Je T'aime. - Chapter 21: Chapter 21

The Christmas season at court was so exhausting that even days after the holiday, the halls of the palace were nearly silent. The snow that had fallen on Nikolas-Nacht had melted into nothingness, though a dry chill still left the air feeling empty and lifeless.
But with the arriving new year, Hofburg began to wake from it's eggnog-induced slumber. It was New Year's Eve, we all suddenly remembered- a time for new beginnings as we brushed off our browning evergreens.
And New Year's Eve, I remembered, was Isabella's birthday.
Birthdays were not celebrated too heavily at the Austrian court- one's name day in accordance to their assigned saint was more to my mother's taste. Though she was the Holy Roman Empress, she would have none of the old Pagan policies of the actual empire of Rome. But the more Roman one got, rather than Germanic, the more birthdays were treasured. And certainly the most Roman nations were Spain and Italy, regions of Isabella's heritage.
In the chilled afternoon of December 31st, I was led into the salon of Isabella's apartments by Eleanore. The apartments of the Crown Prince were one of the biggest in the palace, second only to those of my mother. Unlike mine, Joseph's place had an area for him to convey political meetings. As he came of age, more and more government was to be handed to him, like a Prime Minister of sorts. But the place also had a domestic side for the Princess, a salon cast in red, white, and gold that was suitable for the heir and the bringer of heirs.
After an affirmative message to my knock, I opened the door, revealing Isabella on a chaise lounge by the fire, dedicatedly working on her needlework. She turned over her shoulder to meet my gaze, her wide chocolate eyes brightening. "Christina. How delighted I am to see you."
I crossed the Turkish rug that was displayed on the floor, trying to awkwardly hide the paper-wrapped canvas behind my panniers. I leaned it against the chaise and came to sit next to her. "Oh, it's quite nice by the fire. Very cozy."
"Yes, yes," Isabella replied. "I've been doing embroidery for the greater part of two hours," she motioned to the cloth resting on the arm of the red and gold patterned chaise, a needle equipped with evergreen thread pierced into the edge of the work. "Rather tedious, I think, but it helps pass the time."
"You'd rather be cooped up in your apartments on your birthday?"
Isabella turned to me with a glowing smile. "You knew?"
"Of course I knew. Happy birthday." I presented Isabella with her gift, placing it in her lap.
"First the tiara, and now this! You Austrians are much too kind!" Isabella exclaimed as she gently undid the paper, taking care not to rip and discard it like anyone else would. She pulled off a section of paper, revealing the glimmering calf-like eyes of the Princess of Parma. Isabella gasped and clasped one hand over her mouth while the other worked at the paper. "Christina..." she said muffled behind her hand as she revealed the entire portrait. "Did you paint this?"
"I did," I replied.
Isabella held up the portrait, balancing it on her knee. As she admired it, I don't think I could have ever been more proud of a painting that I had done. Her face in brushstroke was nearly as beautiful as it was in life. Her round, slightly upturned nose was accompanied by a round face structure and those mesmerizing brown eyes. Her cheeks were made rosy with a delicate rouge, and her lips were a blush cupid's-bow. On her neck she wore a white lace ruff, and below was a court gown of blue velvet and white lace. Her hair was powdered, though her eyebrows showed its natural brunette hue. In her hair was a collection of small blue ribbons and feathers, alongside a Spanish-style cap with black lace lappets, one behind her and one cascading over her shoulder. In the left hand corner, boldly in the last of my gold paint, I wrote her name. Princess Isabella of Parma-Austria. In the lower right in nondescript gray, I wrote by Maria Christina of Habsburg-Lorraine.
Isabella sat the portrait down on the table before her and turned to me, wrapping her arms over my shoulders. "Thank you so much," she exclaimed as she squeezed me tight, her weight nearly throwing me off of the chaise. "I've never received something so beautiful and thoughtful."
I hugged her back, but it was like my body moved without the control of my brain. With her touch my mind just froze. I never expected her to be this happy with something that I had done on a whim. "Oh, it's nothing. I just had a few extra colors and I thought I would-"
Isabella released herself from my embrace and smiled at me. "Nonsense. I will have this hung up at once. Maybe over there?" She pointed to an empty space near the door. "Or there, by the window? Or maybe in the bedroom, over Joseph's desk. That bedroom's wonderful."
"Really? I don't think I've ever been in there before. Joseph's apartments as a bachelor were different."
Isabella stood and held out her hand to me, motioning for me to take it. I did so, and stood as well. "Come, then I'll show you." Isabella's hand, now nineteen years old, gave mine, still eighteen, the most tender of squeezes. She opened the door into the bedroom, where one was greeted by the large white and gold poster bed, carvings of angels and plaster flowers decorating any space that they could. The red bedspread was accompanied by a pile of pillows.
Joseph's mahogany writing desk was covered in papers, and one of his waistcoats was laid over the chair. Isabella's dressing table was across the room, where a container of rouge and a large ostrich feather fan were laid on the table. A bright mirror reflected the light that came from the tall, rectangular windows. A landscape painting of some far-off battlefield hung over the fireplace. "It's gorgeous," I commented. "Almost as luxurious as that of the Empress."
"Is that so?" Isabella replied. "Speaking of great monarchs," she pulled open a drawer from her dressing table. "Sent directly from the chamber of sa Majesté le Roi."
Isabella revealed a letter sealed with red wax and a brilliant fleur-de-lis. She broke the seal and sat on the edge of the bed, tucking one leg underneath the other. I joined her. The letter, I soon realized was in French, and I was glad that I knew the language.
My dearest granddaughter Isabella,
I have sent out this letter in advance to make sure that it gets to you at an appropriate time. I, first of all, would like to congratulate you on your marriage to Crown Prince Joseph of Austria. I hope that your marriage is happy and fruitful. My French ministers had sent good reports on your arrival, and that the Crown Prince is very much pleased. But that is all that I have heard. The guard that I have sent with you as well has been sworn with loyalty to you. I hope that you are happy with his protections, and that he brings you a touch of France. I have heard that the Austrian court is much different than the courts of Spain or France.
I wanted to wish you a happy nineteenth birthday, as your birthday is the last day of the year and is very easy to remember. I have many grandchildren to remember birthdays, you know! Sometimes it can be a struggle. Luckily your grandmother remembers all of those things. But it is my duty to bring about the best wishes for our eldest grandchild.
Reinette also sends her warm regards. She has seen your two younger siblings within the past year and wishes greatly to see you again, as do I. I received a portrait of you on the event of your marriage but I would presume that it trembles in comparison to you in real life. I am ecstatic to see the woman that you have become. I have not seen you since you were a girl of twelve or so, I believe. If you can convince your husband of it, I would be the grandest host to you if you were to visit Versailles. It could be a honeymoon of sorts. Even better, I think it could strengthen the alliance between Austria and France. If you can convince the Empress to let you and Joseph go, I would be indebted to you. I believe I have overstayed my welcome with my convincing towards the Empress.
I wish you all of the happiness and good health of the world. Do write to me if you need anything at all. I would be happy to provide it- even Monsieur Boucher if Reinette allows!
Your Loving Grandfather,
Louis
I was shocked by the signature of the end of the letter. Louis, straight and simple, without an indicator of royal status. The King only marked himself as Isabella's grandfather. Maybe he assumed that people would know who he was by his name alone, or maybe by his handwriting, graceful and forceful with ink, lines curving slightly downwards.
"Reinette?" I implored.
Isabella answered, "Madame de Pompadour," She was quiet for a moment. "I didn't know that Ferdinando and Luisa went to Versailles," she finally whispered. "Papa must have taken them. Maybe on some official business," She refolded the letter and set it down on the bed beside her.
She stood up and went to stand by the window. Instinctively, I got up and followed her. Isabella gazed out onto the courtyard below, where the previous snow of Nikolas-Nacht had faded from existence. The trees were ugly and bare, and the world seemed to be made of nothing but gray. "I thought he hated Versailles. Ever since Mama died-" She caught herself, pressing the side of her finger to her lips in some kind of attempt to silence herself. She inhaled shakily, and she tilted her head backwards with a rapid blink. "Maybe he feels guilty for once."
I placed a hand on her shoulder and followed her gaze out into the garden, but there was nothing there that was worth a gaze. I wanted to say something but no words came forth. I just stood there, a slight breeze from the window striking my torso. Isabella sniffled, and I rested my head on her shoulder, taking care not to dig my chin into her flesh. Isabella looked over to me, her eyes glassy, millions of thoughts and emotions trapped behind them. She tried to force her tears back, but one slipped over the banks of her eye and began to roll down her cheekbone. I reached forward and wiped the tear from her face with my thumb, cupping her face in my hand as I did so. Without thought I leaned forward and I kissed her, feeling her catch her breath beneath my lips.
With immediate action, Isabella kissed me back. She grabbed me around the waist with one arm, slowly pressing her body against mine. With her other hand she placed it at the nape of my neck, her fingertips toying at my hairline. Again my nostrils were blessed with rose and sandalwood fragrance. From behind Isabella's lips I could feel the energy built up inside her, but I knew not how to set it free.
Our kiss broke. Isabella's eyes looked to me with both the beauty and uncertainty of twilight. "Is it natural," she began, "for the life of one of noble birth to be so filled with misery?"
"In my experience," I replied, "I am afraid so. But in any moments that we can find joy, we must harvest them fully."
Isabella seemed to take time to analyze my words before she spoke. "Then kiss me again."
I followed her instruction. There was something about kissing her that made my heart soar. Maybe it was the love, maybe it was the sin. Maybe it was both. But no matter what the explanation was, it was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Isabella and I separated, practically pushing each other off. I brushed a stray piece of hair from my face and tried to wipe the kiss from my lips with the back of my hand. We stood there awkwardly with folded hands, staring at the door. "Come in!"
The door opened, revealing the raven-haired Eleanore. She began to speak in Spanish, and the only word I understood was Isa. Then as the Countess of Castile saw me, her eyes widened. "Hello, Christina, querida! I was just bringing some chocolate, if you'd like a cup," Eleanore's eyes moved from me to Isabella. "Oh Isa, what's the matter?"
Isabella picked the letter up off of the bed and pushed it into Eleanore's hands. " This is from my grandfather. Papa hasn't even written me one letter and he's off taking Ferdinando and Luisa on field trips to Versailles. He's probably got another woman, too, I'm sure of it. Mama's been dead just over a year and he's already off like it's nothing."
"Oh, Isa..." Eleanore stepped forward and wrapped Isabella in a hug. At the contact of this embrace she immediately started crying again. She placed her hand on the back of Isabella's head, shushing her like one would calm a baby. Eleanore and I made eye contact, and she gave me a knowing look. Mindlessly, with the background sound of Isabella's crying, I left the Crown Princess's apartments.
I stood there blankly, my mind ahead of my body, at the top of the stairs. My emotions were in a whirlwind. I had been stirred into some kind of family affair that I had no part in being in, and Isabella's daddy issues were none of my business. Yet part of my soul latched onto the doorknob, begging me to go back in there, to comfort her, to kiss her again. But my rationale pushed me away. I stood in limbo at the top of the stairs.
My mind broke from its trance as a familiar face ascended the stairs. He was a man, a brilliant man, in the white coat of the Saxon military. His hat was under his arm, and he took off his gloves as he walked, his riding boots clicking against the stairs. He looked up, retreating sunlight gleaming across his officer's metals. The tassels on his waist-sash and sword handle seemed to sway even after he had stopped. "Christina? Are you alright?"
"Albert," I called out to him. "Look at you. Aren't you a picture. A real General."
Albert smiled shyly. "A captain, actually. They're giving me the Salm Regiment. I just finished drilling- a fine crop of men, I think. Those Prussians will tremble in their boots."
"When are you marching out?"
"The fifteenth."
My heart sunk in my chest. "Too soon. Too soon."
Albert grasped my hand in a squeeze. "It won't be long, I'm sure. We'll push those Prussians away from Dresden, and I'll come home. My absence will be so short that you won't even miss me."
"You underestimate my emotions. And any amount of time is enough to have me married by proxy to that stupid cousin of mine."
"Hey, a veteran is a noble statement on my part. My dedication to the Empress, I hope, will convince your father of my worthiness."
"I hope so, too. But I don't necessarily trust you with that." I pointed to the weapon hanging from his hip.
"What, this?" Albert drew his sword, a grand shwing coming from it as the steel blade glided across the golden rim of his scabbard. He turned it, playfully pointing the tip at my chest. "I defeated the Crown Prince with something similar," He raised an eyebrow at the gleaming weapon, beautiful and powerful all within itself. "If you're not scared, I would duel you too. And I'd have victory over both an archduchess and a prince."
"I can beat you in horse races, and you can beat me in sword fights. Thank God you're not a cavalry officer."
"And thank God you're an archduchess and not a knight." Albert put his sword away, replacing it honorably in the scabbard with a metallic click.
Truly he was a dashing sight, standing there before me in the staircase dressed in all of his finery. He stood there so effortlessly, his weight leaning slightly on his right hip and his hand on the handle of his sword. It was almost as if he had transformed from Albert my friend into Albert the Captain Prince, and maybe even Albert my fiancé. I hoped that maybe someday he would Albert my husband, but all of that was suspended above my head for now. When I tried to bring it back down, it was ripped from my fingers by my father. My father the consort, though he didn't seem to think so. Maybe he and Isabella's father would get along well.
Though Isabella's father had the security of being a widower. My father chose lovers no matter what, his wedding ring laid atop Wilhelmina's lustfully discarded chemise.
My trance of reflection was broken by Albert's voice. "Come on. Let's get down to the ballroom and count down until midnight. If we get there early, we can get the freshest champagne in the house." He offered his arm to me.
Albert and I linked arms and descended the staircase. There was something so charming about the delicate lace of my sleeve resting against the proper wool of his uniform coat. "Looking like that," I said, "You're sure to make an entrance."
"Why, thank you. I thought that this getup looked pretty dashing myself," Albert replied with a formalization of his posture, posing as if he was about to have the grandest portrait painted of him.
I couldn't help but giggle. "Yes. Very much so." Together, Albert and I turned around the corner towards the ballroom.