The Diamond Slipper (12 page)

“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 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 straightened 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.

Mathilde was waiting impatiently. “You have but a half hour before the viscount comes to escort you to dinner,” she scolded. “He sent a messenger an hour ago, saying that you were to be ready by eight o’clock, and here it is already half past seven.”

Cordelia’s heart did an involuntary little skip at the thought that she would soon be in Leo’s company again. “Her Highness needed me.” She drew off her gloves, tossing them onto a chair. “Oh, I don’t wish to wear that gown, Mathilde, it makes me look sallow.” She gestured disdainfully to the gown of dull yellow taffeta lying ready on the bed.

“What nonsense. You’ve never looked sallow in your life,” Mathilde declared. “The gown is well suited for dining in a monastery. It shows less of your bosom than some others.”

“But I don’t wish to show less of my bosom,” Cordelia said, flinging open the door to the armoire. “It may be a monastery, Mathilde, but everyone will be wearing their finest raiment and I shall look a positive dowd in that.”

Mathilde tutted. She was a very devout woman, and half-naked women gamboling around a monastery deeply offended her. But while her influence on Cordelia was both maternal and extensive, it didn’t encompass choice of dress. Cordelia always had her own idea of what was right for her and for the occasion.

“Well, hurry up, then,” Mathilde said, gathering up the despised dress. “I’ll not be blamed by the viscount for your being late.”

“Of course he wouldn’t blame you.” Cordelia selected a scarlet silk gown and pranced over to the cheval glass, holding it up against her. “He already knows that tardiness is my besetting sin.” She tilted her head, examining her reflection. “I think I will wear this tonight.”

“Scarlet in a monastery!” exclaimed Mathilde, scandalized, unhooking Cordelia’s traveling dress.

“Oh, you are a prude.” Cordelia swiveled to kiss her on both cheeks. “Besides, cardinals wear red, don’t they? It’s a very suitable color.” She stepped out of the unhooked dress as it rustled to her feet. “Have I time to wash? I feel so dusty from the journey.” She darted across to the washstand, dipped a washcloth in the ewer, and scrubbed her face vigorously, before sponging her bosom and raising her arms to wash beneath them.

“Maybe they do. But it’s not decent to go about a monastery with your bosom uncovered.” Mathilde, still grumbling, dampened a handkerchief with lavender water. “Such a harum-scarum creature you are. Sit down and let me do your hair.” She pushed her down onto the dresser stool, giving her the lavender handkerchief.

Cordelia dabbed the lavender between her breasts, under her arms, behind her ears. “That’s better. I swear I was reeking like a stable hand.”

“Keep still, will you!” Mathilde pulled the brush through tangled ringlets before deftly twisting the gleaming mass into a chignon at the nape of Cordelia’s neck. She loosened the side ringlets so that they framed her face, and fixed a
pearl comb in the chignon. She examined her handiwork in the mirror, frowning. Then she nodded in silence and went to fetch the scarlet gown.

Her expression as she hooked Cordelia into the garment was so disapproving that Cordelia almost gave in. But she knew the scarlet suited her complexion as well as it suited her present mood. She was feeling dangerous, fizzing with anticipation, her blood flowing swift and hot in her veins. She told herself it was the sense of freedom, of release from the prison of rigidity that had been the Austrian court. It was the sense of her life opening up before her, of the golden glories of Versailles that awaited her.

The sharp rap at the door brought her swinging to face it as Mathilde hurried to open it, and she knew as her breath caught in anticipation that it was Leo Beaumont who did this to her. It was love—ungovernable, unbidden, incomprehensible, invincible.

Leo stood in the open doorway. He saw before him a radiant creature, all scarlet and black, with eyes as lustrous as sapphires, a warm red mouth slightly parted over even white teeth, the small, well-shaped head atop a long slender neck. The rich swell of her bosom rose invitingly above her décolletage. Her waist was so small he could span it with his hands. He had seen her so many times in the last days, but he felt now as if he were seeing her for the first time. She seemed surrounded by an aura of danger and temptation. The air around her was electric, charged with passion; he could almost hear it crackle. Anyone touched by that charge would surely burn, he thought with a chill of foreboding.

“I am ready on time, you see, my lord.” Cordelia curtsied, seeking to mask the depth of her feelings in a light teasing tone. “Mathilde is very disapproving of my gown. She says scarlet is too bold a color to be worn in a house of God. But as I pointed out, cardinals wear red hats. Do you have an opinion on the subject, sir?” She rose slowly, with a coquettish tilt of her head.

“I doubt your gown will draw undue remark, since all
eyes will be turned upon the dauphine and the emperor,” he said dampeningly. “If you’re quite ready, let us go down.” He stepped aside so that she could precede him into the corridor.

“How ungallant of you,” Cordelia murmured as she glided past. “I could almost be hurt at such a snub.”

“But of course you aren’t,” he commented dryly.

She looked sideways at him. “Not in the least, my lord, since the only eyes I’m interested in are yours. I couldn’t care less if I’m invisible to everyone else.”

Leo drew a sharp whistling breath through his teeth. “You will stop this nonsense, Cordelia. I warn you that I begin to lose patience.”

“I won the wager,” she said, giving him a serene smile, taking his arm. “Now, don’t look daggers at me or people will wonder what’s amiss between such a newly married couple.”

He had no time to respond as he would have liked because they had reached the great hall of the monastery, where those guests of sufficient importance were already assembled to dine at the abbot’s table.

Toinette was pale but composed as she sat between her brother and the abbot. Princess von Sachsen and her escort were seated immediately below the royal couple, and Leo was obliged to grit his teeth and dwell silently on ways to put an end to his charge’s incorrigible flirtation. Throughout the interminable meal, Cordelia’s sunny smile never wavered, her conversation was never less than entertaining, and it was clear to the exasperated Leo that she was dazzling everyone by the sheer force of her personality. Even the abbot succumbed and was patting her hand toward the end of the meal and laughing heartily at her sallies.