Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

The golden-haired Adonis whom she'd met at the ball had arrived without warning and made himself at home in her drawing room. The children were out, as was the Duke, and Lena, still reeling from her newfound memories, was at a loss as to what to do with him.

He'd thrown his stick on the sofa, peeled off his gloves, tugged at his neckcloth, and collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace with a groan. She frowned as their eyes met.

"Join me, Catherine," he'd begged. "Regardless of whether you remember me or not. I am in need of a friend. I am at my wits' end. What am I to do?" He buried his head in his hands.

"First of all, coffee." She'd brought in a tray and handed him a cup. "Now, tell me everything."

And he had.

"I have fallen in love with someone whom I am not supposed to love," he confessed. "It is a great secret that I have carried around with me like a millstone around my neck." He gave another tug at his neckcloth. "It's suffocating me not to be able to talk about it."

"There is nothing wrong with loving someone," Lena had countered. "Most of us do at some point in our lives, I dare say."

"Yes. But I am not ‘most of you'." He leaned back his head back against the armchair.

"What exactly does that mean?"

He hadn't answered, but merely sighed a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his tortured being. "It means that some of us can't love the way the rest of humanity does." He stared morosely into the fire.

She tilted her head with a frown. "You can't love like the rest of humanity? That doesn't make any sense at all."

"Shouldn't," he amended. "Maybe the correct word is ‘shouldn't."

She shook her head. "Equally nonsensical."

"I am in love. With a girl." His teeth worried at his bottom lip. "She is the granddaughter of a mathematician and scholar of natural philosophy. He's an Englishman who through some quirk of fate ended up living in Austria. Far up in the Alps, where fox and hare say goodnight to each other, like we say in German."

Lena bent forwards, listening intently. "Yes? But that sounds charming."

"Charming?" He tore his eyes open in horror. "She is outrageous. She dresses like a boy. Her hair is short. She's not beautiful. She spends more time in the stables than in the house and carries with her a whiff of manure everywhere she goes. She has straw in her hair. She eats with her fingers. She has a heart bigger than the universe, an intelligence that rivals her grandfather's, and she is better at arithmetic than I am. She weeps when she sees a dead fly. She is kind to a fault and altogether wonderful, and I want to marry her." He stared at Lena with horrified eyes. "By Apollo. I didn't just say this out loud, did I?"

Lena smiled serenely and folded her hands. "Like I said, she sounds charming. I think you should marry her. Does she love you?"

"Heavens, no." His shoulders slumped. "She thinks I am a good-for-nothing dandy and a rake who is incapable of putting two sentences together, which might actually be true, come to think of it. She hates me. Which is probably for the best." He heaved a sigh.

"Well then, I suppose you'll have to woo her."

He shook his head. "There is no time. Besides, if word ever got out that I'm courting an English mathematician's daughter…" He suppressed a shudder.

Lena frowned. "I don't understand. Is she socially inferior to you?"

Lindenstein opened his mouth to answer, when there was some banging outside, and the boys stumbled into the room.

"You won't believe what just happened, Mama," Hector said breathlessly. "We saw the Tsar ride by in the Prater, and he waved at me!" He stopped short when he saw Lindenstein. "Oh!"

"Not only that," Les said, stumbling in right behind him, "we also saw—oh!"

Theo came in. "You won't believe who we just saw—oh!"

The three boys stood in the room, mouths agape .

"Mama?" Lindenstein got up from his chair and looked at Lena with raised brows. "Did I understand them correctly?"

Hector pointed his finger at him. "He—he—he—is…"

Les took his spectacles off and cleaned them on his shirt, put them back on and proceeded to stare at him with owlish eyes.

"Are you who I think you are, or are you who I think you might be, but are not?" Theo demanded.

Lena blinked, confused. "Who do you mean, Theo?"

"He is—" Theo began.

"No one. No one at all," Lindenstein interrupted hastily, waving his hand in denial. "I'm definitely not who you think I am. That is completely out of the question. I am no one. A complete nonentity."

"Are you sure?" piped up Les, staring at him with his head tilted sideways.

"Absolutely. Unquestionably."

"Because I thought I just saw someone who looked remarkably like you riding with Emperor Francis at the parade of the emperors—but you are right, it must be a figment of my imagination, a trick of the mind." Theo continued to stare at him with bulging eyes. "I must most definitely be wrong. Members of the imperial family don't just turn up in our cramped little drawing room and drink coffee with Mama as though they'd been best friends for ten years or more." Theo collapsed into the chair as though his knees would give way.

"You are absolutely correct. They would never in their wildest dreams think of doing that, they would never stoop so low, they are far too proud and arrogant to do so; so let us all agree that I can't possibly be who you think I am." Lindenstein crossed his arms over his chest.

Lena looked from one to the other, a puzzled frown on her forehead. "I have no idea who you are talking about, Theo. This is Lindenstein. An old friend—of, er, the Duke of course."

Lindenstein pointed his fingers at the three boys who were still gaping at him. "And these are your sons? My arithmetic may be bad, but I don't think it's that bad. How can you be his mother? You would have been about five or six years old to give birth to that one." He pointed at Theo.

Theo jumped up again and made a crooked bow. "Allow me, Your Imperial Highn?—"

Lindenstein broke out into a loud coughing fit, drowning out Theo's words.

"Theophil Arenheim is my name, son of Doctor Simon Arenheim, musician and keen student of medicine. Helena Arenheim is our chosen mother. That rascal over there is Hector Arenheim, and the one with the glasses and the hair like a hedgehog is Achilles. Make your bows," he hissed to the boys, who followed suit and bowed crookedly.

Lindenstein waved them away. "Yes, yes, no need to bow. There is no need for ceremony. Back to what really matters." He turned to Lena. "How did you become their mother?"

"It's because Mama has lost her memory, you see," Les explained.

"That explains everything, of course." Lindenstein nodded solemnly as though all was crystal clear. Theo told him the story.

"I vow, the drama in this household is more interesting than anything they could put on in the Burgtheater. Fascinating! Catherine, who is now the fair Helena. Poor Aldingbourne." He shook his head. "I suppose that explains why he's been beside himself lately."

Lena perked up. "He has? In what way?"

"He seems rather distracted. Aldingbourne and distracted! I never thought I'd say those two words in the same sentence, but there it is. Watching him work is painful. He sits down, reads for five minutes, jumps up, paces, sits down again, jumps up again…it is extremely tiring. I immediately suspected it was a woman." Lindenstein grinned at Lena. "But when I dared to suggest it to him, he nearly tore off my head. Say, what have you got there?" He walked over to Les, who'd pulled out a handful of marbles and started playing on the carpet. "I haven't played marbles since I was your age." There was a note of longing in his voice. "May I join you?" He dropped to his knees beside the boy.

"Yes, but no cheating." Les told him severely.

"What, me? I never cheat," Lindenstein said, and promptly started to cheat. Hector and Theo joined in and soon everyone was crawling on the floor.

Lena shook her head and stepped out to bring some more fresh chicory coffee.

Just then, the Duke returned and handed her the stockings.

"Well met, Aldingbourne," Lindenstein said cheerfully as he snapped a marble with two fingers, but it missed its target. He groaned as the boys cheered. "I seem to have lost. Would you care to join us for another round?"

Aldingbourne demurred. "Why are you here?"

"To visit your lovely wife." Lindenstein stood and dusted his trousers. "And to meet your children." He grinned. "They are your children now, aren't they? Lucky fellow."

Lena's gaze snapped over to the Duke, but he neither confirmed nor denied the statement, instead proceeding to busy himself with pouring a glass of wine from the decanter on the sideboard. "A drink, Lindenstein?"

The children played another round of marbles while the men sat in front of the fireplace discussing the political topic of the day. Theo sat between them, flushed with happiness to be included in their debate.

She watched the three men, absorbed in their conversation. The light from the fire reflected in the Duke's hair with golden-orange glints. As he spoke, his face moved in animation, a slight smile crossing it as he watched Hector, his face softening.

She made up her mind not to tell him.

It was simply better that way.

As if sensing her observation, he looked up and their gazes locked. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Her stomach flipped. A very old, very familiar shyness crept over her.

In the past, she would have blushed and looked away and spent the remaining evening in a corner, blindly plunging her needle into a piece of embroidery, yearning to talk to him but being afraid to .

No.

She was no longer that Catherine.

She was Lena now.

And Lena did what she wanted.

So, she allowed her mouth to curve upwards into a smile as she stood up and stepped towards the men.

They rose from their chairs when she approached, and she waved her hand. "Don't let me disturb you." Lindenstein offered her his chair, but she pulled another one forwards. "I prefer to sit here. Now tell me all the political gossip in great detail so I can pass it on to Metternich's secret police."

Theo nearly spat out his wine. Lindenstein roared with laughter, and an appreciative glint lit up the Duke's eyes.

Lena patted her skirt. "It is not a joke, you see. I was approached by an agent, and I agreed to spy for them on the condition that he acquired us commissions for musical performances. That is the agreement." She looked at the Duke apologetically. "I hope you understand that it is nothing personal."

The gleam of amusement in the Duke's eyes died. "In truth, now. You were spying on me?"

"Of course. I have specific instructions to report everything you say and do to Agent August, as he is called. I tell him everything. Absolutely everything. That you prefer to drink your coffee with two lumps of sugar, but no milk. That you were wearing a dark blue coat and grey breeches yesterday, and that your stockings were very fine and matched your outfit." Lena hoped that her flippancy would serve to lighten up the situation. The icy look of fury in his eyes said that he was anything but amused.

Lindenstein, however, crowed with delight and slapped his hand on his thigh. "She is wonderful. Truly wonderful! I vow, if you weren't already married, I would marry you myself."

"No, you wouldn't, because you already have a girl waiting for you to marry. I expect an invitation to the wedding." Lena glanced at the Duke, whose face was still thunderous.

"Lighten up, my friend." Lindenstein patted him on the shoulder. "Everyone is into it, high and low. So what if one's own wife dabbles in a bit of harmless espionage? It's quite the rage these days, so you might as well get accustomed to it."

"Did you tell them anything of political significance?" he bit out.

"Of course." She stuck her nose in the air. "I am an excellent spy, you see. I told them, word-by-word, in the most exact manner, the conversation you had the other day. With Metternich."

Lindenstein laughed so hard he cried. "That's priceless! Oh, well done!"

"And tonight I shall do the same." She nodded to herself. "It will be a very long report, indeed. There is so much to tell! There will be a full description of the stockings you bought for me, and of Lindenstein playing marbles with the boys. It is a most pertinent piece of intelligence that Metternich must be informed of. As for politics, I have a shockingly terrible memory when it comes to names, and I sometimes tend to mix up things quite accidentally, of course. It is possible that I will write that you expect the British delegation, headed by Talleyrand, to be in unanimous agreement with the Prussians, headed by Castlereagh, and that Tsar Nesselrode of the French delegation wants to remain friends with the Austrian Emperor Wellington."

"In other words, you will write such a farrago of nonsense that they will not be able to make head or tail of it." Lindenstein grinned.

Lena folded her hands in her lap. "We understand each other perfectly."

The Duke did not smile, but the sternness on his face and the tension in his shoulders had marginally eased.

Lindenstein rose. "Well. I must say this has been one of the most entertaining evenings I've had in a long time." He shook hands with the children, who gazed at him in awe, and bowed over Lena's hand.

After the gentlemen had left, Lena turned to the boys. "And now. Tell me. Who is he?"

The Duke stepped out with Lindenstein and escorted him to his carriage.

"How are you coping with the situation, old friend?" Lindenstein asked abruptly. "And I don't mean the Congress."

Julius was silent for a long time.

"I suppose that silence is also an answer." Lindenstein clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "It must be a deuced difficult situation."

"She can't remember. If at all, then only fragments of the memories that were strongest in her mind, the good moments, of course." A wind blew a lock of black hair across his forehead, not knowing it made him look younger, more vulnerable. "She has painted a rosy picture of our marriage, a distorted one. Only you, Hartenberg, and Atherton know how matters really stood. It was an arranged marriage." He shrugged helplessly. "There is not really much more to say about that, is there?"

Lindenstein's eyebrow rose. "You have always been remarkably stoic about it, something I have always admired about you. I certainly am incapable of accepting arranged marriages with stoicism. I, for one, am determined to resist this fate with both hands and feet."

"Your father is pushing you into marriage?"

"He is trying his best." Lindenstein scowled. "But let us not change the subject. We were talking about you and Catherine. It was an unequal marriage. She was too young, you were too worldly; she was an innocent with no idea of the world, while you were decidedly not an innocent." He flashed a quick grin. "You had no head for anything but politics. She adored you anyway. We all knew that."

"Feelings I never reciprocated," Julius said bitterly.

"Did you not? Never?" Lindenstein threw him a swift glance. "What a strange thing for you to say. I would stake my life on the fact that you were rather fond of her, though you certainly had your own way of showing it. I also wouldn't say that a man who was as devastated by the death of his wife as you were was someone who never loved his wife. It almost destroyed you. Hartenberg and I even went to England in disguise, risking our lives to pull you out of your hole. It was a marvellous adventure." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "We were almost caught by the French and the English—but that is another story. My point being, this is not the behaviour of a man who has never loved his wife."

Julius exhaled heavily. "That trip was the most idiotic venture you ever embarked on."

"You know us. We like to live dangerously. Coincidentally, we also had some highly secret missives to deliver in the service of the fatherland." He made a dismissive wave with his hand. "Now forget I ever told you that." He leaned forwards and peered at him closely. "Are you certain it isn't just denial? Protecting yourself behind a mask of guilt? It might be quite convenient to not have to examine one's feelings too closely." He studied his fingernails. "I am speaking, of course, from experience."

"Guilt? Nonsense," Julius said gruffly.

"I know you took on full responsibility for the accident."

"Because I was responsible for it."

"Nonsense. You were in London; she was in Scotland. How could you have been responsible for it?"

"She left me. I—I could have—If I had taken better care of her, she would not have been so lonely, so unhappy. She would have had no reason to leave me." It suddenly exploded out of him in choppy bursts. "She wouldn't have had any reason to run away from me. I failed to care for her, to protect her, to love her. I failed as a husband in every way, and it cost her her life. If I had tried but a little harder, she would never have taken that stagecoach to Scotland with a drunk coachman who catapulted the vehicle straight over the bridge. Of course it was all my fault. How can anyone say it wasn't?" His voice had risen almost to a shout.

"But now it turns out that all that did not really happen," Lindenstein continued mercilessly. "Yes, there was an accident, but she did not die. She just lost her memory, and you found her again. And now?"

"And now I haven't the faintest notion who she is, who I am, who we are, or what, in the name of all that's holy, we are meant to be doing." He breathed heavily. "She is content, has a new family that loves her, and I am the monster who threatens to destroy her life. Again. It would be better for all of us if I left them well alone and disappeared this time."

"Except you have a son and heir." Lindenstein refused to relent. "Not something you can easily ignore. You would be an enormous fool not to fight for your woman and your only son."

He clenched and unclenched his fists. "The truth is, Klemens, that… I am not sure she is still my woman. While biologically mine, I am not heartless or cruel enough to claim only Hector and whisk him off to England. I couldn't do that to them."

"Then you must claim them all." An impish grin sprang across Lindenstein's face. "You will be the father of four children overnight. Some men have all the luck."

Julius groaned.

Laughing softly, Lindenstein turned towards his carriage, but swung back to him at the last moment. "Have you started to woo her?"

"Woo?"

"Yes, woo." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I am not a native speaker of English, but I believe the definition is commonly known to be ‘to court' or ‘to win the love of someone'. Have you never done that?"

Julius' eyebrows knit together.

"Flowers? Chocolates? Poems?" Lindenstein ticked off each item with his fingers. "Written by yourself, of course."

"Poems?" Julius' face was a study in horror. "Certainly not. And flowers? That girl, Mona, suggested the same." He shook his head. "But why should I give her flowers when she has an entire rose garden at Aldingbourne Hall, which she planted herself?"

"Had," Lindenstein corrected. "She had an entire rose garden. I speak of the present. Nothing at all? Chocolates?"

"I don't see the point."

"You're as romantic as a dry piece of bone. A hopeless case." Lindenstein shook his head. "Though take it from me, women, all women, no exceptions, like to be wooed. I'd wager all your problems will be solved in a jiffy." He snapped his fingers. "I ought to follow my own counsel and do the same myself."

"Stockings," Julius muttered through gritted teeth.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I gave her stockings." A blush crept up his neck. "Mind you, I don't normally buy stockings. Only because she said she wanted them but thought they were too expensive and couldn't afford them…"

Lindenstein's teeth flashed as he smiled. "Not such a hopeless case after all. That's an excellent beginning, mein Freund . Now you must proceed from there. It's child's play." He slapped him on the shoulder and climbed into his carriage.

"Woo her," Julius repeated as the carriage departed. "Child's play. How in blazes does one do that?"