Stolen Splendor (7 page)

Isabel shook her head, her dark curls bobbing about.
"But, Kassandra, venturing into Vienna by yourself—"

"If it will make you feel better, Isabel, I
promise I won't go there again, at least not without an escort," Kassandra
assured her, though she knew that would be a hard promise to keep. Even after
what had happened that day, she was still not willing to give up her
independence. She deftly changed the subject. "Now, enough talk about me.
How was the gala? Tell me."

Isabel's worried expression immediately brightened, a
smile of pleasure curving her mouth. "Oh, it was truly lovely, Kassandra.
I wish you had chosen to go with me."

As do I, Kassandra thought ruefully. As do I.

"Their Majesties were so gracious and charming,
and the amusements they had arranged. The gala was outdoors, and they had
shooting games. All the unmarried ladies present were given light guns to shoot
at the prettiest of targets—Cupid, Venus, Lady Fortune—and those who had the
highest points were given prizes from the hand of Empress Elisabeth herself.
Why, look at this!" Isabel held out her right hand, upon her forefinger a
gold ring set round with sparkling blue sapphires.

"It's lovely," breathed Kassandra.

"Yes, but most important of all," Isabel
enthused, "we received wonderful news at the gala. Prince Eugene of Savoy
has returned to Vienna at last from the campaign in Hungary. That means Stefan
will soon be home! He is probably even now in the city."

Kassandra smiled. She had heard a great deal about
Stefan von Furstenberg—his accomplishments, his bravery, his sense of fairness,
and so much more—from Isabel, who clearly adored her older brother. "That
is wonderful news, Isabel," she murmured, a wave of exhaustion suddenly
assailing her. She would have loved to show more enthusiasm, but she was so tired.

"Oh, Kassandra, you must be exhausted,"
Isabel sympathized, noting the faint shadows beneath the younger woman's eyes.
She had to admit she was disappointed at Kassandra's reaction to her news,
especially after she had expressed such an interest in meeting her brother. It
was probably her trying day, Isabel reasoned. After all, Kassandra had narrowly
escaped serious harm. Perhaps a good night's rest would bring her round.

"Yes, I think I will go to bed early
tonight," she replied sleepily.

"Very well, then," Isabel said, rising as
Gisela entered the room.

"Your warm brandy, Lady Kassandra." She set
it on the table near the bed. "Will there be anything else? A light
supper, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, Gisela. I'm really not very
hungry."

"As you wish, milady."

"Sleep well, Kassandra. We'll talk more in the
morning," Isabel murmured. She followed Gisela from the room and closed
the door carefully behind her. Yes, tomorrow she would tell Kassandra about the
welcoming reception at the Hofburg to be held that evening for the victorious
Prince Eugene and his officers. She only hoped that Kassandra would be more
receptive to accompanying her this time—especially since Stefan would be there.

Kassandra took a sip of the brandy, the subtle warmth a
soothing balm to her tormented thoughts. She walked around her chamber,
snuffing out the candles,
then
climbed into bed.

Stefan von Furstenberg, she thought, a sudden thrill of
anticipation coursing through her. If he was half the man Isabel had made him
out to be, he was certainly someone she would enjoy meeting.

Kassandra unpinned her hair, the thick, burnished waves
falling about her face and down her back. She yawned drowsily, laying her head
down on the welcome softness of her pillows, and in only a few moments, fell
fast asleep.

Chapter 7

Kassandra stepped from her room, somewhat embarrassed
at the lateness of the hour. She was sure it was already well past midday. But
each time she had opened her eyes that morning they had closed heavily once
again, as if she had been drugged, and sleep had held her fast for another
hour. At last, drowsy and dulled, she had forced herself from bed, and once up
and about, she had begun to feel more like herself. After eating a thick slice
of buttered bread with her favorite raspberry preserves and drinking strong hot
tea, she would feel as good as new.

Kassandra moved down the corridor, laughing voices
carrying up to her from the high-ceilinged foyer. She paused to listen. She
could not make out the words, but she recognized Isabel's animated voice. The
other, a man's, deep and resonant, was unfamiliar to her, at least from this
distance. She heard footsteps crossing the polished floor and the sound of the
heavy door at the front entrance closing firmly.

She walked to the staircase and looked down, but the
foyer was now empty. Perhaps Isabel and her guest had stepped outside, she
thought, holding the mahogany railing as she descended the stairs. The wild
neighing of a horse startled her,
then
she heard the
pounding of hooves upon the packed dirt of the drive. Curious, she moved to one
of the tall windows flanking the front door and pushed aside the lace curtain.

Isabel was standing on the last step leading down to
the curved drive, her hand uplifted in farewell, her gaze following the cloaked
figure of a rider on a spirited black stallion as it disappeared into the trees
bordering the lawn. She turned, smiling happily, and began to walk back into
the house, suddenly spying Kassandra at the window before she could drop the
curtain. Her lively blue eyes lightened with excitement and she swept through
the door, her skirts rustling and swaying.

"Oh, Kassandra, did you see him?" she asked
breathlessly.

Kassandra flushed bright pink, chagrined that she had
been caught spying behind the curtain. If Isabel had another gentleman friend
besides her father, well, that was none of her business.

She had discovered it was an accepted practice in
Vienna for women to have both a husband and a lover—and husbands their
mistresses in addition to a wife—a surprising arrangement that was openly
encouraged. She had been shocked at first, but then had decided that at least
it was not as hypocritical as the surreptitious affairs rumored to be so
rampant in the English court.

Just because Isabel and her father weren't married yet
did not mean the countess might not already have a handsome paramour to keep
her company during her father's long absence in Germany, Kassandra considered,
though in her heart she hoped this was not the case.

"I only saw a rider . . . I did not see his
face—" she began, deeply flustered.

"It was Stefan," Isabel blurted gaily, noting
the heightened color on Kassandra's cheeks and the way she was nervously
twisting the silken fabric of her skirt. A look of feigned indignation crossed
her delicate features. "Oh, Kassandra, really! My heart has room for only
one man, despite Viennese customs, and that man is your father." She
laughed merrily. "Come now, have you had anything to eat yet?"

Kassandra shook her head, astounded that Isabel had so
clearly read her mind.

"No? Well, let's go into the dining room. I have
so much to tell you." Isabel wound her arm through Kassandra's, and
together they walked into the adjoining room. They had hardly sat down at the
table before Isabel rushed on.

"I had hoped you might come downstairs before
Stefan left for the city, but I decided it was best to let you sleep,
especially after yesterday," Isabel said kindly.

"But when did he arrive?" Kassandra asked.
She winced inwardly, Isabel's innocent remark an unsettling reminder of the
events of the day before. No, it was done and in the past, she told herself
defiantly, willing herself to think of more pleasant things.

Stefan. She felt a flicker of disappointment that she
had so narrowly missed him. She nodded to the serving maid, who filled a cup
with hot tea and set it on the table in front of her.

"Fetch some of that marvelous bread that the cook
baked this morning, if you would, Berdine," Isabel murmured to the young
girl, who bobbed her head and hurried from the dining room. She turned to
Kassandra. "Gisela came to my door at three o'clock in the morning to tell
me Stefan had just arrived at the estate. I barely had time to put on my robe
before he was there in my chamber."

Isabel smiled happily. He had looked so handsome and
dashing in his uniform, standing so tall in the threshold. She had flown into
his arms, tears of joy streaking her face, relief that he had survived yet
another military campaign flooding her body. He was all the family she had . .
.

Isabel sighed. No, now was not the time to think of her
dear parents or her sweet sister, Gretchen, only twelve years old when she had
died in Vienna's plague of seven years ago. Besides, she thought, Stefan was
home now, and she had Miles . . . and Kassandra. She looked at the young woman
beside her, intent upon buttering and slathering with jam the warm bread that
had just arrived from the kitchen.

She was so lovely, so spirited, Isabel mused. She would
be the most wonderful stepdaughter, and hopefully . . . the perfect sister-in-law.
That is, if Kassandra and Stefan took an interest in each other, as she was
hoping they might. She could not think of a better match for her brother than
the young Englishwoman.

Kassandra set the knife upon the table and took a bite
of bread, savoring the tart flavor of the raspberry preserves. She could not
believe how hungry she was. She smiled at Isabel, noting that the countess was
studying her frankly. Again she was struck by the color of her eyes. She had
seen such a color only once before . . .

"Now, Kassandra, I have more exciting news,"
Isabel began, her voice breaking into Kassandra's thoughts. "Tonight there
is going to be a welcoming reception at the Hofburg for Prince Eugene and his
officers, and it would please me so much if you would attend." She rushed
on excitedly. "Stefan will be there. I have told him a great deal about
you in my letters, and he is looking forward to meeting you." Isabel held
her breath, as if gauging Kassandra's reaction to her news.

Kassandra swallowed the last of her bread, her gaze
meeting Isabel's. She hated the thought of disappointing the countess—she
looked so hopeful—yet she hated those damnable court functions even more. The
stuffy protocol, the gossip, the awful intrigue, the self-serving lords and their
haughty ladies. She shuddered to think of it.

So it had been ever since her first ball at the court
of Queen Anne, when she was only fourteen. The malicious conversation she had
overheard between two ladies-in-waiting about her mother, Lady Caroline, the
mother who had died at her birth, the mother she had known only through the
beautiful portrait hanging in the main hall at Wyndham Court, came back to
haunt her as if it were only yesterday.

"So that is the harlot's child," a stout,
heavily rouged lady had whispered to a friend, yet loud enough for Kassandra to
hear.

"Yes, and see how she resembles her mother, with
those eyes and that flaming red hair, a damning color to be sure. To think Lord
Harrington would have married that woman, knowing who she was, that she had
been a whore on the streets of London!"

"You had best guard your son well, and see that he
doesn't dance with that harlot's spawn," the stout woman spat, a grin
splitting her powdered face at Kassandra's stricken expression, knowing she had
heard everything . . .

"Kassandra, are you listening? Please say you will
go with me," Isabel pleaded with a hint of impatience.

Kassandra blinked, her thoughts dragged back to the
present. "I-I don't think so, Isabel. Surely I can meet Stefan here. Will
he be returning to the estate before the reception?"

Isabel shook her head, a look of exasperation flitting
across her face. "No, he said he had to go back into the city for the rest
of the afternoon, to look for someone, and that he would meet us at the Hofburg."

No doubt he was looking for Sophia, she thought,
annoyed. She loved her brother, but she had been sorely vexed ever since he had
begun a dalliance with Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg, the wife to one of
Charles VI's court ministers, over a year ago. She detested the woman and
firmly believed Sophia was plotting to become Countess von Furstenberg after
the death of her elderly husband, whether from natural or unnatural causes.

But not if I can prevent it, Isabel told herself
determinedly. It was time for Stefan to choose a wife and start a family,
perhaps even retire from the military and manage the estate in person, rather
than through lengthy correspondence written to her from the battlefield. Lady
Kassandra Wyndham was her best hope, and if she would not go to the reception
tonight for the sake of meeting Stefan, perhaps there might be another way to
persuade her . . .

"Kassandra, I must insist that you attend the
reception with me, if only to represent your father at the court of their
Imperial Majesties," Isabel said, hoping this new tack might convince her.
"It is an important occasion for Austria, to welcome its victorious army.
Since Miles is not here, who could better stand in the ambassador's place than
his daughter?"

Kassandra sighed. She knew Isabel was right. Her father
would be pleased to learn she had gone in his place, even knowing her intense
dislike of such occasions . . . and the reason behind it. Yet it was ironic
that she would represent him at an event celebrating the Austrians' victory
over the Turks. It was her father's diplomatic mission to dissuade them from
any further campaigns against the Ottoman Empire to protect the trade interests
of England.

"Very well, Isabel," she agreed
halfheartedly.

"Good," Isabel said, a smile curving her
lips. She glanced at the clock on the marble fireplace mantel. It was already
half past two; the reception began at six o'clock. If she was to be ready in
time, she would have to begin her toilette at once. Such an important occasion
demanded that she look her very best.