Stolen Splendor (2 page)

Untying the wide sash at her waist and slipping the
silk morning gown from her body, Kassandra plopped upon the bed wearing only
her linen chemise and pulled the coarse stockings up her long, slender legs.

She dressed quickly. The homespun material of the gown
scratched her skin, but she didn't care, for it was in this gown that Kassandra
would explore the fascinating heart of Vienna by herself, a pastime she had
enjoyed on several occasions before her father had left for Germany. She was
endlessly intrigued by the city and its people; the infinite, ever-changing
parade of life was far more entertaining than any frivolous gala or court
function. When she was dressed as a lady's maid she could pass for one of the
common folk and lose herself in the crowd, unburdened by the affectations and
trappings of her true station.

And today—thanks to the royal gala at the Favorita,
which would occupy Isabel well into the evening—she had her first opportunity
to wear the gown and venture out alone since she had come to stay at the von
Furstenberg estate. During the past two weeks she had felt suffocated by
Isabel's constant, albeit well-meaning, attentions. Kassandra was used to
spending time alone and doing exactly what she pleased. Now at last she had her
chance. Kassandra quickly tied the laces of the demure bodice,
then
walked over to her dressing table. She coiled her thick
mane into a heavy knot, pinned it at her nape, then set the small cap atop her
head and secured it with two silver combs.

Perusing her image, she was pleased with her
transformation. Lady Kassandra Wyndham, daughter of Lord Harrington, the
English ambassador to Vienna, had suddenly become a prim and proper lady's
maid. And the carriage without a coat of arms would add credence to her
disguise. She wanted it to appear that she had simply hired the carriage to
bring her into Vienna for a day's shopping.

A soft rap on the door made Kassandra start in
surprise, her breath catching in her throat. Sweet Lord, what if Isabel had
forgotten something and returned to the estate?

"Lady Kassandra," Gisela called to her from
beyond the door. "Zoltan is waiting with the carriage."

Kassandra exhaled sharply. "I'll be ready in just
a moment." She hurried over to her closet and pulled out a dark blue
cloak. It, too, was simple in design, and well suited for the rest of her
ensemble. She fastened the plain frogging on the front and wrapped the cloak
around her body, then slipped on some low-heeled leather shoes, grabbed a cloth
bag from a hook inside the door to hold her money, and she was ready.

As she unbolted and opened her door, she was not
surprised to find Gisela waiting just outside. The maid's inquisitive hazel
eyes were full of questions . . . questions Kassandra had no intention of
answering.

"If Countess Isabel should return before me,
please tell her I've gone into Vienna on some errands," Kassandra said as
she hurried along the corridor and down the stairs. She could hear Gisela's
footsteps following dose behind, but she did not slow her pace.

"Milady, I have taken the liberty of arranging for
two of the menservants to accompany you—"

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Gisela,"
Kassandra replied over her shoulder. "The coachman will be with me. That's
enough for so short a journey."

"But, Lady Kassandra, surely you must realize it
is highly unsuitable for you to travel without an escort. I'm certain Countess
Isabel would be most unhappy. "

Kassandra quickly made her way across the foyer and out
the door, determined not to be swayed by the truth of Gisela's words. She knew
haste was her only ally. Accepting the hand of the coachman, she swung up
easily into the carriage and settled against the plush velvet seat.

"I'm in a great hurry, Zoltan," she murmured
as he closed the door. "I have many errands to accomplish this day."

"Rest assured, milady, I'll get
ye
to the city in no time at all." The stout coachman winked kindly. The
carriage shifted and creaked from his weight as he climbed up to his seat, then
he cracked his whip above the heads of the two prancing horses. "On with
ye, my girls!"

Gisela stepped closer to the carriage. "But,
milady—"

"Gisela, you mustn't worry," Kassandra called
from the window as the carriage jolted to a start. "I'm quite capable of
taking care of myself!"

Chapter 2

As the carriage sped along, the unpaved, tree-lined
avenues that wound past the stately white mansions on the outskirts of Vienna
soon narrowed into the cobbled streets of the imperial city. Kassandra sat on
the edge of the seat, her heart fluttering with excitement as she gazed out the
carriage window at the busy streets and bustling market squares.

Everywhere she looked was a blur of color and motion:
early afternoon shoppers with overloaded baskets dodging the open carts and
fine carriages that choked the narrow streets; hawkers with their trays of
trinkets vying with one another for space on the busiest corners; flower girls
in bright, patterned aprons selling their garlands of autumn blooms to
passersby.

"A lovely bouquet for yer mistress, dearie?"
a buxom flower girl called out to her as the carriage inched its way along the
crowded street.

Kassandra smiled, shaking her head. The girl merely
shrugged and sauntered over to another carriage.

"Ah, now there's a fine gentleman to buy a posy
for yer wife . . . or yer mistress, whichever she may be!"

Kassandra blushed as the flower girl's hearty laughter
was lost in the raucous cacophony of the street. She wondered fleetingly what
it must be like to be so bold . . . and so free.

Suddenly, with a loud crash, the carriage came to a
jarring halt, accompanied by the frantic neighing of terrified horses, the
sound of splintering wood, then furious oaths and curses. Kassandra was flung
to the opposite side of the vehicle, her fall fortunately broken by the
well-padded seat.

"Look to your horse, man, not your blasted
cart!" Zoltan shouted at the top of his lungs, followed by a streak of
coarse obscenities in his native Hungarian. Then he jumped from his seat to the
ground and pulled open the carriage door. "Are ye all right, milady?"
he asked, his swarthy face a mask of anxious concern.

"Yes . . . yes, I'm fine," Kassandra assured
him shakily, righting
herself
in the seat. A rush of
pity surged through her. The poor man, red-faced and sweating profusely despite
the cool air, looked in a much worse state than she.

Kassandra smiled brightly at him, her tone reassuring.
"Truly, you can see that I am unharmed, Zoltan. But what has
happened?"

Zoltan shook his head grimly, wiping the perspiration
from his brow with a massive hand. "Ah, it's an awful thing, milady. Two
carts have collided just ahead, and a fine horse is down, its leg broken, looks
like to me."

"How terrible!" Kassandra gasped, feeling a
sick knot in her stomach at the thought of the stricken creature. She loved
horses. Riding was like life to her.

"A pity it is, too, those damn fools. Rushing
along the crowded street like that, their carts full of heavy water barrels.
I'd like to take my whip to 'em both!"

"Is there anything we can do?" Kassandra
asked, peering out the window at the curious crowd pressing in around the
accident.

"No, milady. They'll see to it soon enough."
Grunting his displeasure, Zoltan glanced over his shoulder at the wreckage
strewn about the street just twenty feet away. "It's fortunate we were no
closer, else we might have been caught in the middle. Now we'll have to wait
until the mess is cleared away . . . hopefully no more than a half hour."

Kassandra sat back against the seat at this news, her
mind racing. A half hour! That was far too much precious time to waste sitting
in this carriage.

No, she decided quickly, she would set out on her own
and meet Zoltan later in the afternoon. This place was as good as any other to
begin her stroll, though she would have wished it had been under different
circumstances. But now she would not have Zoltan dogging her every step with
the carriage.

Gathering her cape around her, Kassandra held out her
hand to him. "Please help me down, Zoltan."

The coachman did as she
requested,
a puzzled look on his face. "Milady?"

"I have far too much to do this afternoon to spare
even a half hour," Kassandra said, stepping onto the cobbled street. She
quickly looked about her to get her bearings, recognizing the name of the street
posted high on a corner sign. She was in the market district. She turned back
to Zoltan. "I shall meet you at four o'clock in the square in front of St.
Stephen's Cathedral. That should give me enough time to complete my
errands."

"Ye shall walk, milady?" Zoltan asked,
incredulous. These English! Why would she choose to walk about the city when
she had a fine carriage at her beck and call? He shrugged. It was not for him
to say what the nobility could, or could not do.

"Yes," Kassandra murmured, reaching inside
her bag. She pulled out a few coins and handed them to him. "I know there
must be taverns nearby where you can find some refreshment, Zoltan. Now I must
be on my way."

"Thank ye, milady." Zoltan nodded, the coins
heavy in his hand, and flashed a toothy grin. The promise of a frothy mug of
beer or two and a hearty lunch of sausage and fried potatoes cheered him
considerably, especially after the miserable disaster he had witnessed. He
tipped his cap to her. "St. Stephen's Cathedral, then, at four o'clock."

Kassandra barely heard him as she hurried from the
carriage down a crowded side street, a sense of exhilaration coursing through
her. She was on her own . . . at last! And with an entire afternoon to spend
exactly as she wished!

Such sights, sounds, and smells surrounded her as she
strolled up one twisting street and down another. Common people of many
races—Germanic, Latin, Slav—passed by her, their languages as diverse as the
rustic costumes they wore. Street urchins, most of them accomplished pickpockets,
careened through the crowds, preying lightheartedly on the nobility, the men
dad in black velvet coats lined with rose-colored satin over embroidered gold
waistcoats, with powdered periwigs, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes;
and their ladies wrapped in capes trimmed with luxurious fur, or edged with
bright red satin and gold lace.

Kassandra had never before seen a city where the
aristocrats mixed so freely with the common people . . . so unlike London. And
it seemed the entire town was composed of palaces, whether they
be
the homes of the wealthy, middle-class, or the poor.
Three- and four-story buildings towered above the shadowed streets, their
gleaming white facades decorated with all manner of fine stucco ornamentation.
A wide variety of shops occupied the first floors of these buildings, some with
fine glass windows through which passersby could watch the workers
inside—jewelers, leather-smiths, tailors, and dressmakers—busily plying their
trade. Kassandra paused here and there to admire carefully arranged displays of
fans, embroidered handkerchiefs, and comfit boxes, the finest adorned with
delicate wreaths of jewels and pearls.

Luscious, mouth-watering aromas wafted into the street
from pastry shops, bakeries, and sausage makers' shops. Kassandra's stomach
soon growled hungrily, reminding her she had not eaten since early that
morning. She stopped to buy a buttery roll filled with sweetened cream,
then
ate it as she walked along, reveling in her
independence and contemplating life in all its diversity and richness. She had
waited a long time for a day such as this!

Rounding a corner, Kassandra paused in the doorway of a
coffeehouse and finished the last of her pastry. A rousing blare of trumpets
and the thunderous beating of drums took her by surprise and she peered down
the street, amazed at the great throng of people moving ever closer. Overcome
by curiosity, she stepped from the doorway and walked toward the lively din. It
appeared to be some sort of procession . . .

Two small boys brushed by her, their ruddy cheeks
flushed with excitement as they jostled and pushed each other down the street.

"Wait!" Kassandra called after them.
"Could you tell me what's going on?"

The boys stopped in their tracks and turned around. One
lad, overcome by shyness, blushed awkwardly and shuffled his feet. But the
other piped up, eager to share his important news. "It's the Hungarian
oxen, miss. They've just arrived from the country and they're taking 'em down
to the slaughterhouse." He bobbed his head to her,
then
sharply elbowed his friend, who did the same. Then they scurried on their way.

A cattle parade. Kassandra had heard of this strange
custom from Isabel, who had told her the Viennese loved pageantry of any kind.
The lamentable procession of oxen on their way to the slaughterhouse qualified
as entertainment of the highest order, especially because it was free.

She watched in amazement as householders and
shopkeepers left their homes and shops to throng in the street with their wives
and children, all jockeying to get the best view. Shrieks of boisterous
laughter rent the air, already charged with a carnival-like atmosphere.

Kassandra pressed her back up against a wall as the
procession moved past her. The roar was deafening as the trumpeters and drummers
marched by, followed by dragoons on horseback, their swords drawn and flashing
in the sun,
who
encircled the frightened oxen and
herded them onward. Young boys goaded the oxen with long, sharpened
sticks—Kassandra gasped as she spied the two she had spoken with earlier diving
into the fray—while mastiffs snapped at the beasts' legs and barked ferociously
at any laggards.