by Jane Feather
"Viscount Kierston, the prince's brother-in-law, will stand proxy for your wedding, which will take place the day after the archduchess's proxy marriage to the dauphin." Her uncle was speaking now in his flat assertive tones.
Leo turned slowly back to the room. Cordelia stared at him. "You… you are to be my husband." She didn't know what she was saying, the words spoke themselves.
"Proxy, child… proxy," the empress corrected sharply. "Prince Michael von Sachsen is to be your husband."
"Yes… yes, of course." But Cordelia barely heard the empress. She looked at the viscount and a warm river of excitement gushed through her veins. She couldn't put words to its cause; it seemed to spring from some bubbling source existing both in her mind and in her loins. It was as strange and terrifying a sensation as it was wonderful.
She smiled at Leo and the look in her eyes was so nakedly sensual that Leo was afraid that the others in the room would see it and wouldn't fail to read it correctly. He stepped forward, drawing something from his pocket.
"I have a betrothal gift from Prince Michael, Lady Cordelia. He kept his voice toneless and he avoided meeting her eye as he placed a small package in her hand. "You will also find a miniature of the prince." He stepped back, out of her line of sight.
Cordelia opened the flat velvet box and unwrapped the tissue. She withdrew a gold, pearl-studded charm bracelet and held it up to the light of the window. The jeweled charms swung together in the slight breeze.
"Very pretty," approved the empress.
Leo frowned. He hadn't thought to wonder about the prince's betrothal present. It had seemed unimportant. But the bracelet had been Elvira's, a gift from her husband on the birth of the twins. His mouth thinned. Michael kept a tight hold on his pursestrings, but to give a new wife a gift from a dead one seemed insensitive to say the least.
"Oh, look, there's another charm!" Cordelia was momentarily distracted from her emotional turmoil. She picked up a tiny diamond-encrusted slipper. "See how delicate it is." It lay in the palm of her hand, the diamonds glittering in the light. "He "must mean it to be my own special charm."
"We will send the bracelet and the charm to the jewelers, Cordelia, and they will attach the slipper," Maria Theresa said briskly, returning to business. "Leave it on the table there. Now take a look at the miniature of Prince Michael."
Cordelia reluctantly laid down the bracelet and unwrapped the small circular package that had accompanied the box. The portrait of her future husband looked up at her from a lacquered frame. It was hard to get any sense of the person behind the flat image. She saw pale eyes under beetling brows, a thin straight mouth, a jutting jaw. His hair was concealed beneath a curled and powdered wig. He looked humorless, even severe, but since she was accustomed to dealing with both characteristics in her uncle, she was untroubled by it. He had no obvious physical defects that she could see, except for his age. He was definitely not in the first flush of youth. But if that was all to object to in her future husband, then she was luckier than many of her peers who were sold, regardless of inclination, to whoever suited their family's needs.
Her gaze darted toward Viscount Kierston. Was he married? That strange fizz of excitement was in her blood again. Her eyes widened and she almost took a step toward him. But he moved away and there was such a sharp warning in his own eyes that she recollected herself abruptly.
"How recent is the portrait?" she asked dutifully.
"It was taken last month," the viscount replied.
"I see. And does the prince have a miniature of me?"
"Yes, of course," her uncle said with a touch of impatience. "He received it months ago. One wouldn't expect Prince Michael to offer for you sight unseen."
"No, of course not," Cordelia murmured. "But I, of course, must accept him as my husband." It was almost sotto voce, but Leo heard it. His lips twitched despite his unease at the unnerving intensity of her gaze.
"The viscount will be your escort on the journey to Versailles," the duke stated, thumping his cane on the floor. He hadn't heard what she'd said, but he knew his niece and guessed it was something impertinent.
"I will be most grateful for His Lordship's escort." Cordelia curtsied demurely to the viscount. "I am obedient to the wishes of my empress and my uncle in all things." Her eyes flicked upward to meet the viscount's, and again he was taken aback by the light of passion blazing in the blue-gray depths. What was she? An innocent on the verge of sensual awakening? Or a woman who had held the secrets of that territory in her blood since birth?
The fine hairs on the nape of his neck prickled with the chilling certainty that he was going to find out.
Chapter Two
Christian lurked in the corridor outside the empress's audience chamber. He knew that Cordelia was with the empress and her uncle. The whole palace was abuzz with rumors. Gossip traveled on the tongues of servants faster than a panther on the heels of prey, and Lady Cordelia's name was on every tongue. Nothing specific had been said, but it was generally agreed that the arrival of the French delegation concerned Lady Cordelia's future as well as the archduchess's.
Christian nibbled a loose cuticle as he hovered in a window embrasure. He knew they wouldn't be able to speak openly in the public corridor, but he was too apprehensive and curious to wait patiently for Cordelia to seek him out. Something peculiar had happened earlier between her and the man in the gallery. He wanted to know what, and whether it had any bearing on whatever was happening now.
The door to the audience chamber opened, and a tall man in dark riding clothes emerged. He stood for a minute in the corridor, and his expression, which had been calmly neutral a second earlier, suddenly came alive. Christian didn't know who he was, but the glint in the hazel eyes was so inviting he almost stepped out of the window embrasure toward him. A puzzled frown drew the stranger's eyebrows together, and the light in his eyes was suddenly speculative. Then his taut mouth relaxed, turning up at the corners in an attractive smile. Still smiling to himself, he strolled down the corridor, passing Christian without so much as a glance, his short scarlet-lined riding cape swinging with his long stride.
Christian wondered what it was about the stranger that was so charismatic. He seemed to possess a curiously magnetic quality. Then he shrugged off the question and resumed his vigil. The empress was keeping Cordelia for an inordinately long time. Duke Franz Brandenburg emerged next, leaning heavily on his cane, his habitual scowl marring his jowly countenance. He stomped down the passage, ignoring the musician. A servant hurried past, half running, and still Cordelia didn't appear.
Christian turned to gaze down through the window
into the court below. It was packed with wagons, carriages, and horses as the palace set about preparing to entertain those who had come to take the archduchess to her future life.
The light pattering of slippered footsteps brought him round to face the corridor again. Marie Antoinette was dancing down the corridor toward her mother's door. Toinette rarely walked anywhere.
Christian frowned as the archduchess was admitted to the audience chamber. Was there some trouble that both girls should be summoned to the empress? Had he and Cordelia been seen somewhere, exchanging urgent whispers in a corner of the gardens? In a fever of anxiety, he began to pace the corridor, unaware of the curious glances he drew from hurrying servants.
In the empress's private chamber adjoining the audience room, Marie Antoinette was embracing her friend with tears of joy. "I can't believe it, Cordelia. You're to come with me. I won't be alone."
"His Majesty has been very considerate, child." Her mother smiled benignly at the entwined fingers of her daughter and her friend. The friendship pleased her, largely because Cordelia, a year older and a great deal wiser than the archduchess, often had a sobering influence. Although it had to be admitted that Cordelia's vivacity sometimes led them both astray, Maria Theresa was confident that marriage and its heavy social burdens at the court of Versailles, not to mention motherhood, would squash any undesirable liveliness in both of them.
"Is this his portrait? Oh, let me see." Toinette picked up the miniature and examined it critically. "He's very old."
"What nonsense!" rebuked the empress. "The prince is in the prime of his life. A man of great wealth and influence at the court."
"How is it that the viscount is Prince Michael's brother-in-law, Madame? Is he married to the prince's sister?" Cordelia told herself it was a perfectly reasonable question and that she was only peripherally interested in the answer.
"Prince Michael was married to the viscount's sister," the empress told her. "Unfortunately, she died some years ago, leaving twin daughters, I believe."
But he could be married to someone else. Why could she not get Viscount Kierston out of her head? What possible difference could it make to her, whether he was married or not? Cordelia took herself to task, but her self-reproof seemed to lack conviction.
"Oh, then you're to be a mama immediately!" Toinette exclaimed, doing a little pirouette. "Shall you like it, Cordelia?"
Another thing no one had thought to tell her, Cordelia reflected, startled by this information. How could she tell whether she would be able to mother two unknown little girls? She wasn't ready to be a mother to anyone, she was only just beginning to try her own wings. "I hope so," she said, knowing it to be the only answer acceptable to the empress.
"You must pin the miniature to your dress," Toinette said. "Like mine." She gestured to the portrait of the dauphin that she now wore. Deftly, she fastened the prince's miniature to Cordelia's muslin bodice. She stood back, examining her handiwork, then gave a little nod of satisfaction. "Now you're properly betrothed, just as I am."
"Well, run along now. You must dress for the ball tonight," Maria Theresa instructed with another fond smile. "You will both look so beautiful… two exquisite brides." She patted the fair head and the dark, then kissed them both. "Leave me now. I have some papers to read before dinner."
Toinette linked arms with Cordelia and danced her out of the imperial presence. "It's so exciting," she burbled. "I'm so happy. I was so afraid, although I didn't dare admit it, but now I'm not at all frightened about going. We shall take Versailles by storm, and everyone will fall at the feet of the two beautiful brides from Vienna." Laughing, she released Cordelia's arm and twirled away down the corridor. Cordelia's head was too full of her own turmoil to be able to enter the spirit of Toinette's exuberance, and she followed more slowly.
"Cordelia!" Christian grabbed her arm as she passed the embrasure. He jerked her into the small space. "What's going on? What's happening? Who was that man you were with in the gallery?"
Cordelia glanced over her shoulder. A majordomo had appeared around the corner of the corridor and was making his self-important way toward the empress's door. "I'm to be married," she whispered. "And the man was Viscount Kierston; he's to be my proxy husband. But we can't talk here. Come to the orangery-the usual place-at midnight. I'll be able to slip away from the ball then. I've had an absolutely brilliant idea that'll solve all your problems."
She put a finger on his lips when it looked as if he was about to protest, then darted another glance at the approaching majordomo before swiftly jumping on her toes and kissing his cheek. Then she slipped away, walking sedately down the corridor. Christian heard her polite greeting to the official as he waited for the man to pass before leaving the embrasure himself.
Cordelia was always full of brilliant ideas, but how could her getting married and presumably leaving Vienna solve any of his problems? It would simply mean that he would lose his best friend.
The gala reception that began the week of festivities to celebrate the archduchess's marriage to the dauphin of France was held in the Great Gallery. The high windows were opened to the expanse of torchlit gardens beneath, where colored fountains played, their delicate cascades reflected in the gold-framed crystal mirrors of the gallery.
Cordelia kept her eye on the clock even when she was whirled down the line of dance by hot young men in powdered wigs, their rouge running under the exertions of the dance and the heat of four thousand candles. Normally, she enjoyed dancing, but tonight she was distracted. Christian had given a recital earlier, his exquisite music transporting his audience. Poligny had nodded benignly throughout and had blatantly claimed the credit both for the composition and for his pupil's performance for himself. The empress had given Poligny a heavy purse at the end, enjoying the impression her musicians had had on her visitors. The patronage of geniuses was a royal obligation, but it was very satisfying to have it acknowledged. She would expect Poligny to share the purse with Christian, but Cordelia knew as well as Christian that he'd be lucky if he saw so much as a guinea.
Christian now circled around the gallery, dancing when he was obliged to do so, accepting compliments when necessary, making himself agreeable as a man who lived on patronage must do. He kept his angry chagrin at Poligny's treatment well hidden from the crowd.
The entire palace now knew that Lady Cordelia Brandenburg was to be married to a Prussian prince, ambassador at the court of Versailles, and the
archduchess Marie Antoinette wouldn't have to make her journey into her new life alone. But Christian was desolate. Paris was a whole world away. Since the moment when he'd come upon an angrily weeping little girl in the orangery five years earlier, Cordelia had been his best friend. He'd comforted her on that occasion and on many another since, just as she had supported him, bolstering his confidence, always believing in him however many times Poligny cut him down, mocked him, made use of him. Only when he was with Cordelia did Christian believe truly in his own genius.
Cordelia avoided Christian as she always did in public, but she didn't seem able to be so discreet when it came to Viscount Kierston. Her eyes constantly searched the room for him. He was never on the dance floor, preferring to stand to one side in conversation with some high-ranking French or Austrian courtier. She noticed that he didn't seem to look much at the women, who for their part couldn't take their eyes off him-so distinguished in a pale gray silk suit, black striped waistcoat, and ruffled cravat, his unpowdered black hair confined at his nape with a gray velvet ribbon.
Was he married? Did he have a mistress? She couldn't stop thinking about him… couldn't stop looking at him. His image tormented her, the questions hurled themselves at her brain. She felt as if she were in the grip of brain fever, hot and cold alternately, and unable to concentrate on anything. Her partners found her distracted and almost brusque and rarely asked her for a second dance.