The Accidental Empress (23 page)

“What? Oh, but this is utter nonsense.” Sophie, mouth agape, stared from Sisi to Ludovika to Helene. Turning back to Sisi, she stammered: “But you can’t possibly be serious. You, with your countrified manners? As wild as your boor of a father? Am I really to believe that
you
imagine yourself the next empress of Austria?”

Sophie turned her gaze on Helene now. “And you? You, who have barely spoken two words together since you stepped out of the coach. You would allow your sister to snatch away your groom? Your title? To steal the life for which I . . .
we
 . . . have chosen you?”

Under the table Helene took Sisi’s hand, giving it a squeeze. It was just what she had needed, and Sisi inhaled, prepared to defend herself. But before Sisi could answer her incredulous aunt, she noticed a figure in the doorway. Franz. He had appeared, undetected, and her heart leapt involuntarily at the sight of him. He looked every inch the emperor, dressed in his starched uniform, his hair brushed back smartly, his face calm.

“Mother?”

Startled, Sophie turned to see her son. “Oh, Franzi! Why, I wasn’t expecting you.” Sophie smiled, her eyes flashing momentarily to Sisi before she lowered her wide figure into a chair at the table, as if overcome.

“I was wondering, Mother, if I might have a word with you?” A muscle in Franz’s cheek twitched, but he retained complete mastery of his emotions, his eyes fixed on his mother.

“I was just talking to your cousins, Franzi. Give us a moment. Why don’t you go—”

“Please, Mother.” Franz lifted a gloved hand and his mother stopped speaking. “I’m afraid it can’t really wait.” His eyes darted toward Sisi, resting on her for only a moment. But it was long enough for both Sophie and Sisi to notice.

For the rest of the day, Sisi, her mother, and her sister were ushered and escorted through town on a never-ending itinerary of guided activities by a palace secretary named Herr Lobkowitz. It had been at Franz’s suggestion, a thinly veiled excuse to draw them out of the palace. The thought of the girls staying back to hear—even participate in—the discussion of their futures had not been an option.

They were shown the village cathedral, the market square, and the riverside. Though none of them felt up for much conversation, they listened politely as this palace guide, this Herr Lobkowitz, accompanied them to lunch and then for a walk to one of the lowland water springs.

All the while, Sisi’s mind wandered back to the Kaiservilla, where she hoped Franz was winning the right to dictate his own future. Did he stand any chance against the iron will of his mother, a well-known negotiator who had won her son the crown with nothing more than her words?

They arrived back at the imperial complex that evening, where they were greeted by the unwelcoming scowl of Countess Esterházy and ushered directly into a small, windowless dining room. There, the three of them were served a generous dinner of Viennese potato soup, followed by veal dumplings in a sauce of garlic and parsley. None of them felt much like eating, or talking.

Afterward, when they retired to the drawing room, Sisi noticed that, though they were treated as honored guests, they were accompanied by the same two palace aides: Countess Esterházy, with her fixed frown, and the same Herr Lobkowitz, a short, monocled man of vaguely middle age. The two of them stood at the ready, lingering in the corners of the room and watching the ladies like officious governesses.

After-dinner drinks were served. Cards were offered for playing, and declined. A court musician entered to play the piano. Outside night fell, and inside the room grew dark. Sisi paced the salon, restless, wondering how she might slip this guard to find Franz. After a while, Herr Lobkowitz stepped forward, a solicitous smile on his face. Looking at Ludovika, he asked if she and her daughters “might like to be escorted back to their bedchambers now?”

“Yes, fine,” Ludovika answered, draining her wineglass and placing her napkin crossly on the end table. Under her breath, but loud enough for the aide to hear, she muttered, “Now I know what house arrest feels like.”

They had neither seen nor heard from Franz and Sophie since breakfast, and Sisi couldn’t bear the thought of returning to her bedroom with no idea of where things stood. But as they were guided toward the front staircase, she detected the sounds of a muffled conversation occurring in Franz’s study. Sisi knew those two voices and she paused, rooted in place.

“But she is not fit, it is as simple as that. She is too young—a child really, too giddy. Unable to fulfill the role and all of its obligations.”

“Doesn’t my love for her make her more fit than any other, Mother?”

“Love?
Love
has nothing to do with it.” Sophie’s tone was pleading, a tone that Sisi had never heard her use in public. A tone reserved only for her precious son. “Why, love is nothing more than a passing fancy. Come now, my dear Franzi. You’ve always made the right choice. You always do what is best for the empire. Surely, in this case, you must see that she is entirely ill-suited for the—”

“Mother, isn’t what’s best for the empire a happy emperor?”

“But you are mistaken to think that
she
is the one to make you happy. Her? With her wild character? No, you are being impulsive, and refusing to listen to me.” Sisi could hear that Sophie’s tone was taking on a pitch of mounting desperation; she was not used to hearing her arguments opposed. “One does not make such an important decision as to whom to marry based on
love
. I have never known you to display such rash and incautious—”

“Miss Elisabeth, if you please?” The diffident palace aide, Herr Lobkowitz, stood beside Sisi, sticking to her like a pesky fly. Waiting. Insisting that she continue up the staircase with greater haste. Sisi longed to protest, to tell this man that
she
was the young lady whose fate was in question on the other side of the door, and that that afforded her a right to listen. But a stern look from her mother told Sisi that she had better oblige, and she glumly assented to climbing the stairs.

“Please have them bring some wine to the bedroom,” Sisi told the short, monocled man. If she hoped to sleep at all, she would have to numb this thickening anxiety somehow.

They were served breakfast in their bedroom the next morning. Before they had finished their coffee, there was a knock on the door. Sisi clutched Helene’s hand. “Come in.”

It was a familiar face that appeared at the door.

“Agata!” Sisi rose from the table, running to greet her maid.

“Miss Sisi!” Agata quickly entered the room, staring at her young mistress with an appraising look. “Miss Sisi, you are causing quite the stir in this household. It’s all anyone can talk about in the kitchens. How the emperor is going head-to-head against his old mum over you.”

“Agata, we’ve been completely isolated. What are you hearing?” Sisi whispered.

“Just that they’ve been arguing for days, since you arrived. It’s very unusual for them to argue so. But the emperor won’t drop his suit.” Agata turned to look over her shoulder nervously. Footsteps sounded from the carpeted hallway.

“Someone’s coming.” The maid ran toward the bed and retrieved the chamber pot, picking it up just in time. Countess Esterházy appeared at the open doorway. The tall, pinch-faced woman spied Agata and cast a skeptical look toward her, but let her pass with the chamber pot. Poor Agata would probably be scolded later for venturing upstairs when she was supposed to remain below in the kitchens.

The lady-in-waiting turned from the exiting Agata toward Sisi. “Excuse me, I’ve been sent to summon you, Duchess Elisabeth.”

Sisi nodded, walking toward the frowning matron. Helene rose to join her.

“No, I do apologize.” The countess lifted a hand before Helene, sounding very unapologetic. “Just the Duchess Elisabeth.”

To what fate was she being marched? Sisi descended the stairs behind her aunt’s ally, wishing she might walk faster. She was ushered into the large dining room.

“Please be seated, Duchess Elisabeth.” Countess Esterházy gestured a gloved hand toward a carved chair at the table.

“Thank you.” Sisi waited for what felt like an interminable length of time. She glanced often at the mantel: the hand of the marble clock marched evenly on, covering three-quarters of an hour. Restless, Sisi rose from her chair and began to pace the large space.

As she walked to the window, she noticed an unexpected figure in the courtyard.
Franz!
Mounting the saddled Sieger. Instinctively, she rapped on the window, trying to get his attention. But he didn’t hear her. He nudged the horse with his heel and they sped across the forecourt, past Sisi, past the guards at the front gate, and out of the complex.

Just like that, he was gone. Left the palace. Surely this did not bode well, Sisi thought, her heart aching. Franz had surrendered.

“Excuse me, Duchess Elisabeth?” Countess Esterházy reappeared. Did her features know how to fold in any way other than a look of perpetual disapproval?

“Yes?” Sisi still stood beside the window.

“I am to escort you back to your suite.”

“But . . . but I have seen no one,” Sisi protested. “What is happening?”

The lady-in-waiting shrugged, offering no scrap of additional information.

Sisi sighed and followed the countess out, marching back up to her bedchamber.

“Sisi!” Helene waited for her, pacing the room. “What news?”

“None at all.” Sisi dropped wearily onto a chair. She noticed, with considerable sadness, that Helene had packed up their trunks while she had been downstairs. “You’ve packed?”

“Just in case. Not because I think . . .”

“No, you were correct to guess at the outcome. I saw no one. But Franz has left the palace, that much I know.”

Midday came and passed but they were served no luncheon, nor were they informed what had happened to Sophie or Franz. In the early afternoon, when Sisi poked her head out the door, she noticed Countess Esterházy pacing the hallway like an indefatigable sentry. So that was why Mamma had not come to them.

Sophie must be relishing her victory. Once more, she was the devoted mother and advisor, willing to do whatever it took to protect her son. Not only had she saved her son from such an unfathomably ill-suited match, she’d also reasserted her power as the most powerful woman in his life. She’d proven, once more, why
she
was referred to, by many, as “the Empress.”

“Excuse me, Duchess Elisabeth.” This time, Herr Lobkowitz appeared at the door.

“Yes, what is it now?” Sisi grumbled, her patience long expired. If Franz had lost, then couldn’t she just be allowed to go home without further punishment?

“Would you accompany me, one more time, Duchess?” The aide touched the monocle, a nervous gesture, where it perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, very well,” Sisi frowned, exchanging a look with her sister. “It’s not as though I have anything else to do.”

Again she was deposited in the large dining room, and again she was shut in, alone, with nothing but the sound of the clock to divert her thoughts.

The wait was shorter this time. The door opened without a knock and Sisi was stunned to stare into the face of her aunt.