The Accidental Empress (62 page)

Sisi’s heart tumbled in her breast, bouncing up into her throat, knocking the words off her lips.

Bowing before her, Andrássy took her hand to his lips and whispered: “Good night, Empress Elisabeth.”

“Good night, Count Andrássy.” She let him kiss her hand. Another breach in protocol. A harmless enough gesture, yet it prompted a shiver on her skin.

When he spoke, his face was close to hers, his voice barely a whisper. “Will you please call me Andrássy, just Andrássy? I’ve never really liked the idea of the title.”

“That makes two of us.”

XIV.

Sisi’s tutor:
Your Majesty wears her hair like a crown instead of the crown.

Sisi:
Except that any other crown is more easily laid aside.

Chapter Fourteen

HOFBURG PALACE, VIENNA

OCTOBER 1862

“Good morning, Elisabeth.”
The archduchess did not look up from her breakfast when Sisi’s entrance was announced. Sophie sat eating toast and pastries with the children, her waist full and round beside the small nursery table. At her feet her little dog snored.

“Good morning, Sophie. I’m here for the children.” It was a clear morning, warm, with the last hint of autumn’s softness, and Sisi was eager to take her children out into the gardens.

“They are not yet finished with their breakfast.” Sophie turned back to her coffee. She often resisted these scheduled morning outings.

“Well, this was the hour of my appointment. It should come as no surprise.”

Sophie sighed and put her cup down on the table. Mumbling some soft censure to Gisela, admonishing her granddaughter to sit up straight, Sophie turned to her daughter-in-law for the first time. “I’m not certain that today is the best day to go off gallivanting with the children. I had planned for Rudolf to see his tutor this morning.”

Sisi resisted the urge to scowl, reminding herself to remain calm. “He’s four, Sophie. He can play with his toy soldiers at any time. I’m sure his tutor need not supervise such activity.”

“My son . . . the emperor . . . began his military training when he was this age. Why, we had him in a military uniform at age four. I don’t expect you to understand the importance of this education, or the pressure the crown prince will someday shoulder. Not when your days consist of washing your hair and riding horses and . . . composing poetry.”

This stung. Plus, Sisi had not told her mother-in-law of her new hobby of composing poems, and she made a note to have Marie find out who this latest spy might have been. Nevertheless, Sisi let the comment go unanswered—Sophie’s barbed words had little consequence since Franz had sanctioned these visits, and both she and her mother-in-law knew that. Clapping her hands, Sisi walked toward the table. “Come, children, Mamma has arranged an outing to the pond. We shall go feed the ducks.”

“But I am still eating.” Gisela looked up, her bouncy curls pulled back in two tight braids. At six, she resembled her mother, yet resisted Sisi’s attempts to get close.

“Mamma has ordered a picnic, my love. We can eat again as soon as we are outside. We must go enjoy this sunshine.”

“I’m ready, Mamma!” Rudy rose from his chair and wobbled toward Sisi, landing in her skirt for a full-bodied hug.

“Hello, my darling boy.” Sisi leaned over and ran her fingers through his loose brown ringlets.

Sophie stared at Sisi, her eyes taking in her daughter-in-law’s tightly corseted waist. Sisi delighted inwardly: her narrow frame was her favorite way of defying her mother-in-law. With a waist cinched to just above eighteen inches, it was clear to all, especially her mother-in-law, that Sisi did not carry Franz’s child. She was master of her body once more, no longer living as a breeding mare whose sole purpose was to populate the Habsburg line.

Avoiding her mother-in-law, Sisi said, “Gisela?”

The little girl turned to her grandmother, awaiting her verdict.

Sophie sighed. “Go ahead, my darling.”

“But I wish to stay with you, Grandmamma.”

“But your papa says you must go.” Sophie scowled and slurped her coffee, now seated alone at the nursery table.

Outside in the Burggarten, the sprawling expanse of the imperial gardens reserved only for members of the royal family, the grass was warm from the sun’s light. Sisi spread an oversized blanket a few yards from the pond. She reached into a basket and retrieved bread, which she crumbled and handed to Rudy. “Stay close to me, my darling, understand?”

Rudy nodded, then ran toward the water, his hands dropping morsels of food before he had even reached the pond’s edge.

Her daughter stood at the far end of the blanket, watching her brother chase a row of ducklings. “Gisela, would you like some food for the ducks as well?”

Gisela shook her head, looking away from her mother. It was painful, her daughter’s coldness, but she understood it. This girl had lived almost the entirety of her six years under the constant supervision of her grandmother. Sisi had little hope that what the girl had heard about her absent mother had been positive. Or perhaps—an even more painful thought—she had heard
nothing
about her mother.

“Then how about some food for you? You said in the nursery that you wanted more breakfast.”

Now Gisela looked toward her mother, her tiny features still pulled tight in an untrusting scowl. “All right.” Gisela nodded.

“What would you like? I have boiled eggs.” Sisi riffled through the picnic basket she had ordered. “And cucumbers from the garden.”

“I want a cheese tart,” Gisela said, walking closer across the blanket.

Sisi shook her head. “We do not have any cheese tarts.”

“Then an apple strudel with
Schlag
.”

“I did not bring pastries.”

“Why not?” Gisela crossed her arms and puffed out her lower lip.

“Mamma!” Rudy was running back toward them, a terrified expression on his face.

“What’s the matter, my darling?” Sisi reached for her son, pulling him into a hug. She saw that, behind him, several ducklings trailed. “There, there, my darling. No need to be afraid. They are simply hungry.”

Rudolf looked at her, unconvinced.

“Go now, feed them.” Sisi handed him another fistful of crumbs and he reluctantly rose to walk back toward the ducks.

Gisela still looked at Sisi, reluctant to step closer to her and the picnic basket. “Grandmamma always brings pastries on picnics.”

Sisi thought about this. “Gisela, there is a queen in England named Victoria. She has eaten so many sausages and pastries in her life that, now, they say—” Sisi paused, looking into her little daughter’s hazel eyes as she blinked, her attention finally turned on her mother. A thought tugged on Sisi’s conscience: Was it wrong of her to share with her daughter her own fears, the dread she felt about growing large?

“Oh, never mind.” Sisi sighed, waving her hands. “How about this: how about once Rudy has fed the ducks, we go into the greenhouse. You see that building over there? The one built entirely in glass?”

Gisela followed her mother’s pointing. “Yes.”

“What do you suppose they have in there, my darling Gisela?”

“I don’t know.”

“They have butterflies. Butterflies in every color you could possibly imagine. Would you like to go pick your favorite?”

Gisela thought about this, her short arms crossed in front of her chest. Eventually, she nodded. Sisi could have leapt up in joy. A small victory.

Just then a carriage pulled up across the yard, stopping at the main entrance to the palace. Sisi watched as a dark-haired man alighted from it, extending his hand to help a woman step out.

Even from this far away, Sisi knew who it was. “Andrássy.”

Just then, he looked back over his shoulder, issuing an order to the footman. But there was no way he would see her, Sisi, not unless he knew to look all the way across the gardens. She shielded her eyes from the strong sun to gain a better look at him, and the woman who accompanied him. She didn’t recognize the lady, a blonde in a daytime gown of a rich fawn-colored brocade. Her curls were pinned back and partly covered by a matching cap, and Sisi was certain that this was not the wife whose image Andrássy had shown her. Katinka, he had called his wife. This light-haired woman smiled up at Andrássy as he escorted her toward the palace.

“Rudy?” Sisi called to her son, who turned at the sound of his name. “Rudy, come here for a moment.”

“I’m still feeding the ducklings,” her son protested.

“Just for a moment, I wish for you to see someone.” Sisi rose, taking her children each by the hand. “You see that man over there? I want you to remember his name; it is Count Julius Andrássy. Listen for his name, for he is a very good man and I think we all must learn from him.”

Just then, as if he heard his name mentioned, Andrássy searched the grounds, his stare landing squarely on Sisi. She stood up straight, tense, as their eyes held one another in a locked gaze, the distance between them suddenly removed.

Eventually, Andrássy bowed his head in her direction, a smile on his lips. The fair-haired lady beside him noticed this, and her look now fell on Sisi as well. The lady whispered something into Andrássy’s ear, as if to pull his attention back from the empress onto herself. Why, Sisi wondered, was she jealous of a woman whom she had never before seen?

Sisi visited the nursery two mornings a week, and attended church with her children and husband each week. On mornings when she was not with her children, she stayed in her rooms, nibbling on a light breakfast in bed and reading poetry and tending to her toilette: brushing her hair, having massages with oil, and experimenting with new creams and ointments that promised to keep her skin youthful and her waist tight.

Her beauty treatments took hours to complete, and she found that she often grew bored while waiting for Franziska to tame and style her long hair. For this reason, she worked on composing poetry and reapplied herself to her study of Hungarian.

“I’ve been terribly lax with my studies,” Sisi sighed to Marie, whom she was using as a tutor once more. She had enlisted Andrássy to find a suitable Hungarian maid with whom she might also practice.