An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6)(44)
“The Sudbury has made their equipage available for the duration of our stay,” the chancellor said as he climbed in after the baroness and I had settled ourselves. The captain swung himself up into a seat next to the driver, his hand resting loosely upon his sword. Duke Maximilian vaulted in next, leaving Stoker standing upon the pavement.
The duke favored Stoker with a grin. “The help rides on the outside,” the duke told him as the hotel’s doorman stepped smartly up to slam the door. The carriage gave a lurch as it sprang from the curb, leaving the crowds behind.
Stoker must have secured a seat for himself somewhere—or perhaps he hung on the back like one of the larger brachiating primates—for he was the one who opened the carriage door as soon as we arrived at the opera house. I was familiar with the venue, having attended the opera on the arm of Stoker’s eldest brother, Tiberius, upon occasion. Tiberius and I were enthusiasts whilst Stoker maintained that, apart from sea chanties, no decent music had been written since Handel.
With his witty urbanity and love of luxury, Tiberius was a delightful escort for an evening’s entertainment, and I had thoroughly enjoyed the hours spent in his velvet-draped box. But we had attended for love of the music, largely ignoring the crowds of society peepers gathered to gossip and survey with sharp-eyed interest all the goings-on—a far cry from being the guest of honor at a royal gala. My anonymous pleasure was at an end.
Stoker gave a smart bow as he handed us from the carriage, and I left my hand in his a moment longer than necessary, squeezing his fingers as I let go. An even larger crowd awaited us here, intent upon seeing the elusive Princess of the Alpenwald as well as the other dignitaries making an appearance. A long line of them stood on an azure carpet—the distinct Alpenwalder blue, I noted, laid no doubt as a compliment to the delegation. I walked towards them, inclining my head just enough to make the jewels swing a little. Any harder and they clattered against the frame, the baroness had warned me. The officials were a collection of diplomats, opera patrons, society beauties, and assorted hangers-on. The baroness prodded me discreetly in the ribs to stop in front of the most heavily decorated one, a tiny little man with the usual lavish Alpenwalder facial hair.
“Your ambassador,” the baroness said, concealing her mouth with a subtle flick of her fan. She had explained in the carriage that the ambassador had been an appointment of the princess’s grandfather and had not met the princess since she was a child. He would not recognize an imposter, she had assured me, and seeing his thick-lensed spectacles, I was inclined to agree with her.
I put out my hand, leaving it hanging in the air between us. “Excellency,” I began.
He seized it with real vigor and touched it to his forehead. “Your Serene Highness,” he pronounced, clicking his heels together as he bowed. “It is a very great honor to welcome you to our host nation’s most illustrious cultural institution for an event which will bind our two countries together even further in harmony.”
He bowed again at the conclusion of this pompous little speech and snapped his fingers. A child dressed in traditional Alpenwalder costume of embroidered dirndl and apron came forward, staggering under the weight of an enormous bouquet of white roses. The ambassador presented them to me with a flourish, and I took one deep, heady inhalation of the blooms. They were so wildly out of season, they must surely have come straight from the hothouse. I smiled my thanks and passed them to the baroness. She took them with a practiced gesture and I moved on. Duke Maximilian stepped up to escort me up the grand staircase, turning this way and that to nod to the assembled crowds as we ascended.
He shot me an amused glance. “You are a natural at this,” he whispered, taking care that his moustaches should brush my cheek.
“It is hardly difficult,” I said. I was aware of the baroness and chancellor hard behind us with the captain and Stoker bringing up the rear. The duke and I were presenting a picture of an intimate conversation, I had little doubt.
His smile deepened. “You would be surprised. Our late Queen Adelaide was not at all personable. She used to scowl at people. Of course, it might have just looked that way because of her moustaches,” he said with mock seriousness.
“Do not make me laugh,” I told him severely. “I am meant to be regal.”
He squeezed my hand where it lay upon his sleeve. “You are delectable and delicious and all things delightful, my dear. Do not wish to be anything other than you are.”
I opened my mouth to reprove him, but we had arrived at our box. A few minutes later we were seated, the baroness and myself in the front in a pair of little gilt chairs, with the duke and the chancellor behind us. I was glad of the baroness’s company—if for no other reason than she could continue to instruct me on points of etiquette—but I wondered at the wisdom of the arrangement as the duke leant forward and put his hands upon my shoulders.
“Do not look so startled, Princess,” he murmured. “I am to help you off with your cloak. You will be much too warm with it on.”
He exposed my bare shoulders, drawing the velvet and fur slowly away, teasingly. From behind him, I heard Stoker growl again and gave a sigh. It was going to be a very long evening.
* * *
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No sooner had we settled into the box than the concertmaster and conductor appeared, accepting the enthusiastic applause from the audience. The conductor turned, bowed to me, and lifted his baton, signaling the orchestra to strike up a thunderous tune with a martial melody. Immediately, the Alpenwalders leapt to their feet, but the baroness put a slipper firmly upon my dress, forcing me to stay seated.