Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (31 page)

~William~

As much as he tried to keep his eyes from her, Cora seemed to appear in his line of vision, everywhere Will looked.

Two tables over during the garden supper, he glimpsed her in profile again and again, but she never looked his way.

During the Haydn concert, when she closed her eyes, her pale brows lifting in glory and furrowing in angst, as if feeling the power of every note.

And afterward, on the vast patio in the gardens, where the dancing went on for hours, and she spent much of it in Pierre de Richelieu’s arms, every moment of which made Will seethe with jealousy.

Antonio sidled up beside him and perused the group. “Perhaps she is putting on a ruse, the means to keep a certain someone out from under her father’s fury,” Antonio said, lifting a dark, bushy brow in Will’s direction.

Will ran a hand through his hair, considering it. Was that it? Was she simply protecting him? Getting through this visit with her father and Richelieu so that they could find their hidden moments again in Venezia and a life together beyond the tour?

He glanced over at Wallace Kensington chatting with a table full of men and considered the possibility. Did he dare walk over there? Declare himself? Declare his intentions toward Cora? What would happen then? Would he be summarily excused?

His eyes roamed over the crowd, back to Cora and Richelieu, now dancing a tango. He had to look away—and not because of Cora’s lack of expertise. But because another man was holding his girl in his arms. In far too intimate a fashion.

Go. Speak to him.

Now? Now? It’s not right….

Now.

Will turned toward the tables, rather than the dance floor, and Antonio grabbed his arm. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Speaking to her father,” he said, looking from Antonio’s hand on his arm to the man himself.

“No, Will.
No
. Go, cut in. Dance with Cora. But do not speak to Mr. Kensington.”

“Don’t you see?” Will hissed. “I have no choice. It’s now or never. Richelieu has made his move. I have to make my intentions known, or Wallace Kensington will forever see me as an interloper, a cad, not a man of merit.”

Antonio turned to block his way. “Listen to me.
Listen to me
,” he said, tapping Will’s chest with each word. “Richelieu is smooth. Charming. And smart. They’ve talked business. And yes, they’ve likely spoken of courtship, but, Will, the man has had two days with him.”

“What of it?” Will asked, throwing his hand up in the air. “Mr. Kensington knows me, too. I’ve been in his home! I’m the guardian of his children…a
proven
protector.”

“And now he’ll see you as a predator, not a protector. One he trusted to keep his distance. You failed him. We are here, in Richelieu’s backyard, his field of battle. Look at him. Take a good long look at him.” He turned sideways to peruse the dance floor, and Will followed his gaze until he found Cora and Richelieu. For the first time, he focused on the man, not the woman, watching Richelieu as he smiled over Cora’s shoulder at one person after another.

“You see what I see?” Antonio said, under his breath. “He knows them. He knows them all. Business contacts. Perhaps even kin. Now look at Mr. Kensington. Do you see him? How he’s watching Richelieu? He
likes
Richelieu’s connections with these people. They’re already talking business, Will. Richelieu is greasing the right wheels, so that Montana Copper’s surplus might be imported to France.”

Will eyed him even as his heart sank. Such an arrangement had to be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Even millions.

“Why do you think Kensington is suddenly entertaining a request for courtship for one of his daughters when he was explicitly against such a thing when he bid them bon voyage?”

Will rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, defeated. His chest felt empty. Hollow. “It’s done, then,” he said, every word devoid of hope. Then anger surged. He turned to face Antonio again. “I don’t even get a chance? A chance to declare myself?”

“No,” the older man said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “No, my friend. Because then you would not only end up without the girl, but without a future. A man such as that…” He paused to look over at Wallace, then back to Will. “One does not cross a man such as that, unless one is ready to walk forever with a limp.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

~Cora~

Looking over Pierre’s shoulder, I saw Will beside Antonio, turning ragged eyes on me, and I quickly looked away. I didn’t want him to see it in my face—my inability to take a stand. To force my father to hear me out, to see that this romance was impossible…or to dissuade Pierre from his pursuit.

“Cherie?” Pierre asked, frowning down at me and then whispering in my ear. “What is it? You have lost all concentration.”

“I have,” I said. “I confess that I am not in the right mood for the tango. Might we pause for some punch?”

“Indeed.” He put his hands on my waist and smiled into my eyes. “Or something stronger?”

“Punch would be good,” I said, suddenly thirsty. The last thing I needed was a glass of champagne. Not with all that was transpiring before me.

“I’ll be back in but a moment,” he said, tracing a knuckle down my jaw line in a quick, intimate move.

I nodded and smiled, as if I didn’t wish to draw away. But as I watched him go, I noticed Will observing me and felt my face flush in embarrassment. What must he think of me? Allowing Pierre such advances, when he knew my heart was with him? I wanted to run away into the gardens, far from everyone’s questioning gaze. Because the truth was, I wasn’t sure what to think or what to do. Every way I turned seemed wrong.

I hurried past the crowd, to the edge of the garden, aware that Antonio trailed me, keeping me within view but also keeping his distance.

“Are you well, Cora?” Art asked as I passed. Plainly I looked as dizzy as I felt.

“Fine, fine, thank you,” I said, forcing a smile.

In moments, I was blessedly alone, except for my silent guard twenty paces away.
Lord, I need Your guidance
, I prayed silently, looking toward the rising moon on the horizon, thinking of the moon above Carcassonne, when Will had finally kissed me, and another, over Paris, when Pierre had done the same. Two so very different men who had offered me different kisses, each winsome and special.

Show me, Lord. Show me what I am to do. The best way out of this mess. The path that will hurt both the least.

What was I doing? I wasn’t this person! I was in love with Will. He was the one who held my heart. The one with whom I belonged. And yet to break it off with Pierre would incur the wrath of my father…and Will would bear the brunt of that.

If we were to have a chance, I had to convince my father first that I didn’t belong with Pierre or in Paris. That my heart was heading home, regardless of what I might be leaving behind here. This was all completely fantastic—a dream—but my heart was in Montana. Home.

“Your punch, Cora,” Pierre said, suddenly beside me, and I whirled so fast I almost upset the cup and sent it spilling over his sleeve.

“Cora!” he said in alarm. “What is the matter?”

“Oh, Pierre,” I said, wringing my hands. “I’m so sorry.” I took the cup from him and quickly drank it down, my mouth like cotton. “I think…I think I should retire. My head is throbbing, and I am not feeling at all well.” It was true, in part.

“Certainly,” he said, his kind eyes tracing my face. “I shall see you in and—”

“No! No,” I said, belatedly softening my tone, regretting practically yelling at him. “Antonio is just over there. He’s more than capable of accompanying me. You stay here and enjoy the party. I’ll see you in the morning?” I asked, bringing what I hoped was a bright smile to my face.

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it slowly. “Most assuredly,” he said, but his eyes held storm clouds of worry.

I turned from him then, and Antonio saw me heading toward him. He met me halfway. “Turning in already, miss?”

“Yes, Antonio. I have a terrible headache.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Should I send for a doctor?”

“No, no. Nothing that a cup of mint tea and a night’s slumber can’t ease.”

“I see.” He offered me his arm, and we strolled toward the garden entrance of the huge mansion, nodding to one guest after another as we passed.

I struggled with the desire to say something of my predicament to the older man, my guardian. I knew Antonio was well aware of what was transpiring between me and Will. And yet to tie anyone else in further might prove disastrous for him, too.

“Did you have a nice evening, Miss Cora?”

“Fine, thank you. Wasn’t the concert lovely?”

“Indeed. Some of the finest music in the world here in Vienna. Tomorrow there shall be a Strauss concert, and the next night is the baroness’s ball. They shall showcase Mozart and Beethoven, music written right here in the city when they lived here.”

The ball.

I’d forgotten there’d be another, here. While we’d attended many parties with dancing, there hadn’t been a formal ball since Pierre’s masquerade. “I…I don’t have a gown.”

“No worries,” he said, patting my hand. “Vienna is the city of one ball after another, all season long. So many that there is a street with nothing but shops for both gown and costume rentals. We shall find everything you and the others need tomorrow morning, with plenty of time for adjustments before the party. The appointment is already set.”

“Oh, that’s grand,” I murmured, trying to infuse enthusiasm into my tone. “Grand.”

“It truly is,” he said, opening the door for me. “If you enjoyed tonight’s concert, the next one, and the ball…will be a delight.”

“Are we to dress in period gowns for the ball again?”

“Indeed,” he said. “And even though the music of Mozart and Beethoven shall be featured, the period the baroness has chosen for this summer’s ball is nineteenth century.”

“Victorian?” I said in surprise.

“Indeed,” he said, lifting a bushy eyebrow as we climbed the stairs. “A personal favorite of hers.”

“Well, at least it shall be different from Pierre’s,” I said. “And without the heavy, dreadful wigs.”

“There is that.”

But there’d be corsets for certain, far more constrictive than our more recent renditions. It made me feel faint already just thinking of it. Even if I did like the idea of wearing a beautiful, full-skirted gown.

It was with some dismay that I realized we’d reached my suite. I’d been lost in thought about what colors I would look for and necklines that I might favor. When had I become the sort of woman who was so captivated by fashion? I’d begun the summer with two dresses to my name!

“Good night, Antonio,” I said wearily, tired of everything, everyone, most especially myself.

“Good night, Miss Cora. I shall send a maid with your mint tea.”

“Thank you.”

I slipped inside and closed the door, leaning my head against it for a moment, relishing the lack of conversation, bustle, eyes on me. The only sounds now were the murmur of voices and laughter below in the courtyard, the roar of an engine as someone departed. I turned up the gas lamp at my bedside, preferring its softer, warmer light to the garish electrical light of my overhead fixture, and then I padded over to the window as I took off my long gloves and reached up to release my necklace.

I watched as another vehicle was loaded with guests bent on an early escape. They roared off. All along the massive courtyard—perhaps three blocks long—were carriages and motorcars, with servants milling about, waiting to be summoned.

It’ll be a long night of noise
, I thought with a sigh, thinking about those who’d stay until the wee hours before returning to their homes, reluctant to leave the bountiful buffet tables and circulating waiters. Anna arrived then and pulled shut my curtains, helped me out of my dress and into my nightgown, then unpinned my hair and brushed it out. As she worked, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Would I miss such pampering when I got home? I thought not. It was all so much work, this lot of the wealthy. Changing one’s clothes two to three times a day, planning the social schedule, making certain everyone was attended to, making polite conversation with people one would never see again. I’d rather do hours of chores than see through this nonsense day after day. A pang of homesickness struck so hard I almost groaned.

“You all right, miss?” Anna said, peeking at me in the mirror as she brushed.

“Fine, Anna. Thank you. Just dreadfully tired.”

A knock sounded at the door, and she turned to go and answer it. A moment later, she was back with my tea, setting it on the edge of my dressing table. She then turned to the gigantic bed, folding down the covers and sheets. “Is there anything else you’ll be needin’ tonight, miss?”

“No, thank you, Anna. Good night.”

“Good night, miss.”

I took my cup in both hands and leaned against the chair back, studying my reflection in the mirror. In my plain nightgown, without jewels, my hair down, I felt more myself. More like the Cora I used to know. But I really wasn’t that girl anymore. I’d never be her again, if I was honest with myself. Cora Diehl felt like a distant memory—a treasured memory, but far, far from my present reality. And as much as I tried to marry my past with my future, I couldn’t quite see them melding. Could I truly go back to Normal School in Montana and settle in with the girls there? Would they treat me differently once they knew that Wallace Kensington had reclaimed his long-lost daughter? Would my professors? Would I feel different? Or would I slowly recapture my sense of self? Who I was before all this began?

I took a long, deep breath and turned my lamp down so low it was almost completely dark in the room. I rose from my chair and went to the window. I pushed aside the long, velvet curtains and leaned my hip against the low sill and sipped my tea, watching guests leave and a few latecomers arrive. I observed how they interacted with one another, with the servants, and I admired the ladies’ gowns and the men’s fine black jackets and crisp white shirts. I felt a part of them now, able to make my way among them. But not truly one with them.