Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  At least she was feeling more like herself, she mused, pausing at a large oval mirror to study her reflection. Her lively blue eyes stared back at her, fringed by black, curling lashes, and she forced a smile, her right cheek dimpling becomingly. It would not do for Miles to find her so glum when he finally arrived at the estate.

  Isabel turned from the mirror, her smile fading. Whenever that might be, she thought, her dark mood drifting over her once again. She had been expecting him for well over a week. They had been separated for so long, and these last few days had been achingly slow, their tedium compounded by Stefan and Kassandra's silly quarrel.

  Perhaps Miles can set things to rights once he gets here, Isabel consoled herself, continuing down the corridor. She could only hope his diplomatic skills extended to Kassandra as well. She held out her hand for the banister as she reached the staircase but stopped it midair at the sound of a familiar voice wafting up to her from the hall below, deep, resonant, tinged with good humor. Her heart skipped a beat, her skin flushing with warmth. Could it be . . . ?

  "Miles, is that you?" she cried out, barely able to contain her excitement. She leaned over the banister, her face lighting with happiness at the tall gentleman standing just inside the front doorway, a beaming Gisela at his side. He turned and looked up at her, grinning broadly, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

  "Miles!" Isabel fairly flew down the stairs, her arms outstretched, laughing and crying at the same time as he rushed to meet her at the bottom of the staircase. Lost in his embrace, Isabel felt as if time stood still for her, the private agony of many months of waiting washed away in a single moment.

  "Oh, Miles . . ." she sobbed, standing on tiptoe, her delicate frame pressed against his well-toned body. She hugged him as if she would never let him go, and truly, she swore to herself, she never would again.

  "Isabel, my love," Miles Wyndham murmured soothingly, tasting the salt of her tears as he kissed first her cheek, then her mouth. They drew life's breath from each other, embracing, tenderly caressing, their kisses punctuated by joyous laughter, oblivious to the comings and goings of their silent audience.

  Gisela, her eyes shining with approval, watched her mistress with her handsome beloved for a fleeting moment. Then she rushed to the kitchen to bid the cook prepare a hearty midday meal for his lordship, who most certainly must be starved after his long journey.

  Stefan, his expression haunted, watched them from the banister on the second floor. He had heard Isabel's outburst from his chamber and had decided to go and greet his future brother-in-law, dropping the documents he had been merely staring at anyway. But upon seeing them, so blissfully lost in their embrace, he had changed his mind. He swallowed against the bitter taste in his mouth, knowing he would never possess such a love as theirs, knowing Kassandra was lost to him.

  He had no one to blame but himself. He alone was responsible for what had happened at his hunting lodge. Now he could only curse the day he had forced Kassandra to agree to their marriage, curse his arrogant pride, his impatience, his selfishness.

  He had offered her everything but love . . . Kassandra, who was meant for a great love. And when he had finally offered her his heart, it was too late. She had done what any woman in her situation might have done . . . found someone to give her what he said had no meaning for him. He had lost her love to another man.

  A far worthier man, he thought grimly. Disconsolate, he quietly turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor.

  Kassandra was just returning from her morning ride, her cheeks flushed and rosy as she breezed through the front door, only to blanch at the unexpected sight of her father. She stood rooted to the floor, torn between unbridled happiness at his safe return, and heart-wrenching distress.

  So, the day she had dreaded for so long had finally come, she thought miserably. She had no doubt Stefan would ask for consent to their marriage at the earliest opportunity. And she would have no choice but to accept her father's inevitable reply, even when she and Stefan were so far apart. She had given her word . . . It might as well have been written in blood.

  Overwhelmed, Kassandra turned as if to flee, hoping to collect her thoughts in the solace of her favorite garden before greeting her father. But she froze on the threshold at the sound of her name echoing about the hall.

  "Kassandra!" her father repeated, holding Isabel's hand as they both hurried to greet her.

  "Papa," she murmured, a tremulous smile upon her lips. She moved toward him, tears welling in her eyes. She forced them back, a familiar litany droning in her mind. She must give him no cause to think there was anything amiss . . . She must give him no cause . . . She had only to read the radiant joy on his face, and Isabel's, to know there was too much at stake to do otherwise.

  "Papa, what a wonderful surprise!" she exclaimed as his strong arms embraced her. She buried her face against his broad shoulder. He smelled of fragrant pipe tobacco and woodsy cologne, scents she had known since childhood. "I've missed you so."

  Miles drew away from her, his admiring gaze sweeping over her from head to foot. "You've grown even lovelier since I left, Kassandra," he said with pride. He would not say aloud how much she resembled her mother, with her flaming hair and violet eyes, for fear of hurting Isabel. God knows, he would never do that, however unintentionally.

  He glanced over at his beautiful betrothed, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. The past could never be forgotten, nor should it be, he thought fleetingly. But he had been granted a glorious second love to fill the void that had long tormented his heart. "She has thrived under your care, Isabel," he voiced tenderly.

  "Yes, Isabel has been like a mother to me during your absence, Papa . . . and a dear friend," Kassandra quickly agreed.

  "Well, if she has thrived, I certainly can't take all the credit," Isabel objected with a bright laugh. "Stefan is most to be thanked for that."

  Kassandra nearly choked in surprise, but she held her tongue as Isabel chattered on.

  "We've had more than our share of adventures, and miracles, while you've been away, Miles. I've told you about most of them in my letters, but some of the things that have happened recently—" Isabel paused in midsentence, her pretty features darkening with feigned exasperation. "Did you receive any of my letters, Miles? If you did, your replies were most infrequent, scarcely four in just as many months. I had begun to think you had forgotten me."

  "Never, my love," Miles replied, shaking his head. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "I wrote you often. But I learned during my journey that many post carriages en route to Vienna were lost this past winter, along with their passengers and cargo. What with the thieves that constantly plagued the route between this city and Hanover, it was a wonder the post ever reached its destination." He uttered a short laugh. "Though I must say some of my letters would hardly have proved any entertainment at all. King George's home court was a somber place to spend the winter."

  "But what of my letters, Miles?" Isabel persisted. "I wrote to you every week."

  "I received a few, but I think most of them suffered the same fate as my own," he replied. He put his arm about her waist. "It is no matter, my love. We are together now, with all the time in the world to catch up on events." He bent down and lightly kissed the tip of her nose, then straightened and studied her quizzically. "Though I did receive the most curious letter, Isabel, addressed to me with your handwriting. But the paper inside was blank."

  Kassandra started, her cheeks firing hotly.

  "Blank? How odd," Isabel murmured, perplexed. Then she gasped, her eyes widening like china saucers. "Well then, Miles, have you heard the wonderful news about Stefan and—"

  "Oh Papa, it is so good to see you again!" Kassandra blurted, interrupting. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. "But I'm sure you and Isabel must have so much to discuss, and" —she glanced down at the dirty hem of her riding skirt for emphasis— "I really should change. One could practically choke f
rom this dust!"

  With an apologetic smile, she hurried to the staircase. "We can talk later, Papa," she called over her shoulder. She wanted to gather her skirt and run up the steps, but she forced herself to walk, her heart thundering.

  Sweet Lord, she simply could not face it, she raged silently. At least not right now. Perhaps later that afternoon, perhaps . . . Oh, damn it all!

  Kassandra moved swiftly down the corridor to her chamber, swiping at the loose strands of hair that had fallen from the thick knot at her nape. Her door was slightly ajar, but she thought nothing of it, her head down as she walked into the sunlit room. She closed it firmly behind her and turned around, gasping in surprise as Stefan rose from the divan.

  "Wh-what are you doing here?" she sputtered, backing against the door.

  "I've been waiting for you, Kassandra," he began, his expression grim. "Your father has returned—"

  His voice sent a shiver through her. It was the first time he had spoken to her since . . . She shook her head, willing her thoughts back to the present. "Yes, yes, I know," she said, her blood pounding. "I just saw him."

  Was this how it was to be, then? she wondered wildly. Her father had just arrived, and here was Stefan, ready to capture his long-awaited prize, like . . . like some relentless bird of prey.

  Stefan sighed raggedly, reading the desperation in her eyes. It could hardly match his own. He was being split apart, a final furious debate warring within his mind, his heart, his very soul. He had been possessed by it the entire week, unable to face her, unable to face himself. Even now, when it was time to make a decision, it raged like an unquenchable fire within him.

  He knew he could still hold her to their agreement. At least then he would not lose her completely . . .

  Or he could let her go . . . She would be free to enjoy her newfound happiness, and most of all, free of the cruel havoc he had wreaked upon her life.

  Stefan's hands clenched into helpless fists. He knew well within his deepest heart that he had decided. To take Kassandra for his wife knowing she loved another man was more than he could bear. It was not enough to possess her body. He wanted her love—the one thing that would never be his.

  Enough, he thought with resignation. She's lost to you. Get on with it.

  Stefan took a step toward her, his tortured gaze meeting her own. "I release you from your agreement to marry me, Kassandra," he said abruptly. How easily said, he mused, for a statement that would haunt him for a lifetime.

  Kassandra merely gaped at him, so stunned she barely registered his words.

  "It was my plan to tell you this at the hunting lodge, but it was not meant to be." He paused, swallowing against the raw emotion constricting his throat, then continued, his voice a dull monotone. "You have nothing to fear from me, Kassandra. There will be no scandal. What happened in the tavern is between you and me alone . . . our secret. On that, you have my word. Now I must go."

  Stefan moved toward the door, not surprised when Kassandra quickly stepped out of his way. It seemed fitting that she would run from him, even now. He opened the door. "I wish you happiness with your lover, Kassandra, whoever he may be," he murmured softly. "He is more fortunate than he will ever know." Then he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor before fading altogether.

  Kassandra could not move. Stefan's words seemed to hang in the air—I release you, Kassandra, release you, release you—as they tumbled over and over in her mind. She was free of her cursed agreement . . . free.

  Yet how strange, she mused. She felt nothing. No joy, no wild elation, no relief, no sense of triumph, only a swirling emptiness. Never in a thousand years would she have expected this . . .

  Her legs were wooden as she at last walked to the divan and sank down upon it, her head resting in her hand. She stared blindly at the rose-patterned brocade, a single thought pressing in upon her, insistent, demanding.

  What had Stefan said? It was my plan to tell you at the hunting lodge . . . Yes, those had been his words. But it was not meant to be . . . Why? Why wasn't it meant to be? Why hadn't he told her?

  She drew in her breath sharply. Because before he'd had a chance, she'd spurned him, saying she loved another . . .

  Kassandra raised her head, the haunting memory of his expression at that moment a striking image in her mind. Why would Stefan have planned to release her from her agreement to marry him if his words of love were not true? After all that had passed between them, perhaps it was the only way he could prove he truly loved her . . .

  "Oh, Kassandra, what have you done?" she whispered under her breath, rising from the divan. She had sworn she would forgive him anything, everything, if only he spoke the truth. And he had, dear God, he had! Stefan loved her!

  As she loved him . . .

  A fierce ache welled up in her heart and she cried out his name as she fled to the door and flung it wide. There was only one thing she could do. She had to find him. She only hoped it wasn't too late.

  Holding up the skirt of her riding habit, Kassandra raced down the silent corridor and dashed down the stairs, almost running into Isabel, who was rounding the corner from the dining room.

  "Kassandra, I was just on my way up to fetch you. Your father is in the drawing room changing out of his traveling clothes, but as soon as he's ready, we're to have dinner. We thought you might join us. The cook has prepared the most wonderful meal—"

  "Isabel, please, have you seen Stefan?" she blurted breathlessly, her eyes darting to the closed door of the library.

  "Why, he just left, Kassandra, only moments ago."

  "Just left?

  "Yes. I asked him to stay for dinner, but he mumbled something about going for a ride and wanting to be left alone for a while." She shook her head. "He seemed upset. And if I know Stefan, I have no doubt he has set out for his hunting lodge. It's where he always goes when he wishes to be alone."

  Kassandra gave Isabel a quick kiss on the cheek flashed her a smile, then, without saying a word, hurried to the door and opened it before the footman had a chance.

  "What shall I tell your father?" Isabel called out, her brow knit in confusion. When she received no answer, she shrugged her delicate shoulders, at a momentary loss. Then a slow smile spread across her features, and she laughed.

  "What is so amusing?" Miles queried, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms about her petite waist. He bent down and nuzzled her neck, the sweet rose scent of her perfume enveloping his senses.

  Isabel sighed and leaned her head back against his chest. "If I am any judge at all in matters of the heart, I believe Kassandra and Stefan are soon to end their quarrel," she murmured, almost to herself.

  "What quarrel?"

  Isabel turned in his arms, her eyes filling with admiration as they swept over him. He looked so handsome in his light wool waistcoat and breeches, the air of a dignified statesman clinging to him like a fine fragrance. He was no longer wearing a wig; instead his dark brown hair, graying at the temples, was neatly combed from his strong forehead. She took his hand and walked with him into the dining room. "Oh, it is nothing, my lord. Come, our dinner is waiting."

  Chapter 32

  The sun had climbed well up in the midday sky by the time Kassandra neared the hunting lodge. She slowed her mare to a trot, shading her eyes from its bright glare as she searched for any sign of Stefan or Brand. A low nicker drifted to them from the small stable, and she felt a rush of nervous excitement. That meant Stefan was here, just as Isabel had said he might be.

  She dismounted in front of the stable door, opened to allow the spring breezes to waft in and out, and led the mare inside the darkened building. It was empty but for Brand, who snorted and tossed his proud head in greeting. She settled her mare into a nearby stall, then stepped out again into the sunlight, but not in time to see another horse and rider melt into a copse of trees a short distance away.

  She walked to the lodge, a giddy tightness in her chest, her breath frozen in h
er throat. But when she pushed open the door and stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the sunlit interior, Stefan was not there. She couldn't even tell if anyone had been in the lodge since the week before—

  A dry stick snapped outside, startling her. "Stefan?" she called out, rushing from the lodge. She was greeted only by the chirping of birds, perched high in the swaying branches of the trees that encircled the logged building, and the gentle rustling of new leaves, shimmering and waving in the sun.

  Where could he be? Then she remembered something Isabel had told her once about a favorite place of Stefan's, along an arm of the Danube River that served as the northeastern boundary of their land. She had said he used to spend many hours there as a boy, fishing or dreaming. She had even caught him fencing at imaginary enemies, a wooden sword in his hand, one day when she had ridden out to meet him.

  Kassandra smiled faintly, conjuring up the scene, then her thoughts returned quickly to the reason she had followed him here. But where was this river? She had never seen it herself, for she never rode this far north. She had no idea if it ran anywhere near the hunting lodge . . .

  It must be close by, she reasoned. Otherwise Brand would not be in the stable. She walked determinedly around the lodge, searching for any sign of a path. She was rewarded when she spied a well-worn trail leading through the dense woods at the rear of the lodge.

  She began to follow it, almost running, a sense of urgency spurring her on. The trail wound through the forest for a short way, skirted a wide clearing, and finally sloped back into the trees and down a gradual hill. She could hear the sound of rushing water growing louder and louder, yet she was hardly prepared for the majesty of the river when she came upon it, a winding torrent of light and vibrant color. She leaned against a tree while she caught her breath, her eyes wide as she drank in the stunning view.