Couple's Clinic
"Yosha, think about it. What if Max gets assassinated in unstable America?"
I knew his fate—execution by firing squad.
"Do you think Mother and Charlotte could stay sane?"
"Why do you assume Max is going? That pompous offer reaching him means the other royals turned it down. Max isn't that stupid."
Franz Joseph's conviction silenced me for a moment.
That lifelong inferiority complex as the spare. The belief that he could be a better emperor than Joseph—would that drive him to Mexico?
"Yosha, you know you're my sixth, right?"
"Your sixth?"
Did you think you were my first all your life?
"No Max or Bertie, so don't get any weird ideas."
"Then who?"
Is he seriously asking?
"Sophie, Gisela, Rudolf, Ferdinand, Adriana, and you."
I'm number zero.
"Sophie and the twins are about due for etiquette lessons."
Ha, he has his cute moments if you watch close enough.
I pretended not to notice his jealousy and tried steering back to the main topic, then stopped myself.
Better not let misunderstandings fester between husband and wife.
If I even hinted at praising Maximilian, Joseph's complex might flare up.
"When we return to Vienna, could you invite Mother here?"
"Mother?"
Franz Joseph looked like he doubted his own ears.
Me inviting my mother-in-law—here to Venice, no less. Even the sun rising in the west wouldn't shock him more.
"Why? Don't you want to?"
"No, of course not! Mother will want to see Adriana too. But I thought you might be uncomfortable..."
Didn't expect him to like the idea this much.
"Let's go hunting at Bad Ischl once the weather cools a bit."
"Alright."
Franz Joseph looked more at ease, stayed a week, then departed for Vienna.
Dearest Cousin Elisabeth,
May the Lord's grace be with you and your newly born noble archduchess. News of your safe delivery reached even Prague, filling my wife and me with heartfelt joy as we offered prayers of thanks.
……
We too live piously as the Lord's lambs, yet He has not yet blessed our arms with the warmth of life. Might I humbly inquire if you know of any saint to whom you pray especially, or perhaps special diets or retreats recommended by the Vienna court physicians?
……
My wife, Maria Theresa, yearns desperately for the same miracle as yours. If you could share even a fraction of your wisdom, we would never forget the grace.
May the Lord's peace be with you.
Henri.
...How do I even respond to this?
If it had come from Maria Theresa herself, maybe. Prop up pillows under the waist, try different positions...
"How's the Chambord count's marriage?"
"They're on good terms, as far as I know."
"Really? I heard rumors they weren't."
Franz Joseph and I didn't even try at first.
"Isn't the countess from Modena's branch?"
"Yes, the eldest daughter of Francis IV."
"Ah..."
I let out a short sigh.
The Modena Este family. As conservative to the bone as my mother-in-law—if not more.
Husband haunted by Bourbon ghosts, wife the queen of reactionaries.
I could picture them lying in bed reciting Bible verses.
"Invite them both."
If Franz Joseph and I just held hands in bed, the stork would drop off a baby. Mother-in-law had protocol duties, deep involvement in state affairs, and a packed schedule of social obligations—papers and meetings.
Clearing that would take days.
And she wouldn't come just because I asked.
"Write three letters to the Archduchess."
To make it look like she carved out time despite her busy schedule at my earnest plea.
First letter: 'Too busy in Vienna.'
Second: 'If you really want it, I'll consider. But the Emperor's schedule...'
By the third, upon arrival: 'The young Empress is struggling; I must help as the elder.'
Same when I visited her.
She moved for the family's sake, prioritizing the Empire over her body.
As expected, the Chambord couple arrived first.
"Didn't expect you in five days."
I received them in the drawing room with my ladies' help.
Count Chambord was 41 this year, the countess 44?
Anyway, their last shot at a miracle.
"You've had a hard journey, cousin."
I greeted them with a bright smile, but Maria Theresa's eyes went straight past my face—to my belly, still slightly rounded from afterbirth.
Never thought I'd end up running a couple's clinic.
"My wife means no offense."
Henri apologized, but I brushed it off.
"Esterházy, dismiss everyone."
"Ring if you need anything."
Ladies and guards out— just the three of us.
No need for stiffness. What we discussed next wasn't for noble ears.
The countess's condition was worse than I thought. Even in her corset, uneven shoulders, forward neck, scoliosis.
Planning to bear a child like that? Pregnancy alone looked risky, let alone birth.
Chambord, last surviving Bourbon Frenchman—likely cowed by scrutiny.
"Count Chambord."
"Speak."
"First, separate her from the retinue."
"What do you mean? My wife's frail; she can't move without her maids. And they're loyal retainers from Modena..."
"Loyal watchers, you mean."
Henri fell silent at my words.
"Count, do the maids stand outside the bedroom when you hold your wife?"
"...Royal protocol demands it."
"Then they ask every morning if there was good news overnight. Or inspect the sheets."
The countess's shoulders twitched visibly.
Spot on.
Modena maids? Predictable.
"But isn't that normal?"
In most courts, yes.
"It was like that when I conceived Sophie." Not after.
I stood and approached the countess.
Up close, worse: sunken eyes under makeup, wrists like they'd snap.
"Countess, pardon the liberty."
I circled behind without waiting, feeling for the corset knot over her dress.
Joseph's good at this.
"Y-Your Majesty?"
"Stay still, Countess."
I untied it, and her face eased a bit.
"No corsets while in Venice. No stuffy black dresses either. Banish the maids, dine alone in the bedroom."
Bedroom etiquette varies by country, huh.
I sat back and asked,
"Countess, how do Bourbons do it in bed?"
Habsburgs had more lovers than arranged marriages suggested. Queen Maria Theresa, Leopold II, Joseph II, Francis II... Even gruff Archduke Albrecht melted for his wife like Joseph.
Right, our Franz and Joseph too.
"First, the Coucher..."
She ducked her head, fanning her face. What Coucher? That's post-restoration stuff.
"You explain, Count."
"Before entering the bedroom, sprinkle holy water blessed by the bishop on the bedposts, kneel for 30 minutes of prayer to the saints, then perform the sacred rite."
Hmm.
Joseph doesn't go that far.
"No talk of love or beauty...?"
"How could we chatter during a sacred rite?"
This wasn't marriage—it was liturgy.
Modena would. Straight-up convent level.
Which meant...
"In ankle-length nightgowns, right?"
She nodded cautiously.
I'd been there.
Back then, booze, mood, pass out.
Joseph hated it; rituals faded over time.
I rang for Esterházy first.
"Esterházy, tell Ida to fetch the Spielkarte from my third drawer. And the mask."
Soon, Ferenc arrived with trump cards. Ida with the mask and velvet box.
Looked like holy rosary to outsiders.
Joseph and I used these for spice; now sharing the secret.
I opened the box, drew a card.
"Just playing cards?"
Henri looked puzzled.
"At first glance."
I handed it to the countess.
"Hold it carefully to the candle."
As she did—
"Kyaa!"
She dropped it in shock. I took another, held it near the flame.
Where the pattern vanished under heat...
"Cut prayer time, follow the pictures that appear."
Ta-da—positions of man and woman.
"B-But such sinfulness..."
Sin later. God wasn't priority now. Time to sin, everyone does it.
"And Countess, this mask is my gift."
"Wh-What is it?"
"The one His Majesty begged me to wear when conceiving Ferdinand."
Henri's eyes bulged. Wouldn't react that way to a relic.
"Countess, extinguish the candle, focus solely on senses in the dark. Still shy? Wear the mask." Even rigid Joseph fell for it. Became a fertility talisman somehow...
Brought it for Venice redux, but markets sold identical ones.
They blushed crimson but accepted the box and mask.
Fortysomethings blushing like that over this...
I tsked inwardly, confined them to Torcello island. No power, so etiquette obsessed. Ours had loosened since '48.