The Diamond Slipper

Chapter Nine

Prince Michael was not completely satisfied with the suite of rooms allocated to him and his bride at the Chateau de Compiegne. However, since the apartments set aside for the dauphine would not be completed before her arrival the following day because the workmen hadn't been paid, he decided it would be tactless to complain if the furnishings in his own suite were a trifle shabby.

The prince had traveled with the king and the dauphin to meet Marie Antoinette at Compiegne. The dauphine was still a day's journey away, but Louis had decided to honor his new granddaughter by coming out to greet her. He was in great good humor and had been delighted when it occurred to him that Prince Michael might wish to ride out to meet his own bride. The prince had accepted with appropriate gratitude what amounted to a royal command couched as invitation, although he would have preferred to welcome the princess on his own ground. Rushing to meet her seemed to indicate a somewhat unseemly eagerness. The girl was only sixteen, after all, and must not be encouraged to expect too much attention from her husband.

However, he was here at Compiegne and, the following afternoon, would ride with the king and court some fourteen kilometers to the edge of the forest where he would meet his second wife.

He took out the miniature from his pocket, examining it with a frown. She did look very young, but now Michael saw a boldness to her eyes that he instinctively disliked. She held her head with an almost challenging stance, gazing out of the mother-of-pearl frame with an uncompromising air.

Michael's frown deepened. He snapped his fingers irritably at his servant who was unpacking the prince's portmanteau. The man hastened to put a glass of wine into his master's outstretched hand.

Michael sipped, not taking his eyes off the miniature. When he'd first looked at it, he'd seen no resemblance to Elvira. But he'd been looking at the coloring, the shape of the face. Now he wasn't so sure. There was something uneasily familiar about the girl's expression. She was much younger than Elvira had been at her wedding; she came from the strict formality of the devout Austrian court. How could there be any resemblance to the flamboyant, sophisticated, flirtatious Englishwoman who had destroyed his peace?

His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. It would not happen again. He would take this unformed, untutored, inexperienced little innocent and mold her to his own requirements. If she showed any signs of exhibiting Elvira's character traits, he would erase them without compunction. And they would be easier to deal with in this young girl than they had been in Elvira. He would have a submissive, faithful, duty-bound bride, who knew her obligations and learned swiftly how to please her husband.

"Sir… sir, your hand!" The voice of his servant broke into his rapt concentration.

Michael looked down at his hand. Somehow he had snapped the glass stem between his fingers, and a shard of glass pierced his skin. "God's blood!" he swore, tossing the glass into the empty grate. "Fetch me a bandage, man! Don't stand there like a booby."

"Tomorrow we will reach Compiegne, where the king and the dauphin will be waiting to greet Marie Antoinette." Leo's expression was a study in neutrality. The procession had reached Soissons, thirty-eight kilometers from Compiegne, and he stood with Cordelia outside her bedchamber in the riverside inn that accommodated the royal party for the night.

"I know." Absently, Cordelia twirled a ringlet around her finger before sucking it into her mouth. They were within a day's ride of journey's end, and her customary ebullience was fast ebbing.

Throughout the journey Leo had been pleasant and friendly, but his manner had been more avuncular than anything else, and he had somehow ensured that they were never alone together, except when they were riding. Any attempts to move the conversation onto the subject of their future relationship had met with stony silence and his rapid departure. Since his company was all-important to her well-being, Cordelia had quickly learned to behave as he dictated. She amused him with her light and frequently insightful chatter, discussed weighty subjects with due gravity, and tried very hard to control the need to declare her love at every second sentence. And while the prospect of meeting her husband remained in the future, she had managed very well. But now time was slipping away. Once she was given into her husband's charge and Leo relinquished his responsibility for her, she saw only a frighteningly unknown landscape.

"Has it occurred to you that your husband might also be there waiting for you?"

"Yes." She chewed the end of the ringlet. It had occurred to her more than once in the last hours. "But I rather assumed he'd be waiting in Paris."

"He might be. But I have a feeling he will be at Compiegne."

"I won't have to go to his bed until the formal wedding is solemnized," she said almost to herself, through her mouthful of hair.

But Leo heard her, and the mumbled words reminded him how much she belonged to another man. "That is a thoroughly disagreeable habit." Roughly, he flicked the sodden ringlet from her mouth.

"I only do it when I'm thinking disagreeable thoughts."

"I don't suppose it occurs to you not to speak such thoughts in public," he snapped.

Cordelia took a deep breath. This was her last chance. "Leo, I know you don't want me for a mistress… no… no, please listen to me," she begged, seeing him prepared to silence her. "Please let me speak, just this once."

"Not if you're going to say what I think you're going to say," he responded curtly. "I have told you I don't know how many times, that I will not listen to your nonsense-"

"No, this isn't nonsense," she interrupted eagerly. "I'm not properly married to the prince, only by proxy. It hasn't been consummated or anything, so it could be annulled, couldn't it?"

"What?" He stared at her in disbelief. This was a new angle, even for Cordelia.

"I could explain that I don't want to marry him. That it was all a big mistake. I could tell him that he wouldn't want to be married to someone who couldn't bear to have him for-"

"Have you completely lost your wits, girl? You are as firmly married to Michael as if you'd been married in St. Peter's by the pope himself. The settlements are drawn up, your dowry is in place… Dear God, you have your head full of fairy stories." He ran a hand through his dark hair that tonight he wore uncovered and unpowdered.

"I don't believe it can't be done," she persisted stubbornly. "I don't believe I "can't have you for husband instead."

"Now, just you listen to me." He took her shoulders, speaking through compressed lips. "Get this into your head. I would not marry you if you were the only woman on earth." He shook her to emphasize the savage statement and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing her eyes cloud with hurt, all eagerness, conviction, and determination blotted out. "You seem to think that all you have to do is wish for something and it will come true. But you forget, Cordelia, that there are other people involved in these fantasies of yours. People who have their own opinions and wishes. I do not wish to be part of your fanciful caprices. Do you understand? Is that plain enough for you?" He shook her again.

Cordelia was stunned by the power of his words, the savagery of his rejection. "I… I thought you liked me," she said, her voice catching, her eyes filling with tears.

Leo swore, a short sharp execration. "Whether I like you or not has nothing to do with it. I am sick to death of being woven into your whimsical notions of how to rearrange your destiny."

"Won't you even stand my friend?" she asked painfully. "May I not talk to you as I talk to Christian?" "You tell Christian such things?"

"I tell Christian everything. We've always shared all our confidences."

Leo closed his eyes briefly. "And I suppose you told your friend about Melk?" He didn't need her confirmation. The young musician had been glaring at him as if he were Attila the Hun ever since they'd crossed the Steyr.

Cordelia didn't respond, but continued to gaze at him, her eyes darkest gray with pain.

"Dear God!" he muttered almost despairingly. He couldn't bear her to look at him in that way.

"Won't you stand my friend?" she repeated with sudden urgency, laying her hand on his arm. "I have need of friends, Leo."

She would need friends, both in her marriage and as she negotiated a path through the obstacles of life at Versailles. It was not something he could deny her even if he wished.

"I will stand your friend," he stated without inflection. Then he turned aside to open the door of her chamber. "Good night, Cordelia."

"Good night, my lord." She slipped past him, averting her face.

Mathilde's appraising gaze was shrewd. Her nursling was very pale, her eyes shadowed. "We'll be meeting the prince soon, I daresay," she observed casually as she unhooked and unlaced.

"Probably tomorrow." Cordelia pulled pins from her hair. Her voice was tight with suppressed tears. "But I won't have to go to his bed until after the wedding is solemnized."

"Aye." Mathilde contented herself with the simple agreement. Something had made her nursling particularly fragile at the moment, and it didn't take much to guess what. The viscount had presumably dealt the death blow to Cordelia's hopes, and Mathilde was not going to undo that with offers of sympathy and comfort. Her task now was to prepare Cordelia for her wedding night. She had ensured that the girl was not in ignorance of the carnal side of marriage. Viscount Kierston had carried that education beyond the boundaries that Mathilde considered necessary, but there was no point crying over spilled milk. She would impart a few more words of wisdom on the wedding night itself, when Cordelia would be at her most receptive.

She tucked Cordelia into bed as if she were once more a child in the nursery, kissed her good night, snuffed the candles, and left the room quietly.

Alone, Cordelia pulled the covers up over her head, burrowing into the darkness. It was something she'd done as a child when something bad had happened and she'd instinctively blocked out the world as if by not seeing it she could erase the bad thing. But she was no longer a child, and the defenses of childhood didn't seem to work. Even in her burrow, the wretched thoughts focused, took on almost concrete form, crystallizing her despair.

She didn't want to be married to anyone but Leo. The thought of being touched by anyone but Leo filled her with disgust and dread. How was she to endure what had to be endured?

Resolutely, she pushed the covers away from her face and lay on her back. Feeling sorry for herself would achieve nothing. She must look at what she feared and face it.

Leo didn't like his brother-in-law. The recognition interrupted her train of thought. How did she know that? He'd never said anything, but there was a look in his eye when the prince had been mentioned-a dark, brooding look that was banished so swiftly that sometimes she thought she'd imagined it.

Did it perhaps have something to do with Leo's sister? Had he been a tyrant in their marriage?

Should she be afraid of more than the physical act of marriage? Should she be afraid of the man himself?

The thought was so startling, Cordelia sat upright. Surely Leo would have warned her if he knew anything bad about her husband. Surely he would never have encouraged the marriage, played the part in it that he had done. Leo was too honorable to do anything against his conscience, as she knew only too well.

Cordelia lay down again, huddling beneath the feather quilt against the night chill. There now seemed so much she needed to know.

She'd begun the journey as if in an enchanted dream. The wonders of love had bathed everything in a soft rosy light. Ahead of her lay the golden palace of Versailles and a new life of freedom and pleasure. But that dream was now shattered by the coming dawn. Her love could never come to fulfillment while she was married to an elderly stranger. She was no longer adrift on a sea of rich promise, she was cold and frightened, shivering on the shore of a shrouded lake as for the first time since Vienna the reality of her situation became clear.

She rolled onto her side, drawing up her knees, trying to relax. She needed to sleep. But sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, her head filled with disconnected thoughts and formless fears. She wondered if Toinette was going through the same agonizing apprehension and wished that they could have spent this night together, as they had spent so many nights of their girlhood, curled up in the same bed, exchanging secrets and dreams.

She finally fell into a heavy sleep just before dawn and awoke unrested, leaden, and miserable when Mathilde drew back the bedcurtains.

"Put out my riding habit, Mathilde, please. I think the fresh air will be good for me. It might wake me up." She yawned as she sat on the edge of the bed, her body aching and tired.

Mathilde cast her a knowing glance. "Bad night?"

"I'm tired and out of sorts, Mathilde." Cordelia jumped up and buried her head in Mathilde's comforting bosom, her arms clasped tightly around her maid's waist. "I'm frightened and miserable."

Mathilde hugged her and stroked her hair. "There, there, dearie."

Cordelia clung to her as she had done so often in her childhood, and as always Mathilde's strength infused her. After a few minutes, she straightened and smiled a little waterily. "I'm better now."

Mathilde nodded and patted her cheek. "Things are never as bad as you expect them to be. I'll fetch some witch hazel for your eyes." She produced a cloth soaked in witch hazel, and Cordelia lay back on the bed, the soothing cloth pressed to her aching eyes, while Mathilde brushed out her riding habit of blue velvet edged with silver lace.

She was still feeling wan when she left her chamber, but at least knew that she didn't look as bad as she felt. Leo was standing in the inn's stableyard watching the ostler saddle their horses. He turned at her approach and gave her a nod of greeting. Her quick covert examination told her that he hadn't slept much better than she had. He looked pale and drawn. Perhaps this wasn't such a joyful day for him after all. But after what he'd said, how could she think that? She had to stop indulging in fantasy.

"There's no reason why I shouldn't ride today, is there, my lord?" She flicked her whip against her boots. She had determined to greet him normally, to speak to him as if that wretched scene had never taken place as if he had never spoken those dreadful words. But her voice was tight and the tears were a hard nut in her throat, and she found she couldn't look him in the eye.

"You may ride this morning. But after lunch you should travel in the coach. Your husband will expect you to be journeying in state," he said neutrally.

"Because to do otherwise would not be consonant with my position?" If she didn't think about Leo, if she concentrated only on neutral topics, the knot of tears would dissolve and her voice would sound normal again.

"Possibly." Leo fought the urge to stroke her cheek, smooth the tautness from her lovely mouth, banish her blatant unhappiness by denying what he'd said. But that way lay madness. He must stick to his guns or all his cruelty would have been for nothing.

"Is the prince much concerned with prestige and status and all its trappings?" She looked around at the entourage preparing to leave Soissons.

"Versailles is much concerned."

Was he deliberately evading the question? "But is my husband?" she persisted.

"I believe he is," he responded, swinging into the saddle. "But as I said, Versailles is ruled by the trappings of protocol."

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 Leo 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.