by Jane Feather
In the meantime he conversed with one half of his mind while his eyes covertly raked the throng for Cordelia. She'd been at the banquet, dressed in a gown of celestial blue quilted taffeta over a petticoat of palest blue. Her midnight black ringlets clustered on her white shoulders, caught up at the back in a pearl comb. Her wrist was circled with her betrothal bracelet, and he noticed how she played with it absently when her hands had nothing else to do.
He had tried not to look at her, but, failing in that, had concentrated on concealing his observation. She had cast him several speaking glances across the wide expanse of the banquet table, but he had refused to return them, pretending to see only the brilliant glitter of the chandeliers, the crystal sea of glass, the glinting planes of silver and gold salvers that stretched between them.
But he couldn't deny that she was entrancing. She bubbled with life, and her table companions were reflected in her light and laughter. She seemed to scintillate at the center of the people around her, and Leo again saw Elvira. No one could be in the same room with Elvira without becoming wittier, prettier, handsomer, livelier. Even Michael in the early days of their marriage had taken on some of her hues.
Amelia and Sylvie occasionally showed glimpses of their mother's spirit, but they were intimidated by their dour governess, who was under strict orders from her employer to stamp out any signs of unseemly liveliness in the girls and to train and educate them to know their duty.
Leo, suddenly aware of his clenched jaw, forced his thoughts back to the ballroom. He made some vague observation to his companion as they stood at the side of the ballroom, his eyes still searching the crowd of dancers for Cordelia. She would have changed into her costume after dinner, but he was sure he'd know her, no matter how elaborate her disguise. Nothing would conceal the essential Cordelia.
When his companion's attention was claimed by another guest, he took the opportunity to move away, strolling around the ballroom, avoiding the strategically placed firemen with their pumps-eight hundred of them stationed in the window embrasures to watch the thousands of candles. He'd been told that the empress had installed medicines, beds for emergencies, and physicians in the apartments surrounding the temporary wooden structure of the ballroom in the grounds of the Belvedere Palace. It struck him as typical of that monarch's obsession with detail.
A quadrille was being danced by four squares of couples. He paused to watch, his eye immediately falling upon a lissome figure scandalously clad in britches that molded her calves and thighs. A tunic covered her hips for the most part, but when she moved in the dance, the tunic moved with her, offering tantalizing glimpses of a small round bottom.
Her hair was pulled back from her brow and confined in a silk snood, her black silk loo mask covered eyes and nose, but Leo knew immediately that it was Cordelia. What in Lucifer's name was she playing at? He pursed his lips on a soundless whistle and glanced involuntarily toward the dais where the empress sat with her daughter, her sons, and the senior courtiers of both France and Austria. Did she have the faintest idea that her goddaughter was dressed in this scandalous fashion? Cordelia was safe from Duke Franz because his gout kept him from the ball, but she was still risking serious censure. And she was drawing every eye in her vicinity.
She was outrageous and utterly seductive. And after tomorrow evening's proxy marriage, she would be totally in his charge until he delivered her to Prince Michael. It would be his responsibility to see she didn't flout the conventions on the procession through France. There would be rigidly defined rules of etiquette for this ceremonial journey with its many stops as the French people were introduced to their new dauphine, and there would be no room for nonconformity, however appealing the rebel might be.
And she was very appealing. Even as he frowned with disapproval, he couldn't deny how much she stirred him.
The strains of music faded as the graceful dance ended. Cordelia smiled distractedly at her partner, then turned away, striding off the floor with the freedom of movement her costume allowed. It was clear to Leo that she was looking for someone as she circled the room, prowling with a long-legged feline grace that sent a shiver down his spine. Judging by the quiver of arrows on her back, she was playing Diana the Huntress. She didn't seem to be aware of the attention she was drawing. The stares, the whispers, scandalized, envious, and in many cases undeniably lascivious, followed her every step.
Michael would have a seizure if he could see her, Leo thought. But instead of being shocked, he wanted to laugh. Sheer madness. Encouraging her was the last thing he wanted to do. Dear God, whyever had he agreed to take on such a charge? But, of course, he'd been expecting a timid, obedient debutante. Instead of which…
Impatiently, he started to cross the room toward her, keeping her in his line of sight. She had paused beside the young musician, Christian Percossi, who was listening attentively to some bewhiskered general. Leo saw her brush her friend's arm in passing. Then a back obscured his view for a second, and when he had a clear view again, Diana the Huntress had vanished.
Frustrated, he stopped, looking around. Then he saw young Percossi making his way purposefully to the doors leading to the courtyard outside the ballroom.
Clearly another assignation. Leo's eyes rolled heavenward. He quickened his step, following the musician.
There was a nip in the night air; the stars were crystalline against their black velvet background. Leo shivered in his thin toga after the heated ballroom with its myriad candles and hot press of bodies. A red carpet covered by an awning ran from the ballroom to the main structure of the Belvedere Palace; flambeaux lit the pathway that disappeared into the glittering maw of the palace. There was no sign of his quarry, but Leo followed the path into the palace. The great entrance hall was unnaturally quiet. A lone footman hurrying across the vast marble expanse gave the viscount in his Roman costume a curious glance and seemed to hesitate, then a clock somewhere chimed the midnight hour and he continued hastily on his way.
Leo heard Cordelia's voice, low but both urgent and excited, coming from an antechamber to the left of the grand staircase. He entered the small room without ceremony and was relieved to find the two of them standing decently far apart beside the open window. For all their protestations of pure friendship, he hadn't been completely convinced. But this was clearly no lovers' tryst.
Cordelia sensed his presence and turned swiftly to the door. "Oh!" she said. "It's you."
"Yes, it's me." He advanced into
the room. "What in the name of the good Christ are you doing in that costume?"
"I was just asking her the same thing, sir." Christian ran a distracted hand through his fair curls. He was dressed unimaginatively if decorously as a minstrel. "It's shocking, Cordelia. What if the empress discovers your identity? Or your uncle! Can you imagine what he would do to you?"
"Yes," Cordelia said cheerfully. "But he won't know, and neither will the empress. Only Toinette knows, and she would never betray me."
"Cordelia, you're impossible." Christian looked toward the viscount in unconscious appeal.
"Come over here, Cordelia." Leo took her hand and led her over to a wall mirror. "Now, take a look at yourself and tell me what you see."
Cordelia, head to one side, examined her reflection. It seemed a strange question; it was obvious what she saw. "Me, dressed as Diana the Huntress."
"No. You, dressed in the most provocative, seductive fashion."
"But it's a costume ball. It's part of the fun to be incognito and slightly shocking."
"You are not yet old enough, wise enough, or sophisticated enough to be enflaming men."
"Do I?" she interrupted. "Do I enflame you?"
Leo was speechless for a moment, and it was Christian who exclaimed, "Cordelia!"
"I didn't say it first," she said. "Do I enflame you, Christian?"
"No… I mean, well, you could do." He ran his hand through his curls again. "It's just shocking, Cordelia. You're the empress's goddaughter and you're about to be married-"
"Precisely." Leo waded in, once more on track. He took hold of her shoulders, feeling the slender shape of them beneath his hands, and turned her once again to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Cordelia. You don't think of the effect you have on men. Every man in that ballroom was salivating when he looked at you, and you blithely swan through it all like some innocent fairy in a dream. I tell you straight, your husband will not appreciate such a performance."
He felt some of her ebullience leave the slim body under his hands. She sighed. "I don't see why you should both be so cross, when no one except ourselves and Toinette knows who I am. And it's past midnight, so I can disappear and no one will ever be any the wiser. Besides, I didn't notice anyone salivating over me."
"That, I suspect, is your only saving grace," Leo said aridly. "If you had calculated the effect you had, you would be quite insufferable."
Cordelia turned aside and stared fiercely out of the window. She was accustomed to being scolded for her high spirits, but not in this fashion, and certainly not by Christian. "Maybe it was a mistake," she conceded, her voice a little muffled. "So, can we stop talking about it now, please? I have something much more important to discuss."
"Something private?" Leo inquired with a raised eyebrow.
Cordelia turned back to face him, regarding him intently, her eyes glowing turquoise through the slits in her black silk mask. "I would like to take you into our confidence, my lord. I… I think perhaps you might be able to help us."
"Oh." The eyebrow almost disappeared into his scalp.
"Cordelia, I don't think-" Christian began hesitantly.
"Viscount Kierston will help us," Cordelia interrupted. "You will, won't you?" She laid a hand on his forearm, on the bare flesh exposed by the toga. Despite her preoccupation, her eyes darted upward, an almost startled expression in them as her fingers crossed over his warm skin. Leo pulled his arm from her.
"Go and change your clothes," he said, keeping his voice level only with an enormous effort. "I refuse to discuss anything with you in that outfit."
"But you'll both stay here and wait for me?" she asked urgently. "I won't be many minutes."
"Christian and I will further our acquaintance in your absence," he responded coolly.
"Very well." She whirled to the door. "Christian, you can explain the situation with Poligny while I'm gone. And then I'll tell you both of my plan when I come back."
The viscount shook his head as she vanished. "I find I need a glass of champagne to restore my equilibrium." He strode to the bellpull hanging beside the door and summoned a footman.
"Cordelia does sometimes have that effect," Christian ventured with a timid smile. "She's so full of energy and ideas, she often throws me off balance."
Leo's smile was a trifle rueful, but he didn't respond. He gave orders to the footman who'd appeared instantly, then said, "So, put me in the picture, Christian."
Cordelia flew upstairs to the small chamber she occupied when the court was in residence at the Belvedere Palace. It was nowhere near as elegant or spacious as her apartments in the Schonbrunn, although not as cramped as those in the ancient Hofburg Palace, but the court was accustomed to moving from one palace to another according to the empress's ceremonial obligations, and Cordelia was at home in any one of them.
She hauled on the bellpull and ran to the armoire, tugging the tunic over her head as she did so.
"My goodness gracious me! Whatever are you wearing, girl?" Mathilde appeared in the doorway within minutes of the summons. She'd been Cordelia's nurse and now performed the duties of abigail even as she continued to scold, caress, comfort, and doctor as if Cordelia was still her nurseling.
"Whatever would your uncle say? And the empress?" She closed the door swiftly at her back as if prying eyes might be in the corridor.
"Oh, don't you start, Mathilde." Cordelia emerged from the tunic and tossed it to the floor. "Only Toinette knew who I was, and she thought it a famous joke. But I have to change now." She tugged at the waistband of her britches while examining the contents of the armoire. "I shall have the seamstress make me up a gown of sackcloth with a neck that goes up to my ears! That should satisfy the so prudish Viscount Kierston!" She grinned, her spirits quite restored as she kicked off the britches and shrugged out of the shirt.
"Now, what are you prattling about?" Mathilde picked up the discarded clothes as they flew about the room. "If someone had the sense to take you to task for such mischief, all well and good."
Cordelia didn't answer. She pulled out a gown of sprig muslin. "This should do. It's about as seductive as a haystack. Lace me, Mathilde." She gave the woman her back, grasping the bedpost as Mathilde hauled on the laces of her corset. "Good. Thank you." She put finger and thumb at her waist and nodded her satisfaction. "I suppose when I have babies, I shall grow the most enormous waist. Now, where are my stockings?"
Mathilde held them out wordlessly. She was accustomed to Cordelia's whirlwind.
"Fichu," Cordelia declared, stepping into her petticoat and gown. "I need a demure fichu that won't show a centimeter of bosom."
Mathilde shook her he�
�ad in resignation and proffered a white cambric fichu. Cordelia fastened it at the neck of her gown. "Oh, my hair. I can't wear this snood, it'll give everything away." She pulled it loose, shaking her black curls free. "Be an angel and brush it for me quickly."
Mathilde did so, drawing the brush through the black tresses until they shone with blue lights.
"You're a darling, Mathilde, and I don't know what I would ever do without you." Cordelia threw her arms around the maid's neck and kissed her soundly. "Don't wait up for me. I can undress myself." She picked up her fan and danced out of the chamber, leaving a smiling Mathilde to tidy up after the cyclone.
The sounds of music still came from the ballroom as Cordelia jumped the last two of the sweep of marble stairs rising from the entrance hall. She didn't pause to catch her breath but hastened into the anteroom. She stopped in the doorway beneath a torch in a wall sconce and curtsied with formal deliberation.
"I trust you find nothing to object to in my costume, Lord Kierston." She raised her eyes, and the flaming torch was reflected in the dark irises.
"I would call it a vast improvement, madame," he replied with a cool bow.
"I have it in mind to instruct the seamstresses to fashion me one of those garments women wear in the sultan's harems," she said. "Something that covers every inch of my skin, with a veil over my head, so no one can see anything of me but my eyes. Would that suit you, sir? That way I could never be a temptation or-"
"Put a bridle on your tongue, Cordelia!" he interrupted, trying to hide a bubble of amusement, lowering his eyelids to conceal the glints of laughter he knew were alive in his eyes. Cordelia could cover herself in horsehair and she would still be a temptation, but he wasn't about to tell her that.