Masks and Shadows (34 page)

Charlotte stifled a sigh. She hadn't been in the music room since the disastrous summoning, four nights ago. She had no desire to return.

“If Your Majesties and Your Highness will forgive me . . .” She curtseyed deeply.

“My dear Baroness, don't say that you're leaving now. What, and miss the recital?” The Princess turned her cool gaze onto Charlotte. “I couldn't possibly brook such an insult to Signor Morelli's talents.”

Under the combined gaze of three royals, Charlotte surrendered. There would be no hour of escape, after all. “Of course not, Your Highness,” she murmured. “I only need to . . . refresh myself. I would be honored to join you in the music room.”

“I am glad. We'll expect you there in half an hour, then.”

As Charlotte backed away, the Prince finally disengaged himself from the whispered conversation and returned to his wife and guests with a nod and a smile. “What have you decided upon, my dear?”

“We are to enjoy a recital,” she said. She placed one hand on his arm and frowned at him. “What were you discussing for so long, Nikolaus? Is aught amiss?”

He shook his head and covered her hand with his own. “Only a small mishap,” he said. “Nothing of any significance.”

“Dead?” Charlotte repeated.

She stared at her sister. Sophie was sprawled across her bed, surrounded by scattered fashion journals and five of the costumed dolls that were sent to her from Paris every season to show off the latest designs and hairstyles. She looked utterly undisturbed by the news she'd just related.

“What do you mean,
dead
? How did Mr. Guernsey die?”

“Well, he was attacked by a horrible smoke creature, wasn't he? Honestly, Lotte! How do you think he died?”

“But the physician said that he was recovering.”

“Oh, physicians will say anything.” Sophie shrugged. “Anyway, the physician himself was the one who found Mr. Guernsey this afternoon, just after dinner. So, obviously, he was wrong.”

Charlotte sank down onto the bed. “That poor man!”

“Mm.” Sophie sighed. “What do you think?” She pulled together two of the dolls. “I was thinking I might order this underskirt”—she held up the first doll—“but matched with the overdress
á la reine
, from this one.” She gestured with the second doll. “Do you think they would match?”

“I don't know. Probably.” Charlotte shook her head. “How can you worry about such a thing? Poor Mr. Guernsey was perfectly healthy only a few days ago, and now . . .”

“I know, I know. It's terrible.” Sophie sat up, pushing the dolls aside. “But please, spare me any self-righteous lectures. I was horrified when I first heard of it, I really was. But that was hours ago, while you were off enjoying yourself with Niko's guests.”

“I was not enjoying myself.”

“Of course you were. And I was trapped here, bored out of my mind. I'm going crazy in this room, Lotte!” Sophie grabbed Charlotte's hand. “Tell me everything. What did they talk about? What did they do?” She scowled. “Did
she
smirk and cling to Niko the whole time?”

“The Princess?” Charlotte sighed. “No, she didn't smirk. Or cling. She was very . . . dignified.”

“Cow.”

Charlotte bit her lip. She couldn't remove the image of the little Englishman from her head. He'd always been so pathetically eager to please. So excited about his visit.

“It was a monstrous poor entertainment that the Prince insisted upon, with Count Radamowsky.”

Sophie grimaced. “You needn't tell me that. I vow, my heart nearly stopped when that thing floated past me. Those horrid red eyes—oof. It gave me nightmares!”

Charlotte leaned forward. “How did the Prince know to request—no,
insist
upon the elemental?”

“What do you mean?”

“Count Radamowsky had only just arrived. How did the Prince—”

“How would I know? Niko doesn't talk about that sort of thing with me. I'm not interested in all his tedious correspondence.”

“I wouldn't call the elemental tedious.”

“I told Niko I didn't want to see that thing ever again. But he said he would protect me from it.” A secretive smile played around Sophie's lips. “He was very—impressive, in his apology.”

“Not to Mr. Guernsey.”

“Don't be disgusting!” Sophie stared at her. “I don't know what's wrong with you lately. Is it that freakish castrato turning your head? I am very sorry that Mr. Guernsey died, of course I am. But aren't you at all relieved that it wasn't anyone more important?”

“I'm sure he was important enough to his own family.”

“But they aren't our concern. And regardless, it was an
accident
. Or had you forgotten that part?”

“Sophie . . .” Charlotte took a breath. “Haven't you considered—the singers? The ones who ran away?”

“Yes?”

“They were killed by having their blood drained out of them. Just as that elemental started to do—did!—with Mr. Guernsey.”

Sophie blinked, drawing back. “What a perfectly horrid thought.”

“But what if it's more than just a coincidence? Is it possible? What if—”

“What if—
what
?” Sophie shook her head. “You're overwrought, Lotte. It's a mere coincidence. They were killed miles and miles from Eszterháza, in completely different circumstances. Besides, Count Radamowsky was in Vienna at the time, and I hardly think two common runaways were holding séances to summon up elementals, do you?”

“I didn't say that. I'm asking you . . .” Charlotte paused. “Do you truly believe, in your heart, that the Prince was entirely innocent in that first death?”

“You think Niko—that
Niko
—?” Sophie let out a breath of disbelieving laughter. “Have you gone mad?”

“I'm not saying that he must have been involved. I'm only asking—”

“It was a horrible, nasty little coincidence, but that is all. And no matter how many coincidences there ever were, there would never be enough for you to speak against Niko. Not ever! And especially never to me.” Her blue eyes steeled. “Do you understand?”

Charlotte looked at her younger sister, surrounded by dolls and journals, and all of her planned words dried up in her mouth. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I suppose I do.”

“Good.” Sophie looked back at the exquisitely dressed doll in her hands. “I won't mention your foolishness to anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“It's getting late, you know. You should hurry to be at the recital.” She laughed shortly, still looking down at the doll. “Just don't let yourself forget that you're a true part of the audience, this time. Not on the same level as hired entertainment.”

Charlotte shook her head wearily as she rose to her feet. “I don't know why the Princess insists on inviting me to these functions. I can't even imagine—”

“I can,” said Sophie. “She's using you to gloat over me. It makes perfect sense.” Her lips twisted. “It's exactly what I would do, in her place.”

“Well.” Charlotte sighed and straightened her shoulders. “I'd better go back for more gloating, then.”

After the recital finished, after the customary gifts of appreciation from the Prince and the Emperor had been received, and after all the kind words from the Princess and the Empress, Carlo saw Baroness von Steinbeck waiting to approach him. He hadn't looked at her once during the performance; he'd trained his gaze away from her that entire day. But in that single involuntary flash of vision, he saw her face, pale and troubled, and his resolve weakened.

The royal patrons had already moved on to Herr Haydn. Carlo detached himself from the Prince's giggling niece and walked toward the Baroness. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, then looked down again. He watched her long fingers plait themselves nervously together.

“The music was marvelous, signor.” She smiled faintly. “As usual.”

“I thank you, Baroness.” He half-bowed, keeping his voice cool. “I'm pleased you decided to attend, after all.”

“Signor . . .” She paused, then looked him directly in the eye. “I must apologize to you.”

He stiffened. “No apologies are necessary. I clearly misjudged your feelings last night. Rest assured, madam. I won't offend you in that way again.”

“I wasn't talking about that!”

“You weren't?”

“No!” She stared at him, her light brown eyes wide. “I meant . . .” She hesitated, glancing around the crowded room, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I—Signor—I wasn't apologizing for last night.”

“Really?” He lowered his voice to match hers. “I thought you'd made it abundantly clear that you regretted it.”

Color flushed her cheeks. “Not because—that is, you didn't misjudge what I wanted last night. As you must know.”

A woman laughed, close by. Carlo made his voice the barest whisper.

“Then why did you walk away without a word?”

She looked down. “I couldn't—I mustn't follow my own desires. I can't! Sophie was right. I owe her a duty, and my family . . .”

“. . . Not to involve yourself with a common musician, you mean.” His mouth twisted on the words.

She let out a puff of air, not quite a laugh. “You are anything but common, signor.”

“No? You mean to say, I'm a freak.”

Her face jerked up. “You are deliberately misunderstanding me.”

“And you are insulting me.”

“Only because you insist upon—”

“My dears.” The Princess's amused voice cut across the Baroness's angry whisper. She patted the Baroness's arm and smiled at both of them serenely. “We are moving on to dinner. Do please join us.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Baroness said softly.

She curtseyed, Carlo bowed, and the Princess glided away. The room emptied rapidly, as the rest of the court swirled behind the royal leaders, including Monsieur Jean, who lingered near the back and sent Carlo an impudent wink on his way out. Carlo gave him a withering look in return, but the man only grinned.

As the last few groups left the room, Carlo turned back to the Baroness, dismissing all the rest.

“Well, madam?”

She shook her head, her face tight. “I don't know what to say.”

“No? I thought you were telling me how I had overstepped myself.”

They were alone now.

“You did nothing wrong. It was I who—”

“Baroness, you cannot avoid insulting me by telling me that you were wrong to accept my advances. That is anything but flattering.”

“As I recall, they were my advances,” she said crisply.

A tight knot of tension in Carlo's chest released itself. He began to laugh helplessly. “Madam . . .”

“And I don't know what you find amusing.” She raised one hand to her head. “I don't even know what I'm doing here! I promised Sophie I wouldn't talk to you, and now I'm arguing with you in private.”

Carlo shook his head. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to take her hand. It was cool and firm in his grasp. Her fingers closed around his palm.

He raised her hand to his lips and saw her eyes half-close with pleasure.

“My poor Baroness,” he murmured. “I could happily throttle your sister, you know.”

She bit her lip but did not release his hand. “It isn't Sophie's fault. She only repeats what we were taught all our lives. What anyone would say.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I'm sure—I mean, it must be true. I know it is. It's only . . .”

“Quite.” He slowly untangled his fingers from hers, regretting every lost touch. “Your family would never understand a misstep.”

“They've made that very clear, in the past.” She took a deep breath. “I've always done my duty. I always will.”

“I understand.” He sighed. “I wish I didn't.”