The Countess Loschek was thirty, and very handsome, in an insolent way. She was supposed to be the best-dressed woman at the Court, and to rule Annunciata with an iron hand, although it was known that they quarreled a great deal over small things, especially over the coal fire.
Some said that the real thing that held them together was resentment that the little Crown Prince stood between the Princess Hedwig and the throne. Annunciata was not young, but she was younger than her dead brother, Hubert. And others said it was because the Countess gathered up and brought in the news of the Court—the small intrigues and the scandals that constitute life in the restricted walls of a palace. There is a great deal of gossip in a palace where the king is old and everything rather stupid and dull.
The Countess yawned again.
“Where is Hedwig?” demanded the Archduchess.
“Her Royal Highness is in the nursery, probably.”
“Why probably?”
“She goes there a great deal.”
The Archduchess eyed her. “Well, out with it,” she said. “There is something seething in that wicked brain of yours.”
The Countess shrugged her shoulders. Not that she resented having a wicked brain. She rather fancied the idea. “She and young Lieutenant Larisch have tea quite frequently with His Royal Highness.”
“How frequently?”