Je T'aime.

XII. Albert

The next day I sat in the drawing room, drinking a cup of tea. I came into the room to play my harp, but it still stood undisturbed in the corner of the room. My easel had been folded up and put away as well. I had finished my painting of Joseph in the garden. It was wrapped in paper and hidden in my chamber until I could give it to him for his birthday in March. Until then, my mind was blank on what to paint. This always happened to me. I would finish a painting, and spend some time lost for ideas until something inspired me again. So, seemingly without a purpose, I sat quietly and sipped my tea.

The weather outside of the drawing room's large, brilliant windows was much better than it was the last few days. The excess rain had all dried away, and the grass was starting to turn brown. By now, in late October, all of the leaves had fallen off of the trees. Soon, I knew, the entire court would pack up and move to Hofburg Palace for the winter. Schönbrunn did not have nearly as many fireplaces as an Austrian winter required. Though, due to Hofburg's age, it was rather drafty. Becoming ill was not uncommon in the winter residence. The lack of open windows was also partially to blame.

I thought of Isabella in that moment, and I smiled. She was in for a shock when winter rolled in! I had to assume that Madrid and Parma were much warmer than Austria, though I had never been there. I presumed that I would just have to ask. Any excuse to talk to her was a good one.

I drained the last of the tea from my cup. As I reached towards the teapot on the table for more, I heard footsteps and voices coming from behind me. "Just in here, lads. Set them- yes, yes, over by the window. Thank you," I turned to see Albert entering the drawing room, followed by two servants, each holding wooden crates. On Albert's instruction, they set them along the window. "Oh, Christina! There you are! Come, come I have something to show you!" he excitedly waved me over. "Thank you gentlemen, you are dismissed." The servants bowed to us before leaving.

Albert kneeled over the first box, prying up the nails that kept the lid on. I came and sat next to him on the floor, rearranging my skirts before turning to the first crate. The lid was labelled in large, stamped print:

TO HRH ALBERT CASIMIR OF SAXONY
VIENNA
FROM MR. CHAS. TOWNLEY
LONDON

"What is it?" I asked as Albert lifted the lid off of the box, setting it aside. The contents were wrapped in newspaper and padded with cotton. Laying on top was a sealed letter, addressed to Albert.

Albert excitedly picked up the letter and opened it without haste, like an excited child at Christmas. "Oh, you'll see!" he exclaimed. Reading from the letter, he said, "To good Albert, the Prince of Saxony. I hope that the treasures within this box find you well. I personally selected some of my favorite pieces from my recent trip to Athens to gift to you. From our conversations in our correspondence I can tell that you are a very intelligent young man, and I hope to encourage your love for great art. And I do apologize if my German is off a tad- I am nothing but English scum, after all! I do hope to hear from you soon. Your most humble and obedient servant, Charles Townley."

Albert set the letter aside and picked up one of the newspaper-wrapped objects in the box. With the most gentle movements, he unwrapped the paper. He revealed a marble bust, carved with excruciating detail. It was of a man, cut off to a pedestal at about mid-chest. He was a noble-looking man with defined cheekbones, a straight nose, and wide, bright eyes. He had curls that ended just above his eyebrows, though they were natural and uneven in length. Upon his head he wore a crown of laurels, and his chest, at least, was unclothed. The man was so beautifully created, it was hard to believe that he could have ever been touched with a chisel. He looked like a man who had been simply frozen into stone. Albert held the bust delicately, taking care to support the head, like he was holding a newborn baby. "Who is he?" I asked.

"Apollo. Oh, how wonderful," Albert commented. He set the sun god down on the table behind us and began to unwrap another treasure, of similar size to Apollo. He revealed a similar bust, this time of a woman, her form cut off just below her breasts. She was truly beautiful, with a round face, heart-shaped lips, and wavy hair that flowed over her shoulders. A flower was tucked behind her ear. "Oh, and Daphne!" Albert set the woman next to Apollo. "God bless you, Mr. Townley. Remind me to write him a letter."

He turned to the second crate, which was marked with Albert's name and a fleur-de-lis. With unwavering excitement, he pulled it open. Although this one contained no letter. "Is this artist not one for conversation?" I asked.

Albert pulled a large, flat rectangle from the box, which was wrapped in a stiff, creamy wax paper. "No, no. Monsieur Boucher has much more important business. Madame de Pompadour adores him, and has him paint on nearly everything. Versailles is nearly full of his works."

"Versailles?" I inquired. "Would Isabella know of him?"

"I don't know," replied Albert. "You'd have to ask her," He unwrapped the paper, revealing a gorgeous painted canvas. It was a pastoral scene of a shepherdess, reclining under a tree. Lambs laid beside her, and she had flowers strewn across her lap. In her left hand she held a letter, and in her right a white dove with a ribbon around its neck. She was beautiful and blonde, barefoot and undressed to her stays and oxblood petticoat. "Gorgeous, gorgeous. I must have this hung in my room. And, look, it's titled La Lettre D'Amour. It's truly splendid."

I leaned over Albert's shoulder. "It really is. I wish we had more of this quality of art here. The art here is so old-fashioned."

Albert turned to me with a grin. "You know, Christina," he began. "I've been thinking about setting up a gallery for my collections. It would be full of art from all around the world, just like this. That would be brilliant, don't you think?"

"It would. Vienna could use more art. Otherwise, culturally, Paris will drown us."

Albert smiled. "Oh, you don't know how much of an improvement Vienna is over Dresden. The culture is so much richer. If my father would allow it, I would stay here forever."

"If mine would, I would, too." As soon as the words left my lips, I winced. I didn't want to bring this up with Albert.

Albert looked at me, puzzled. "What?" Now, I had no choice. It would be better if I would not keep so many secrets from him, anyways. The words came tumbling from my lips.

"My father wants me to marry his nephew. His name is Benedetto, the Duke of Chablais. He'd be shipping me off to some stupid, tiny town in Italy. Personally, I'd rather run myself through with a sword. Luckily, my Mama doesn't want me to marry him. So I'm in a state of limbo."

Albert took a moment to think, blinking as if it helped to push the thoughts through his brain. "I'd hate to see you go. Really, I would. Especially if you would be unhappy. But who would your mother marry you to?"

I hesitated, but the name fell from my mouth. I repeated what my mother had told me, word for word. "Prince Albert of Saxony."

Albert drew silent. "Me?" he looked down at the ground and scoffed, shaking his head. "That can't be. There has to be a mistake. I'm too low in rank to marry the daughter of the Empress. I'm so low in rank that I couldn't even dream of it."

"My mother told it to me in my chamber, right before my face. And you know my mother always thinks before she speaks. She says that we'd be a good match. I have other siblings for the politics side of a royal marriage. But as long as my father has any say in it, I won't be marrying you any time soon."

"It's a push and pull," Albert suggested. "Your mother won't let you marry Benedetto, and your father won't let you marry me. So, until one of them breaks, you're stuck in suspension."

"How I hope my father breaks first. But they're both so bull-headed! The only break would be death!"

"Looking at your father's shape, I don't think his death is too far off," It was a morbid joke, but we both laughed anyway. "But if you were given the option to marry anyone under the sun, would you still marry me?"

This time I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Albert took a deep breath before saying, "Christina, I promise you, that I will wait for you. I won't marry anyone but you. Even if you marry Benedetto. You can poison his tea or something, and come marry me," Albert held out his pinky, exactly like how we used to make promises as children. For a moment I saw the face of a little boy flash across that of a grown man. "Pinky promise."

I intertwined my pinky with Albert's. "Pinky promise." 

Albert looked back towards his busts. "I'd say we were like Apollo and Daphne, but I don't think that's a proper comparison. Daphne wasn't exactly a willing participant." Albert and I shared an educated laugh.

I glanced over at the open crate, marked boldly with the word LONDON. "Make sure you take that and burn it," I said. "We are at war with Great Britain, after all."

Albert chuckled. "It just says London, not 'I LOVE KING GEORGE!'" he shouted outward dramatically. 

"Hush, Albert!" I hissed while trying to hold back laughter. "Lest you be hung for treason!"

"Should I go upstairs and put on a red coat? Would that serve me better? Keep out that foggy London chill? Have a little tea party before I go off to the Americas and shoot some Indians?"

Half-laughing, I pressed a finger to my lips, reaching to grasp his shoulder. "Shh!" I admonished him. "I swear I hear footsteps!"

"Oh, it's just your imagination," Albert told me. Then he paused. He must have heard them too. Out of the corner of his eye, he glared towards the door. We were both still and silent as the footsteps grew louder and louder. Eventually, a figure moved past the door. It was just a maid, making her rounds. Albert and I exchanged glances and took a sigh of relief, which quickly faded into quiet giggling, like two schoolchildren up past their bedtime.

Albert's blue-gray eyes glimmered in the sunlight that came through the window in shimmering golden rods. His smile was genuine and sweet; it seemed as if such a reserved and awkward man had finally been let out of the cage he built for himself around me. My heart was set aflutter, and it puzzled me. My chest felt the same as it did when I was in the tender company of Princess Isabella of Parma. I had read this feeling as love, romantic love, but how could I feel it for both Albert and Isabella? Could I love both men and women?

Again I noticed how much life this room contained. The busts of Daphne and Apollo overlooked us, a tinge of life behind their cold, stiff eyes, carved without irises into clean Grecian marble. The painting of the shepherdess, carefully crafted by a beloved French master, captured the sunlight in its strokes of vibrant color. The empty boxes, with paper and cotton strewn all about, somehow reflected the excitement of an ecstatic young art collector. And the bold, stamped word VIENNA felt like home.

The word VIENNA felt like the drafty air of Hofburg. It felt like Pia lacing up my stays. It felt like the laugh of Liesl, the conversation of Marianna, the grace of Amalia, and the excitement of Antonia. It felt like Joseph's pacing, carriage wheels on cobblestone, and the clanging of church bells. It felt like German with a Spanish accent. It felt like the wind rushing through my hair as my white gelding went flying through the forest. It tasted like communion wine and smelled like rose and sandalwood. It sounded like the hushed laughter of a young couple, sitting on the floor like little children. It looked like golden light coming through the windows.

"See?" Albert said. I was pulled out of my own thoughts and back into reality again. "It was just a maid. You have nothing to worry about. I doubt anyone but the Imperial family uses this drawing room."

"How is that any better?" I replied. "My mother is the Imperial family. And if she sees that box, you're toast."

"Hopefully with a little butter and jam."

"You think you're so funny, don't you?"

"I do. I think I'm hysterical."

"Hysterical. That's one word for it."

"You watch your mouth, Maria Christina."

"You watch yours, Albert Casimir."

"Oh, trust me," Albert leaned in towards me, delicately lifting my chin upwards. "I will." Gingerly and briefly, he pressed a kiss to my lips. It was pillowy and sweet, and sent a tingle up my spine like nothing else I had ever felt before. Even with my summer fling with Louis Eugene last year, he had never kissed me. Albert loved me enough to kiss me.

Albert pulled away, still keeping his thumb on my chin and and his forefinger under it. Slowly I opened my eyes. "You kissed me."

"I did. Hopefully, some day, we'll be married and I can kiss you again and again." Albert leaned in for another one, and I was fully ready to receive another display of his affections.

But again I heard footsteps, and pulled away. But this time, there was no maid. Quickly, I kicked the London crate aside to hide the lettering as my mother entered the drawing room, accompanied by one of her ladies-in-waiting. With my cheeks flushing, I grabbed the Boucher painting and tried to act natural. "Hello, Mama!"

Albert lowered his head in a makeshift bow. "Hello, Your Majesty."

My mother smiled. "Hello Mimi, Albert."

Playing it cool, Albert lifted the bust of Apollo. "Oh, Your Majesty. You must see what beautiful art was just shipped to me," We had pushed each other away, blushing, but our glances caught again, saying a thousand things. Albert awkwardly raised his eyebrows. I had to force down a smile. "Your Highness, do bring over that wonderful painting."