The Diamond Slipper cb-1 Page 13

  Cordelia gave her foot to the groom who was waiting to help her mount Lucette. "Is the prince more concerned than the average?" She gathered the reins together and turned her horse to walk beside his out of the yard.

  Leo frowned. Elvira had once complained that Michael had very rigid attitudes. He hated deviations from what he considered due process. He had certain unvarying rituals. When Leo had pressed her for specifics, she'd laughed it off and changed the subject. But he remembered being faintly disturbed by the exchange. In fact, he'd been faintly disturbed by many of their conversations at that time. As much by what Elvira refused to say as by what she did say.

  "Sir?" Cordelia prompted.

  He shook his head free of shadows and spoke brusquely. "I don't know. Michael is a diplomat, a politician. He follows the rules of all the games. He's concerned with appearances, but then so is everyone at Versailles. You will learn for yourself."

  Cordelia had no heart for further questioning, and they rode in tense silence throughout the morning, stopping for midday refreshment on the right bank of the River Aisne. The local townsfolk crowded around the tables set up picnic-style, gawping at the dauphine and her entourage, Marie Antoinette was charmed with the rustic setting and the informality of the occasion. She summoned Cordelia to sit at her table and chattered like a magpie.

  Toinette was clearly not apprehensive and certainly didn't look as if she'd spent a sleepless night. Cordelia reflected that the woebegone homesick girl had vanished, transformed into this delighted and delightful princess who reveled in the attention and the homage with a child's conspicuous pleasure mingled with the haughtiness of one who knew it was her due.

  "Come, let us walk among the people." Toinette rose to her feet in a billow of straw-colored silk. She tucked her hand in Cordelia's arm. "We shall stroll among them and greet them. They are my subjects now and I do so want them to love me."

  The people certainly seemed very well disposed to their future queen and reluctant to let her go when it was time to return to the carriages.

  Lucette had been unsaddled and returned to the rear of the procession, and the coach with the von Sachsen arms on its panels stood ready. Leo was already waiting at the footstep. As Cordelia made her way over to him, Christian appeared from the crowd, leading his horse.

  Cordelia's face lit up. With Christian she could be certain of her welcome. Christian's loving friendship was no fantasy. She gathered up her skirts and ran toward him. "Christian, how are you?" She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, forgetting the public arena. "I have been thinking of where you will lodge in Paris."

  "Cordelia, you should know better than to indulge in public displays of affection," Leo reproved sharply as he came over to them. "And you too, Christian. You know as well as anyone that the closeness of your friendship needs to be kept out of the public eye."

  Christian flushed. "I know where the boundaries of friendship lie, my lord," he said pointedly.

  "My lord, do you have any idea where Christian should go when we reach Paris?" Cordelia asked quickly.

  "I don't need the viscount's help, Cordelia," Christian protested stiffly. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."

  "But it's a strange city and Lord Kierston is sponsoring you. Of course he'll help you, won't you?" She turned her great turquoise eyes toward him. "You won't renege on a promise, I trust, sir?"

  It was almost a relief, he thought, to see her eyes filled now with an angry challenge, rather than the haunting shock of one whose trust has been abruptly abused. He ignored the challenge, saying calmly to Christian, "I'll give you the address of a respectable and inexpensive lodging house. You'll be quite comfortable there until you get settled."

  Leo opened the carriage door. "Come, the procession is moving." He handed Cordelia in and climbed up after her.

  Cordelia leaned out of the window. "We'll talk about it when we get to Compiegne, Christian." She watched him ride away toward the rear of the column and then leaned back against the squabs.

  "You will help him, won't you?"

  "If he'll accept it." Leo turned his head to look out of the window. He regretted his necessary cruelty of the night before, but he was feeling much more than that regret at the moment. He had not expected to feel as he did. Bereft and sad. He had done his duty by Cordelia and by Michael. He had resisted temptation, all but that once, even though it had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Now he would be out of temptation. Cordelia from the moment of her introduction to her husband would belong body and soul to Michael. But the knowledge filled him with drear regret.

  They reached the town of Berneuil on the outskirts of the forest of Compiegne at three o'clock. Two outriders from the king's party awaited them with the news that His Majesty had decided to escort his new granddaughter to Compiegne himself. He and the dauphin were but five minutes away.

  "An unlooked-for honor," Leo observed. "The king doesn't usually put himself out to such an extent."

  When Cordelia didn't respond, Leo stepped out of the marriage. "Come." He held up his hand.

  Cordelia's hand merely brushed his she stepped down, unconsciously, she lifted her chin as she looked around.

  It was such an obvious attempt to gather courage that his art went out to her.

  "Take heart. Things are never as bad as you expect." He offered a bracing smile.

  "I don't wish to be married to him," she said in a fierce undertone. "I love you, Leo."

  "Enough!" he commanded sharply. "That kind of talk will do you nothing but harm."

  Cordelia bit her lip hard. They reached the dauphine and her entourage, who were standing beside their carriages, waiting the king. Toinette looked over her shoulder and caught Cordelia's eye. She pulled a face and for a moment it was as if their old mischievous relationship were restored, except that Cordelia couldn't summon the spirit to respond, Then the sound of hooves and iron wheels on the unpaved road filled the air, and the dauphine turned back hastily, straightening her shoulders.

  The king's cavalcade entered the small town square with triumphant sound of drums, trumpets, timbals, and hautbois. It was a massive company of guards, soldiers, cavaliers, and coaches.

  The king stepped out of the first carriage, accompanied by a young man who looked stiffly and nervously around the assembled company.

  "Is that the dauphin?" Cordelia whispered to Leo, her attention diverted from her own misery.

  "Yes. He's very shy."

  Cordelia wanted to comment on how unattractive the young man was, but she kept the remark to herself, watching as Toinette fell to her knees before the king, who raised her up, kissed her warmly, and drew forward his grandson. Louis-Auguste shyly kissed his bride to cheers and applause from the spectators.

  Prince Michael von Sachsen made his way through the crowd toward his brother-in-law. For a few minutes, he had observed the young woman standing beside the viscount. She was dressed in the first style of elegance, as he would have expected. Her expression was very serious, sullen almost. He'd had enough levity in his married life to last through several marriages, he reflected, not displeased by the girl's somber countenance. With luck, she would discourage his daughters' tendency to flightiness as reported by Louise de Nevry. Not that he could imagine either of them producing so much as a smile, but presumably their governess knew them better than he did.

  "Viscount Kierston." He greeted his brother-in-law formally.

  Leo had been watching his approach. He bowed. "Prince von Sachsen. Allow me to introduce Princess von Sachsen."

  Cordelia curtsied. Her husband took her hand and raised her up. He kissed her hand, then lightly brushed her cheek with his lips.

  "Madame, I bid you welcome."

  "Thank you, sir." Cordelia could think of nothing else to say. The prince looked very like his miniature. He was not unhandsome. His hair was hidden beneath a wig, but his eyebrows were gray. His figure was a little stout, but not objectionably so-unless one was accustomed to the lean, athletic muscularity of Le
o Beaumont.

  She forced herself to smile, to meet his pale eyes. Leo, beside her, was staring into the middle distance. The prince frowned suddenly and a shadow flickered across the flat surface of his eyes. It was as if he didn't like what he saw.

  "We will lodge at Compiegne this evening," the prince stated in a flat, slightly nasal voice, without a tinge of warmth. "I have arranged for the marriage to be solemnized formally when we reach Paris tomorrow evening. It will be a quiet ceremony, but I trust, Leo, that you will honor us with your company." He turned and smiled at his brother-in-law. A thin flickering smile that reminded Cordelia unpleasantly of an asp's tongue. She glanced up at Leo. His expression was frozen but he bowed and murmured his honor at the invitation.

  Cordelia was struck powerfully yet again by the knowledge of Leo's dislike of the prince. It wasn't in what he said, but it was in his eyes. And she could feel some surge of rage emanating from him. What was it? She looked between the two men. Prince Michael was offering his snuff box. Leo took a pinch with a word of thanks. Superficially, there was nothing untoward about the scene or their manner to each other, but beneath that surface Cordelia would swear ran deep currents of antagonism.

  Why? It had to have something to do with Elvira. But what?

  Leo struggled as always with the maelstrom of emotion his brother-in-law's presence always evoked. Michael was alive. Elvira was dead. Leo had not been at his sister's deathbed, he had known nothing of her illness until she was dead. But had Michael done everything possible to save her? The question tormented him as only the speed of her death had done. The speed, the suddenness. One day she stood in the sun, glowing and radiant and filled with life. The next she had been a wasted body in a coffin. And he hadn't been there to save her, or to suffer with her. And he would never know if everything that could be done had been done.

  "Come, we should return to the carriage." The prince indicated the royal party, who were reentering their own vehicles. "I will travel with you. There's room, I believe?" He addressed this polite query to Leo.

  Leo pushed aside the ghosts of grief and anger and brought himself back to the sunny afternoon. "I'll leave you to become acquainted with your wife, Michael. I'm happy to ride.

  "I bid you farewell, Cordelia." He bowed and held out a hand to the silent, watchful Cordelia, who realized with a sick shock that he really was going to abandon her here.

  She curtsied, giving him her hand. Her eyes wide and vulnerable, her voice unusually forlorn. "I am so accustomed to your company, sir, I don't know how I shall go on without it. Will we see you at Compiegne?"

  "No. I believe I shall return directly to Paris. Now you have your husband's escort, you can have no need of mine, my lady." He stared steadily at her, willing her to lose her air of desolation. It would certainly draw Michael's attention.

  "Then allow me to thank you for taking care of me, sir." She seemed to have recovered herself. Her smile was brittle, but it was still a smile.

  "The pleasure was all mine." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  The touch of his lips seared her skin through her gloves, and for a telltale second her love glowed in her eyes with such piercing intensity that he almost had to look away. Then she took her husband's arm and turned from him.

  Leo watched them move off through the bustling crowds, then he spun on his heel and walked away. He felt empty. The thought of Cordelia with Michael was suddenly unendurable. The thought of his hands on that fresh skin, his touch arousing that wonderful candid sensuality, brought bitter bile to his throat. Elvira had never confided anything about Michael's lovemaking, and her brother had respected such delicacy, even though it was unusual reticence from his robustly candid sister. Now he was tormented with an obsessional curiosity that was as painful as it seemed voyeuristic.

  "Lord Kierston."

  He stopped and turned at the hail from Christian Percossi. His expression was not encouraging. He didn't need the young musician's accusatory comments at this point. But Christian looked as bereft and miserable as Leo felt.

  "Will she be all right?" Christian was out of breath, his hair disheveled, a lost look in his soulful brown eyes.

  "She's with her husband."

  "Yes, but what kind of man is he?" Christian was wringing his long slender hands. "Does he know how special Cordelia is? Will he be able to appreciate her?"

  Leo exhaled slowly. "I hope so," he said finally, turning away again, before he remembered that the young man was in some way dependent upon him. "When you reach Paris, go to the Belle Etoile on the rue Saint-Honore. Mention my name. I'll find you there in a day or two."

  "Do you go to Compiegne now?"

  "No. I am going straight to Paris. Until later, Christian." He waved a dismissive hand at the young man and strode off, leaving Christian uneasily alone in the now rapidly emptying town square. After a minute he went off in search of his horse. He would follow the procession to Compiegne. Even if he couldn't speak with Cordelia, at least he'd be in the vicinity. It seemed inconsiderate of the viscount to desert her when she must need familiar faces around her.

  Leo pushed through a door into a low-ceilinged tavern. "Wine, boy!"

  The potboy scurried behind the bar counter and returned with a jug of red wine and a pewter cup. Leo gave him a morose nod and filled the cup. He drank deeply and settled back for a long afternoon in the company of Bacchus. Tomorrow was Cordelia's wedding and he planned to attend it with a shattering headache and his senses dulled with wine.

  Prince Michael had handed Cordelia into the carriage and stepped inside after her. He took his seat, arranging the full skirts of his brocaded coat, adjusting his sword.

  Fussy little movements, Cordelia thought. A man who concerned himself with detail, who needed things to be perfectly ordered. The antithesis of herself.

  "I am honored you came to meet me, my lord," she ventured. The ice had to be broken somehow.

  "Not at all," he said, finally satisfied with his dress and looking up at her. "In normal circumstances, of course, I would have awaited you in Paris. But since His Majesty was pleased to make this journey, it seemed appropriate that I should accompany him on my own errand."

  Dry as dust, Cordelia thought. Surely he could have said something a little warmer, more encouraging. She glanced down at her hands in her lap. A ray of sun caught the serpent bracelet on her wrist. She touched it and tried again. "And I must thank you for this beautiful betrothal gift, sir. The diamond slipper is exquisite." She held up her wrist to show him. The little charm danced with the movement. "I was wondering about the other charms."

  He shrugged. "I have no idea of their history. They were on there when I purchased it for my-" He stopped abruptly, thinking it was perhaps tactless to mention its original owner. The truth was that it was too good a gift to waste and he didn't believe in unnecessary expenditure.

  Elvira had worn the bracelet well. When he'd bought it on the birth of the girls, it had been an extravagant and whimsical gesture that he now despised. He had thought that its intricate design seemed perfectly suited to the woman, and how well he had been proved right. The bracelet with its rendering of the serpent and the apple was made for Elvira-temptress, deceiver, liar, whore. She'd been a whore when he'd first taken her into his bed, and she'd been a whore on her deathbed.

  The old red rage coursed through him, and he closed his eyes until he had it under control. It was over with. Elvira had paid the price. He had a new wife.

  His eyes flicked open again, studying her. There was a boldness to this one too. He'd noticed it when she'd met his eye earlier. She should have lowered her gaze before her husband, but she'd returned his look with a challenging air that he didn't like one bit. However, she was young and innocent. The antithesis of Elvira. He would soon rid her of any undesirable bravado.

  Cordelia wondered why he didn't finish his sentence, but she didn't prompt him. His face was closed and dark. What kind of man was this husband of hers? She would discover soon enough.r />
  Chapter Ten

  By the end of the evening at Compiegne, Michael was still undecided about his wife. She lacked the subservient modesty he had expected to find in one so young, brought up in the court of Maria Theresa. But her voice was soft, her tones sweet and melodious, and he could detect no sign of stridency or presumption in speech or bearing.

  Also in her favor, she was perfectly at home at court. She had carried off her introduction to the king with impeccable grace, neither intimidated nor overbold, and His Majesty had clearly been pleased with her. A wife who was looked kindly upon by the king and was in the confidence of the dauphine would be a significant asset.

  He decided to withhold judgment until he'd learned a little mote of her. When the royal party finally took themselves off to bed, he went over to his bride, who was talking with or rather listening to an elderly duchess in full monologue.

  "If you'll excuse me, madame, I must take my wife away."

  Cordelia looked up at the slightly nasal voice at her shoulder, and for a second her relief at this rescue was clear in her eyes. But immediately she dropped her gaze as relief at one rescue merely heralded the moment she'd been dreading all evening. What would happen now?

  Would her husband expect some physical intimacies? The thought of as much as a kiss made her shudder.

  "Ah, yes, I wouldn't keep you from your wife, Prince." The duchess unfurled her fan, saying with a malicious smile, "It's well known how a young bride can enliven the energies of a man a little… past his prime, shall we say?"

  Prince Michael merely bowed, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face. "I bid you good night, madame."

  Cordelia curtsied to the duchess and stepped back to take her husband's arm. "What a witch!" she said.

  "What did you say?" Michael couldn't believe his ears. He looked around to see if the outrageous comment could have been overheard.

  "I said she was a witch," Cordelia repeated, seemingly unaware of her husband's shock. "What a nasty, malicious thing to say… to both of us."