“Miriam Minger is a master storyteller who illustrates the full gamut of emotions felt by her characters. Emotions so strong that you are pulled into the pages and into their lives.” – Inside Romance
STOLEN SPLENDOR
MIRIAM MINGER
Copyright © 1989 by Miriam Minger. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
Originally published by Avon Books, November 1989
Cover Copyright © 2010 by Hot Damn Designs
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9830732-0-8
Other Electronic Books by Miriam Minger
Medieval Romances:
Twin Passions
Captive Rose
The Pagan’s Prize
Wild Angel
Wild Roses
Regency Era Romances:
Secrets of Midnight
My Runaway Heart
Historical Romances:
Defiant Impostor
Highland Romances:
A Hint of Rapture
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Vienna, Austria
November, 1716
"Are you sure you won't accompany me, Kassandra?" Countess Isabel von Furstenberg ventured one last time as she twirled in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the shimmer of the morning sunlight as it played across the lilac watered silk of her gown. She loved beautiful clothes, especially wearing them to galas, and today she wasn't going to just any gala. She had been invited by Charles VI, emperor of Austria, and his wife, Empress Elisabeth, to the Favorita, their country palace.
Kassandra Wyndham turned abruptly from the window, her large amethyst eyes flashing with exasperation. She had already declined perhaps a dozen times. But the heated retort died on her lips at Isabel's hopeful expression.
Kassandra was truly fond of Isabel. After all, the countess and her father, Miles Wyndham, Earl of Harrington and ambassador to Austria, were planning to marry as soon as he returned from his diplomatic mission to King George's home court in Hanover, Germany.
But, much as she liked Isabel, their interests could be no further apart. She did not share Isabel's enthusiasm for court life and intrigue. On the contrary, the thought of spending the day at a stuffy gala surrounded by pompous aristocrats and their preening ladies—even in Isabel's charming and lively company—was more than she could bear. Still, there was no sense in trying to make Isabel understand. She would only be shocked if she knew where Kassandra's true interests lay.
"Thank you, Isabel, but no," she said firmly. "Perhaps another time."
Dismayed by the finality in Kassandra's voice, Isabel glanced over her shoulder at her younger companion. "But what will you do on such a lovely day as this, Kassandra? If you won't accompany me to the gala, at least promise me you won't hide yourself in the library. Surely there are other diversions than poring over those dusty books again."
"I think I'll . . . go for a ride today, and then write Father a letter," Kassandra replied quickly, turning back to the window. Her lie made her wince, especially in light of Isabel's kindness. But she had no choice. She pushed aside the lace curtains, her finger tracing a pattern on the cool glass. The sunny day outside seemed to beckon to her . . . crisp, clear, tinged with a promise of excitement and adventure. Soon, she breathed to herself. Soon.
Barely masking her disappointment, Isabel turned back to the mirror. She fussed a moment with the small lace cap set atop her glossy black curls, then attempted in vain to readjust the long lappets that cascaded down her back in a froth of cream lace and lilac ribbon. "Oh, Gisela . . ." she began in frustration to her maid, who stood nearby.
"Please, milady, if you will allow me," Gisela murmured. With expert fingers the spry middle-aged woman first smoothed the unruly lappets, then walked over to the dressing table and chose a delicately painted satin fan with an ivory stick for her mistress. Her footsteps were quick and light as she returned to Isabel's side. "Your fan, milady."
"Thank you, Gisela," Isabel said softly, her usual good spirits revived by her maid's thoughtful ministrations. "As ever, your taste is exquisite."
Gisela smiled at the warm compliment. "Will there be anything else, milady?"
"Only my velvet cape. If you would take it downstairs, I will put it on just before I leave."
Gisela nodded, gathered the cape trimmed with luxuriant blue fox from the bed, then, with a sideways glance at Kassandra, quietly left the room.
Absently thumping the fan against the palm of her hand, Isabel creased her forehead in thought as she studied Kassandra's reflection in her mirror. The tall young woman reminded her so much of Miles . . .
Dear Miles. How she missed him. She had met the newly appointed English ambassador and his nineteen-year-old daughter at a welcoming reception shortly after their arrival in Vienna in July. Isabel had fallen in love with him almost immediately, and to her delight, Miles had returned her devotion with equal fervor.
At twenty-five, Isabel had almost given up hope of ever marrying. It wasn't that she had lacked for suitors. There had been many a dashing aristocrat who had sought her hand, but she simply hadn't found the right man among them. It hadn't helped that her older brother, Stefan, had never approved of any of them, claiming they were interested only in her great wealth.
A faint smile touched Isabel's lips. At least Stefan had not objected to this match. It was true that there was a seventeen-year age difference between them, but Miles Wyndham was handsome, distinguished, with abundant wealth and land of his own in England. Most important, he truly loved her.
To her utter amazement, this time Stefan had finally trusted her judgment and had even given his consent to their marriage in a recent letter. She could hardly wait for them to meet each other.
Isabel sighed. That meeting would just have to wait. Though Stefan was due to return from the Turkish campaign any day now, Miles would be in Hanover for several months. Could it be only two weeks since he had left? It felt so much longer . . . an eternity.
At least Kassandra had accepted her invitation to stay at the von Furstenberg estate while her father was gone, Isabel consoled herself, glancing across the room. Her mood brightening once again, she whirled around to face Kassandra, a warm smil
e lighting her delicate features. "If you will not attend the gala with me, will you at least walk with me to the door?"
Kassandra felt a surge of relief as she turned from the window, grateful that the matter was put to rest—at least for now. She smiled in assent and followed the countess from her chamber. Together they walked the length of the long corridor, Isabel chattering excitedly about the outdoor gala, then down the massive marble staircase to the light-paneled foyer.
Waiting by the front entrance, Gisela watched as the two women gracefully descended the staircase. They were so different, yet both women were strikingly beautiful. Her mistress, Countess Isabel, was dark and petite, her curved figure unequaled in its delicate proportion, while Lady Kassandra, almost a full head taller, was slim and lithe, with flaming red-gold hair that reached to her waist, and stunning features.
Gisela elbowed the nearby footman, who was gaping appreciatively at the two women. She could hardly blame him, but he was forgetting his duties. "Open the door, man, and call for the carriage!" While the red-faced footman hastened to obey, she hurried over to Isabel. "Your cape, milady." Deftly she draped it around her mistress's delicate shoulders, then smoothed the velvet folds.
"Gisela, as you know, Lady Kassandra will not be attending the gala today, so please see to it that her needs are well met while I am gone."
"Yes, milady."
Isabel and Kassandra stepped outside into the bright sunshine, and within a few moments a splendid lacquered carriage bearing the coat of arms of the von Furstenberg family pulled around the curved drive.
As Isabel was helped into her seat, Kassandra looked across the manicured lawns of the estate and breathed in the crisp autumn air. Only a short while longer, she thought excitedly, and she, too, would be summoning a carriage—but not to take her to a gala. No, she was going to spend her day far differently.
"Give Miles my fondest, fondest greetings in your letter, Kassandra," Isabel called out gaily, waving farewell as the carriage rumbled down the drive. Then it was gone, disappearing into the dense trees that bordered the lawn.
At last! Kassandra turned to the young footman and flashed him a dazzling smile. "Please have a carriage here for me within the half hour," she requested in her lightly accented German, trying to ignore the effect her smile seemed to have on the youth.
"W-will you be traveling far, Lady Kassandra?" the footman stammered. "I m-mean . . . not to pry, miss, but the coachman must know—"
"Just into the city and back," Kassandra tossed over her shoulder as she hurried back into the mansion. Then, as an afterthought, she turned around and added, "Is there a carriage without a coat of arms engraved upon the door?"
Puzzled, the footman nodded. "One, milady, though it's rarely used and not quite as fine as the others. "
"I'm sure it will do nicely. Please have them bring it 'round." How perfect! Kassandra thought happily as the footman strode off toward the stables. Such a carriage was exactly what she needed.
She rushed past an astonished Gisela and, holding up the voluminous skirt of her morning gown, took the marble steps two at a time.
Kassandra could barely contain her excitement as she rushed down the corridor and into her chamber, closing and bolting the door behind her. She crossed to the armoire and flung open the bottom drawer, pushing aside the carefully folded camisoles and linen underclothes, then pulling out a bulky package wrapped in white tissue and secured with twine. It took her only a moment to tear open the package, revealing a simple cotton gown in a flowered print of the sort worn by a lady's maid, a petticoat, gray yarn stockings, and a small white cap modestly trimmed with blond lace.
Untying the wide sash at her waist and slipping the silk morning gown from her body, Kassandra plopped upon the bed wearing only her linen chemise and pulled the coarse stockings up her long, slender legs.
She dressed quickly. The homespun material of the gown scratched her skin, but she didn't care, for it was in this gown that Kassandra would explore the fascinating heart of Vienna by herself, a pastime she had enjoyed on several occasions before her father had left for Germany. She was endlessly intrigued by the city and its people; the infinite, ever-changing parade of life was far more entertaining than any frivolous gala or court function. When she was dressed as a lady's maid she could pass for one of the common folk and lose herself in the crowd, unburdened by the affectations and trappings of her true station.
And today—thanks to the royal gala at the Favorita, which would occupy Isabel well into the evening—she had her first opportunity to wear the gown and venture out alone since she had come to stay at the von Furstenberg estate. During the past two weeks she had felt suffocated by Isabel's constant, albeit well-meaning, attentions. Kassandra was used to spending time alone and doing exactly what she pleased. Now at last she had her chance. Kassandra quickly tied the laces of the demure bodice, then walked over to her dressing table. She coiled her thick mane into a heavy knot, pinned it at her nape, then set the small cap atop her head and secured it with two silver combs.
Perusing her image, she was pleased with her transformation. Lady Kassandra Wyndham, daughter of Lord Harrington, the English ambassador to Vienna, had suddenly become a prim and proper lady's maid. And the carriage without a coat of arms would add credence to her disguise. She wanted it to appear that she had simply hired the carriage to bring her into Vienna for a day's shopping.
A soft rap on the door made Kassandra start in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. Sweet Lord, what if Isabel had forgotten something and returned to the estate?
"Lady Kassandra," Gisela called to her from beyond the door. "Zoltan is waiting with the carriage."
Kassandra exhaled sharply. "I'll be ready in just a moment." She hurried over to her closet and pulled out a dark blue cloak. It, too, was simple in design, and well suited for the rest of her ensemble. She fastened the plain frogging on the front and wrapped the cloak around her body, then slipped on some low-heeled leather shoes, grabbed a cloth bag from a hook inside the door to hold her money, and she was ready.
As she unbolted and opened her door, she was not surprised to find Gisela waiting just outside. The maid's inquisitive hazel eyes were full of questions . . . questions Kassandra had no intention of answering.
"If Countess Isabel should return before me, please tell her I've gone into Vienna on some errands," Kassandra said as she hurried along the corridor and down the stairs. She could hear Gisela's footsteps following dose behind, but she did not slow her pace.
"Milady, I have taken the liberty of arranging for two of the menservants to accompany you—"
"Oh, that won't be necessary, Gisela," Kassandra replied over her shoulder. "The coachman will be with me. That's enough for so short a journey."
"But, Lady Kassandra, surely you must realize it is highly unsuitable for you to travel without an escort. I'm certain Countess Isabel would be most unhappy. "
Kassandra quickly made her way across the foyer and out the door, determined not to be swayed by the truth of Gisela's words. She knew haste was her only ally. Accepting the hand of the coachman, she swung up easily into the carriage and settled against the plush velvet seat.
"I'm in a great hurry, Zoltan," she murmured as he closed the door. "I have many errands to accomplish this day."
"Rest assured, milady, I'll get ye to the city in no time at all." The stout coachman winked kindly. The carriage shifted and creaked from his weight as he climbed up to his seat, then he cracked his whip above the heads of the two prancing horses. "On with ye, my girls!"
Gisela stepped closer to the carriage. "But, milady—"
"Gisela, you mustn't worry," Kassandra called from the window as the carriage jolted to a start. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself!"
Chapter 2
As the carriage sped along, the unpaved, tree-lined avenues that wound past the stately white mansions on the outskirts of Vienna soon narrowed into the cobbled streets of the imperial city. Kassandra sat o
n the edge of the seat, her heart fluttering with excitement as she gazed out the carriage window at the busy streets and bustling market squares.
Everywhere she looked was a blur of color and motion: early afternoon shoppers with overloaded baskets dodging the open carts and fine carriages that choked the narrow streets; hawkers with their trays of trinkets vying with one another for space on the busiest corners; flower girls in bright, patterned aprons selling their garlands of autumn blooms to passersby.
"A lovely bouquet for yer mistress, dearie?" a buxom flower girl called out to her as the carriage inched its way along the crowded street.
Kassandra smiled, shaking her head. The girl merely shrugged and sauntered over to another carriage.
"Ah, now there's a fine gentleman to buy a posy for yer wife . . . or yer mistress, whichever she may be!"
Kassandra blushed as the flower girl's hearty laughter was lost in the raucous cacophony of the street. She wondered fleetingly what it must be like to be so bold . . . and so free.
Suddenly, with a loud crash, the carriage came to a jarring halt, accompanied by the frantic neighing of terrified horses, the sound of splintering wood, then furious oaths and curses. Kassandra was flung to the opposite side of the vehicle, her fall fortunately broken by the well-padded seat.
Stolen Splendor Page 1