Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Strange, you don't look any different, she mused grimly. Yet she knew she would never be the same. Her only consolation was that there was little chance she would ever see the soldier again. Vienna was a large city. People came and went like the wind, especially common soldiers, passing through the city on their way to the fighting in the East, or bound for their homes in faraway regions of the Hapsburg Empire.

  "No, your secret is safe," Kassandra whispered to her reflection. Even if she could never forget what had happened that day, it would be a memory of stolen passion that would surely fade with time.

  A sudden chilling thought struck her, her eyes darkening to a deep violet hue. What if there was a child? It was possible . . .

  She turned abruptly from the mirror, her slender fingers rubbing her aching temples. No, she could not think of it!

  A firm rap at the door broke into Kassandra's roiling thoughts. "Yes? What is it?" she snapped, her emotions at a near breaking point. Then she shook her head, drawing a deep breath. It would not do for her to appear overly upset, for that would only encourage more of Gisela's prying questions.

  "It is only your bath, milady," Gisela responded stiffly, as if affronted by Kassandra's tone. But, observing the paleness of the young woman's features, she relented. "Please, Lady Kassandra, if you would sit and rest until your bath is ready," she murmured, gesturing toward the chair.

  Kassandra nodded, following her suggestion. She watched silently as Gisela opened the door wide for several maidservants, who carried in steaming buckets of hot water. They returned again and again, pouring them into the large porcelain-lined tub set behind an oriental screen in a far corner of the room, until it was filled. Then Gisela liberally splashed some perfumed oil into the water, lastly unwrapping a fresh cake of hard-milled soap and setting it in a dish on a low table beside the tub.

  Assured that all was in order, she hurried to the door. "I will return in a few moments with your brandy. Enjoy your bath, milady."

  "There is no need to rush, Gisela," Kassandra murmured. She smiled her thanks as the maid closed the door behind her, then she tested the water with her toe, the robe slipping to the floor as she stepped gingerly into the tub.

  "Hmmm . . ." Kassandra murmured contentedly. The warm water felt so wonderful. She lay her head against the tub, the tension gradually fading from her mind. After a few relaxing moments, she rubbed the soap in a soft cloth until it was thick with lather, then ran it along one slim arm, luxuriating in the heady jasmine fragrance.

  A sudden commotion in the hallway just outside her chamber startled Kassandra. She sat bolt upright in the tub, the soapy cloth slipping from her hand into the water. "What!" she gasped in surprise as the door burst open and hit the wall behind it with a resounding thud.

  "Kassandra, what is this I hear of you almost being killed?" Isabel cried, sweeping into the room in great agitation. She crossed the floor in a flurry, her velvet cape flaring behind her, her skirts swishing and swaying from her rapid movement. "Oh, forgive me," she murmured, blushing. "Gisela didn't say you were taking a bath." She moved to the other side of the screen, allowing Kassandra some privacy.

  "I simply told Gisela—"

  "I just met Gisela in the hall. She told me all about your terrible brush with death," Isabel rushed on, clearly horrified by what she had heard. She paced back and forth. "A carriage, you say. Did you see the driver, or the coat of arms, perhaps? We should report this to the authorities at once! Oh dear, what would Miles say if he knew such a thing had happened?"

  Isabel paused for breath, glancing reproachfully in Kassandra's direction. "I thought you said you were going for a ride today, not into Vienna on errands. And Gisela said you refused an escort. Oh, Kassandra, I am simply stunned that you could go into the city by yourself! Especially with all the soldiers about, now that the Imperial army has returned."

  Clearly exasperated, Isabel plopped into a nearby chair, a difficult task due to the stiff whalebone hoopskirt beneath her gown. She held her skirts down as best she could, her voice betraying her irritation. "This fashion is so impossible," she blurted.

  Kassandra could have laughed out loud, a welcome urge after such a day. But the feeling quickly passed, a sense of irony gripping her in its place. Yes, there had been soldiers in the city, much to her misfortune.

  "If you will give me just a moment, Isabel," she called out, rinsing the soap suds from her body. With a sigh, she rose out of the tub and grabbed the thick towel draped over the screen, quickly buffing herself dry. Then she snatched her satin robe from the floor and wrapped it about her. Stepping from behind the screen, she was struck by the color of Isabel's eyes, usually a lively blue but now so clouded with concern that they appeared more gray . . . flint gray.

  That's odd, Kassandra thought, a chill coursing through her. They were so much like . . . Then she dismissed the unsettling coincidence. What she obviously needed was a good rest, as soon as she appeased Isabel.

  Kassandra sat down in the chair adjacent to Isabel's. "I don't know what Gisela told you, Isabel, but the incident was really nothing. A slight scare, that's all. I will simply have to be more careful in crossing the streets."

  Isabel shook her head, her dark curls bobbing about. "But, Kassandra, venturing into Vienna by yourself—"

  "If it will make you feel better, Isabel, I promise I won't go there again, at least not without an escort," Kassandra assured her, though she knew that would be a hard promise to keep. Even after what had happened that day, she was still not willing to give up her independence. She deftly changed the subject. "Now, enough talk about me. How was the gala? Tell me."

  Isabel's worried expression immediately brightened, a smile of pleasure curving her mouth. "Oh, it was truly lovely, Kassandra. I wish you had chosen to go with me."

  As do I, Kassandra thought ruefully. As do I.

  "Their Majesties were so gracious and charming, and the amusements they had arranged. The gala was outdoors, and they had shooting games. All the unmarried ladies present were given light guns to shoot at the prettiest of targets—Cupid, Venus, Lady Fortune—and those who had the highest points were given prizes from the hand of Empress Elisabeth herself. Why, look at this!" Isabel held out her right hand, upon her forefinger a gold ring set round with sparkling blue sapphires.

  "It's lovely," breathed Kassandra.

  "Yes, but most important of all," Isabel enthused, "we received wonderful news at the gala. Prince Eugene of Savoy has returned to Vienna at last from the campaign in Hungary. That means Stefan will soon be home! He is probably even now in the city."

  Kassandra smiled. She had heard a great deal about Stefan von Furstenberg—his accomplishments, his bravery, his sense of fairness, and so much more—from Isabel, who clearly adored her older brother. "That is wonderful news, Isabel," she murmured, a wave of exhaustion suddenly assailing her. She would have loved to show more enthusiasm, but she was so tired.

  "Oh, Kassandra, you must be exhausted," Isabel sympathized, noting the faint shadows beneath the younger woman's eyes. She had to admit she was disappointed at Kassandra's reaction to her news, especially after she had expressed such an interest in meeting her brother. It was probably her trying day, Isabel reasoned. After all, Kassandra had narrowly escaped serious harm. Perhaps a good night's rest would bring her round.

  "Yes, I think I will go to bed early tonight," she replied sleepily.

  "Very well, then," Isabel said, rising as Gisela entered the room.

  "Your warm brandy, Lady Kassandra." She set it on the table near the bed. "Will there be anything else? A light supper, perhaps?"

  "No, thank you, Gisela. I'm really not very hungry."

  "As you wish, milady."

  "Sleep well, Kassandra. We'll talk more in the morning," Isabel murmured. She followed Gisela from the room and closed the door carefully behind her. Yes, tomorrow she would tell Kassandra about the welcoming reception at the Hofburg to be held that evening for the victorious Prince Eugene and his office
rs. She only hoped that Kassandra would be more receptive to accompanying her this time—especially since Stefan would be there.

  Kassandra took a sip of the brandy, the subtle warmth a soothing balm to her tormented thoughts. She walked around her chamber, snuffing out the candles, then climbed into bed.

  Stefan von Furstenberg, she thought, a sudden thrill of anticipation coursing through her. If he was half the man Isabel had made him out to be, he was certainly someone she would enjoy meeting.

  Kassandra unpinned her hair, the thick, burnished waves falling about her face and down her back. She yawned drowsily, laying her head down on the welcome softness of her pillows, and in only a few moments, fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Kassandra stepped from her room, somewhat embarrassed at the lateness of the hour. She was sure it was already well past midday. But each time she had opened her eyes that morning they had closed heavily once again, as if she had been drugged, and sleep had held her fast for another hour. At last, drowsy and dulled, she had forced herself from bed, and once up and about, she had begun to feel more like herself. After eating a thick slice of buttered bread with her favorite raspberry preserves and drinking strong hot tea, she would feel as good as new.

  Kassandra moved down the corridor, laughing voices carrying up to her from the high-ceilinged foyer. She paused to listen. She could not make out the words, but she recognized Isabel's animated voice. The other, a man's, deep and resonant, was unfamiliar to her, at least from this distance. She heard footsteps crossing the polished floor and the sound of the heavy door at the front entrance closing firmly.

  She walked to the staircase and looked down, but the foyer was now empty. Perhaps Isabel and her guest had stepped outside, she thought, holding the mahogany railing as she descended the stairs. The wild neighing of a horse startled her, then she heard the pounding of hooves upon the packed dirt of the drive. Curious, she moved to one of the tall windows flanking the front door and pushed aside the lace curtain.

  Isabel was standing on the last step leading down to the curved drive, her hand uplifted in farewell, her gaze following the cloaked figure of a rider on a spirited black stallion as it disappeared into the trees bordering the lawn. She turned, smiling happily, and began to walk back into the house, suddenly spying Kassandra at the window before she could drop the curtain. Her lively blue eyes lightened with excitement and she swept through the door, her skirts rustling and swaying.

  "Oh, Kassandra, did you see him?" she asked breathlessly.

  Kassandra flushed bright pink, chagrined that she had been caught spying behind the curtain. If Isabel had another gentleman friend besides her father, well, that was none of her business.

  She had discovered it was an accepted practice in Vienna for women to have both a husband and a lover—and husbands their mistresses in addition to a wife—a surprising arrangement that was openly encouraged. She had been shocked at first, but then had decided that at least it was not as hypocritical as the surreptitious affairs rumored to be so rampant in the English court.

  Just because Isabel and her father weren't married yet did not mean the countess might not already have a handsome paramour to keep her company during her father's long absence in Germany, Kassandra considered, though in her heart she hoped this was not the case.

  "I only saw a rider . . . I did not see his face—" she began, deeply flustered.

  "It was Stefan," Isabel blurted gaily, noting the heightened color on Kassandra's cheeks and the way she was nervously twisting the silken fabric of her skirt. A look of feigned indignation crossed her delicate features. "Oh, Kassandra, really! My heart has room for only one man, despite Viennese customs, and that man is your father." She laughed merrily. "Come now, have you had anything to eat yet?"

  Kassandra shook her head, astounded that Isabel had so clearly read her mind.

  "No? Well, let's go into the dining room. I have so much to tell you." Isabel wound her arm through Kassandra's, and together they walked into the adjoining room. They had hardly sat down at the table before Isabel rushed on.

  "I had hoped you might come downstairs before Stefan left for the city, but I decided it was best to let you sleep, especially after yesterday," Isabel said kindly.

  "But when did he arrive?" Kassandra asked. She winced inwardly, Isabel's innocent remark an unsettling reminder of the events of the day before. No, it was done and in the past, she told herself defiantly, willing herself to think of more pleasant things.

  Stefan. She felt a flicker of disappointment that she had so narrowly missed him. She nodded to the serving maid, who filled a cup with hot tea and set it on the table in front of her.

  "Fetch some of that marvelous bread that the cook baked this morning, if you would, Berdine," Isabel murmured to the young girl, who bobbed her head and hurried from the dining room. She turned to Kassandra. "Gisela came to my door at three o'clock in the morning to tell me Stefan had just arrived at the estate. I barely had time to put on my robe before he was there in my chamber."

  Isabel smiled happily. He had looked so handsome and dashing in his uniform, standing so tall in the threshold. She had flown into his arms, tears of joy streaking her face, relief that he had survived yet another military campaign flooding her body. He was all the family she had . . .

  Isabel sighed. No, now was not the time to think of her dear parents or her sweet sister, Gretchen, only twelve years old when she had died in Vienna's plague of seven years ago. Besides, she thought, Stefan was home now, and she had Miles . . . and Kassandra. She looked at the young woman beside her, intent upon buttering and slathering with jam the warm bread that had just arrived from the kitchen.

  She was so lovely, so spirited, Isabel mused. She would be the most wonderful stepdaughter, and hopefully . . . the perfect sister-in-law. That is, if Kassandra and Stefan took an interest in each other, as she was hoping they might. She could not think of a better match for her brother than the young Englishwoman.

  Kassandra set the knife upon the table and took a bite of bread, savoring the tart flavor of the raspberry preserves. She could not believe how hungry she was. She smiled at Isabel, noting that the countess was studying her frankly. Again she was struck by the color of her eyes. She had seen such a color only once before . . .

  "Now, Kassandra, I have more exciting news," Isabel began, her voice breaking into Kassandra's thoughts. "Tonight there is going to be a welcoming reception at the Hofburg for Prince Eugene and his officers, and it would please me so much if you would attend." She rushed on excitedly. "Stefan will be there. I have told him a great deal about you in my letters, and he is looking forward to meeting you." Isabel held her breath, as if gauging Kassandra's reaction to her news.

  Kassandra swallowed the last of her bread, her gaze meeting Isabel's. She hated the thought of disappointing the countess—she looked so hopeful—yet she hated those damnable court functions even more. The stuffy protocol, the gossip, the awful intrigue, the self-serving lords and their haughty ladies. She shuddered to think of it.

  So it had been ever since her first ball at the court of Queen Anne, when she was only fourteen. The malicious conversation she had overheard between two ladies-in-waiting about her mother, Lady Caroline, the mother who had died at her birth, the mother she had known only through the beautiful portrait hanging in the main hall at Wyndham Court, came back to haunt her as if it were only yesterday.

  "So that is the harlot's child," a stout, heavily rouged lady had whispered to a friend, yet loud enough for Kassandra to hear.

  "Yes, and see how she resembles her mother, with those eyes and that flaming red hair, a damning color to be sure. To think Lord Harrington would have married that woman, knowing who she was, that she had been a whore on the streets of London!"

  "You had best guard your son well, and see that he doesn't dance with that harlot's spawn," the stout woman spat, a grin splitting her powdered face at Kassandra's stricken expression, knowing she had heard everything . . .<
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  "Kassandra, are you listening? Please say you will go with me," Isabel pleaded with a hint of impatience.

  Kassandra blinked, her thoughts dragged back to the present. "I-I don't think so, Isabel. Surely I can meet Stefan here. Will he be returning to the estate before the reception?"

  Isabel shook her head, a look of exasperation flitting across her face. "No, he said he had to go back into the city for the rest of the afternoon, to look for someone, and that he would meet us at the Hofburg."

  No doubt he was looking for Sophia, she thought, annoyed. She loved her brother, but she had been sorely vexed ever since he had begun a dalliance with Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg, the wife to one of Charles VI's court ministers, over a year ago. She detested the woman and firmly believed Sophia was plotting to become Countess von Furstenberg after the death of her elderly husband, whether from natural or unnatural causes.

  But not if I can prevent it, Isabel told herself determinedly. It was time for Stefan to choose a wife and start a family, perhaps even retire from the military and manage the estate in person, rather than through lengthy correspondence written to her from the battlefield. Lady Kassandra Wyndham was her best hope, and if she would not go to the reception tonight for the sake of meeting Stefan, perhaps there might be another way to persuade her . . .

  "Kassandra, I must insist that you attend the reception with me, if only to represent your father at the court of their Imperial Majesties," Isabel said, hoping this new tack might convince her. "It is an important occasion for Austria, to welcome its victorious army. Since Miles is not here, who could better stand in the ambassador's place than his daughter?"

  Kassandra sighed. She knew Isabel was right. Her father would be pleased to learn she had gone in his place, even knowing her intense dislike of such occasions . . . and the reason behind it. Yet it was ironic that she would represent him at an event celebrating the Austrians' victory over the Turks. It was her father's diplomatic mission to dissuade them from any further campaigns against the Ottoman Empire to protect the trade interests of England.