Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  "Very well, Isabel," she agreed halfheartedly.

  "Good," Isabel said, a smile curving her lips. She glanced at the clock on the marble fireplace mantel. It was already half past two; the reception began at six o'clock. If she was to be ready in time, she would have to begin her toilette at once. Such an important occasion demanded that she look her very best.

  She rose from her chair, laying her small hand on Kassandra's shoulder. "That lovely gown your father bought for you, the silver brocade, would be perfect, Kassandra," she enthused. "I shall send Gisela to your room by half past four to help you dress and arrange your hair." She swept happily from the room, her thoughts already on the difficult task of choosing her own gown.

  Kassandra sat silently in her chair, absently toying with a knife.

  Perhaps it will not be so bad, she tried to convince herself. The incident at Queen Anne's court had occurred long ago. Perhaps it was time she let go of that awful memory and learned to enjoy the diversions of the court.

  Kassandra frowned. Well, if not enjoy them, at least tolerate them, she thought ruefully. Besides, Stefan would be there. She would have a chance to meet him at last, just as Isabel had said.

  Kassandra took a sip of tea, wrinkling her nose. It had already grown tepid. She pushed away her plate and leaned back in the chair. Yes, Isabel had told her a great deal about Stefan over the past several months, so much so that she felt she already knew him very well.

  She knew he was courageous and committed, preferring the life of a soldier to that of an aristocrat, that he was a man of honor, respected by his peers as well as by the men he commanded, and as intelligent as he was handsome.

  Yet she also knew he was considered a rogue, a wickedly disarming trait that caused Isabel no small amount of concern. Kassandra was not so naive as to think that he had not had his share of women. One day Berdine, the young maid, had told her of Stefan's current paramour, Archduchess Sophia, in an animated outburst, then had clapped her hand over her mouth for fear she had said too much.

  Kassandra smiled. Whether Stefan was a rogue or not, she was looking forward to meeting him. He sounded intriguing, and it seemed they had at least one thing in common. Isabel had told her that Stefan had chosen the life of a soldier because he disliked the idleness and selfish pursuits typical of the Viennese aristocracy. He was one of a handful of wealthy landowners who had decided not only to manage the affairs of his estate as his livelihood, but also to serve in the Imperial army as an officer.

  And Kassandra, though a peeress by birth, raised amidst luxury and wealth at Wyndham Court in Sussex, England, had spent far more time in intellectual pursuits and attending to the needs of the common people who rented and worked her father's lands than in the feminine occupations more usual to her class: finely stitched needlework and acquiring a rich husband.

  Kassandra stood abruptly and walked toward the stairs. Well, she was to attend the reception, it was time she summoned a bath to her chamber. Perhaps, unlike the night before, she might have a chance to enjoy it.

  And perhaps, if she was lucky, she thought, this reception might offer some diversion from the memories that continued to plague her. She could only hope . . .

  Chapter 8

  "Countess Isabel von Furstenberg and Lady Kassandra Wyndham," the liveried footman announced at the entrance to the great ballroom, bowing courteously.

  "Isn't this exciting?" Isabel whispered behind her fluttering fan as she and Kassandra swept into the throng of guests milling about the massive room. "And you look so beautiful, Kassandra," Isabel said approvingly.

  Kassandra's voluminous gown, with an underskirt of rich brocade and a bodice and overskirt of shimmering silver satin, heightened the creamy porcelain of her skin and the fiery highlights in her hair, and set off to perfection her unusual amethyst eyes.

  Isabel smiled behind her fan, recalling Kassandra's concern over the low-cut neckline of her gown just before they had left the estate that evening.

  "But, Isabel, it's indecent," Kassandra had exclaimed, tugging irritably at the bodice. But it was of no use. She could do nothing to hide the provocative swell of her breasts, further enhanced by the stiff upper molding of her stays, which made her every movement startlingly revealing. "My other gowns have a bit of ruffle around the edge of the bodice, a tucker. Surely—"

  "Oh, really, Kassandra," Isabel replied, laughing. "The tucker is well out of fashion. But you needn't worry that you will stand out. All the ladies of the court wear such gowns."

  Ah, but she does stand out, and ravishingly, Isabel thought, elated that she had convinced Kassandra to accompany her this evening. In her own rose-colored taffeta gown edged with delicate gold ribbon, she knew they made a stunning pair.

  "I'm so happy you are here with me, Kassandra," Isabel enthused, raising her voice to be heard. The din that echoed off the high frescoed ceilings was almost deafening, laughter and conversation from bewigged gentlemen and their sumptuously dressed ladies vying with the festive melodies being played by court musicians beneath an arched alcove.

  Kassandra forced a bright smile. Though she knew she could not match Isabel's enthusiasm, she was determined to give the evening half a chance. She stared around give wide-eyed, at the gilded splendor of the Hapsburg court. Though her father had come here several times for audiences with Charles VI and his ministers, this was her first visit to the Hofburg. She had to admit she had never seen such a ballroom, not even at the royal palace in London.

  Mirrored walls reflected the light from a long row of gleaming gilt chandeliers, each one holding hundreds of slender tapers that flickered brightly, their radiance casting a golden glow on the richly colored paintings on the ceiling and the polished parquet floor. High, arched windows looked onto the magnificent gardens, and pairs of liveried servants, resplendent in white powdered bob wigs and uniforms of blue brocade edged with silver threads, stood at attention beside tall, latticed doors that opened onto a curved terrace.

  At one end of the ballroom tables had been set up for the banquet that would follow the formal reception, the fine Bruges lace tablecloths graced with gleaming silver candelabra and crystal wineglasses. The white chairs placed around the tables were upholstered in a plush red velvet brocade; white benches with gently curling legs and matching red cushions were set against the walls for guests who needed a respite from the constant standing.

  "Kassandra," Isabel said reproachfully, though her eyes twinkled, "you're staring as if you've never seen a palace before." She slipped her arm through Kassandra's and guided her along. "Come, we must first be presented to Their Majesties and Prince Eugene of Savoy. Then we must find Stefan. I haven't seen him yet, but I'm sure he's arrived by now."

  Kassandra felt her face grow hot at Isabel's teasing, but she quickly swallowed her embarrassment as they took their places in the winding receiving line. In no time at all she was standing in front of Their Imperial Majesties, Charles VI and his consort, Empress Elisabeth, who were seated on a raised dais at one end of the room. She curtsied deeply as she was introduced, her gown spreading out upon the floor in shimmering ripples of silvery satin.

  "How lovely you are," the fair-haired empress murmured kindly, after Kassandra had kissed her hand and risen to her feet. She turned to her husband, who sat stiffly at her side.

  "Charles, this is the daughter of Lord Harrington. If you recall, Countess Isabel von Furstenberg is betrothed to marry the good ambassador upon his return to Vienna."

  As the emperor acknowledged her with a nod, Kassandra thought fleetingly how truly like a Hapsburg he looked, with his prominent chin and protruding lip. His somber black court dress was in striking contrast to the iridescent blue silk of his wife's gown and the richly colored fabrics worn by his courtiers. Isabel had told her that the emperor chose to follow the strict code of etiquette and dress adhered to in the Spanish court, where he had spent most of his youth.

  "I had heard Lord Harrington had a daughter, and now I wonder where he has been hid
ing such a charming young woman these past months," Empress Elisabeth continued, glancing back at Kassandra. She smiled sweetly. "For I believe this is your first time at court, is it not?"

  Kassandra nodded, blushing. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said.

  "Well, now that you have graced our court, we hope to see much more of you during your stay in Vienna. I'm sure that we have many young gentlemen who would be most delighted to make your acquaintance."

  Kassandra smiled weakly, her mind racing. Sweet Lord, now she would never be free of court functions! But she had no more time to think as Isabel took her elbow and steered her to where a rigidly erect officer was standing a short distance away. Instinctively she curtsied.

  "It is a pleasure, Lady Kassandra," Prince Eugene of Savoy murmured in a heavily accented voice that affirmed his French heritage. Gallantly he held out his hand and helped Kassandra to arise, then turned to Isabel. "Ah, and Countess Isabel. Your brother, Stefan, has once again proven an invaluable asset in our latest campaign. His bravery is to be commended. "

  Kassandra stood at Isabel's side, barely listening as the countess and Prince Eugene discussed Stefan's valor in battle. She could hardly believe that this frail-looking man with his swarthy complexion and sunken cheeks could be the renowned commander of the Imperial army. She felt awkward, fairly towering over him, while Isabel, a woman of petite stature, was gazing at the famous general, the most hated and feared enemy of the Ottoman Empire, eye to eye.

  "Countess Isabel tells me you have yet to meet her brother," Prince Eugene repeated, regarding her quizzically.

  Kassandra started. "Ye-yes, that is true," she stammered, strangely flustered. She could not help but sense that the general had surmised her thoughts. His dark eyes, the liveliest feature about him, seemed faintly amused as he turned back to Isabel. Several other guests soon joined their group, pressing around the general to hear more news of his recent victories at Peterwardein and Temesvar in Hungary.

  Oh, this was all going very badly, Kassandra chided herself. Suddenly she felt very warm, her tight stays an oppressive vise. What she would give for a breath of fresh air. She glanced over her shoulder, gratefully spying a set of nearby doors that led to the terrace. She grasped Isabel's arm and gently pulled her aside.

  "Isabel, please excuse me, but I feel a bit lightheaded. The air in the room is so stuffy. I think I'll step onto the terrace for a while."

  Concern touched Isabel's delicate features. "Would you like me to go with you—"

  "No, I'll be fine." Kassandra stopped her, shaking her head. "Please make my excuses to the general. And don't worry, I'll be back in a few moments." She whirled on her heel and hurried across the room, nodding to the footmen standing on either side of the doors, who quickly opened them for her.

  As she swept onto the curved terrace, Kassandra paused for a long, deep breath of the night air. She did not have her cape, but she doubted she would need it. So far it had been unusually warm for this time of year.

  She felt refreshed immediately, the stirring breezes working like a tonic to cool her flushed face. The rapid beating of her heart gradually subsided, replaced by a feeling of calm as she looked over the moonlit tranquillity of the formal gardens.

  It seemed almost a magical night, a haunting night. Thin banks of clouds hung across the sky, a fine gossamer netting against the backdrop of blues that arced from the lightest turquoise at the horizon to inky blue-black at the highest zenith. Myriad clusters of stars glittered like drops of dew through the translucent clouds, reminding Kassandra of a spider's web.

  The late autumn breeze rustled through the trees, the crisp leaves that still clung to the half-naked branches shimmering and dancing like undulating ghosts in the pale moonlight. There was a hushed quality in the air, broken occasionally by bursts of soft, secretive laughter coming from guests strolling along the darkened paths. A few flickering torches lit the marble stairs leading to the gardens on each side of the terrace, glowing beacons that seemed to illuminate the entrance into a mysterious world of shadows and intrigue.

  Kassandra moved slowly to the balustrade, her hand sliding along the smooth polished marble as she walked to the edge of the terrace. She hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs, wavering uncertainly. She relished the idea of a walk in the garden, but it seemed so dark beyond the sputtering torchlight. Yet her only other alternative was to return to the stuffy ballroom.

  That dreadful thought gave Kassandra the impetus she needed. She walked quickly down the stairs and onto a wide graveled path flanked by tall, manicured hedges. As she moved farther away from the lighted windows of the palace and her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found that she could see quite well in the moon's veiled glow.

  To her surprise, there were quite a few guests in the garden. Some strolled in thoughtful solitude, while others were seated on marble benches beside classical Greek statues that shone an eerie white in the moonlight. And then there were the pairs of lovers embracing fervently in secluded alcoves or walking arm in arm, their heads close together as they whispered in passionate conspiracy.

  Kassandra walked quietly along the path, content to be alone. She did not stop until she had reached a far corner of the garden, then she leaned against a gnarled tree beside the entrance to a vine-covered alcove and gazed up at the night sky. It was all so peaceful, she thought dreamily, so peaceful . . .

  "Oh . . . !" A ragged moan, breathless and panting, suddenly carried to her from deep within the alcove behind her, breaking the enchanted silence. Kassandra froze, her hands pressing painfully into the rough bark of the tree, scarcely daring to breathe.

  "Ah, love me . . . love me," a woman's sultry voice, laden with the impassioned heat of approaching ecstasy, called out into the night, her cry lost to the sighing wind.

  God in heaven, what had she stumbled into? Kassandra thought wildly.

  Suddenly the woman gasped aloud, "Stef—" But her moans of delight were quickly stifled, and again all was quiet in the dark corner of the garden.

  Kassandra's face flushed shamefully. She had unwittingly eavesdropped on a lovers' tryst! She gripped the tree, afraid to move even one step lest she be heard and found out. Then she stiffened in surprise as a man's voice, deep, and edged with roughness, spoke from within the alcove, cutting through her like a knife, twisting into her mind with cruel familiarity.

  "Would you . . . flaunt your infidelity . . . to the world . . . ?" the man queried, his labored breathing melding with the woman's husky laughter and whispered reply.

  Kassandra blanched, her nails digging into her clenched hands. Could it be possible? She felt rooted to the ground, though every instinct cried out for her to flee. She barely heard the rustling of silken skirts and a sword belt being buckled for the thunderous pounding of blood in her ears. Surely she had imagined that voice!

  "It is time you returned to the reception," the man murmured. "No doubt your husband has need of you."

  "His needs are none of my concern!" the woman snapped petulantly. "It is your needs that interest me, my love . . . yours alone—"

  "And you have seen to them very well this night, as always," the man interrupted her, somewhat impatiently. "But go now. We have tarried overlong. I will follow in a few moments."

  "Oh, very well. But kiss me again . . . for good measure."

  Kassandra held her breath during the long silence that ensued, exhaling only when the woman spoke again.

  "If I did not know better, my lord, I would say your mind has been elsewhere this night. But at least your lovemaking has not been lacking. You are, how shall I say . . . as magnificent as ever."

  Kassandra peeked from behind the tree, relief surging through her when the woman stepped from the alcove, but she could not see her face in the dark. The woman paused and smoothed her rippling silk gown, then she set off down the path toward the palace without a backward glance, her skirts swaying provocatively, her fading laughter low and throaty.

  Kassandra watched breathlessly a
s the man, too, left the cover of the alcove and stood with his back to her, his tall silhouette etched against the moonlit sky. He had said he would follow in a few moments . . .

  Her heart sank when the man lingered, apparently in no hurry. She closed her eyes and leaned against the tree, waiting . . . waiting, her body taut and tingling with tension.

  Suddenly a twig snapped on the other side of the tree, only a few feet away.

  "Oh!" Kassandra gasped, her eyes flying open as she fairly jumped through her skin. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She heard heavy footfalls, slow, deliberate . . . like a lithe, stalking animal, moving ever closer, around the massive gnarled trunk . . . Oh, God, toward her!

  Kassandra waited no longer. In one swift movement she lifted her skirts and darted onto the path, straight into the man's open arms.

  "Let me go!" Kassandra railed, struggling to free herself from his grip. She kept her head down, a terrible fear, an awful premonition, preventing her from looking at his face. But he held her fast, his arms tightening around her like muscled bands of iron, astonishingly powerful.

  "It seems I have found a spy in this garden . . . perhaps a beautiful one," he murmured huskily. Holding her easily with one arm, he brought his other hand under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.

  Kassandra's eyes widened in shock, her throat constricting painfully as she stared up at the man she had thought she would never see again. His piercing gaze seemed to devour her in its gray depths, and she flushed with sudden warmth, her limbs strangely weak.

  Perhaps he wouldn't recognize her . . . He had been drunk, hadn't he? Perhaps he had no recollection of what had happened between them . . . Kassandra's agonized thoughts tumbled over themselves like nightmare phantoms, her desperate plea that he not remember like a silent scream upon her lips.

  Stunned, Stefan gazed into the flashing amethyst pools that had haunted his every moment since he had first seen them the day before. Damn! He could hardly believe it! His eyes raked over the length of her, from the elegant coif of her fire-gold hair, the dazzling beauty of her features, the shimmering silver gown that accentuated the lushness of her form, to her slippered feet.