Je T'aime. - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading Je T'aime., Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of Je T'aime..
After going an entire night with no sleep, I went downstairs to get a cup of coffee and to linger in the drawing room. I was convinced nothing was better on such a lovely, yet chilly, morning.
I was wearing a few petticoats in order to keep myself warm that morning. I was convinced that if we didn't move to Hofburg soon, everyone at court would freeze, turning into aristocratic icicles. But even as a cold winter draft blew in through the shabby window seals, the coffee in my hands was still warm and I was pretty well bundled up. I was content.
The plants in the garden were dormant, brown and wrinkled for the winter. Yet still, my father's gardeners were still loyally bent over the plants, wrapping the weaker ones with burlap and trimming the more sturdy varieties. It was like they never caught a break. The apple trees off in the distance were bare now. All of the fruit was taken into cold storage. My mouth watered thinking about the apple dishes we could be served at Christmastime. Our culinary staff was almost as dedicated as our gardeners. Though, Pia had told me that the two didn't really get along.
I took another sip of my dark, bitter liquid, lightly sweetened with fresh cane sugar from the Caribbean. I had heard all kinds of tales about those islands- lush greenery, sandy beaches, and gorgeous tropical birds. I also heard tales of the pirates. Oh, such horrible pirates! Maybe, with a naval ship with cannon ready to defend me, I could go there someday. But most of the islands were owned by the Spanish or the British. And, with the British, I wasn't getting anywhere near their little islands- their own home land was a little island- anytime soon. But the world was large, and wars came and went with time, like a fresh tide lapping at the shore.
The door to the drawing room opened. My mother came striding into the room with a bound pile of books and papers held tight against her chest. She adjusted her gown as she sat on the chair across from me with a sigh, propping her feet up on the ottoman. "Good morning, Mimi. I figured I would find you in here. Awfully cold day, isn't it?" My mother pulled her shawl tighter around herself, folding her arms across her chest.
"It is. I hope we're moving to Hofburg soon," I commented.
"Well, that's your father's business, not mine, but he told me that we'll be moving sometime next week. He's trying to get everything in order to move two more people over there, and make sure there's apartment space for Isabella and her lady," my mother paused, trying to think. "Whatever that girl's name is. The awfully Spanish one. It escapes me now."
"Eleanore," I replied. "Countess Eleanore of Castile."
"Yes, yes," said my mother. "Eleanore, that was it. She's quite an interesting character, isn't she?"
I took another sip of my coffee, the liquid leaving a warm trail all of the way down my throat. "Indeed she is. She and Isabella are like opposites. It's quite surprising what good friends they are."
"Speaking of friendships and our Crown Princess, what do you think of her, Isabella? I see you two are together quite a lot."
I nearly spat out my drink. "Yes, we are. I enjoy her company. She and I, I think, are going to cultivate quite the friendship." My heart was racing. Did my mother know? Did someone tell her? Did someone see us? She was going to kill me! Joseph was going to kill me! Though my brain was running laps with thoughts, I tried to play it cool.
My mother smiled innocently. "Good, good. Every new arrival needs a good friend. I know that when your father arrived here from Lorraine, he made friends quite rapidly. Your father's always been good at making friends," my mother smiled delicately as she began to flip through her papers. "Maybe a little too good. Your aunt was the same way."
My mother didn't talk about my aunt much. She died when I was a toddler, and I never met her. And if I did, I didn't remember it. Unlike me, my mother only had one sibling that survived early childhood. No wonder my mother named her eldest surviving daughter after her: Maria Anna. Though I was starved with curiosity, I let it go. Aunt Anna was always a sensitive topic. I tried to come up with a related reply, but without involving my mother's dead sister. "Maybe I'll be an aunt soon."
My mother looked up with a raised eyebrow. "I hope so, too. Your brother really needs to hop to that. Women don't stay fertile forever. Babies come out easier when you're young."
"Mama, Isabella's only eighteen," I commented.
"She'll be nineteen on New Year's Eve. Time flies." She licked the tips of her thumb and index fingers and began to flip through her papers, marked with imperial seals and important signatures. Some I recognized. Josef von Saxe-Hildburghausen and Leopold von Daun. Our top military commanders. Mama was personally getting records from the front. Another paper was coated with Russian stamps, and another with the Saxon crossed swords and crowns. All nations that swore allegiance to my mother were sending her letters.
There were heavy, rushing footsteps from outside of the drawing room. My mother and I both turned towards the door. A servant dutifully opened it as a footman came dashing through the doorway. He had his hat under his arm, his hair a frizzy mess. He was wearing riding boots and a heavy wool cloak along with his military uniform, which was streaked with mud. His cheeks were flushed red with the cold, and he was panting. "Your Majesty!" He cried, waving a paper about in the air.
"My God, what is it, man?" my mother asked sternly. "You look like a disbanded Hussar!"
"My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty," the man said through heavy breaths. "The most urgent news. The King of Great Britain, His Majesty King George the Second, has died on the 25th of October, the year of our Lord 1760."
My mother tilted her head. "Interesting. And his successor?"
"George, the Prince of Wales, the dead king's grandson. Twenty-two years of age and unmarried." The flustered rider handed my mother another set of papers.
Mama neatly organized the new papers atop the old. "Oh, he's just a boy!" My mother pulled out a stationary kit from inside the drawers of the coffee table. "Give me just a moment. Let me write a letter of congratulations to the new George the Third," my mother turned to me with a sly grin. "Now you see, Mimi, charm your enemy. This is something that the monster of a man they call Frederick would never do." She turned to her papers and began to quickly write.
The rider let out a breathy, "Oh, my apologies," he bowed to me. "Good morning, Your Highness. Do forgive me."
"Good morning," I replied, bringing my teacup up to my face to hide my embarrassment. He must have thought I was a lady of my mother's, not an Archduchess in my own right.
My mother handed the rider her letter. "Here you are. Now, don't worry about getting it there at super speed. Go down to the equerry's quarters and get yourself washed up. Tell Mr. Haas that I sent you." My mother scratched her name on a paper scrap and gave it to the rider.
The rider sighed heavily with relief. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He bowed deeply before exiting the room.
As soon as he left, my mother looked over her newly-delivered letter again. "Well. We'll just have to see how this kid does. He inherited quite the war. Maybe we can use this to our advantage. Parliament is probably too wrapped up in planning a coronation and changing their coins. It's a shame this lad is a Protestant; he's Marianna's age and a marriage is an easy way to slide other things into a peace treaty. Honestly, I would love to have Gibraltar, but the Brits have a tight grip on that."
"Mama," I inquired, "Would you really marry Marianna off into an enemy nation? She would be ridiculed! Miserable! The poor girl has suffered enough. A wedding has already taken place on her birthday."
My mother scoffed. "When the Princess arrived is when she and Joseph were wed. I had no control over that. And besides, my statement was rhetorical. George is a Protestant, and I would rather marry Marianna to a stableman than to a Protestant. But as the eldest daughter, she has to bear the weight of unhappiness. God sure knows I did when I was her age, and I still do. I agreed to only one love match, Mimi, and that is yours. And besides, Marianna's health will not make her a desirable bride. Her humours are far too weak to be able to survive the birth of a child."
I hated the way my mother talked about Marianna. What would she do unmarried? I supposed she could become an abbess or a nun. That was a quiet life, and it would serve Marianna well. But I loved her, and I wished her no misery. But even if Mama found her unimportant, I knew Papa loved her so. They were two intellectuals, always caught up in conversations of biology and other sciences. That was two daughters spared from the misery of a queen or princess consort. But what about the others? I feared the worst for our undoubtedly fairest sister, Antonia. Though she was young and her troubles far in the future, I knew she would not be spared the rod of European politics. That thought hurt. She was so little, so carefree and bubbly. But in less than ten years' time, that spirit could be crushed.
Maybe there was more fear in being a prince. An heir to a great land, holding on to the turning points of history, trying to hold his nation above the flames by an imperial string. Your likeness in every tavern, your face on every coin, your name on the lips of every great monarch in the world. If war brewed, then you would have to bravely march your countrymen into raining lead, with only the colors of your nation and the grace of God to serve you. Maybe it was the blue blood that made this life reek with unhappiness. Blue blood clotting in the grass of a distant field, or blue blood splashed on the crest of a terminated dynasty. The blue blood that pulsed through my veins.
Whatever. Life within the walls of a palace was miserable anyways, no matter who you were. It seemed as if happiness was kept within a gold and velvet cage. I was so lucky that my mother loved me enough to let me marry for love, but it almost made me feel like less of an archduchess.
Queen Consort Maria Christina would never be. But Empress Consort Isabella would. How I wished to spare her any misery. But within the next year, I knew, Isabella would be a mother. Her days of a bewildered young bride would be far behind her. And, someday, those days would come to me, too. Albert and I would most likely have a small duchy of our own to govern, with only a few heirs with far less political weight. God, I was so lucky. But why?
I was getting ahead of myself. My marriage to Albert would only happen if my father gave in to my mother's demands. Or he died, I supposed. That would work too. It was all too complicated. All I wanted was to live quietly and peacefully with Isabella, where we could read books in the moonlight together forever. But that was impossible. I was Her Royal Highness Archduchess Maria Christina of Austria, and I would serve that duty with my head held high for the rest of my life. That was final.
I was wearing a few petticoats in order to keep myself warm that morning. I was convinced that if we didn't move to Hofburg soon, everyone at court would freeze, turning into aristocratic icicles. But even as a cold winter draft blew in through the shabby window seals, the coffee in my hands was still warm and I was pretty well bundled up. I was content.
The plants in the garden were dormant, brown and wrinkled for the winter. Yet still, my father's gardeners were still loyally bent over the plants, wrapping the weaker ones with burlap and trimming the more sturdy varieties. It was like they never caught a break. The apple trees off in the distance were bare now. All of the fruit was taken into cold storage. My mouth watered thinking about the apple dishes we could be served at Christmastime. Our culinary staff was almost as dedicated as our gardeners. Though, Pia had told me that the two didn't really get along.
I took another sip of my dark, bitter liquid, lightly sweetened with fresh cane sugar from the Caribbean. I had heard all kinds of tales about those islands- lush greenery, sandy beaches, and gorgeous tropical birds. I also heard tales of the pirates. Oh, such horrible pirates! Maybe, with a naval ship with cannon ready to defend me, I could go there someday. But most of the islands were owned by the Spanish or the British. And, with the British, I wasn't getting anywhere near their little islands- their own home land was a little island- anytime soon. But the world was large, and wars came and went with time, like a fresh tide lapping at the shore.
The door to the drawing room opened. My mother came striding into the room with a bound pile of books and papers held tight against her chest. She adjusted her gown as she sat on the chair across from me with a sigh, propping her feet up on the ottoman. "Good morning, Mimi. I figured I would find you in here. Awfully cold day, isn't it?" My mother pulled her shawl tighter around herself, folding her arms across her chest.
"It is. I hope we're moving to Hofburg soon," I commented.
"Well, that's your father's business, not mine, but he told me that we'll be moving sometime next week. He's trying to get everything in order to move two more people over there, and make sure there's apartment space for Isabella and her lady," my mother paused, trying to think. "Whatever that girl's name is. The awfully Spanish one. It escapes me now."
"Eleanore," I replied. "Countess Eleanore of Castile."
"Yes, yes," said my mother. "Eleanore, that was it. She's quite an interesting character, isn't she?"
I took another sip of my coffee, the liquid leaving a warm trail all of the way down my throat. "Indeed she is. She and Isabella are like opposites. It's quite surprising what good friends they are."
"Speaking of friendships and our Crown Princess, what do you think of her, Isabella? I see you two are together quite a lot."
I nearly spat out my drink. "Yes, we are. I enjoy her company. She and I, I think, are going to cultivate quite the friendship." My heart was racing. Did my mother know? Did someone tell her? Did someone see us? She was going to kill me! Joseph was going to kill me! Though my brain was running laps with thoughts, I tried to play it cool.
My mother smiled innocently. "Good, good. Every new arrival needs a good friend. I know that when your father arrived here from Lorraine, he made friends quite rapidly. Your father's always been good at making friends," my mother smiled delicately as she began to flip through her papers. "Maybe a little too good. Your aunt was the same way."
My mother didn't talk about my aunt much. She died when I was a toddler, and I never met her. And if I did, I didn't remember it. Unlike me, my mother only had one sibling that survived early childhood. No wonder my mother named her eldest surviving daughter after her: Maria Anna. Though I was starved with curiosity, I let it go. Aunt Anna was always a sensitive topic. I tried to come up with a related reply, but without involving my mother's dead sister. "Maybe I'll be an aunt soon."
My mother looked up with a raised eyebrow. "I hope so, too. Your brother really needs to hop to that. Women don't stay fertile forever. Babies come out easier when you're young."
"Mama, Isabella's only eighteen," I commented.
"She'll be nineteen on New Year's Eve. Time flies." She licked the tips of her thumb and index fingers and began to flip through her papers, marked with imperial seals and important signatures. Some I recognized. Josef von Saxe-Hildburghausen and Leopold von Daun. Our top military commanders. Mama was personally getting records from the front. Another paper was coated with Russian stamps, and another with the Saxon crossed swords and crowns. All nations that swore allegiance to my mother were sending her letters.
There were heavy, rushing footsteps from outside of the drawing room. My mother and I both turned towards the door. A servant dutifully opened it as a footman came dashing through the doorway. He had his hat under his arm, his hair a frizzy mess. He was wearing riding boots and a heavy wool cloak along with his military uniform, which was streaked with mud. His cheeks were flushed red with the cold, and he was panting. "Your Majesty!" He cried, waving a paper about in the air.
"My God, what is it, man?" my mother asked sternly. "You look like a disbanded Hussar!"
"My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty," the man said through heavy breaths. "The most urgent news. The King of Great Britain, His Majesty King George the Second, has died on the 25th of October, the year of our Lord 1760."
My mother tilted her head. "Interesting. And his successor?"
"George, the Prince of Wales, the dead king's grandson. Twenty-two years of age and unmarried." The flustered rider handed my mother another set of papers.
Mama neatly organized the new papers atop the old. "Oh, he's just a boy!" My mother pulled out a stationary kit from inside the drawers of the coffee table. "Give me just a moment. Let me write a letter of congratulations to the new George the Third," my mother turned to me with a sly grin. "Now you see, Mimi, charm your enemy. This is something that the monster of a man they call Frederick would never do." She turned to her papers and began to quickly write.
The rider let out a breathy, "Oh, my apologies," he bowed to me. "Good morning, Your Highness. Do forgive me."
"Good morning," I replied, bringing my teacup up to my face to hide my embarrassment. He must have thought I was a lady of my mother's, not an Archduchess in my own right.
My mother handed the rider her letter. "Here you are. Now, don't worry about getting it there at super speed. Go down to the equerry's quarters and get yourself washed up. Tell Mr. Haas that I sent you." My mother scratched her name on a paper scrap and gave it to the rider.
The rider sighed heavily with relief. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He bowed deeply before exiting the room.
As soon as he left, my mother looked over her newly-delivered letter again. "Well. We'll just have to see how this kid does. He inherited quite the war. Maybe we can use this to our advantage. Parliament is probably too wrapped up in planning a coronation and changing their coins. It's a shame this lad is a Protestant; he's Marianna's age and a marriage is an easy way to slide other things into a peace treaty. Honestly, I would love to have Gibraltar, but the Brits have a tight grip on that."
"Mama," I inquired, "Would you really marry Marianna off into an enemy nation? She would be ridiculed! Miserable! The poor girl has suffered enough. A wedding has already taken place on her birthday."
My mother scoffed. "When the Princess arrived is when she and Joseph were wed. I had no control over that. And besides, my statement was rhetorical. George is a Protestant, and I would rather marry Marianna to a stableman than to a Protestant. But as the eldest daughter, she has to bear the weight of unhappiness. God sure knows I did when I was her age, and I still do. I agreed to only one love match, Mimi, and that is yours. And besides, Marianna's health will not make her a desirable bride. Her humours are far too weak to be able to survive the birth of a child."
I hated the way my mother talked about Marianna. What would she do unmarried? I supposed she could become an abbess or a nun. That was a quiet life, and it would serve Marianna well. But I loved her, and I wished her no misery. But even if Mama found her unimportant, I knew Papa loved her so. They were two intellectuals, always caught up in conversations of biology and other sciences. That was two daughters spared from the misery of a queen or princess consort. But what about the others? I feared the worst for our undoubtedly fairest sister, Antonia. Though she was young and her troubles far in the future, I knew she would not be spared the rod of European politics. That thought hurt. She was so little, so carefree and bubbly. But in less than ten years' time, that spirit could be crushed.
Maybe there was more fear in being a prince. An heir to a great land, holding on to the turning points of history, trying to hold his nation above the flames by an imperial string. Your likeness in every tavern, your face on every coin, your name on the lips of every great monarch in the world. If war brewed, then you would have to bravely march your countrymen into raining lead, with only the colors of your nation and the grace of God to serve you. Maybe it was the blue blood that made this life reek with unhappiness. Blue blood clotting in the grass of a distant field, or blue blood splashed on the crest of a terminated dynasty. The blue blood that pulsed through my veins.
Whatever. Life within the walls of a palace was miserable anyways, no matter who you were. It seemed as if happiness was kept within a gold and velvet cage. I was so lucky that my mother loved me enough to let me marry for love, but it almost made me feel like less of an archduchess.
Queen Consort Maria Christina would never be. But Empress Consort Isabella would. How I wished to spare her any misery. But within the next year, I knew, Isabella would be a mother. Her days of a bewildered young bride would be far behind her. And, someday, those days would come to me, too. Albert and I would most likely have a small duchy of our own to govern, with only a few heirs with far less political weight. God, I was so lucky. But why?
I was getting ahead of myself. My marriage to Albert would only happen if my father gave in to my mother's demands. Or he died, I supposed. That would work too. It was all too complicated. All I wanted was to live quietly and peacefully with Isabella, where we could read books in the moonlight together forever. But that was impossible. I was Her Royal Highness Archduchess Maria Christina of Austria, and I would serve that duty with my head held high for the rest of my life. That was final.
End of Je T'aime. Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to Je T'aime. book page.