Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The ball the following evening couldn't have been more different.

Metternich's Peace Ball was to be one of the grandest events of the Season. The rooms of the entire palais had been opened up. There were oriental tents and faux temples, a hot-air balloon and fireworks in the garden, and orchestras in every room and in hidden corners behind the hedges. There was a ballet, and people danced wherever there was space. The Arenheims were assigned to perform in a Turkish tent in the garden, which meant that the pianoforte had to be set up there.

Their performance went smoothly, as usual.

Lena had been worried that the Duke might be hovering nearby, scowling at them while they played, but fortunately, he was not. In fact, she hadn't seen him since they'd arrived, and as the night wore on, she began to wonder if he'd be putting in an appearance at all. It would be strange if he did not, with all the foreign dignitaries here. She'd learned to recognise them all by now and was eagerly soaking up the atmosphere of the place. There was so much information to take in. August would be pleased with her report that night.

They took a much-needed break, having played for hours. Adam had gone to organise some refreshments for them, and Theo had gone with Mona to have a look at the hot air balloon hovering above them on the other side of the garden.

Perhaps it was the mild night's breeze, unseasonable for October, or the scent of roses and Turkish Delight carried on silver platters by footmen.

Or maybe it was the hushed titter of two ladies deep in conversation, the sighs of, "You wouldn't believe the most beautiful trinket he gave me! Look. Isn't it exquisite? I had a locket made for him too. In London. At Garrard's in Albemarle Street. It is to be an expression of my sentiments, for I love him dearly…"

Lena gasped.

Images flashed in her inner eye. She was holding the commissioned locket that Mr Garrard had just given her, talking to her friend Elizabeth, who was with her in the shop.

Elizabeth! A vision of a pretty brunette appeared in her mind, who was smiling as she teased her. "Confess. You're head over heels in love with him already, aren't you? Yet you haven't exchanged two words with him. I can see it in your eyes, and in the way you blush, like you are doing now." She laughed softly. "Your cheeks have taken on the colour of beetroots."

She covered her cheeks with her hands. "He is so dear to me. I love him so very, very much. Oh, Elizabeth. I am so happy! I cannot wait for us to be married."

"Lucky, lucky girl! Would that I, too, could marry for love."

The scene faded, and she remained standing beside by the hedge, staring foolishly at the little red lampion hanging from a branch.

That had been her. Her own words, her own voice saying, "He is so dear to me. I love him so very, very much." A wave of emotion so intense followed that it took her breath away. Was such happiness possible? Her stomach fluttered with the sensation of hundreds of butterflies. Her heart clenched deliciously as warmth spread from her chest encompassing her entire being, lingering and burning like golden embers.

Her knees grew weak as water.

Shaken, Lena dropped onto the small marble bench beside the hedge, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

There was no doubt about it.

She'd been madly, deeply in love with him.

This hadn't been a passing infatuation.

This had been a love as deep and profound as she was capable of. With every fibre of her being.

And now?

She blinked, disoriented, as she took in her surroundings once more.

Of course, that had been back then. That had been the memory of her being in love a very long time ago. She no longer felt like that.

Did she?

She'd heard of love that had died. Of love that had run its course. Of love that petered out. Yet what about a love that was simply…forgotten?

What happened to that love? Where had it gone?

Did that love still exist somewhere? Did it continue to burn deep within the soul without the soul being aware of it, or had it simply fallen asleep, waiting to be awakened? Or was a love forgotten…simply gone? Vanished, puffed away like dandelions in the wind.

Lena did not know.

She'd loved him very dearly, once. She'd just now regained a glimpse of the memory of that love, but it had shaken her to the core.

She wanted, no, she had to find out if it was still there. She had to find the answer.

The sky above her exploded in a silvery shower of stars and light. She jumped and flinched at the loud explosion.

It was midnight.

The fireworks.

They were to wait until the fireworks were over, play for another hour, then they could go home.

He'd arrived late, having been detained by the Prussians who insisted on a conversation with him and Castlereagh on the future of Saxony.

There had been no movement on the matter at all.

After an hour of fruitless back-and-forth, he had excused himself to find Lena and the children.

Odd, how he'd come to feel so protective of them in such a short time. As if they really belonged to him .

"There you are, mein Freund, " a very familiar, languid voice said behind him. "Hiding from diplomatic negotiators instead of facing them head-to-head on the battlefield, I mean, the ballroom."

Julius whirled around. A rare smile broke across his face as he saw the tall, lean figure of a man with golden curls resting against a precarious trellis of roses, arms crossed, and a mocking grin on his lips.

"Careful, Lindenstein, your weight will bring the structure down. It doesn't appear to be that sturdy." He grasped his arm and they embraced, slapping each other on the back like long-lost brothers. "I thought you were out of town. How refreshing to see a familiar face for a change, even if it is merely your hideous grimace."

"I was indeed out of town, enjoying myself tremendously with my ladybird. I was ordered back, most inconveniently, just when we'd reached a most critical juncture in our relationship. Been in a devil of a temper since. What can one do? Must obey the pater's order. Best to appease the old man, as we haven't been seeing eye to eye lately. You know how it is." He grinned at Julius. " Verdammt , it's good to see you here on my turf. It's about time. Must show you all my favourite haunts. Places hidden from prying eyes. Is Atherton here too?" He looked around. "Would be more fun if there were the three of us, even better with Hartenberg, the four of us together like the good old days."

"No. Was informed the other day that the marchioness has just given birth to a baby boy, so there is nothing in the world that would cause Atherton to currently leave England. "

"Lucky devil. What about Hartenberg? Lady Evie? Aren't they supposed to get married?" He pointed his two forefingers at each other and twirled them around.

"It's complicated. Hartenberg's in Italy with his troops. Evie is visiting a friend in the country. She tired of the festivities already after a week."

"Understandable. I've had it up to here—" he drew a line at his head "—with all the fuss they make in Vienna these days." He grimaced. "It's only bound to get worse—" He interrupted himself as his eyes fixated at a spot behind him and his jaw slackened.

"Aldingbourne," he said weakly, "I'm really not well, you know. Am suffering here," he placed a hand over his heart, "from what I believe may be diagnosed as a particularly severe case of lovesickness. Because I am on terrible terms with the pater familias , I have been suffering from migraines and have been in a general, terrible sort of temper lately. Now it appears my mind and eyesight are sadly affected as well." He leaned forwards and squinted. "No, do not turn around, my friend." He clasped an iron grip on Julius's shoulder to prevent him from turning around. "But tonight the theory that ghosts indeed walk the earth has been proven correct. Either that, or I'm stark raving mad."

"If you are not well, sit down, and I shall fetch the physician."

"To the devil with the physician." Lindenstein closed his eyes, opened them again, blinked, and shook his head. "I am about to give you the shock of your life, dear friend. For over there, my eyes behold…Catherine. The ghost of your duchess. "

Julius turned to see Lena standing next to the hedge, her eyes raised as she watched the last remnants of the fireworks flare up in the sky. A powerful emotion coursed through him, leaving him shaken. "Ah. You are not mad. It is a long and interesting story. It is indeed Catherine. Come and meet her."

Her emotions still in a whirl, Lena stood by the hedge with clasped hands. She had to talk to him again. This time more honestly, about her feelings. That was difficult enough, but in her case, it was even more complicated because she had to talk about the memory of the feelings.

Was that thumping in her heart, that sizzling sensation, a mere memory, or was that what she truly felt for him now? Or was it simply because she thought it was what she should be feeling now?

She shook her head. Oh, how confused she was!

She was definitely overthinking it.

Best to find him and talk to him.

And say what exactly?

"Lena."

She jumped and looked up. Speak of the devil. The Duke was right over there, tall and handsome as sin in his evening clothes, walking straight towards her as if she'd conjured his presence just by thinking about him.

Beside him was a man, a golden-haired Adonis, staring at her as if he'd just seen a ghost. "But she looks like the image of Catherine." He reached out to touch her arm. "No ghost." His grip closed over her arm. "Most definitely not. This is very much solid flesh, if I'm not mistaken."

"Hands off, Lindenstein," the Duke growled. "She's still my wife, and I don't like people touching what's mine, even if you are my friend."

A shiver ran through her at these words. As if she really belonged to him.

"Wife? You truly are Catherine? Holy saints above in heaven. It is not an illusion? But how? Why?"

Lena looked at the Duke helplessly.

"Catherine, also known as Helena Arenheim. This dolt here is an old, dear friend of mine. He goes by the name of Lindenstein." He paused, then added softly, "You were once acquainted, too."

"Acquainted. Surely, we were more than that. Friends, weren't we? Are we still?" His hands went to his head. "Before you died. Which, it seems, you did not. Now she looks at me like she doesn't know me. I am confused."

The Duke gave a brief summary of what had happened—the accident, the amnesia, the chance meeting with the help of Evie.

Lindenstein collapsed on the marble bench. "What a story! It's a miracle. You truly do not remember him? Or me? Nothing at all?"

"Some of my earlier memories are returning in fragments, without rhyme or reason. I'm sorry, but no, I don't remember you." She shook her head regretfully.

"We need to discuss this further." He looked up and glanced at the ballroom entrance where several footmen were gathered, receiving instructions from the butler. He frowned in consternation. "But not now. They are looking for me. I must leave before they find me. We will talk. We will talk!" He pointed at Lena, nodded at the Duke, then disappeared between the boxwood hedges.

Lena found herself alone with the Duke. Suddenly shy, she forgot her resolve to talk to him. "I must go too." She turned to leave.

"Stay," he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush against hers, sending a shiver down her spine.

"But I have one more performance, and the others…" Her words trailed off as his grip tightened gently.

"Dance with me," he whispered, his voice husky. The strains of violins playing a waltz lingered in the air. The grip in his hand tightened ever so slightly, drawing her closer until she stood before him, their eyes locked. He placed his hand on the small of her back, a light pressure leading her into a slow turn.

They danced between the hedges, the night air thick with the scent of roses and the melody of the waltz. She was light on her feet, easily following his steps, humming softly to the tune.

As they danced, a memory washed over her, vivid and undeniable. A memory of another ballroom, and his arms holding her close. A memory of a heart overflowing with an almost painful joy.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, a soft smile gracing her lips. In a sudden, sweet rush, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

The dance stopped abruptly. He froze. Then, when she thought he wouldn't respond, he pulled her in, pressing her tightly against him, the warmth of his body enveloping her. A wave of comfort washed over her. It was all so familiar; him, the way he felt against her, the way he smelled.

Once more, a golden warmth blossomed in her chest, a flicker of something she thought had been extinguished. Could it be? Was the love she thought lost still glimmering deep inside her?

The realisation hit her, leaving her breathless.

He released her gently and stared back at her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes. A silent question hung heavy in the air.

He released her abruptly, stepping back as if the connection between them had never existed. "The Prussian and French delegations are waiting for me." The cool night air blew between them. "I have several meetings to attend before I can retire. I believe you mentioned you have one more performance."

His tone was stiff and formal. Lena shivered. Self-consciously, she smoothed her hands over her dress. "Yes." She glanced around, feeling disoriented. "The performance." She'd completely forgotten about that.

"We shall meet at home, then." He gave her a curt nod, turned and walked away, leaving Lena to stare after him.

She replayed the kiss in her memory over and over again, wondering whether she had made a terrible mistake. She had wanted to see whether her memory had been true, so without thinking, she'd grabbed his face and kissed him. She'd been right about the kiss triggering memories. The locket, the rose garden, the ballroom, the dance, Elizabeth, their first kiss—oh! That kiss. It had all come rushing back to her, overwhelming her, while at the same time wrapping her in a feeling of homecoming after a long journey.

How could she have been so impulsive? The poor man had clearly been caught off guard and had had no idea what to do, so he'd kissed her back, out of politeness…Her entire body was burning with shame, and she felt like crawling into a mouse hole. No wonder he was all cold and polite afterwards. What must he think of her?

Lena paced in her room, waiting for the Duke's return two hours later. When she heard his footsteps in the corridor, she slipped out of the door and caught him just before he entered his bedroom.

"Lena." He nodded at her. He'd discarded his coat and tugged at this neckcloth.

"I know it's late, but I was wondering if we could have a moment to talk." She gestured helplessly.

He followed her into the parlour. The fire was still burning, and she stepped in front of it, rubbing her hands, although she was not at all cold.

"What do you want to talk about?" He rubbed his jaw. He looked pale and there was a strain about his eyes.

"About…earlier." About the kiss. She gave a quick shake of her head and rushed on. "I wanted to let you know that some memories have returned. It happened twice. Once, just before I met Lindenstein. And then when we waltzed." When we kissed .

He clasped his hands behind his back. His face showed no expression at all. "What did you remember?"

She rubbed her hand along the mantelpiece. "Earlier, I remembered the locket and a conversation I had with a friend in the jewellery shop where I had the locket made. I remembered Elizabeth."

He nodded. "Lady Wilton. She is married now and has three children."

Lena placed her hands on her cheeks. "Elizabeth—married! Of course she would be," she murmured more to herself. "She always wanted children. How glad I am for her!"

A smile trembled on her lips. "What I wanted to say, actually, was that I remembered a conversation we had and, and—" She stumbled over the words. She stepped forwards and resolutely took his hands. "I remembered that I was very fond of you." The last few words rushed out of her.

It was an understatement, but she couldn't bring the word ‘love' over her lips. Did he understand? The echo of her confession hung heavily in the air.

When he remained silent, she looked up and saw his jaw was set in a grim line. "Are you certain that your memory was not deceiving you?" His words hung harshly between them.

Lena dropped her hands. "Deceiving? How so? It is predominantly the feelings that I seem to remember. I am certain my feelings do not lie."

He squared his shoulders, and he seemed to retreat within himself. It was as if he'd pulled up an invisible wall around him that she could not breach .

Turning slightly away, he said, "A word of advice. Do not put too much faith in the truth of your feelings. You may find them to be fickle, or worse, untrue."

She blinked. Before she could ask what he meant, he turned to the door. "If you will excuse me. It is late and I am rather tired." With that he left.

Lena remained behind.

What had that been about?

She rubbed her nose in confusion. She'd thought he would be glad that her memories were returning. Why did she have the feeling it was the opposite, that he did not want her to remember? She had almost, not quite, but close enough, declared that she loved him. ‘Fond' wasn't nearly the same as ‘love', but she'd summoned all her courage and told him that she remembered that she'd liked him.

Rather a lot.

So why did he have the demeanour of a man who had been told like the world had just ended?

Truth be told, his behaviour had changed since that moment they'd danced in the garden. Since she'd kissed him. When she'd looked at him and realised that her feelings were no longer forgotten.

She pressed a hand to her heart.

They were still there, those precious feelings.

Her eyes filled with tears, not because she was sad, but because she was endlessly relieved that she'd remembered her love for him.

But he had withdrawn immediately. As if shutters had closed inside him, creating an invisible barrier between them, leaving her utterly confused and a little hurt.

Why was he pulling away, and what was she supposed to do about it?

She snatched up the poker and thrust it into the glowing embers of the fireplace with a frustrated motion, sending a shower of sparks shooting upwards like tiny fireworks. She leaped back, avoiding the fiery spray.

Was that it? Was he retreating because he, too, was afraid of getting burned?

She dropped the poker with a clatter to the hearth and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

If only she could understand the man!