Carl had always been the more charming, more handsome, and stronger-minded of the two. He had openly opposed Joseph's plans, more than once, and in the end Joseph had often found out that Carl had been right. But in moments like this, all those quarrels were forgotten. Carl was his brother, and nothing else mattered.
Joseph would go to the Headquarters the next day and try to find out more. Even though he dreaded the things he might find out.

After a sleepless night, Theresia had gone out for a walk with Marie to calm her nerves. Joseph had set off into the direction of the Military Headquarters very early, but he had told them it could take some time until he found the man in charge of Carl's regiment. He advised Theresia and Marie to wait for the post, for, "who knows, perhaps you'll get a letter from him today".

When they passed St Stephen's, Theresia insisted on going inside to say a prayer and light a candle for Carl.

"Theresia, he is not dead," Marie said, determinedly.

"A prayer can never do any harm, can it," Theresia only replied. Marie shrugged her shoulders and followed her into the church.
At this time of day, the cathedral was usually empty, except for those people who stepped in to say a short prayer in between their morning tasks. Then she recognised...

"Theresia," she whispered. "This is Count Bāthory over there."

"So what?" Theresia answered, making the sign of the cross and preparing to leave the church again.

"Do you see the lady he has with him? It is the same lady who was with him yesterday."

Theresia shrugged. They stepped out into St Stephen's Square again.

"I wonder who she is...." Marie went on.

Theresia turned towards her and gave her a sharp look.

"Why? I thought you were glad to be rid of him?"

"So I am," Marie answered. "I am just curious, that is all. Nobody knows her, and she seems to be in his company all the time."

"In that case, she'll be known in Vienna pretty soon," Theresia answered dryly. "Only I am not sure if this is the sort of popularity she would like."

They arrived at home in time for luncheon, and Joseph awaited them there with some news.

"The regiment involved was Carl's regiment," he told them. Theresia drew a deep breath and tried to look composed.

Joseph smiled at her. "There is no need to be uneasy," he said. "I have seen the casualty list, Theresia, and Carl is NOT on the list."

Both Marie and Theresia gave a sigh of relief. Joseph watched them closely. He did not have the heart to tell them what the officer at the headquarters had told him - that this was only the first list they had received, and that another one was on its way, no doubt a more detailed one.

"However," he went on, "a great deal of men have been killed or wounded. Among them Carl's man Novacek."

Theresia gasped. "Novacek is dead," she exclaimed. "Poor Rosa!"

Joseph shook his head. "Not dead, wounded," he answered. "I am certain he will recover."

Theresia nodded. "Let us hope for the best then," she said quietly.

Part 21

Posted on Thursday, 4 July 2002, at 1:10 a.m.

News travelled slowly. When Joseph went to the Headquarters the next day, no one could give him any more details than they had given him the day before.
He therefore made his way back home, wondering why he had not heard from Carl yet. Whenever he had been involved in some action in the past years, he had always taken care that his family were assured of his well-being as soon as possible, and had written at once. He had not written now, and yet, he was not on the casualty list - there was a thought to hang on to.

In the meantime, Marie tried hard to look cheerful. Another day's post had arrived without any message from Richard. It was so strange, he had promised her to write every day, and from that day on she had not heard from him any more.
She did not doubt for one moment that he had meant to write her regularly, and so the only reason for his silence she could imagine was that there was something wrong with Richard. Perhaps he had been hurt - yes, indeed, this must be it...Marie wished she could, just for one moment, see him. Even bad news was better than knowing nothing at all.

Unconsciously, she was playing with his ring that was still attached to her necklace. Richard was not the sort of man who did not keep his promises.
Marie sat down at her writing desk. She had had enough of waiting, she would write to him and ask what had kept him from writing to her for such a long time. It would not be a reproachful letter, no, not at all, but she would express her concern for his well-being and let him know how much she missed him.

When she had finished her letter, she felt relieved. Certainly now she would hear some news - she had to.

Theresia had taken refuge in the music room, and was practising a new piece of music. She badly needed to do something, not just anything, something that kept her mind busy, or it would start wandering off. A new piece of music challenged her mind, it made her concentrate and did not allow her to think of anything else.

In a way, however, she must have thought of Carl when she had selected the music - it was one of his favourite pieces, and she knew it. Perhaps she would be able to play it to him when he returned home...
Theresia realised that it was useless to try and avoid thinking of him. It only made matters worse.

There was a knock at the door, and Theresia's uncle came in. He looked unusually grave.

"You spend a great deal of time practising," he said to her after exchanging greetings.

"I do," Theresia answered. "When my mother left Vienna, I promised her to practise as much as possible, but at least for two hours a day. I try to keep my promise, I know she would want me to."

Father von Laudeck nodded. "I am glad to see that your mother still plays such an important part in your life," he said. "Theresia, could you interrupt your practising for a moment or two? I need to talk to you about something...something very important. It is not a topic one can handle carelessly."

Theresia gave him a wondering look. If she had not known better, she would have thought that he suspected her of something. But she had not done anything wrong, so she guessed she was mistaken.
She closed the pianoforte, put the sheets of music away, and sat down on the sofa, facing her uncle.

"Well," she said, smiling at him. "What is it?"

He sighed, and Theresia realised that he did not really want to touch that particular topic, but that he would probably not be at ease until the problem had been settled.

Finally, he began by saying, hesitatingly, "When you got engaged with Carl von Hertenberg, Theresia, did you think that the wedding had better take place at once?"

"What do you mean by asking me such a question, Uncle," Theresia asked him, wonderingly.
"Of course both of us wanted to get married soon, but at once? Certainly not."

"Theresia, I want you to be honest. How far did your...acquaintance...with Carl von Hertenberg go?"

Theresia stared at her uncle in disbelief. "Do you mean to imply..." She stopped. She would not say anything any more, until he had told her what exactly she - and Carl - were accused of.

Father von Laudeck did not keep her waiting for long.

"Someone has hinted that your knowledge of each other is...more intimate than one might expect from a couple who is not yet married," he said.

Theresia shook her head. "Someone's name is Amalia, I suppose," she said, angrily.

"Theresia, it does not matter who said it. I want to know if it is true." He looked at her earnestly.

"Not a word of it," was Theresia's answer. "I hope you believe me."

Her uncle looked at her and sighed. "I want to believe you, Theresia."

"But you do not." Theresia was hurt. Her uncle had never had any reason to distrust her. "Why not?"

"Because in matters as this...it is hard to trust anyone."

"Why did you ask me then, Uncle, if you do not think you can believe me," Theresia exclaimed, heatedly. "Why did you not keep your suspicions to yourself, and just thought ill of me as a rule? Do you really think I would sink so low?"

"Theresia, please..." he said. "I want you to speak seriously..."

"Well, I AM serious," she replied. "If you do not believe me, go away - the door is over there - and leave me to my eternal shame. Even if there is nothing I need to be ashamed of."

"I am not going to leave," Father von Laudeck said resolutely. "Not until this matter is settled."

"As far as I am concerned, it is settled," Theresia said furiously. "So, if you are not going to leave, I am."

With these words she got up, walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Father von Laudeck sighed - and yet he had to smile. He had seen that trait of character very often - his brother, Theresia's father, had been just like that, as had been Theresia's brother. But there was one good thing about it - they had only behaved like that if they had thought themselves treated in an unfair way. Most likely Theresia was really faultless in her behaviour - but, to be sure, he would try to ask the gentleman in question as well. One never knew.

Meanwhile in Brussels, there were at least two English gentlemen who were most anxious to hear news from Vienna.
Every day, Richard was waiting for the post, and was disappointed at not having any letter from Marie. He had been so happy in Vienna, and had been convinced that everything would be fine...he had been confident that Marie would wait for his return, and that she would answer his letters - perhaps not all of them, but at least one or two per week. He had kept to his promise and had written every day, but except for an answer to his first letter, he had not heard from Marie any more.

At first, he had attributed the delay to some mistake, then he had grown worried, but when Tilney told him that, according to Miss Potocka, everyone was well in Vienna, his worry had turned into disappointment and, finally, anger. If Marie did not write any more, there could be only one reason for it - she had ceased to think of him. He would not have believed that she could be such a fickle creature, but so it was, obviously. But if she did not want to keep up the engagement with him, why did she not tell him so? It was not as if he would bother her with his affection if it was not wanted...

Richard decided to write one final letter to Marie and then be done with her, once and for all. She had let him down when he had needed her most - he had been totally mistaken in her character.

He had just sat down to write the letter, when Tilney came in, as usual without knocking.

Since their stay in Vienna, Richard and Frederick Tilney had become good friends, and Richard was glad to see Tilney as often as possible. As it was, Tilney and his correspondence with Miss Potocka was the only way for Richard to find out what was going on in Vienna.

"Any news," he asked Tilney eagerly.

"Yes, I have, though the news is not very good, I am afraid. It will not please you."

Richard went pale. "Anything wrong with Marie," he asked. He had done her wrong, he should have known it!

Tilney gave him a sympathetic look. "I think she is fine," he said. "The bad news is about her brother, Colonel von Hertenberg. It seems that his unit has been involved in some action, and that his man Novacek has been severely wounded. As to von Hertenberg himself, no one has heard from him ever since."

"You mean he...is dead," Richard said.

Tilney shook his head. "No, thank God he is not," he said. "But he is ill - was ill, that is, and is now sent home to recover."

"How do you know?" Richard asked Tilney. "If his own family does not know..."

Tilney laughed. "I have my sources. Or should I say, my father has?"

Richard took the angry letter he had just written to Marie and tore it to pieces. She had enough to worry about now - and perhaps her concern for her brother had kept her from writing...he would give her some more time. Perhaps she would start writing once her brother was at home...

It was late one evening towards the end of May when Carl arrived back in Vienna. He had not written to his family to prepare them for his arrival. First, he had felt too ill to write - actually, he had felt too ill for anything. Then there had been this fight with the French, and Novacek, who had looked after him first, had been badly wounded. The fact that Novacek had survived was a miracle in Carl's opinion. No one would have expected it. But considering Novacek's present state Carl wondered if death had not been more merciful. He would never fully recover, he would remain an invalid for the rest of his life...Carl felt awful whenever he thought of it.

He instructed the men who carried his trunk to bring it to the back entrance of the house, and rang the doorbell. Carl was fully aware that no one expected him at home, especially not at this time of night. In fact, he had already been in town early in the afternoon, but he had staid with Novacek all day and had only left him when he had been convinced that Novacek would be taken care of. Carl felt that he owed Novacek all the support he could give him.

Carl stood in the hall, and the servant who had let him in went to the drawing room door to announce his arrival, when the drawing room door opened and out came Theresia. Carl had to smile. She had not changed a bit, and he was glad to see it.
Theresia did not notice him at first, she just glared at the servant who was standing in her way, and then, slowly, turned to him.

"Carl," she whispered, staring at him in shock. "Is that really you?"

"I hope so," Carl replied, with a smile, reaching out his hand to draw her near. The servant had enough delicacy of feeling to disappear downstairs without further ado.

Theresia took Carl's hand, and gave him a searching look. "You're so pale," she said. "And thin. They did not look after you properly."

"They did, in fact," Carl said, smiling.

"You have been ill? Why did you not tell me," Theresia asked, looking into his eyes.

"Because I was not able to write at first," Carl answered, "and then there were more pressing problems to attend to - the French, for example, and Novacek. Besides, it was not so very bad - the doctor tried to tell me it was, but it was not, believe me. I think a great deal of it was just homesickness - I missed you so much..."

"And you thought falling ill was the best way to be sent back home?" Theresia asked, teasingly.

"Exactly," Carl said with a laugh. "And considering the welcome I had, I guess I would do it again."

He was about to kiss Theresia's hand when the door burst open and Joseph came out of the drawing room in search for Theresia.

When he noticed the reason for her delay, he just gave her a kind smile and welcomed his brother at home.

"We were getting worried about you," he said to Carl. "What happened?"

"I shall tell you at once," Carl said, "but at the moment I must say I would rather have a place to sit down first - I am absolutely shattered."

Theresia felt ashamed for not having noticed how tired Carl really was. In the drawing room, where it was lighter than it had been in the hallway, she could see how pale and worn he really looked. No matter what he had said to assure her - he had been very ill, there was no doubt.

He answered every question languidly, leaning in his chair, and smiling at Theresia from time to time. He told them that Novacek had lost his right leg - the surgeon had attempted to save it at first, but when the wound had become inflamed, there had been nothing else to do.

"The poor man," Marie exclaimed. "How does he bear it?"

"Remarkably well," Carl said with a grin. "He just told me that he had never got any nearer to his aim than now. He joined the Army to get killed, or so he told me. "And blast it, sir, I didn't even manage THAT"."

"What is to become of him?" Joseph asked.

Carl sighed. "I shall find a place for him, I am sure. But the most important thing for him at the moment is to get well."

The moment Carl had entered the room, he had noticed the icy atmosphere between Theresia and Amalia, and wondered what had happened in his absence to make their relationship even worse than it had been before.

"Marie, what has happened between Amalia and Theresia," he asked his sister in a whisper.

Marie shrugged her shoulders. "Theresia would not tell me, and Amalia acts as if she does not know. But I think it has to do with Theresia's uncle - it started when he called on Theresia some days ago."

"Theresia's uncle is in Vienna?" There was a piece of news worth knowing.

"Yes, he arrived shortly after Easter."

"I shall call on him tomorrow, then," Carl said. "But now, I think I'll better go off to bed. I have not been so tired for...well, for some time."

The interview the next day had, indeed, given Carl a clue as to Theresia's reason for not talking to Amalia any more.
Father von Laudeck had received him very kindly, and they had spent about an hour talking. The consequence of this meeting was that Carl was resolved to get married as soon as possible - he was certain that Theresia would have no objection to that.

"A marriage after three months of engagement can hardly be called hasty," Carl had said to Father von Laudeck. "Besides, considering the recent events, I think it will be best to remove Theresia from a place where her honour is dragged into the dirt instead of being protected, as it ought to be. This was the last straw - I shall have to have some serious talk with my sister-in-law. Things cannot go on like this."

Father von Laudeck had agreed with Carl's point of view, and so they had decided that the wedding would take place in June - if Theresia wanted to get married so soon, that was.

Carl was thoroughly annoyed when he entered the house at home. How had Amalia been able to tell such filthy lies about him and - even worse - Theresia.
He would not have minded, had it only affected his reputation. A man's reputation hardly ever suffered from such a thing - he might be frowned upon for some time, but that was it. But for a woman, the effects of such rumours would be devastating. Had anything happened to him, so that the marriage would not have taken place, Theresia would have been ruined.

Carl decided to have a serious talk with Amalia at once. Things could not go on like that. Theresia did not deserve being treated the way Amalia treated her - and had treated her from the moment she had entered the house as Joseph's wife. When that had happened, Carl had not been able to do anything about it - he was away most of the time and did not see what was going on. But he would point out to Amalia that he would not put up with such behaviour any more.

He entered the drawing room, where he found Amalia sitting with Marie. Amalia was working on some needlework, and Marie was reading.

"Marie, could you leave Amalia and me alone," Carl said unceremoniously, knowing that Marie would wonder at his abrupt manner. "We need to talk."

"Marie, you can stay," Amalia said. "I am certain your brother and I have nothing to say that cannot be said in your presence."

"Marie, leave." Carl realised that he was treating his sister the way he treated his men, and felt sorry for it. It was not her fault, after all. But at least she noticed that something was wrong and left the room without delay.

He turned to Amalia. "And now to you," he said, angrily. "Put that thing away and listen carefully."

Amalia stared at him, her eyes wide open in horror. She had never seen her brother-in-law act like that. Yet, she would not give in.

"I would advise you to act with some decorum, Carl," she said. "Do not forget who I am."

"According to my information, Amalia, you are nothing but a scheming snake trying to break up my family, and therefore I am treating you just the way you deserve. You are lucky that you are a woman, if any man took the liberties you have taken, he would be dead by now."

Amalia raised her eyebrows. "For the moment, I shall overlook your impertinence, Carl," she said haughtily. "Will you tell me what exactly you accuse me of?"

"Did you or did you not tell lies about me and Theresia?"

"Lies? I do not think I told any lies. I have my reasons to suspect..."

"What reasons did you have, Amalia? Come, tell me, because I would like to know. Actually, I have a right to know."

"I do not think I owe you an explanation."

"So you would rather give it to Joseph, then?"

Amalia knew too well that Joseph would be on Carl's side...at least it would mean a great deal of trouble for her if he heard about the quarrel. She decided to cooperate, for the time being.

"It was the way Theresia behaved when she heard that your regiment had been involved in some action. She behaved as if she were mortally afraid of your not coming back. And then you spent some time alone on the day of your departure..."

"Which made you count two and two together and make it five?" Carl asked. "Did you ever consider that Theresia might be worried about me for no other reason than her feelings for me? Or that we might have spent the ten minutes we had together - I do not think it was much more than ten minutes - in a different way than you thought?"

"I do not know why everybody keeps picking on me," Amalia said angrily.

"Stop playing the poor, ill-treated woman, because it will not work with me. I knew what sort of woman you were right from the start, Amalia, and I know your ways. I am not my brother, no infatuation keeps me from seeing the truth. Leave my family alone, or you will come to regret it."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, I am warning you. You'd hate to have me for an enemy, Amalia. One more thing like this, and you are in trouble."

Carl turned on his heels and left the room angrily. He wanted to speak to Theresia, but first he needed to calm down. He only hoped that Amalia had taken the hint and that she stopped trying to harm him and his family now. Otherwise he would have to take some action.

Theresia had been only too happy to agree with Carl on the subject of their marriage. The sooner it took place, the better it was. There were one or two things to be resolved, of course, for example they had to find a suitable house.

Carl, however, had taken the matter in hand already, and so one morning they went out to have a look at two houses in Vienna and to decide which one to take.

They took Marie with them. Carl did not trust Amalia any more, and so he had suggested that Marie should come to live with him and Theresia, once they were married.

"Your wife will have enough trouble with her baby, and then she will be confined to the house for a considerable time. I think Marie would be better off if she staid with us for a while," Carl had said to Joseph, and Joseph had agreed, although he had wondered where Carl's sudden resolve had come from.

One of the houses was very much to Theresia's taste, the only problem with it was that it needed to be furnished, and that task could hardly be accomplished in three weeks.

"Do you want to take the house," Carl asked her earnestly.

"I would love to, but we cannot stay in a house with no furniture at all," Theresia said regretfully.

"Never mind about that," Carl answered. "Joseph has offered us the Hertenberg country estate, if we want to spend our honeymoon there. That should give us enough time to furnish the house - do you not think so?"

"In that case...shall we take the house?" Theresia asked. "It is wonderful, I shall love to live there."

"Anything to make you happy, then," Carl said with a grin. "It is already ours. As good as ours, I ought to say."

Theresia said nothing, but linked her arm with his, and they moved on in direction of the city centre.

"I have thought of something," Marie suddenly said. "I think I am going to accept Leonie's invitation after all."

"Leonie's invitation?" Carl asked.

"Yes, she invited me to join her and her aunt in the country. I think I am going to accept it. I do not want to be a burden on you during your honeymoon - and frankly, I do not have the wish to stay with Joseph and Amalia all by myself."

"You could never be a burden, Marie," Theresia said. "Please, do not think so. We would love to take you with us, you know, would we not, Carl?"

"Why, certainly. You are most welcome to come along - you always liked to spend your summers in Hertenberg, did you not?"

"True, but then I was not accompanying a couple on their honeymoon. I'd only get in the way. No, I think it will be better if I spend the summer with Leonie, and I shall join you in your house when Leonie and her aunt return to Vienna."

Theresia nodded. "It is your decision, of course, but as I said, we would never consider you a nuisance."

"I know," Marie answered, smilingly. Then she exclaimed, "There you are, one only needs to talk about them!"

Leonie and her brother were coming towards them. On recognising their friends, they stopped, and Marie told them about her decision at once. Carl noticed the way Henryk Potocki looked at him - and Theresia. It was obvious that Potocki admired Theresia - and it was also obvious that Theresia did not approve of it.

While Potocki fell back and accompanied his sister and Marie, Carl said, teasingly, "Potocki seems to have a weak spot for you."

"So what?" Theresia asked. "I do not have a weak spot for him."

"Why not? Looked like a nice enough fellow to me," Carl said, grinning.

"Who wants a Potocki if she can have a von Hertenberg," Theresia answered with a laugh.

"Clever girl."

"No, not at all clever. Just in love." She blushed a little saying this, and looked lovelier than ever, in Carl's opinion.

He drew her a bit nearer, and they walked on, not saying anything. After such a confession as this, Theresia did not have to speak any more - she had said everything he had cared to hear.

The next day, Carl was determined to start the day slowly. Theresia and Marie had gone out to meet Countess Potocka and to arrange for Marie's journey, which would start by the end of June.

He was alone at breakfast, since Joseph had left early, to go to the family estate and prepare everything for Carl and Theresia's arrival there, and Amalia was in the drawing-room.
After yesterday's quarrel, Carl had no desire to join her there. However, he remembered that the servants usually took the post to the drawing room, and so he decided to go there and see if there were any letters for him. Horvāth had promised to keep him informed as to the goings-on at the front.

When Carl entered the drawing-room, he was puzzled to see Amalia standing in front of the fireplace, perusing a letter. She started and, on seeing him, tried to throw the letter into the fire. She did not succeed, and the letter fell on the floor instead. Carl picked it up and wanted to give it back to Amalia at first...when he noticed that the letter was not addressed to Amalia at all, but that it was for Marie.

Brussels, May 1815

Dear Miss von Hertenberg, ...

Carl stared at the letter in disbelief, and then he looked at Amalia.

"Why did you do that," he asked her. Marie had told him that she had, except once, never had any message from her fiancé, and Carl had wondered along with her what had become of Fitzwilliam.
Now he had, undoubtedly, found out what had become of Fitzwilliam's letters. Amalia had opened them, and burned them.

Amalia just shrugged her shoulders and said, icily, "I do not approve of a correspondence between a man and a woman who are neither related nor engaged."

"They are engaged, Amalia, as you very well know."

"She should have married Count Bāthory, as everyone was telling her, instead of insisting on this English Nobody," Amalia said.

Carl resisted the urge to slap her face.

"This is not for you to decide," he said. "Did you ever consider what you were doing to Marie - to both of them? You had no right to interfere."

"They will get over it eventually." Amalia said indifferently.

"Why did you read the letters? Why did you not just destroy them?"

"I did not read them. I cannot read English letters, Carl. But a letter, even if one does not really know the language, can give one a hint or two... as it seems, I do not think they are still engaged." Amalia smiled.

"Which is what you wanted."

"Quite so. I had my own plans for Marie."

Carl could not trust himself to stay in the same room with Amalia. He folded the letter and put it in his pocket. "I warned you, Amalia," he said, in a calm but dangerous tone, and left the room.

"Amalia did what?"

Marie stared at her brother incredulously.

"She took your letters and burned them."

All morning, while Marie had been out, Carl had tried to find a way to break the news to Marie without hurting her too much. At first, he had decided to keep the details to himself, but Marie had a right to know everything he was able to tell her.

"But why?"

"It seems she wanted you to break up the engagement," Carl said.

"I would never have done such a thing!" Marie exclaimed. "How did you find out, Carl?"

Carl described the events of the morning to her, and finally gave her the letter.

"I am afraid this letter bears no good news for you, though," he said.

Marie read the letter. Carl noticed that she was working hard to hold back her tears.

"He thinks I do not care for him any more," she finally said. "He writes that he is willing to let me go if I want to break the engagement. The letter is so...very formal, so cold... Oh, Carl, what am I to do?"

"Do you want me to write to him," Carl asked. "I could explain the situation to him, perhaps I could set it right."

Marie shook her head. "No, Carl. I want to do this myself, but I do not want to explain myself in a letter. Do you know the saying "paper is patient"? Who knows if he would really believe me? I shall write him a letter, asking him to allow me to explain myself. I shall ask him to come to Vienna, if he still cares for me, and I shall tell him everything when he is here. I want to see him once again, Carl."

Carl sighed. "Very well, Marie," he said. "But if you need help, you know where to find it."

Marie nodded. "Where would I be without you, Carl?" she asked.

Carl shrugged. "I do not know," he said with a smile. "But hardly worse off than you are now."

That evening, Carl had a serious talk with Joseph. Joseph could hardly believe what Carl had to tell him, but then he agreed that something had to be done to prevent further trouble.

"You cannot let Amalia go on that way, Joseph," Carl said. "She will break our family to pieces, as she has tried to do before. Either you show her her limits or things will get worse."

"But she is my wife, for Heaven's sake!" Joseph exclaimed. "I may have made a mistake when I married her, but I will have to live with that mistake now."

"True, Joseph, but there are several ways of living with it. I'd suggest you try to get some time for yourself, and to think about your situation."

Joseph nodded. "I could send her to her mother's," he said. "No one would suspect a thing, would they? In her situation, she will be in need of another woman's advice - preferably her own mother."

Carl smiled. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he said. "She will be cared for, you may go and see her now and then...and perhaps you may be able to sort things out. Once we are gone, Theresia, Marie, and me, there might be a chance for you to start afresh."

"I do not know if I really want that," Joseph said thoughtfully.

"Think about it, then. But remember the child. Your son or daughter has a right to live with his or her father. I would not give up my child just like this," Carl said.

Amalia listened to Joseph's suggestion with an icy expression, and rejected it at once.

"I do not see why I should have to leave this house," she said.

"Very well, then," Joseph said, mercilessly. "In that case I will leave. And believe me, if I do, EVERYONE is welcome to hear my reasons for it. The complete and ugly truth. Imagine the scandal - Baron von Hertenberg leaving his pregnant wife and going to live in an inn..."

"You would not do that!" Amalia exclaimed.

"Are you so certain? I have had enough of you and your intrigues, Amalia. So either you go and pay a prolonged visit to your mother, or I shall go and pay a visit to the nearest inn. You choose."

Seeing that she had no chance, she gave in to her fate. "When am I to leave," she asked.

"If it were only for me," Joseph answered, "you could leave at once, but I think your presence will still be wanted at Carl and Theresia's wedding. After all, we need to demonstrate our family ties once more...after that, you are free to leave whenever you choose. The sooner you go, the better."

"Is this the man I married," Amalia said in a tearful voice, trying desperately to regain the control.

"No, I do not think so," Joseph said, coldly. "You have managed to change me, Amalia."

Amalia rushed out of Joseph's study, went into the drawing room and hissed at Carl, "I hope you are happy now!"

Carl smiled. "I told you you would hate to have me for an enemy, Amalia. You did not believe me - a bad mistake."

On the nineteenth of June, 1815, Carl von Hertenberg and Theresia von Laudeck got married in St Charles' Church in Vienna. Theresia's uncle, Father Bernhard von Laudeck, conducted the service.

There were not many guests - most of the bridegroom's friends were still somewhere in France. The war did not take notice of such things as marriages taking place.
Some people noticed that the Baroness von Hertenberg seemed to be especially displeased, but put this down to her state of health.

But there was one more person who was not quite as happy as one might expect - it was Marie. She had posted the letter to Richard in person. She did not trust anyone with her letters any more. Now she only hoped that he could forgive her, and that he would come to see her. If nothing happened to him...Marie felt awful thinking that something might have happened to him, and that he might die, believing that she did not love him.

No, life could not be so cruel. All she had to do now was wait.

Part 22 ~ Conclusion

Posted on Sunday, 7 July 2002, at 2:50 a.m.

This was about the worst battle Richard had ever seen, and he had seen pretty bad ones in his day. Yet, it all seemed to be nothing in comparison to - this. He was certain that, had the Devil himself found his way to Waterloo, he would have made a point of escaping as soon as possible and to retreat to that comparatively nice and peaceful place called Hell.

It was getting evening now, and Richard attempted to find all his men he believed to be still alive - there were not many of them left. It was probably easier to find out who was still alive than trying to find out who was dead. While he was walking along the lines of wounded soldiers, trying to find a familiar face, someone addressed him. Richard turned around and recognised Tilney. He seemed to be quite cheerful, and yet Richard could see that he was obviously in pain. There was a bandage around his shoulder, and his arm looked as if it was broken.

"It is good to see you," Tilney said with a smile. "Thought you were done for."

"So did I, to be honest." Richard said, earnestly. "What happened to you?"

Tilney laughed. "You will think me a rather clumsy fellow - it is something to be ashamed of, actually. Got a bullet into my shoulder and fell off my horse. Broke my arm into the bargain. But nothing the surgeon cannot deal with, I am sure, I am better off than most of the chaps here."

Richard looked about. "I have no doubt as to that," he said, gravely. "What about your father?"

"He was fine, the last time I saw him," Tilney answered. "Only lost his horse. If you happen to meet him, tell him I am here, will you? I do not want him to worry about me - not that I think he would, but one never knows."

Richard promised that he would tell the General about his son's whereabouts, and asked Tilney if he had seen any of the men he was looking for. Tilney shook his head.

"I have not," he said. "Good luck! I hope you will find them."

Marie woke up early the morning after her brother's wedding. Most probably this was because the whole house was so unusually quiet. Carl and Theresia were gone, and Joseph and Amalia had left as well. She was in the Viennese house all by herself, and although Leonie had invited her to join her at her aunt's Palais, Marie had declined the invitation. She hoped for an answer to the letter she had sent to Richard, and she wanted to be there when it arrived.

Marie was sitting at the breakfast table when the servant brought in the morning newspaper and carefully placed it on Joseph's usual place, as if he were likely to come in and demand it any moment. Marie did not pay too much attention to it; she was not usually a newspaper-reader (as Amalia did not approve of it - "young ladies are not interested in politics, and they do not understand it anyway..."). But then a headline attracted her attention.

"Victory!"

She got up, took the newspaper, unfolded it and started reading the article.

We have been informed that a decisive battle has taken place on Sunday, the 18th, in a place called Waterloo, near Brussels. The allied English and Prussian armies, commanded by the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal Blücher, encountered Napoleon and the French army. Though fortune did not seem very much in favour of the allied armies at first, they finally managed to triumph over the French.
This may have been one of the greatest victories ever, however it is said that the battle at Waterloo has caused a great deal of casualties on both sides.
Of course, we shall inform our readers of all the particulars, as soon as we know more....

Marie's hands began to tremble so violently that she hardly succeeded in putting the newspaper back on the table. There had been a battle - great loss of life - near Brussels! Somehow she managed to sit back down on her chair and to ring for the servant.

"Has today's post arrived already," she asked breathlessly when the servant came in.
"I do not know, Miss," the servant answered. "Do you want me to inquire, Miss?"
"Yes, do," Marie said. "And get me a glass of water, will you..."

While the servant was gone, Marie tried to think. What was she to do? She was here in Vienna, all by herself, with no one who could be of assistance to find out more...if Carl had been there, he would have known what to do...and even Joseph, though he could perhaps not do that much, would be ready to help. As it was, there was no one to rely on. Except...Leonie. Marie shuddered. Leonie was in the same situation as she was - the man she loved had been stationed in Brussels, too, and had most likely taken part in the Waterloo action. Perhaps Leonie had already heard some news. Marie decided to write a note to Leonie. It was better to face the days to come together.

Two days later, Marie was sitting in Countess Potocka's drawing room, when the servant announced "Baron and Baroness von Hertenberg-Laudeck".

"Carl! Theresia!" she exclaimed on seeing them.

"We came here as fast as we could, when we heard the news," Carl said to her. "Have you heard any details yet?"

"No," Marie said sadly, trying to hold back her tears.
Theresia gave her a sharp look. "How much sleep did you get those past few days," she asked her.

"Not much, I am afraid," Marie said, and added, bravely, "but I do not mind. I am sure he...." She broke off.

Theresia put her arm around Marie's shoulder. "I understand," she said. "But you need your sleep, dearest, or you will break down sooner or later."

"Is there nothing we can do, Carl," Marie asked her brother pleadingly.

Carl sighed. "Here in Vienna, it will be hard to get any information about the English troops. I could try and send a letter to Aunt Macmillan...perhaps she can tell us if anything happened to Colonel Fitzwilliam ... or Captain Tilney."

"Aunt Macmillan? How is she supposed to get such information?"

Then it dawned on Marie. Her Aunt was living near Richard's cousin, a Mr Darcy. It was most likely that Mr Darcy would be informed as to Richard's whereabouts, or would know if anything had happened to him.

Marie looked at Carl doubtingly. "Do you know how long it takes a letter to reach Aunt Macmillan," she asked. "I do not know if I can wait so long..."

"There is one more thing I can try," Carl answered. "Perhaps Horvāth has heard something. He might have heard from them, or might have met them, even. I am certain I can send a letter to Horvāth along with some orders from the Headquarters - one of my friends there still owes me a favour. It would be a faster method, to be sure, but not quite so certain."

Marie sighed. "We shall try both ways then," she finally said, and gave her brother a grateful look. "Thank you for coming back, Carl."

"Not worth mentioning. You know I would do everything for you, sister." He smiled. "Keep your chin up. We will get over that, too."

A few days later, Leonie received a letter from Belgium. She did not recognise the handwriting, however, and gave the letter to Marie.

"Can you read it to me," she said anxiously. "I dare not open it."

Marie took the letter, and broke the seal.

"It is from General Tilney," she said.

Leonie went pale. "General Tilney writes to me," she asked.

Marie began to read.

" Brussels, June

Dear Miss Potocka,
I am writing the following lines in behalf of my son, to inform you that he has been injured in action. Due to his injuries, he cannot write you himself, but he insisted on sending you a message and therefore dictated this letter. So, although you will not be able to read his own hand, at least his words will reach you....."

"Are you certain you want me to go on reading," Marie asked Leonie. "It is your letter, and perhaps you would rather read it yourself, now that you know that Captain Tilney is alive."

Leonie shook her head. "No, go on, please. I am too upset at the moment...Frederick injured and not able to write...Marie, what has happened to him?"

"We will find out in a moment." Marie said and read on.

Dear Leonie,
Please do not be alarmed on my account. Even though I am wounded, the injuries are by no means dangerous. I shall recover before long.
Until then, however, I will not be able to travel to Vienna - even though the war, as it seems, will end soon. I will hardly be able to arrive there before the end of July. By then, I understand, you will not be in town any more but will have moved to your brother's country estate. I will try to join you there.
I suppose you would like to know about some of our mutual friends who were in Waterloo as well. As for my father, you may have guessed that he is very well. I have met Colonel Fitzwilliam in the evening after the battle, and he has been unharmed, too.

"Unharmed!" Marie exclaimed. "Thank God, nothing has happened to him!"

Leonie smiled. "Frederick is well, too, judging by the tone of this letter," she said. "Is that all?"

"No, the letter goes on...I shall ask him to join me on my journey to Austria and be my best man at our wedding, but I believe this is not the only reason for him to return to Vienna.

Hopefully, everyone in our acquaintance is well. I have heard that our friend Colonel von Hertenberg has returned home to recover from his pneumonia... PNEUMONIA? Carl? I am sure he would have told us if he had had pneumonia, and then, he would not have been able to travel, being so ill... Give my regards to him and his family. I am looking forward to meeting them again, though not half as much as I am looking forward to meeting you.

Yours ever,
Frederick Tilney"

It had been some time since Frederick Tilney had last seen his friend, Richard Fitzwilliam, but he finally decided to pay him a visit. As far as he knew, Fitzwilliam was still in his lodgings in Brussels, waiting for his regiment to be restored to full numbers.

"Ah, I should have known it is you," Fitzwilliam said with a smile as Frederick entered his rooms. "No one else comes in without knocking. Did you ever consider the fact that I might not be alone?"

"You? Not likely," Frederick answered with a grin. "Not with a lady waiting for you somewhere."

Fitzwilliam looked at him gravely. "That matter is at an end, Tilney. I wish you would not refer to it again."

"At an end?" Frederick stared at him in disbelief. How could such a thing happen? "Why that?"

"I told you she never wrote to me, except once. That is, until yesterday."

"What does she say in her letter? Did she tell you she would like to break off the engagement?"

Frederick was ready to offer all his sympathy if that was the case.

"No such thing, Tilney, on the contrary, she asked me to keep up the engagement and to come back to Vienna. She offered no explanation for her behaviour, though, only mentioned that she would explain it to me once I was with her again."

"You ought to go there, then." Frederick said, thoughtfully. "You can go with my father and me, we will start our journey soon - I actually came here to ask you to join us."

"Whatever for?" Fitzwilliam gave him a surprised look.

"I wanted you to be my best man, that is all. What am I to do without a best man at my wedding?"

"You will have to find someone else. I am not going." Fitzwilliam said determinedly. "I will spare myself the pain of seeing her again, and being lied to...I will go back to England as soon as this is over, and shall try to forget that winter in Vienna."

"You will never forget it, unless you go there and try to find out what happened," Frederick answered. "You will always wonder what might have been if you had seen Miss von Hertenberg once again. Listen to my advice. Go there, and talk to her. Give her the chance to explain herself. If she cannot justify her behaviour acceptably, there will still be time to end it all. But then you will at least know that you tried everything to keep her. You love her, after all."

Fitzwilliam gave him an angry look. "It is not your business, anyway, is it?"

"No, not at all, but I thought you might want to hear my opinion."

"You told me your opinion, and now be done with it."

"Will you come to Vienna with me, then?"

"No, I will not. I do not want to see that city again."

Frederick nodded. "If you should happen to change your mind," he said, "we will start our journey the day after tomorrow. You know where you can find us. Good day to you!"

He left Fitzwilliam's lodgings angrily. If Fitzwilliam was stupid enough to let his happiness slip away like that, what did it mean to him, after all? He had tried everything in his power...now he could only hope that Fitzwilliam would, indeed, change his mind.

After a busy week preparing for the journey, and a fatiguing day's voyage along dusty roads on a hot summer day, Marie and the Potockis arrived at Leonie's brother-in-law's estate.

Marie was impressed to see the huge house and the beautiful gardens. Her father's estate, which was only eight miles from here, was grand, too, but nothing in comparison to this.
It had been one of Prince Eugene's "hunting lodges" once, and the current owner had let it to Leonie's brother-in-law, a Russian Baron by the name of Levitskij.
He and Leonie's sister were already awaiting their guests at the main entrance of the building, together with their children and a great deal of servants who were to take care of the luggage.

The moment the carriage stopped, Baron Levitskij came to assist the ladies in getting out. Marie noticed that both Leonie and her aunt were obviously on good terms with him, he greeted them in a warm and caring manner.
Henryk Potocki helped Marie to ascend from the carriage. During the journey, she had noticed that he had been remarkably quiet all the time - perhaps his sister had given him pointed instructions as to his behaviour.
She had hardly stepped down from the carriage, when two little girls were running up to their uncle and greeted him excitedly. He turned to Marie and said, with an apologetic smile, "My nieces are quite fond of me, you see, although I do not know why..."

Baron Levitskij, meanwhile, had joined Marie and his brother-in-law and welcomed them in his house.

"My sister-in-law has told my wife a great deal about you already," he said, in perfect French, "and we were already looking forward to making your acquaintance. We are glad you could be persuaded to follow our invitation, and hope that your stay here will be a pleasant one."

Marie smiled at him and assured him that she had no doubt as to that. She liked the Baron; he had an open countenance and pleasant manners. He was not handsome, but his face expressed a great deal of intelligence, and there was a humorous sparkle in his eyes which made an altogether agreeable impression.

"I have to apologise for not addressing you in German," he said. "But I am afraid I am not very accomplished in that language - and I do not want to expose you to some uncomfortable stuttering on my part, therefore I chose to speak to you in a language I am more familiar with - or do you, by any chance, speak Russian," he added, with a grin.

When Marie told him that she did not, he laughed good-naturedly and said, "I thought so. Now, I would like to introduce my family to you, if you do not mind."

Baroness Levitskaja was a lady in her mid-twenties, not as pretty as her sister was, but pleasant to look at on the whole. Marie noticed soon that Madame Levitskaja was neither as accomplished nor as intelligent as her sister was. Her main interests were her household and her children, and she could talk about these topics for hours.

The children were three little girls. Anna, the eldest, was five years old. Her younger sister, Natasha, was three, and the youngest girl was still a baby, ten months old.
Baroness Levitskaja informed her sister about her latest efforts to get a governess for her children, and regretted the fact that the young lady Leonie had recommended was not available any more.

"I do think they should get a proper education as soon as possible, and I cannot do everything by myself. They need a governess, do you not agree with me, Dimitri, dear," she asked her husband.

It was obvious that "Dimitri dear" did NOT agree, but refrained from saying so. This was, as Marie soon found out, his usual way of dealing with his wife. He did not take her too seriously, never commented on any of her silly remarks, but somehow always managed to demonstrate that he had his own thoughts on the subject.

Finally, Baron Levitskij pointed out to his wife that their guests might want to refresh themselves after such a long journey, a fact that had not entered her mind, it seemed. She therefore set out to show them their rooms.

Marie's room was a spacious apartment, and was beautifully furnished. The windows overlooked the park, and the village was visible half a mile away. Marie longed to go out into the park, but she was too tired to do so right now.

A maid had already unpacked her trunks, and had laid out a dress for her to wear at dinner. The air in the room was rather hot, and Marie decided to open one of the windows. A fresh breeze was what she wanted at the moment.
She stared out of the window for a while, without noticing it, until she heard some children scream and laugh. She looked down and noticed the two little girls, playing catch with their uncle. Potocki noticed her standing at the window, and gave a short bow by way of a greeting. Then he darted after his five-year-old niece, who was a remarkably fast runner, considering her age.
Marie smiled. Somehow the fact that he was so fond of his little nieces and spent so much time with them made Henryk Potocki a bit more likeable.

Marie went to bed early that evening, but though she was very tired, she could not sleep. The place, beautiful as it was, was not what she was accustomed to, and it generally took Marie some time until she could fall asleep in a strange place. Besides, she wondered why she had not heard from Richard. Perhaps he really did not want to be in contact with her any more, and her last letter had been in vain?

But Leonie had hinted that Captain Tilney might bring him along after all, he had stated in a letter to her that he had asked Colonel Fitzwilliam to act as his best man at the wedding. Would he really come?

Marie hoped that he would, and that he would be able to forgive her for something that he believed to be her fault, although it was not so. If only he would come, and she could set matters to rights...

It was already dawning, and the birds started to sing outside in the park, when Marie finally fell asleep.

"Vienna in August," Tilney said, with a sigh. "One must be mad to come here at that time of year."

Richard agreed with Tilney. It had been pure madness on his part to come here, just to oblige his friend. Every house, every familiar place pained him. There were so many things that reminded him of Marie...

It had already been evening when they had arrived in town. But even though it was evening, the heat was still oppressive.
On going to the inn where they were to stay for the night, before starting the last part of their journey the next day, they had passed the Hertenberg Palais. There were no lights in the windows, and so Richard had assumed that the family were not at home. Not that he had had any intention to call on them - well, perhaps he would have called on the Colonel, but since he did not want to see Marie any more, and could hardly call on her brother without coming across her as well, he had thought the better of it.

Now he had a perfect excuse for not calling on them, at least. They had not been there when he had been in town.

The next day, they set out on their way to Baron Levitskij's summer estate. Richard listened to the General's eager description of the place without much interest. It was quite significant, though, he thought, that the General seemed to pay more attention to other people's wealth than his son did.

General Tilney told him that the place had formerly belonged to the famous Prince Eugene of Savoy, that it had served him as a hunting lodge, and that his heirs had sold the estate to the grandfather of its present owner.

When Richard saw the house for the first time, however, he had to change his opinion on hunting lodges. In his imagination, it had been a small and cosy country house - while this was nearly a palace, situated in a vast park.

Though the building was only two storeys high, it was huge. A tower above the main entrance was its most prominent feature. The whole faįade was decorated with stucco ornaments, undoubtedly reflecting the taste of its initial owner, Prince Eugene. Looking at this "hunting lodge" of his gave Richard an idea of how wealthy the Prince must have been.
Being a successful military leader had certainly paid in the Prince's days - von Hertenberg had once told Richard that Prince Eugene had applied for a post in the Austrian Army as a penniless refugee from France. The Austrian emperor had taken pity on the young man, and had given him an officer's commission. A step that he had never regretted - Eugene became the most successful General the Austrian army had ever had.

An avenue of chestnut trees led up to the entrance, and Richard noticed that the family were already there, awaiting their arrival.

Richard observed how happily Miss Potocka greeted Tilney, and felt a pang in his heart. This was how he had hoped to be greeted on his return to Vienna - in those days when he had still believed that Marie cared for him and would wait for his return.
Miss Potocka's sister and brother-in-law welcomed him cordially.

Then Miss Potocka turned to Richard and said, "Welcome, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Captain Tilney told me that you have felt some hesitation at the thought of coming here. I am glad you finally decided to join us. We will do everything in our power to make your stay here a pleasant one, sir."

Richard smiled. "Thank you, Miss Potocka," he said.

He noticed that Miss Potocka wanted to say something more, but Tilney stopped her by saying something to her in a very low voice.

Probably it had something to do with Marie, and Tilney did not want her to refer to her friend. Sometimes Tilney could be very considerate, if he chose to be so.

After he had changed his clothes, Richard decided to take a walk in the park. He wanted to get acquainted with the place where he was to spend the following weeks until Tilney's wedding at the end of August.

Neither Miss Potocka nor Tilney wanted to join him, and so Richard set out on his own, wondering how they could stay inside on such a warm and lovely evening.

He left the house through the back door, which led to the park, and strolled down a gravelled walk that was bounded by a hedgerow. Miss Potocka had told him that the centre of the park was a large and beautiful summerhouse, and Richard decided to walk there to have a look at it.

Suddenly, he thought he was dreaming. There was Marie, sitting on a bench with a sketchbook on her knees and working intently on some drawing.
Before he could stop himself, he had called out her name, and Marie looked up, with that lovely smile of hers.

"You are here already," she exclaimed happily, getting up to meet him. "Why, Leonie told me she would send me word when you arrived - I cannot imagine why she did not do so! But, welcome back, nevertheless," she said, walking up to him with both her hands stretched out towards him.

She smiled at him so blissfully - Richard had to use all his resolve to resist her. Behaving as she did, one could hardly believe that she had treated him so cruelly - could a woman be such a good actress?

"I did not know you were here, Miss von Hertenberg," he said, stiffly. Marie stopped short.

"Miss von Hertenberg?" she asked, quietly. "But I thought... I thought you would come here to see me..."

"I came here because my friend Captain Tilney asked me to," Richard answered coldly.

She gave him a searching look. "There was no other reason for you to come back to Austria, then?"

"No, there was none," Richard answered, hoping that he sounded more determined than he felt.

She nodded, and went back to the bench to gather her things there.

"You have changed," she remarked. "You would not have talked to me like that before you left."

"Miss von Hertenberg, you can hardly blame me for it," Richard burst out. "Why did you not write?"

Marie looked at him sadly. "Do you want to talk about these missing letters here and now," she asked.

"Why not talk about them here and now and be done with it," Richard asked heatedly. "I do not care!"

"You did not come here to hear my explanation," she asked him.

"No, I told you I only came here because Tilney had asked me to. As far as your behaviour towards me is concerned, there can be neither an explanation nor an excuse."

She gasped. "You do believe it was my fault, then," she said, angrily.

"To be honest, Miss von Hertenberg, I would not have thought it possible that you might treat me this way, when I first knew you. But I was mistaken, it seems."

Richard realised that he sounded harsher than he had intended, but it did not matter to him. All he could think of at the moment was the pain he had felt when he had not heard from Marie, and he was determined to show her how ill she had treated him.

There were tears in her eyes when she said, "Would you believe me if I told you that I was not to blame? Or do you think I just wanted to get rid of you and was too spineless to tell you so? Do you think I neglected you intentionally?" she asked.

"Exactly," Richard said. "There can be no other explanation for it."

"If you think me capable of doing such a horrible thing," she uttered, desperately holding back her tears, "we had better break up the engagement, Richard."

Richard looked at her, and realised that he had hurt her. These were no crocodile tears, he was sure, the feeling was real.

"Marie..." he started, walking towards her, but she turned around and ran away, sobbing.

Richard stood there for a moment, stupefied, and tried to figure out what had just happened. He had just given up his chance to win Marie back, it seemed, and now that she was gone, he realised how much he had wanted to be with her again. But he had treated her so abominably, and now she had run away - perhaps it had not been her fault, after all...

Richard decided to look for Marie, and to ask her to give him another chance - now he really wanted to hear her explanation. How could he have been so stupid as to believe for one moment that someone like Marie would treat a man like that?

Finally, he found Marie in the summerhouse, sitting on a stone bench and crying bitterly. She had something in her hand - Richard recognised the ring he had given to her on the day when he had left.

"Marie," he said softly, standing in the doorway and thus blocking the only way out of the summerhouse.

She looked up, swallowing hard. "What do you want, sir," she asked, quietly, getting up from her seat.

"Did you wear this ring all the time," he asked her.

"You are most welcome to have it back, sir," she said coldly, trying to get past him.

Richard tried to get hold of her, but she shook his arm off.

"Please, let me go, sir," she said.

"Marie, you have to listen to me." Richard said, pleadingly. " I am sorry. I was angry, and I did not know what I was doing. Please tell me what happened, and I will listen, I promise."

"You said before you were not interested," she answered. "Just go away, and leave me to myself. There is no need for you to play the gentleman. Here is your ring, I want you to take it back."

Again, she began to cry, and Richard wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. What a brute he had been...

"Please, tell me what happened," he said, quietly.

"Amalia...." she began. Then, more calmly, she said, "My sister-in-law, Amalia, took your letters before I had a chance to read them, and destroyed them. She did the same with the letters I wrote to you. She wanted our engagement to end - she will be most happy to hear that her interference was successful. If you do not believe me, sir, ask my brother, Carl. He caught her reading one of your letters to me, and she admitted to him she had done so with every letter of yours - and had burned them afterwards."

Richard was too disgusted with Baroness von Hertenberg's behaviour to say anything. Of course, why had he not thought of that possibility?

"I never thought ill of you," Marie went on, bitterly. "I always trusted you, I blamed everyone and everything else but you ... I never lost my faith in you, even though I never had any letters from you but once. Why could you not believe in me as much as I believed in you?"

"I was wrong, I know," Richard said. "I have made a huge mistake. Please, forgive me, Marie."

She shook her head, sadly. "I am sorry, sir, but I cannot. I cannot marry a man who does not trust me, no matter how much I love him."

Again, she tried to get past him, but Richard stopped her. "Marie, please..."

"Please, sir, let me go," she answered. "It hurts badly enough, as it is."

"You cannot want our love to end this way, Marie," Richard said.

"You are right," she replied. "I did not want it to end this way. What I wanted, was something different. I wanted you to come back to me, so that we can talk things over in a reasonable way. I wanted - I expected you to believe me. But I cannot - and will not - spend the rest of my life struggling against your suspicions. I cannot. Let me go now. Please."

"Did you ever think that your faith in me cannot be that strong either, Marie," Richard asked.

"I beg your pardon," Marie exclaimed, heatedly.

"You did not trust me enough to explain things in a letter, Marie. You thought I would not believe you."

"Nonsense," she said. "I wanted to tell you myself because I knew there would be questions - and I wanted to be there to answer them."

Richard sighed. "Marie, I can only tell you once again how sorry I am. Give me another chance, and I will prove myself to you. What would I do without you?"

She laughed angrily. "You will find someone else. Some woman you can trust completely."

"Marie, I do not want anyone else but you. Can you not understand that I was only angry? I was angry because I loved you so much ... can you imagine how it feels to be let down by the one person who means more to you than anything else in the world?"

She sighed. "You may not believe it, perhaps, but I have found out how it feels, about half an hour ago."

Richard put his arms around her and drew her near. "It will never happen again," he whispered into her ear. "I promise."

She looked into his eyes. "Do not promise anything you cannot keep," she said. "It would break my heart."

Richard smiled. "I promise," he said again, and kissed her.

"Are you really sure," Marie said breathlessly, when he let her go.

Richard grinned. "Give me five minutes and I will prove to you how serious I am," he said.
Then he kissed her again. It felt so good to hold her in his arms...

"Will you forgive me," he said, when their lips parted again.

Marie smiled. "I will," she said.

"Would you, then, wear this ring for me," he asked her, taking her hand.

She laughed. "I think I would, yes," she answered, and then she whispered into his ear, "I love you, after all."

The magic moment of their reconciliation was disturbed by Tilney and Miss Potocka, however, who had gone out into the garden in search of them. It was obvious they had planned this meeting between Richard and Marie, and though Richard was not certain if he should be angry with Tilney or feel grateful, he finally decided that he was, at the moment, too happy to feel angry with anyone.

The next evening brought some more guests - Carl and Theresia came to see Marie, and they brought some interesting news with them.

The first bit of news was that Count Bāthory had been the centre of a scandal, not only by marrying a young lady of doubtful reputation, but also by being heavily indebted to several Viennese merchants. Obviously he had been forced to sell his Viennese Palais to pay his debts, and had had to seek refuge in his Hungarian estate. It was not very likely that anyone in good Viennese society would ever associate with him again.

The second - and more important - message was that Marie was an Aunt. Amalia had given birth to a healthy little boy, and Marie felt happy for her brother Joseph. Now he had someone whom he could love with all his heart - which was all that he had ever wanted. She hoped the baby would grow up into someone who deserved his father's love.

Both Carl and Theresia were happy to hear that the problems between Marie and Richard were sorted out, and it was decided that the wedding should take place as soon as possible.

It did take place one month later, in mid - September, on one of those lovely autumn days one only got in Vienna, and the young married couple set out into the direction of England at once. Marie knew she would not see her brothers any more - at least not for a very long time, and so between her tears of happiness there may have been one or two regretful tears as well. But Richard assured her that his family in England would be most ready to compensate her for what she had lost - he even pointed out that his Aunt Catherine might willingly take Amalia's place.

There was another happy couple that autumn, another consequence of the winter of 1814 - Major Horvāth, who had always professed not to believe in love, had finally given in to his own feelings and had married "his Lina", soon after his return from France.
Of course, there were comments from various quarters. No one can rail against marriage for years without being made fun of once he decides to get married himself. Horvāth bore with those jokes with surprising equanimity. However, one may be certain that he laughed at his friends, too, who had not noticed what was going on right before their very eyes - his entire courtship had escaped their notice.

The winter of 1814 was long past - even the Viennese had finally grown tired of talking about this winter. The city was preparing for another winter - another winter full of festivities and entertainment, though with less foreigners in Town, perhaps. Another winter in Vienna - and who knew what the consequences of that one would be?

As a certain soldier called Novacek had once said: "The wheel of time keeps moving, and if we're not careful, we will be run over by it...the best thing to do is to run along."

And run along the Viennese did.