Free A Foreign Affair by Evelyn Richardson Page A

and the men ruled by it to be ridiculous rather than attractive. In the early days she had painted out this self-absorption, this emptiness to her mother as the cause for her mother’s dissatisfaction with all of her romantic affairs, but the princess had refused to listen and Helena had finally given up.
    Now, however, Helena was forced to ask herself if she had been so critical simply because she had not yet encountered someone who was truly skilled at the game. Giving vent to an unladylike snort of disgust, Helena tossed the pamphlet across the room in a fit of frustration. Why was she even wasting a second thought on any of this? It did not matter to her in the least whether or not Major Lord Brett Stanford was genuinely interested in the problems of the German states or even the future of Europe. No, it did not matter to her at all.
    But, Helena admitted grimly to herself as she rose and went to sit at her escritoire, what did matter was that she, who had no use for attractive men or flirtation, had on three separate occasions found herself irresistibly drawn to this one particular man. Was she no better than her mother after all? Was she only more intellectually discriminating? No! Helena had spent far too much of her life cultivating her own interests, creating an existence whose meaning and satisfaction came from something other than masculine attention and admiration to fall for a handsome face and charming matter at this stage in her life. Her mother’s example had been too ever present for her daughter not to learn that one could not pin all one’s hopes for happiness on a man.
    Angrily she pulled out a sheet of paper, stabbed her pen into the inkwell, and began to write furiously.
    Dear Sophie and Gussie, It is some time since I last wrote to you, but Mama and I have been settling in to our apartments here in  Vienna. The city is full of people and very crowded and noisy. Mama is very busy attending balls nearly every evening, but I miss the two of you and the quiet countryside around the schloss. Except for its superior bookstores and theater, Vienna has little to recommend it, though I am able to procure newspapers of all kinds and to talk with many of Papa’s friends who visit the Princess van Furstenberg. While it is all very interesting, I do not enjoy it half so much as being at home. How are your lessons proceeding? I do hope that you are paying attention to all that Abbe Ferrand teaches you and that you do not tease Fraulein Hauptmann too much. Do take care of yourselves and write me.
    Helena laid down her pen and gazed out the window across red-tiled rooftops to the spire of St. Michael’s Church. The most difficult thing about her trip to Vienna was missing the girls.
    From the moment Helena had arrived at Hohenbachern a lonely lost little girl of eight, Sophie and Gussie had been the brightest spots in her solitary existence. The instant she had entered the cheerful nursery on that cold blustery day nearly thirteen years ago, she had fallen in love with the chubby blond babies. Sophie had been a little over six months old and Gussie only a year older, but even at that young age, their outgoing natures and unconditional love had warmed the heart of a lonely little girl exhausted by weeks of travel and confused by the considerable upheaval in her young life.
    After that she was constantly to be found in the nursery playing with the babies, laughing at their antics, and helping Ursula feed and care for them. They in turn would often sit solemnly watching as the governess, Fraulein Hauptmann, instilled her young charge with a zeal and an appreciation for the educational principles of the Fraulein’s idol Rousseau.
    Later, when it was time for Sophie and Gussie to begin their own lessons, it was Helena who made them mind the Fraulein and convinced the two lively little girls to sit still long enough to absorb at least some of the knowledge she was trying to instill in them. As time went on, the