by Jane Feather
Cordelia frowned. She didn't believe for a minute that he was truly asleep. She rifled through the contents of her reticule with great sighs and rustles as if looking for something vital. Then she hummed a little tune, tapping her foot in accompaniment. Still the viscount remained apparently asleep.
She let down the window and leaned out to watch the passing scenery. "Goodness, you should see the crowds lining the wayside to watch us pass," she observed conversationally. "Oh, and there's a dancing bear on a chain. It looks very sad, poor creature. Oh, and look, they're chasing a pickpocket… and there's a gingerbread stall. It's just like a fair, with stalls and entertainers." She withdrew her head and regarded her still-somnolent companion. "It's a deal more entertaining outside than it is in here."
Leo gave up. He opened his eyes. "Has anyone ever suggested wringing your neck?"
"Not to my knowledge," she said with a twinkle. "But it's odious of you to pretend to be asleep. I wouldn't have disturbed you if you were truly fatigued, but you're not. And I have so many things I want to ask you."
"Serious things?" he asked suspiciously.
"Utterly. The empress told me you would use the journey to educate me in the particulars of life at Versailles. Toinette will have the comtesse de Noailles to tell her things, but I have only you."
"Very well." They had to do something to pass the time, and this seemed both safe and useful. "What do you wish to know?"
"Oh, a host of things, but before we begin, I have another wager… no, not dice and not for money," she added, seeing his darkening expression. "Something much more important. Let us wager on the precise time of arrival at Melk. Whoever gets closest wins."
"And what are the stakes?" Why he was even considering it on past experience, Leo didn't know.
"If I win, I ride tomorrow instead of sitting in this stuffy carriage."
"And if I win?" One black eyebrow lifted. "Your choice."
"Oh, now, that is tempting indeed." He stroked his chin, reflecting. Cordelia waited rather anxiously. She couldn't imagine what he'd choose.
"Very well. If I win, you will refrain from pestering or provoking me the entire day."
"Is that what you think I do?" Hurt clouded her eyes but he refused to see it.
"I want none of your blatant flirtation, none of your trickery. You will behave with perfect decorum in my presence, and you will speak only when spoken to. Agreed?"
Cordelia nibbled her lip. It seemed a poor wager but she didn't have much option. She'd just have to hope she won. She shrugged her agreement. "So, let's write our projections now and put them away until we arrive." She drew out a lead pencil and a small notebook from her reticule and handed them to him.
Leo didn't hesitate. He wrote swiftly, then tore out the page and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Cordelia took the pencil and paper. She frowned fiercely, chewing the end of the pencil, trying to calculate how far they had already journeyed. They would have to stop for refreshment and to change horses, and it would all be very ceremonious, so it would take time.
"Mathematics is not your strong suit?" Leo inquired with a solicitous smile.
"On the contrary," she retorted. "It's one of my best subjects." Stung, she gave up calculating and scribbled her projection. "There." She stuffed the paper back into her reticule and sat back. "Now we'll see."
"So, you have questions."
"When did your sister die?"
He hadn't expected that, but it seemed an understandable question. "Four years ago. The girls were nine months old." His expression was neutral, his eyes hooded.
"What did she die of?"
"What has that to do with the particulars of life at Versailles?" His voice was cold, his mouth suddenly tight.
"I'm sorry," she said swiftly. "Does it pain you to talk of her?"
She didn't know how much. But it wasn't so much pain as this deep tide of rage that threatened to burst its dams when he thought of the wastefulness of such a death, such a vibrant, precious life extinguished almost overnight. He forced himself to relax and answered her first question, ignoring the second. "She died of a fever… a very swift wasting sickness."
It was far too common a cause of death to surprise Cordelia. "You loved her very much?" she asked tentatively, her eyes grave now, her expression soft.
"My feelings for Elvira can have nothing to do with your new life, Cordelia," he said, trying not to snap. He could never bring himself to talk about his sister, not even to Michael, who always maintained an understanding silence on the subject.
"Elvira. That's a pretty name." Cordelia seemed not to have heard him. "Was she older than you?"
Clearly, she was not to be put off. "We were twins," he said shortly.
"Oh." Cordelia nodded. "Twins have a very special bond, don't they?"
"So it's said. Can we talk about Versailles now?"
"Your sister gave birth to twins. It must run in the family," Cordelia continued. "Perhaps you'll father twins when you marry. Have you ever wished to marry?"
"That is not a topic for this conversation," he declared frigidly. "If you wish us to continue, then you will confine yourself to pertinent questions."
"I didn't intend to be impertinent," she said, frowning. "I was just being interested and friendly."
Leo wondered if she was being disingenuous and then decided that he didn't wish to know. He offered no encouragement, and after a minute she said, "Tell me about my husband. What kind of man is he?"
This at least was an unimpeachable area of interest. "He's a man in his prime. A great huntsman, which makes him popular with the king. He enjoys court life and you'll find that you'll be invited to most of the sojourns at the other palaces, like Fontainebleu, St. Cloud, the Trianon, the Hotel de Ville. The court picks itself up and goes on these journeys four or five times a year. The king grows impatient if he stays in one place too long."
Cordelia was listening intently, but while this exposition on court travels was mildly interesting, it wasn't as pertinent as her husband. "But will I like him?" She leaned forward again, underscoring the seriousness of the question.
Leo shrugged carelessly and drew away from her maddening proximity. "How should I know, Cordelia. Many people do, but he has enemies. We all do."
"Is he kind?" Cordelia persevered, laying a hand on his knee. "Is he good to the children?"
He was a cold, indifferent parent, one reason why Leo was so anxious that they should have a concerned and caring stepmother. However, Leo kept this reflection to himself. "They are in the charge of a governess. I don't believe their father has much to do with them."
That, too, was not uncommon. She opened her mouth for another question when
the blast of a trumpet rent the air. "Oh, we must be stopping somewhere. I own I shall be glad to stretch my legs."
Leo swung open the door when the carriage came to a halt in the center of a small village. He jumped down to the cobbled square and held out his hand to assist Cordelia in the delicate maneuver required to get herself and her wide skirts through the door. He dropped her hand the minute she was on solid ground.
Cordelia proceeded to tuck her hand in his arm. "You are my escort, proxy husband," she murmured. "You mustn't treat me as if I'm a pariah dog."
He looked sharply down at her. As he'd expected, she was smiling with that outrageous invitation in her eyes. "Behave yourself!" he commanded in a ferocious undertone.
Cordelia's smile broadened. "I haven't lost the wager yet, my lord."
He had no time to respond, as the village mayor came over to them, bowing low, offering the humble hospitality of his village. The dauphine and her brother were installed in chairs on a canopied dais in the center of the square, while village maidens brought them food and drink and the inhabitants of the countryside for miles around gazed in wonder at the august presence in their midst.
Cordelia and the viscount were escorted to the village inn, where hospitality for the dauphine's retinue was provided. There were so many people milling around in the small, low-beamed taproom that conversation was impossible and the heat rapidly became insupportable. Cordelia dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief. "Pray excuse my, my lord." She withdrew her hand from his arm and turned to leave the inn.
"Where are you going?"
"A matter requiring privacy, my lord." She gave him an impish smile and pushed her way to the door.
Leo drained his tankard of ale with a heartfelt sigh. Twenty-three days of her close company!
Cordelia found the single privy with a line of courtiers waiting to use it. Her nose wrinkled at the noisome little shed. It wasn't constructed for women with skirts five feet wide. She turned and made her way through the village into the fields beyond. A blackberry bush provided sufficient cover and the air was a deal fresher, despite the circle of cows solemnly regarding this extraordinary creature who'd I appeared in their midst.
She'd just moved her skirts and petticoats out of the way when she heard the crackle of footsteps beyond the bush. Of all the inconvenient moments for some village laborer to come along! She was not particularly embarrassed. Most of the public privies in Schonbrunn had no doors on them, and the commodes behind the screens in the corridors were hardly private.
"Cordelia, what the devil are you doing out here?" The viscount sounded distinctly annoyed and very close. She could see his feet beneath the bush.
A local peasant was one thing, Viscount Kierston quite another. "I'm behind the bush," she said hastily. "Don't come any closer."
"What the hell… Oh!" Laughter filled his voice. "I do beg your pardon."
Cordelia shook down her skirts and emerged from her open-air closet, "it was hardly chivalrous to follow me, my lord."
"When I see my charge hastening into the countryside at a moment when the dauphine and the emperor are about to reenter their carriage, chivalry doesn't come into it," he retorted. "Why couldn't you use the village privy like everyone else?"
"Precisely because everyone else was using it," she declared, smoothing a wrinkle in her skirt. "Women are at a serious disadvantage, you should know, Lord Kierston."
He laughed again. "I see your point. Now come along.
The carriages behind ours can't leave until we do." He took her hand, hurrying her back across the field, forgetting in his amusement to keep his hands off her.
Cordelia, for her part, made no protest at this unceremonious escort.
They reached the palatial monastery of Melk at six in the evening. The dauphine and the emperor had already entered the imperial apartments by the time the von Sachsen carriage passed beneath the west gate of the monastery, which dominated a bend of the Danube below.
Cordelia looked at the dainty fob watch pinned to her gown. She opened her reticule and drew out her folded sheet. "What did you project, sir?"
Leo pulled out his paper. "Six-thirty," he said with a confident smile. Half an hour out on such an impeded journey was barely worth considering.
But Cordelia laughed, her eyes gleaming with pleasure. "Six twenty-seven. See." She held out her folded sheet. "I never estimate regular times because in the real world nothing ever happens so neatly. I win."
"Yes, you do. But there's no need to crow."
"But it was clever of me," she insisted.
Leo stepped out of the carriage. "Yes, you may ride," he said, giving her his hand. "And I shall enjoy a peaceful day alone in the carriage."
Her face fell so ludicrously that he felt perfectly repaid for her gloating.
"How could you possibly wish to travel in a stuffy carriage?"
"As I said, it will be peaceful and quiet… Ah, here's the monk who will show you to your apartments." He handed her over to a smiling monk who introduced himself as Father Cornelius and declared himself responsible for the disposition of the monastery's honored guests.
"Your maid will be directed to your apartments as soon as she arrives, Princess." He gestured courteously toward the entrance to the building. "Her Highness the Dauphine has requested that you be lodged in the imperial apartments."
Cordelia hesitated. She turned back to Leo. "You will not ride with me tomorrow?"
"That was not part of the wager." He couldn't help enjoying this tiny moment of revenge.
But Cordelia was not long at a loss. "I'll ensure in future, my lord, that I phrase these matters correctly." She swept him a perfectly executed curtsy and glided away with Father Cornelius, leaving Leo wondering whether he'd won or lost that exchange.
Chapter Seven
"I am so unhappy, Cordelia!" Toinette flung herself into her friend's arms when Cordelia entered the dauphine's boudoir ten minutes later. "How can I bear to go so far away?"
"Now, now, Toinette, this is most undignified," the emperor protested, at a loss as to how to deal with his little sister's tears. He was not an unaffectionate man, but he'd been schooled to control his own emotions at all costs and was both embarrassed and shocked by Toinette's unbridled grief.
"Hush, now." Cordelia stroked her back. "It won't be so bad when you get used to it. Think of how excited you were before at the thought of being queen of France. Think of lording it over the court at Versailles. Think of all the amusements… think of the freedom to do as you please."
Toinette hiccuped in her arms, but her violent sobs slowed. Finally, she straighte�
�ned and sniffed vigorously. "I know you're right, but it's so hard. I'll never see Mama again. Or my brothers and sisters."
She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief and said with a brave attempt at composure, "I will try to master myself. But I will dine in my apartments tonight… Cordelia shall bear me company."
"Good God, girl, you can't do that!" Joseph protested. "You are receiving the hospitality of Melk. It would be considered unforgivably discourteous to hide yourself away."
"But I am ill!" Toinette cried. "So fatigued. And I feel so unwell, brother."
"That is no excuse," he stated flatly.
"His majesty is right, Toinette." Cordelia took her friend's hand, chafing it. "The abbot would be slighted if you don't appear." Slipping her arm around Toinette's shoulders, she drew her toward the bedchamber next door. "Shall you wear the diamond collar tonight? The one the king sent you from France?" The two disappeared into the neighboring chamber, and soon Toinette's voice could be heard responding to Cordelia's cheerful chatter.
The emperor sighed with relief. Cordelia had always been able to calm Toinette in one of her emotional outbursts. "I will return to escort the dauphine to dinner," he declared to the ladies-in-waiting, and took himself off to the tranquility of his own apartments.
When Cordelia left Toinette an hour later, the dauphine was almost her usual cheerful self. Cordelia had made her laugh with a wicked mimicry of various members of the French entourage, and Cordelia was still grinning at her own performance as she made her way to her own chamber in the imperial suite.