by Jane Feather
Michael, however, seemed quite unaware that there were two men in the opera house prepared to challenge him to the death. Casually, he took a snuffbox from his pocket. Cordelia had spent her life at court and knew that court rules forbade any public enmity between courtiers. It would be an insult to the king. Men met socially, always the epitome of courtesy, while murderous hatred frequently simmered beneath the affable surface.
The arrival of the royal party put an end to these reflections as she rose with the rest of the audience. The king and his family took their places in the royal box, the court sat down again, the music began.
It was a tedious opera, the music heavy and boring. The chandeliers were kept alight throughout so that people-watching rapidly became the chief entertainment as the performance lumbered along on the stage. Toinette was looking very bored, fidgeting in her chair, whispering to her companions.
Cordelia allowed her thoughts to run along their own channels until the interlude of ballet at the end of the first act. Toinette, who adored dancing, also sat up, leaning forward to watch attentively.
It was a charming piece, but Cordelia was particularly struck by one young dancer's solo. The girl was exquisite, dainty, and an excellent ballerina. Cordelia leaned over the edge of the box. Christian was sitting rapt in the first row of the pit, just behind the orchestra. Cordelia recognized the tilt of his head and knew that he was lost to the world, every fiber of his being concentrated on the music… and perhaps also the stage.
Could his attention also be held by the dancer? she wondered with a surge of interest. It would be a wonderful partnership. Christian's music and the girl's inspired dancing. Maybe more than a working partnership, she caught herself thinking. Christian needed someone to care for him, to love him for his genius and his gentleness and shake him out of his pessimistic glooms. And she wouldn't always be around to do it. Not if Leo took her away… Her fingers curled into her palms and she breathed deeply for a minute.
"Do you not find that dancer very talented, sir?" she observed to the man sitting behind her. "Does she dance often for the court?"
"She's been fortunate enough to catch the king's eye," the Due de Fevre told her.
His duchess chuckled behind her fan. "And we all know what that means. The little Clothilde is on her way to a nice little billet in the Pare aux Cerfs."
The king's private bordello-that would not suit Cordelia's tentative plans at all.
"She comes of a very respectable and devout merchant family, I'm told," Prince Michael remarked. "I understand her father is very resistant to her appearing on the stage, and one can only imagine how he would view her residing in the Pare aux Cerfs, even with the king as lover."
"But dare a man defy his sovereign?" the duke said. "Droit de seigneur…" His rather squeaky titter was unpleasant.
"Aren't the girls selected by Madame du Barry?" Cordelia inquired, her eyes wide over her fan.
"The king usually states a preference, madame," the duchess informed her.
Cordelia could tell that Michael wasn't too happy with the tone of the conversation. He moved restlessly in his seat, his mouth pursed and tight. "Do you enjoy the ballet, my lord?" she inquired, trying for a demure little smile.
"I find I prefer the opera," he said as pleasantly as behooved a man who knew appearances must be maintained.
"Perseus in particular, sir, or opera in general?" She plied her fan.
Michael's answer was lost as a footman arrived in the box. "Her Highness the Dauphine requests the pleasure of the company of Prince and Princess von Sachsen."
Michael looked for once approving. Cordelia rose, reveling in the mischievous thought that he might approve of his wife's influence when it came to the notice of the dauphine, but when he heard where else it had led, he was going to be very discomposed. But he wouldn't be able to blame her.
She placed her hand on his proffered arm, and they proceeded to the royal box, the flunky clearing the way for them with booming shouts of "Make way for Prince and Princess von Sachsen." On stage the ballet continued with or without the attention of its audience.
The king greeted Michael amiably and offered his hand to Cordelia with a cheerful "Ah, the other little Viennese. Princess von Sachsen, the card player par excellence. You should know that I find myself very well pleased with those who come from Schonbrunn." Cordelia curtsied and kissed his hand. The dauphin greeted her with a stiff nod that denoted ill ease rather than arrogance. Toinette gave her her hand to kiss.
"I heard how thoroughly you carried the day at lansquenet the other evening, my dear friend. You must teach me some of your skills." Her eyes sparkled.
"I believe you are as skilled as I, madame," Cordelia said, hiding her grin.
Toinette's eyes went meaningfully toward Cordelia's silk reticule, hanging from her wrist by a ribbon. Cordelia nodded. They both knew about the tiny mirror it contained. A mirror that could be concealed in the palm of a hand that might be casually resting on the arm of another player's chair.
"How do you enjoy the opera?" Toinette changed the subject.
"It is a most solemn, weighty piece, madame," Cordelia said gravely, her own eyes dancing.
"That is hardly an answer to Madame the Dauphine's question," the king said with a guffaw. "Do you find it as tedious as everyone else appears to?"
"Perhaps I am not a good judge, monseigneur." Cordelia curtsied again and was rewarded with another hearty guffaw. "I can see from your eyes, madame, that you tease me. Shame on you. Prince Michael, did you know you had taken such a tease for your bride?"
"The princess has a very pleasing humor, sir."
It must have been a real effort to get that out, Cordelia reflected. The words probably scorched the back of his throat. She smiled at him over her fan. "My husband is too kind."
"Tell me, Prince, about your children." Toinette demanded in her clear bell-like tones. "Before we left Vienna, Cordelia and I had much talk over her role as a mother. Are they pleased to have a new mother?"
Michael bowed, clearly taken aback by this unexpected topic. "My daughters are dutiful, madame. They will respect their stepmother."
"I would dearly like to meet them," Toinette said artlessly. "Could it be arranged that they could come to Versailles during the remainder of the wedding celebrations?" She turned rapidly to the king before Michael could marshal his senses. "May I invite them, Grandpere? My very first guests to the palace."
The king was well on the way to adoring his new grand- daughter-in-law. He patted her cheek. "Yes, indeed. A capital idea. There's nothing like children at court. Send for them at once, Prince. We should be delighted to notice them."
The notice of the king was a signal honor as much for the children's father as for themselves. Michael bowed and murmured his gratitude. Cordelia exchanged a wink with Toinette.
"You must send for them directly, Prince," Toinette (declared. "In fact, perhaps you should fetch them yourself, i We shall look after your wife in your absence." She smiled radiantly, with the air of one who knew she was being wonderfully generous. "Is that not the best idea, Monseigneur Grandpere?
"If you wish it, my dear," the king said with a benign beam. "And I shall look forward to getting to know Princess von Sachsen. You must have her more in your company."
"That would please us both," Toinette said.
"It would please me immeasurably, madame." Cordelia curtsied. Beside her, Michael struggled to hide his own feelings. Somehow, in five minutes he had been temporarily dismissed from court and his wife elevated to the side of the dauphine and the particular attention of the king. The honor to his wife reflected upon him, but he had been manipulated in some way. He looked suspiciously between the dauphine and his wife and caught the exchange of a conspiratorial smile.
If Cordelia became an intimate of the dauphine's household, she would be beyond his observation for long periods of time. He could not follow her into those circles and he could not forbid her to obey a royal command. She would
effectively be beyond his jurisdiction except at night.
Was his youthful bride cleverer than he could have imagined? Cleverer even than Elvira? A chill ran down his spine.
The arrival of other visitors to the royal box was their signal to leave. Toinette squeezed Cordelia's hand in private communication while saying graciously for the benefit of the prince, "Do pray come to me in the morning, Cordelia. We can plan amusements for your stepdaughters when your husband brings them to us."
Cordelia curtsied and murmured acquiescence. Toinette had gone a step further than they'd planned, but she had no fault to find with the prospect of being husbandless for a night or maybe two.
Michael stiffly escorted her back to their box as the orchestra began tuning up for the second act. "Will you excuse me for a minute, my lord? I have need of the retiring room," she murmured as they reached their box, slipping her hand from under his arm.
He was looking thunderous, but she couldn't imagine how he could blame her for the dauphine's command, backed by the king's cheerful approval. Even if he suspected she had had a part in it, he could never be certain, and he couldn't openly object. He didn't respond to her polite excuse, merely marched into the box, leaving her behind.
She slipped away into the crowded theater foyer, where people lingered, chattering, obviously preferring this entertainment to what was on offer on the stage. Christian was waiting for her beside the tapestried screen that half concealed the entrance to the ladies' retiring room.
She came up to him without giving him so much as a glance and began to examine the embroidery on the screen with every appearance of interest.
"How are you?" Christian whispered, staring out over the crowd, his lips barely moving. "That bastard… I cannot bear to think of it, Cordelia."
"I can endure it," she reassured. "While I have my friends, love, I can endure anything. You and Leo, and Mathilde." Her voice shook for the first time. "Taking Mathilde from me was the worst, Christian. Without her I feel so alone in that hellhole."
"She sent a letter." Christian's hand went behind him. "And this."
Cordelia moved her own hand casually and received a small glass object and a folded sheet of parchment. Something hard was inserted into the fold. "What is it?"
"I don't know. I expect the letter explains. What can I do, Cordelia?" His whisper was anguished.
"Don't worry. I'm just so happy that you're close by." With determined cheerfulness she changed the subject. "What did you think of the solo dancer?"
"Divine," Christian responded promptly, his large brown eyes for a minute losing their melancholy softness.
"She's called Clothilde. Her father's a merchant in the town. Why don't you contrive an introduction? I'm sure someone in the musical community will know her."
"But what could interest her about me? She's exquisite and I'm just a musician under patronage. I'd bore her."
"Idiot!" Cordelia scoffed with an affectionate smile. "You have more to offer than anyone I know and-"
"Go into the retiring room!" His urgent whisper interrupted her and without a moment's hesitation she slipped behind the screen and vanished into the chattering crowd of women.
Christian ducked sideways, losing himself in a group of courtiers. Prince Michael stood at the entrance to the foyer, the opera house at his back. He was scanning the throng, frowning. Cordelia had been gone a long time for a simple visit to the retiring room. Folding his arms, he leaned against a pillar, watching for her.
Cordelia pushed through the crush of women waiting to use one of the two screened commodes and found a quiet corner in the lavishly appointed salon, its mirrored walls doubling the number of its occupants. She opened Mathilde's note and, as she had guessed from the feel, a small padlock key fell into her palm. She dropped it into her reticule with a tiny thrill of excitement. Now all she needed was opportunity. She ran her eye over the contents of the note. She was to put three drops of the liquid in the glass vial into her husband's cognac before he came to her bed. He would sleep soon and heavily.
Cordelia dropped the vial into her reticule with the key and casually held the note to a candle flame. It caught, curled, fell to the tabletop in a scatter of gray ash. She drew several curious looks but she smiled serenely, as if she had a perfectly good reason for playing with a candle, and made her way to the door.
She saw Michael the minute she emerged. The little sick tremors started in her belly again. Had Christian's warning been in time? Forcing a social smile, she moved toward him. "There were a great many women waiting for two commodes, my lord."
A flicker of distaste crossed his eyes at the indelicacy of this blunt statement. "Come," he said curtly. "It's discourteous to leave our companions alone in the box."
For the remainder of the afternoon, Cordelia's fingers curled around her reticule, feeling the hard shape of the vial. If its contents put Michael to sleep, she wouldn't have to endure more than one assault at night. And she had the key too. For the first time in days, she had the sense of regaining control over her own life. She had the power now to take " charge; she didn't have to be a defenseless victim.
And she and Leo would leave Versailles…
But how? She was no ordinary citizen who could pack up and disappear without question. They would need passports to cross France, unless they stole away like thieves in the night. But they could be pursued. Adultery was a crime. It was a crime for a wife to leave her husband, and a crime for anyone to aid and abet her. If they were caught, Michael could kill them both with impunity. Or he could kill Leo and devise some other even more ghastly punishment for his errant wife.
The thoughts swirled in her head through the remainder of the dreary performance, and she rose with the same alacrity as those around her the minute the last chord had died away.
"I will escort you to our apartments, then I am engaged to meet with some friends," Michael state coldly.
"I can make my own way without escort, my lord. There's no need to trouble yourself," Cordelia said-a little too eagerly.
"It will be no trouble, madame," he said distantly. "I don't care for you to be roaming around the palace unattended. There will be no repetition of this morning."
Cordelia bit her lip. It was as good as a promise to put a guard on her. She said nothing, however, and having seen her inside the door, he left her with the curt injunction that she was to remain within until he returned in an hour's time.
Cordelia rang for Monsieur Brion, who appeared almost immediately. "Is there something I can do for you, my lady?"
Cordelia turned from the window where she'd been looking out somewhat wistfully. It was a fine soft evening and the gardens looked most inviting. "Yes, bring me tea, would you?"
"Immediately, madame." He bowed and turned back to the kitchen.
"Oh, and Monsieur Brion?" "Madame?"
"I believe it might be wise of you to check your inventories and accounts," she said casually. "As soon as possible. Particularly those pertaining to the wine cellars."
He looked sharply at her, a spot of color appearing on his cheek, a touch of fear in his eyes. She merely smiled. He cleared his throat. "I'll see to it at once." A short pause. Then he bowed. "Thank you, my lady."
"One good turn deserves another, Monsieur Brion," she said serenely, turning back to the window.
"Indeed, madame. I'll bring the tea at once." The door closed behind her.
Cordelia smiled to herself. Making allies was a deal more satisfying than making enemies. And under Prince Michael's punishing rule, every member of his household must know who their allies were.
Chapter Seventeen
"What it is to have influential friends," Cordelia announced jubilantly as she closed the door of the dauphine's boudoir the following morning. "Michael has gone to Paris and I'm free for at least twenty-four hours. That was such a clever idea to send him for the children."
"Wasn't it?" Toinette said smugly. Then her expression sobered. "I wish I could send him away altogether,
Cordelia It's so terrible to think of him misusing you. Why can't I tell the king?"
"You know why." Cordelia curled onto the end of the sofa, kicking off her slippers. She was in dishabille and it was blissful to be without hoop and corset. "The king would be furious at being told something so distasteful. You know he doesn't like to hear anything unpleasant." She plucked a grape from the bunch on a side table.
"I assume he's heard about my husband's reluctance… failure… oh, I don't know what to call it, Cordelia." Toinette cut a handful of grapes with a small pair of silver scissors. "But I'm so embarrassed. Everyone must be whispering about it. And if he doesn't get me with child, they could annul the marriage and send me home again." She munched glumly for a minute. "Can you imagine being sent home to Vienna in disgrace? A failed wife? It doesn't bear thinking of."
"No," Cordelia agreed. "But it won't happen because someone will discover what's wrong and fix it."
"But what if it's me that's wrong?" Toinette wailed.
"How can it be? You're beautiful, you're an empress's daughter and an emperor's sister. You're young, you're charming. The whole country is half in love with you already, and the king adores you."
Toinette brightened considerably. "Yes, it does seem to be so, doesn't it?" Cordelia smiled slightly. Much as she loved her friend, she wasn't blind to her vanity. It was always easy to coax Toinette out of the doldrums with a few well-placed compliments.
"Was your husband very angry about having to go and fetch his daughters?" the dauphine asked, restored to her customary cheerful self.
"Yes, but he didn't take it out on me for once." Cordelia leaned forward to pour coffee into two shallow cups. "In fact, he didn't come to my bed at all."
"Ah." Toinette looked knowing. She took the cup Cordelia handed her. "I heard that the king gave permission for some of the courtiers to go to the Pare aux Cerfs for amusement last night. Perhaps your husband was one of them?"
"Perhaps," Cordelia mused, sipping her coffee. In the Pare aux Cerfs, Michael could have exhausted as many harlots as he needed in order to exorcise his rage. Maybe he had thought that taking it out on his wife when she had an early morning appointment with the dauphine might be unwise. "Where did you hear that?"