Page 32 of A Touch of Charm
There was a thud in the adjacent room.
Thea felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. She could discern the harsh, clipped tones of German and the flowing cadence of French, both voices rising in anger.
Stan had warned her of the person he suspected ordered her abduction.
“Baron von List,” Andre mumbled as if the name tasted bad.
“Is he here?” Thea fought the impulse to hook her arm into Andre’s and hold him tight.
“I don’t think so, but I might not know all the patients who arrived while I was at the wedding.” Andre moved closer to her, his presence a steadying force. “Stay here,” he murmured, his tone protective yet calm. “I’ll go look what’s happening.”
“Don’t! He’s dangerous!” Thea pulled Andre back.
“Yes, you’re right. He’s a threat. Let me see if it’s him at all,” Andre said.
But before he could step, the door swung open again, and two men stumbled into the hall, locked in a furious argument. Though different in style, their uniforms bore the marks of nobility and military distinction. Judging by his attire, the taller of the two, a Bavarian soldier with a proud, aristocratic bearing, had eyes that blazed with anger. His opponent, obviously a French imperial guard in a blue coat with golden epaulets, was of equal stature and spat his words with venom, his accent thick and unmistakable.
“How dare you, Heinrich!” the Frenchman shouted, echoing off the high ceilings. “Your kingdom benefitted from Napoleon’s brutality! Do not pretend to be above reproach!”
Heinrich, his jaw clenched in righteous anger, fired back. “And what of your own country’s sins, Jacques? France tore Europe apart for the sake of one man’s ambition. You have no right to lecture me on honor!”
Thea’s heart pounded as she watched the confrontation unfold. She observed the two men and the subtle indicators of their noble status, the quality of their uniform materials, the intricacy of their embellishments, and their demeanor. The German-speaking man wore aRittmeister’scavalry uniform that was so finely tailored that Thea had no doubt he was of highest ranks. And the Frenchman wore reinforced breeches like the Hussar’s of Napoleon’s Grande Armée. These were not just soldiers; they were men of noble descent, their titles and lands intertwined with the turbulent history of post-Napoleonic Europe. And they were at odds, seemingly trying to provoke one another by wearing formal uniforms even when they were patients at the same rehabilitation center.
Andre cleared his throat. “Dr. Andre Fernando, an orthopedist. And this is—”
“Princess Josephine Theodora Andrea Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen.” Thea knew her rank was higher, and she didn’t hesitate to use it in this instant. “I was assured of diplomatic neutrality at this establishment.”And I will not submit to either of you, lest you threaten the independence of Transylvania.
Both men straightened their postures, their expressions shifting from anger to something more controlled and respectful. As the tension in the room dissipated, Heinrich and Jacques seemed to recognize the need for civility.
Heinrich was the first to step forward. He removed his hat, inclining his head in a gesture of deference. “Please allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Heinrich von Thurn und Taxis, Count of Bavaria.” Though still tinged with the remnants of anger, his voice held a note of genuine respect. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness.”
Thea nodded graciously. “Count Heinrich, thank you. I appreciate your introduction.”
Jacques followed suit, his expression softening as he approached. He offered a formal bow, his French accent smooth and refined. “Your Highness, I am Jacques Devereux, Marquis of Lyon. I apologize for the disturbance we caused. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
Thea returned his bow with a slight curtsy. “Lord Jacques, thank you for your introduction. Let us hope that from this moment on, we can find common ground and peace within these walls.”
“May I ask, Your Highness, whether you are the same Princess Josephine betrothed to Prince Ralph of Habsburg?”
Thea swallowed hard, and her breath shook. “Yes, I am.”
When Thea answered, the marquis gave her a knowing look, almost like the once-over of a matron at the balls. Although she’d accepted a dance with their sons, her reputation as the runaway princess seemed to have caught up with her. The marquis didn’t offer any congratulations on the betrothal.So, news had spread indeed.
Andre truly must have heard what had been said. The words, careless and cutting, still lingered in the air. She was the runaway princess, the stupid and selfish one who didn’t want to marry a Habsburg prince. And yet, there was so much more to her she wished to show Andre. She longed to explain herself. Thea’s gaze darted to Andre’s again, searching for a sign, a reassuring glance that might dispel her fears that he wouldn’t care for a chance to know her better. The air around her felt charged with uncertainty. Thea’s fingers clenched into a fist at her side, desperate to hold onto something tangible, preferably Andre.
But Thea remained steadfast as her upbringing commanded.
Both men nodded politely, their initial hostility giving way to mutual understanding.
Thea’s outwardly calm demeanor and grace had set the tone for a more amicable interaction, and for a moment, it seemed as though peace might indeed be possible—if not in her life, then at least between the nations of the nobles present. Amazingly, neutrality at Cloverdale House seemed to work.
“Dr. Rosen said you’d come to see me,” the count said. “Sie sind aus Wien?” Are you from Vienna? The question was directed to Andre.
“Ich habe dort studiert, jawohl.” I studied there, yes.
Andre bowed and turned to Thea stiffly, his expression unreadable as he barely held her gaze. “Perhaps we should have tea,” he suggested, his voice measured, lacking the warmth she had come to cherish.
Thea nodded, her heart fluttering with a mix of apprehension and hope. “Yes, tea would be lovely,” she replied, though her voice wavered despite her efforts to keep it steady. Her mind swirled with the fear that his formality signaled a shift, a retreat into the safe confines of decorum, which would ruin her hope that he felt as she did.
