by Jane Feather
"Poor Toinette," Cordelia murmured, blinking back her own tears. "To have to make such a public farewell. She loves her mother so dearly. How will she manage without her?"
Viscount Kierston made no response. He too was moved by the poignancy of this farewell. The new dauphine of France knew that she would probably never see her mother again, and it seemed a brutal separation for a girl not yet fifteen. But the sentiments of private people had no place in the lofty reaches of international diplomacy. The archduchess's marriage to the dauphin would cement the vital alliance between Austria and France as nothing else could.
Still weeping, Toinette was escorted from the palace to the coach that would take her to her new country. She was accompanied by her brother, the emperor Joseph, who seemed nonplussed by his little sister's emotional state. Toinette had begged that Cordelia be allowed to accompany her in the coach as well, but the empress had refused. Her daughter must make her ceremonial departure from the land of her fathers in state. She must be seen to be strong, mature, ready to assume her royal duties.
As the coach moved sedately out of the courtyard, Toinette could be seen through the glass window, leaning back in a corner, her hand covering her eyes with her handkerchief, but as the carriage passed through the gates, she leaned out, gazing backward at her home, tears streaming down her face. Her brother's hand appeared on her shoulder, drawing her within.
"Her brother won't be much comfort," Cordelia observed. "He's so stiff and formal."
"You'll be able to be with her when we reach Melk," Leo said. "You had better make your own farewells now."
The empress took a fonder farewell of her godchild than Duke Franz did of his niece. Maria Theresa gave her a silver locket with her own portrait inside and embraced her warmly. The duke acknowledged her curtsy with a cold nod and the command that she obey her husband. Her marriage settlements were generous and she should be grateful to all those who had looked after her interests hitherto.
If she never saw her uncle again, she wouldn't shed a tear, Cordelia decided, moving to her own carriage, where Leo Beaumont waited to hand her in. The von Sachsen arms were emblazoned upon the panels.
"Your uncle has a harsh manner," Leo observed, with a frown. "I daresay he's uncomfortable with emotion."
Cordelia glanced up at him as he handed her inside. "There's no need to make excuses for my uncle, Viscount. I assure you there's no love lost on either side." Her face was tight, though, and her eyes were tinged with sadness. "My parents died of smallpox when I was a baby. If they had lived, perhaps this leaving would have been difficult. As it is, I can't wait." She seated herself on the crimson velvet squabs of the luxuriously appointed vehicle, her skirts billowing out on either side, filling the entire length of the bench. The tightness of her expression relaxed. "Is Versailles really as much of a fairy-tale palace as they say?"
"Only for the naive," he said dryly, putting a foot on the footstep.
"I don't consider myself to be naive," she protested.
He laughed, but not unkindly, as he stepped into the coach. "My dear, you are an ingenue, you know nothing of the darker side of court life, but if it pleases you to imagine a glittering fantasy, then do so. You'll be disillusioned soon enough." He sat back on the opposite bench, careful not to tread on the flounced hem of her gown as he adjusted his sword to his hip.
"I might surprise you, my lord," Cordelia said, not at all pleased at his somewhat patronizing tone.
"I'm not sure that anything you do could surprise me," he observed amiably, determined neither to quarrel in the close confines of the carriage, nor to offer an opportunity for one of her impulsive flights of passion. And after this ceremonial departure from Vienna, he would be able to ride while his charge journeyed by coach in decorous solitude.
The carriage started forward. Cordelia leaned out of the window to watch the procession fall in behind her. There were coaches laden with baggage and servants. Mathilde was traveling with Cordelia's trunks at the rear of the procession. A troop of cavalry escorted the procession, banners snapping in the breeze, the sun shining on the embroidered ceremonial trappings, the silver of bridle and stirrup. At the very rear, spare horses were led by troopers, her own Lucette, a Lippizaner like the viscount's, among them.
"Is Christian traveling with your staff?"
"I believe so. But how he chooses to make the journey is up to him."
"I wish I could be a fly on the wall when the broadsheet hits the street tomorrow and Poligny finds himself exposed." She chuckled, fanning herself lightly.
Leo didn't offer a response. He had less confidence than Cordelia and Christian in the power of the truth to bring down someone as slippery and influential as Poligny, but the man would at least be embarrassed, especially by the defection of the pupil whose work brought the master his greatest credit.
"The empress was very gracious when Christian asked her to release him," Cordelia continued, regardless of her companion's silence. "She even gave him a purse." "Mm."
"How far is it to Melk?" "Fifty kilometers."
The viscount was obviously not in a talkative mood. They were to stop for the night at the Benedictine monastery of Melk, and fifty kilometers of jolting on ill-made roads in such severely silent company was hardly appealing.
"Is something vexing you, my lord?" She offered what she hoped was an innocent and supplicating smile. "I'll try very hard not to be a tedious traveling companion."
"I'm very much afraid that if you try too hard, you'll achieve the opposite effect," he observed, leaning back, his arms folded, regarding her through half-closed eyes. She was wearing an enchanting velvet cap perched atop the piled mass of black ringlets. An Indian shawl was draped carelessly over her shoulders against drafts, and one perfectly rounded forearm rested on the sill of the carriage. Prince Michael's bracelet circled her wrist, the little diamond slipper clicking softly against the side of the door with the swaying of the carriage.
"That's unkind, but if you wish me to sit in silence, my lord, then I will." Cordelia folded her lips together, placed both hands in her lap, and stared fixedly at the carved wooden paneling above the viscount's head.
It was such an absurd picture that his lips twitched and the merry hazel glints appeared in his eyes. "What an annoying creature you are."
"Oh, that is unfair!" she protested. "I'm trying to be exactly what you wish in a traveling companion and you accuse me of being annoying."
"I don't recall describing my ideal traveling companion."
"Well, you implied a des
cription. You want a stiff, starchy, ugly doll, who won't speak or smile or suggest anything in the least unusual in the way of entertainment."
"If that were my ideal, I assure you, my dear, that you could never approach it," he said with a lazy grin. "If you remain on your seat and confine your remarks to the commonplace, I shall be well satisfied."
Cordelia made a face. "The commonplace is exceedingly boring, my lord. However, I have an idea how we may amuse ourselves." She fumbled in her reticule and produced a pair of dice with a little crow of triumph.
"See. I come prepared. We shall dice the time away. I do adore to gamble." She tossed the dice from hand to hand with an expert touch.
Leo raised his eyebrows. Gambling was the besetting sin of all courtiers in every court on the continent as well as at St. James's Palace in London. Fortunes were lost in an evening almost as fast as reputations. Prince Michael was no exception, although he preferred cards to dice, but whether he would look kindly on serious gambling by his wife was another matter. But perhaps her idea of gambling was of the schoolroom variety, for small coins or paper spills.
"Let's throw for high numbers," she said eagerly, rolling the dice between her hands. "What do you wager, sir?"
"Three ecus," he said, prepared to indulge her.
"Oh, pshaw! That's baby stuff. I wager four louis."
Clearly, Cordelia had progressed beyond paper spills. "I presume you can cover such a wager?"
Her eyes flashed indignantly. "You insult me, my lord."
He held up his hands pacifically. "No insult intended, I assure you, madame. I was unsure whether you had funds upon your person."
Cordelia returned to her reticule, withdrawing a heavy velvet purse. "I have five hundred louis in coin and notes," she stated. "My uncle's wedding gift. He would not have it said that he failed in his duty to his niece," she added with a sardonic smile. "It's my own money anyway, from my mother's estate, but Duke Franz always pretends that it's his own generosity that keeps me in funds." Her lip curled derisively. "I trust my husband is not ungenerous in such matters. I know for a fact that my mother's jointure is my own under the marriage settlements, so I hope he's not inclined to withhold it."
Leo frowned. He didn't think Michael would withhold his bride's estate, but neither did he believe he would hand it over to her without supervision. "It's not customary for a woman to have access to her own fortune. I'm sure your husband will make you a generous allowance."
"An allowance of my own money! It's so unjust."
Leo shrugged. "Maybe. But it's the way of the world and not to be changed by a slip of a girl."
"Don't be too sure, my lord." Cordelia thrust her irritation from her and tossed the dice again. "Come, let us throw. We don't have a flat surface, but we can toss them on the seat beside you. The disadvantage will be the same for both of us." She leaned over, the shawl slipping from her, revealing the deep cleft between her round breasts. The scent of her hair, so close to his face, filled his nostrils, the curve of her cheek entranced him.
The dice rolled on the velvet seat beside Leo, and he turned with relief to look.
"A four and a six." Cordelia sat back with a smile of triumph. "Let's see if you can do better, my lord."
Resigned, Leo tossed the dice. They came up three and a two.
"Ha! I win." She gathered up the dice and held out her hand for her winnings.
Leo drew out his own purse and handed her four louis, which she pocketed with such an air of gloating jubilation that he couldn't help laughing. "What a graceless winner you are. I trust you don't lose as badly."
"I rarely lose," she said smugly, tossing the dice in her hands again. "Shall we raise the stakes to five?"
It seemed a relatively harmless way to pass the time, and Cordelia's shameless exultation at every win was irresistible. And she won every throw.
Belatedly, it occurred to Leo that such a run of good luck was way beyond the average. She had gleefully pocketed twenty louis before the first suspicion entered his head. Casually, he turned sideways to watch closely as she tossed the dice. There was something about the way she flicked them that caught his attention. It was a little twist of her wrist that ordinarily would pass unnoticed, but he was beginning to find his continual losses somewhat tedious.
"Ha! I win again! You owe me another five louis, my lord." She held out her hand in her usual fashion.
"I wonder if I do," he said slowly, scooping up the dice from the seat beside him. They felt normal enough. He'd been throwing them for the last half hour without a qualm. He glanced up. Cordelia was looking transparently anxious and had withdrawn her open palm.
He tossed the dice in his palm, fixing her with a hard stare, watching the color rise in her creamy cheeks, waiting until her eyes dropped to her lap.
"These are weighted in some way, aren't they? Aren't they?" he repeated when she seemed disinclined to answer.
"How could you accuse me of such a thing?" Her color was high, her bottom lip clipped between her teeth.
"You cheating little fibster!" he declared, tossing the dice into her lap. "Show me how they work."
"I was going to give the money back to you." Her glowing eyes were enormous, fixed earnestly on his face.
"You'll forgive me if I doubt that," he said dryly. "Now, show me how they work."
"Oh, very well. But it's such a neat little trick. If you didn't know, you couldn't feel it. You couldn't, could you?"
"If I had been able to, I wouldn't be twenty louis the poorer," he said as aridly as before. "I'm waiting."
Cordelia leaned forward, almost into his lap, the dice cupped in her hand. "They're clipped at this corner. If you flick them onto the edge, they always fall either on the six or the four. It doesn't win every time, but most of the time."
She was far too close to him. Her scent, the deep cleft of her bosom, the midnight-black mass of curls were making his head spin, and when she looked up at him, a tentative smile in her eyes that were that moment as brilliant as sapphires, his breath caught in his throat.
"It was only a little fun, my lord." Her voice was both apologetic and defensive. "It wasn't as if we were playing seriously."
"I didn't notice we were playing for pretend louis. I tell you, Cordelia, that if I'd been playing with a man who used such tricks, I would take a horsewhip to him," he stated.
"Wouldn't you challenge him to a duel?" Cordelia asked in surprise, momentarily distracted from her own predicament.
"I wouldn't dishonor my sword with his blood," he said bluntly.
"Oh." She chewed her lip again, then rummaged through her reticule. "Here. Every one of them." She tipped the louis into his hand. "I suppose it was wicked, but I do so love to win. And I'd never do it at the tables."
She sounded so melancholy and aggrieved that amusement yet again shattered Leo's justified annoyance. It simply wasn't possible to be angry with her for more than a fleeting instant, even in the face of such outrageous behavior.
"I give you fair warning, that if anyone catches you cheating in the salons of Versailles, you will be ostracized, and not even the dauphine will be able to redeem you," he said with dire emphasis. "And if you bring such dishonor on your husband's name, he would be entitled to have you shut up in a nunnery."
"But I wouldn't!" Cordelia protested, horrified as much by the idea that he might consider her capable of such stupidity as by the contemplation of such retribution. "We only played with these tricks in the family. Toinette is just as bad as I am; sometimes it was the only way to beat the archdukes. And they were quite odious when they won and set all sorts of embarrassing forfeits."
"Well, I've a mind to set a forfeit of my own," he said thoughtfully, tapping his mouth with his fingertips as he examined her.
"What?" A little prickle of excitement ran over her skin. She leaned forward again. "How would you have me pay, sir?
Leo realized his mistake immediately. Whenever he dropped his guard, he found himself blundering into the morass. Her lips were parted in unmistakable invitation, and the tip of her pink tongue ran slowly over them in a gesture so seductive that it took his breath away. Cordelia was not the least alarmed by talk of forfeits.
He sat back, saying indifferently, "I find this tedious." Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the seat back and to all intents and purposes went to sleep.