Sisi, page 25
Today Bay showed me a woodland where I am convinced fairies must live.
Bay showed me how to leap a double stone fence with very little impact on the landing.
Bay and I lost the others even sooner than usual today.
Great success for Bay and me today.
Her letters home to Franz and Rudy also mentioned Bay, though she made certain to mute her enthusiasm and curtail the frequency with which she included his name in her anecdotes, even though there wasn’t a single minute of her riding that didn’t include him beside her.
They rode all day, every day except Sunday. Even that small break, required by church law, began to feel like an interminable agony for Sisi. On their rides, once they had found themselves alone with no one but their horses and the hounds, Bay would ask Sisi about life in Vienna and Budapest. She told him about Gisela and Rudolf, but spoke mostly of Valerie. He told her about his time serving in Ireland under Spencer. She rarely mentioned Franz, never mentioned Andrássy. Not once did Bay speak the name of Charlotte Baird, and Sisi never asked about her.
“But why don’t you ride like this in Austria?” Bay asked one afternoon, several weeks into her stay. It was a moody spring day, and a thick cover of bruised clouds threatened to drop rain on them at any moment.
Sisi considered the question, ignoring the weather as her horse carried her farther from the stables. “In Vienna, everything is dictated by protocol,” she said. “Even the question of to whom one speaks at dinner or how much wine one may drink must be answered by pre-written rule. The emperor decides who gets to taste which dishes and in what order. How long we may all sit at the table. Nothing is natural; nothing is free. This…this is living.”
Franz wrote daily, but the news he reported was so horrid that Sisi dreaded his letters. In Bulgaria, the Ottoman authorities were killing people to put down a rebellion. Turkey was threatening a war with Russia after the tsar’s imperial navy had made a threat to seize the Dardanelles strait. Andrássy and the Hungarians were pushing Franz to side with Turkey, so persistent was their hatred of Russia since the tsar had helped crush their own revolution of 1848, but Franz was unwilling to make an enemy of the most powerful kingdom in the east. Nor did he wish to do anything to upset Germany.
Rudolf, now seventeen, was also a cause of daily stress for his father. Franz Joseph, usually so dispassionate and patient, railed to Sisi about their son’s mounting gambling debts, about the reports of disgruntled husbands and outraged brothers and sons and fathers who vowed to take vengeance on the crown prince for seducing their wives and sisters and mothers and daughters. Franz wrote:
It seems that our son, who put off entering manhood longer than other boys his age, is now fully embracing the more base pleasures of said manhood. And apparently he possesses an appetite and a prowess to match a man of twice his age and experience. From the sound of it, he seeks companions for himself no longer just among the more pliable and discreet ladies of the court, but with women throughout the capital city, perhaps even the empire. It is most troubling for me to hear these reports of his indiscretions. It is most anathema to the character and comportment that I would hope to see in my son. Most contradictory to the example I have always tried to model.
And then there were the almost daily articles excoriating her, Sisi, for her prolonged absence from court and the exorbitant cost of her trip to England. Franz included glimpses of the articles: “My dear, the paper today said you ‘live only for your horses.’ The sooner you consent to return home, the better for us all.”
But for Sisi, these letters only confirmed that she had made the right decision in leaving. What could she do to help Franz, even if she were beside him at court? He wouldn’t listen to her advice on politics any more than Rudolf would take orders from his mamma on his romantic indiscretions.
And besides, her love for the English countryside was growing more impassioned each day. The people loved her, and the terrain was challenging her in a way in which she had never before been challenged. Bay, too, was challenging her in a way in which she had never before been challenged. And she was meeting the challenge! How could her days out here not delight her when her handsome, strong riding companion made her laugh so, and took such pleasure in showing her all of the beauty and excitement of his native land? How could she return home right now, right as she was finally finding happiness and fulfillment? And what would even be the point?
When guilt nagged at her, drawing her focus back toward Vienna and her obligations there, Sisi would remind herself that Rudy was a man now. He was impenetrable, foreign to her—as lost to her as Gisela had become. Franz had his ministers and his bureaucrats—the only people whose advice he ever sought anyway. No, only Valerie needed her at this point, and Valerie was here. There was no reason to cut short such a pleasant sojourn. And so, she continued to relish her freedom and her days in the English fields.
“I have only one concern,” she said to Bay one mild afternoon in mid-April. The night before had dropped a heavy rain over the countryside, and the earth beneath them was sodden, the air still heavy with a thick, warm dampness. “It is that my horse is not up to the task.”
She had tumbled a few times in the past few weeks, when her horse had failed to clear a brook or a gully. Each time she had escaped unhurt, but she wondered if her luck might eventually run out.
Bay considered her statement, eventually nodding. “You are right.”
“Really?” She turned to him, the surprise evident in her voice. “But you never agree with me.”
Bay smiled at this teasing. “In this case, you are right.”
After that, Bay insisted that Sisi borrow one of his own English hunters. “I have more than I need, Sisi. You would do me great honor to ride one of my hunters. Besides, this way you shall stop slowing me down with your frequent tumbles.”
The horse Bay loaned to Sisi was named Merry Andrew, and he proved to be as tireless as Sisi and Bay. His gait was smooth and steady, and Sisi’s rides atop him were entirely different. What had previously been enjoyable for Sisi now became almost a source of rapture. When Bay took to repeating the quip “Merry Andrew, you’re the luckiest male in Victoria’s realm,” Sisi couldn’t help but laugh, opening her fan to hide her scarlet blush.
What was it about Bay? Sisi would ask herself each night as she relived the highlights of the day. She’d sit before the mirror and note how her cheeks glowed from sun and fresh air and a feeling of intense delight. She’d look into her own eyes, half alarmed as she saw what Bay had seen—that the amber of her irises seemed to hold some bewitching, latent flame. She’d recall some bit of laughter they had shared and find herself in fresh spasms of giddiness, eager for the night to pass quickly so that the next day could dawn and bring Bay to her once more. She’d think of the pressure of his hands on her waist as he’d hoisted her so smoothly into her saddle. Of the way they’d lingered in the stables at the end of the day, both of them eager to prolong the time in each other’s company rather than take their leave.
Bay was unlike any man she had ever known. Andrássy was all soul and tortured idealism and poetry. That was probably why she and he could not work together; a pair of dreamers couldn’t get by in the hard reality of their world. They needed a realist’s grounding influence. That was Franz, she supposed. Opposite Andrássy’s idealism and yearning, Franz was reasonable and unyielding. A large dose of solid, dependable, unwavering practicality. No, there was nothing whimsical about Franz Joseph.
But Bay. Bay “The Bravest of the Brave” Middleton. Bay was something else entirely. He was built like a strong, sturdy man, yet he laughed and behaved like a mischievous boy. So entirely unlike Franz, who had never behaved like a boy, even as a child. Bay evaded her understanding. She didn’t know why she craved his approval so greedily, but she did. Out in the fields, his moods were blustery and capricious. He could be solicitous and cheerful one moment, and the next minute he’d retreat behind a haughty scowl, critiquing her form or telling her that she could do better. He would howl at her any number of times over the course of an afternoon, his deep voice roaring over the clamor of horse hooves with commands that would sound forceful, even impolite, to others:
“Take the fence directly, Sisi!” “Move left, left, now!” “Get up; you’re not hurt.”
But Sisi took it in stride because it was an unspoken part of their contract. Out there, she wanted to be free of the trappings of the empire. She wanted to be Bay’s equal in skill. And if she was going to be his equal, Bay had to be allowed to speak to her as a riding partner, not as an attendant addressing an empress. She, in turn, could not expect the same obsequious adoration and censored civility that she received from every other person in her life, her husband included. Horses and hounds didn’t care about protocol and formality, so if they were to master horses and hounds together, neither could Sisi and Bay.
Bay was direct with her in a way that no man had ever dared to be. He was free and raw and candid in her company, so she found herself behaving in the same way. In carving out this dynamic with him, Sisi allowed Bay to play a role in her life that no other man had ever played, at least, not since her childhood and her ascension to empress. After decades on her isolated, exalted pedestal, never knowing a man or woman who would dare to so brazenly buck her, she found this manner of Bay’s to be refreshing and energizing and maddening, in the best ways possible. Each time Bay raised his voice to express his honest frustration with her, each time he scowled to disagree with something she said or did, she found herself pulled even closer to him, her desire for him warming and coloring her cheeks with a flush more potent than anything the fresh spring breezes and hours of exertion could summon. She craved nothing so much as she craved Bay’s strong and earnest smiles, his hard-earned words of approval, and the prospect that, out here, when she excelled and thrived, she might earn his admiration.
“I’ve puzzled it out,” Bay said at the end of one of their afternoons together. It was a sultry Saturday evening, unseasonably warm, the sun slanting down from a clear sky as, all around them, birds warbled out their last notes before dusk. Sisi and Bay were making their way back to the Althorp stables after a long afternoon. The horses ambled slowly, their coats slicked in a gloss of sweat, and neither Sisi nor Bay urged them to speed up. Tomorrow being Sunday, Sisi knew she would have to take the day off and wait an entire day before seeing Bay again.
“What have you puzzled out?” Sisi asked, glancing sideways at Bay. She didn’t know how, but his appearance seemed entirely changed from their first meeting. She had been unimpressed when they’d been introduced; she’d found him to be an average-looking man of middling height and a squat build. Now, when she looked at Bay sitting atop his horse, she saw the most agonizingly desirable man she had ever seen.
“The riddle I’ve been sorting through in my head,” Bay answered.
Sisi smiled. Bay often filled their afternoons with riddles and jokes. “And the riddle is?”
“What makes you so much more beautiful than all the other ladies?” Bay posed the question matter-of-factly, his light eyes facing straight ahead. Sisi stiffened in her saddle. Bay had never before commented on her beauty, not once. True, she came to him each day looking her best, putting even more than usual attention into her toilette here in Northamptonshire than she had in Vienna. She thought she looked good enough. She knew that other men fancied her—they made their admiration plain in the way their eyes found and rested upon her. They studied her hair, her waist, her long, lean figure. But Bay never seemed to notice. And he certainly never commented on it. He would compliment her on a good jump or a particularly good run, but that was the extent of his flattery.
Which was why as he continued now, speaking as if he were remarking on something as mundane as the weather, Sisi was caught completely unaware. “I’ve figured it out,” he said. “You have a beautiful face, certainly. But that matters little.”
Sisi glanced askance at him, finding the remark odd. Up ahead, the stables of Althorp came into view. Her stomach sank; she didn’t want the day to be over. Didn’t want to say goodbye to Bay. Not yet.
Bay continued to speak as they rode toward the estate. “I could find any number of faces as pretty as yours…prettier, even…on any given London street.”
Sisi forced out a startled laugh. “And here I was thinking that perhaps you were about to pay me an uncustomary compliment.”
“It’s not the collection of features on your face that sets you apart,” Bay continued, not being diverted by her interruption. He turned to her now and met her eyes for the first time. Without a smile, he said, “It’s the expressiveness.”
Sisi arched an eyebrow, unclear of his meaning.
“You wear your emotions so brazenly across your face, Sisi.”
“I…I do?” It was precisely what Andrássy had always told her.
Bay continued, pulling Sisi’s thoughts from Andrássy back toward himself. “You offer glimpses of what is deeper. Remember what I told you on our second day together?”
She shook her head. All she remembered from their second day together was that she hadn’t fallen and that Bay had told her that she rode better than any woman he had ever known. “No.”
“I told you that your eyes were full of fire.”
Sisi swallowed, saying, “Oh, yes. Now I remember.”
Bay continued. “Well, now that I know you a bit better—now that I’ve seen you angry, and determined, and scared, and so happy that I thought the joy would tear you apart—now I know that those eyes of yours that had me so entranced, why, they merely hint at a fire that hides deeper within. A far more powerful blaze, I would imagine. You give me a hint of it every now and again, and that has the effect of being entirely disarming. And impossibly inviting.”
Sisi broke from his gaze, aware that her heart was beating furiously against her chest, even though she and her horse were doing nothing more than a slow walk.
Stable boys began to cluster around them, eager to help, but Bay dismissed them with a flourish of his wrist, and they scattered, leaving the two of them in private conversation once more. “There.”
She turned back to Bay. “What?”
“There, you’re doing it again. You’re showing me exactly what you feel.”
She sat up a bit taller in the saddle. “Which is?”
“You’re happy that I’ve finally admitted that you’re beautiful. And you’re wondering why it took me so long to admit it, to admit the obvious.”
“Oh, please, Bay, you really think me so vain?” she scoffed, squirming in her seat.
“And now you’re uncomfortable. And your cheeks are scarlet.”
“Would you please stop looking at me?” She turned away, feeling as modest as a girl.
“No, I won’t.”
She swallowed hard, slowing her horse because they had reached the wide doors to the stables. Why did it have to be Saturday evening?
Bay hopped down from his mount, ignoring his horse as he strode to Sisi’s side and placed his hands on her waist to help her down. She slid forward, and he caught her, landing her effortlessly on the ground in front of him. They did this every day, twice a day. Why, now, did it feel as if what they were doing was forbidden?
Bay’s hands remained around her waist, and she stood motionless, facing him. As if they were about to begin dancing. Could he feel her heartbeat, how it raced within her? she wondered.
Their faces were immodestly close now, but neither one stepped away. When Bay spoke, his voice was quiet. “I imagine very few people have met you without falling under your spell.” He paused, staring at her, his own blue eyes aglow. She was terrified he might try to kiss her. What would she do if he did? But instead, he leaned forward and said, even more softly, “I certainly have.” And with that, he bowed and took his leave.
When they reconvened on Monday, it was as if the conversation had never happened. Bay’s smile was bright and carefree that morning, and he whistled as he helped Sisi into her saddle.
“How was your Sunday?” he asked, once they were out in front and apart from the others. Sisi turned to him, knowing that he was teasing her. Bay knew how her Sunday had been; all of England knew how her Sunday had been, thanks to the malicious newspaper articles that had been printed that morning. The Viennese might even know by now of her disaster—if they didn’t yet, they soon would.
Having been in England for weeks now, Sisi had been unable to delay any further a visit to Queen Victoria. The strong-willed old matriarch had made it plain to her advisors—who had made it plain to Franz Joseph’s advisors back in Vienna—that it was very offensive that the Austrian empress was staying in Her Majesty the Queen’s realm and had not yet gone to pay her respects.
“But I’m not here in any official capacity,” Sisi had written back to her husband. “An incognita ruler does not travel in state.”
“It matters not, Sisi,” he had responded. “You are a head of state, whether you will acknowledge it or not, and Victoria knows you are there and that you have paid house visits to members of her peerage—and not to Her Royal Majesty.”
So, not wanting to inflict any further offense, but also not wanting to skip even a day in the hunting fields—a day with Bay—Sisi had selected Sunday for her long-overdue visit to the English queen. Sisi, who found formal state visits tedious, thought that her plan was a good one. Wouldn’t Victoria also have other things she needed to do on the other days, and wouldn’t she be happy to have this formality out of the way, just as Sisi was?
