The Diamond Slipper

Chapter Six

"Adieu, my dear daughter. Do so much good to the people of France that they will be able to say that I have sent them an angel." Maria Theresa embraced her weeping daughter for the last time. The whole Hapsburg family, the entire Austrian court, the highest echelons of the aristocracy, were all witnesses to this final meeting between mother and daughter in the great hall of the Hofburg Palace.

"Poor Toinette," Cordelia murmured, blinking back her own tears. "To have to make such a public farewell. She loves her mother so dearly. How will she manage without her?"

Viscount Kierston made no response. He too was moved by the poignancy of this farewell. The new dauphine of France knew that she would probably never see her mother again, and it seemed a brutal separation for a girl not yet fifteen. But the sentiments of private people had no place in the lofty reaches of international diplomacy. The archduchess's marriage to the dauphin would cement the vital alliance between Austria and France as nothing else could.

Still weeping, Toinette was escorted from the palace to the coach that would take her to her new country. She was accompanied by her brother, the emperor Joseph, who seemed nonplussed by his little sister's emotional state. Toinette had begged that Cordelia be allowed to accompany her in the coach as well, but the empress had refused. Her daughter must make her ceremonial departure from the land of her fathers in state. She must be seen to be strong, mature, ready to assume her royal duties.

As the coach moved sedately out of the courtyard, Toinette could be seen through the glass window, leaning back in a corner, her hand covering her eyes with her handkerchief, but as the carriage passed through the gates, she leaned out, gazing backward at her home, tears streaming down her face. Her brother's hand appeared on her shoulder, drawing her within.

"Her brother won't be much comfort," Cordelia observed. "He's so stiff and formal."

"You'll be able to be with her when we reach Melk," Leo said. "You had better make your own farewells now."

The empress took a fonder farewell of her godchild than Duke Franz did of his niece. Maria Theresa gave her a silver locket with her own portrait inside and embraced her warmly. The duke acknowledged her curtsy with a cold nod and the command that she obey her husband. Her marriage settlements were generous and she should be grateful to all those who had looked after her interests hitherto.

If she never saw her uncle again, she wouldn't shed a tear, Cordelia decided, moving to her own carriage, where Leo Beaumont waited to hand her in. The von Sachsen arms were emblazoned upon the panels.

"Your uncle has a harsh manner," Leo observed, with a frown. "I daresay he's uncomfortable with emotion."

Cordelia glanced up at him as he handed her inside. "There's no need to make excuses for my uncle, Viscount. I assure you there's no love lost on either side." Her face was tight, though, and her eyes were tinged with sadness. "My parents died of smallpox when I was a baby. If they had lived, perhaps this leaving would have been difficult. As it is, I can't wait." She seated herself on the crimson velvet squabs of the luxuriously appointed vehicle, her skirts billowing out on either side, filling the entire length of the bench. The tightness of her expression relaxed. "Is Versailles really as much of a fairy-tale palace as they say?"

"Only for the naive," he said dryly, putting a foot on the footstep.

"I don't consider myself to be naive," she protested.

He laughed, but not unkindly, as he stepped into the coach. "My dear, you are an ingenue, you know nothing of the darker side of court life, but if it pleases you to imagine a glittering fantasy, then do so. You'll be disillusioned soon enough." He sat back on the opposite bench, careful not to tread on the flounced hem of her gown as he adjusted his sword to his hip.

"I might surprise you, my lord," Cordelia said, not at all pleased at his somewhat patronizing tone.

"I'm not sure that anything you do could surprise me," he observed amiably, determined neither to quarrel in the close confines of the carriage, nor to offer an opportunity for one of her impulsive flights of passion. And after this ceremonial departure from Vienna, he would be able to ride while his charge journeyed by coach in decorous solitude.

The carriage started forward. Cordelia leaned out of the window to watch the procession fall in behind her. There were coaches laden with baggage and servants. Mathilde was traveling with Cordelia's trunks at the rear of the procession. A troop of cavalry escorted the procession, banners snapping in the breeze, the sun shining on the embroidered ceremonial trappings, the silver of bridle and stirrup. At the very rear, spare horses were led by troopers, her own Lucette, a Lippizaner like the viscount's, among them.

"Is Christian traveling with your staff?"

"I believe so. But how he chooses to make the journey is up to him."

"I wish I could be a fly on the wall when the broadsheet hits the street tomorrow and Poligny finds himself exposed." She chuckled, fanning herself lightly.

Leo didn't offer a response. He had less confidence than Cordelia and Christian in the power of the truth to bring down someone as slippery and influential as Poligny, but the man would at least be embarrassed, especially by the defection of the pupil whose work brought the master his greatest credit.

"The empress was very gracious when Christian asked her to release him," Cordelia continued, regardless of her companion's silence. "She even gave him a purse." "Mm."

"How far is it to Melk?" "Fifty kilometers."

The viscount was obviously not in a talkative mood. They were to stop for the night at the Benedictine monastery of Melk, and fifty kilometers of jolting on ill-made roads in such severely silent company was hardly appealing.

"Is something vexing you, my lord?" She offered what she hoped was an innocent and supplicating smile. "I'll try very hard not to be a tedious traveling companion."

"I'm very much afraid that if you try too hard, you'll achieve the opposite effect," he observed, leaning back, his arms folded, regarding her through half-closed eyes. She was wearing an enchanting velvet cap perched atop the piled mass of black ringlets. An Indian shawl was draped carelessly over her shoulders against drafts, and one perfectly rounded forearm rested on the sill of the carriage. Prince Michael's bracelet circled her wrist, the little diamond slipper clicking softly against the side of the door with the swaying of the carriage.

"That's unkind, but if you wish me to sit in silence, my lord, then I will." Cordelia folded her lips together, placed both hands in her lap, and stared fixedly at the carved wooden paneling above the viscount's head.

It was such an absurd picture that his lips twitched and the merry hazel glints appeared in his eyes. "What an annoying creature you are."

"Oh, that is unfair!" she protested. "I'm trying to be exactly what you wish in a traveling companion and you accuse me of being annoying."

"I don't recall describing my ideal traveling companion."

"Well, you implied a description. You want a stiff, starchy, ugly doll, who won't speak or smile or suggest anything in the least unusual in the way of entertainment."

"If that were my ideal, I assure you, my dear, that you could never approach it," he said with a lazy grin. "If you remain on your seat and confine your remarks to the commonplace, I shall be well satisfied."

Cordelia made a face. "The commonplace is exceedingly boring, my lord. However, I have an idea how we may amuse ourselves." She fumbled in her reticule and produced a pair of dice with a little crow of triumph.

"See. I come prepared. We shall dice the time away. I do adore to gamble." She tossed the dice from hand to hand with an expert touch.

Leo raised his eyebrows. Gambling was the besetting sin of all courtiers in every court on the continent as well as at St. James's Palace in London. Fortunes were lost in an evening almost as fast as reputations. Prince Michael was no exception, although he preferred cards to dice, but whether he would look kindly on serious gambling by his wife was another matter. But perhaps her idea of gambling was of the schoolroom variety, for small coins or paper spills.

"Let's throw for high numbers," she said eagerly, rolling the dice between her hands. "What do you wager, sir?"

"Three ecus," he said, prepared to indulge her.

"Oh, pshaw! That's baby stuff. I wager four louis."

Clearly, Cordelia had progressed beyond paper spills. "I presume you can cover such a wager?"

Her eyes flashed indignantly. "You insult me, my lord."

He held up his hands pacifically. "No insult intended, I assure you, madame. I was unsure whether you had funds upon your person."

Cordelia returned to her reticule, withdrawing a heavy velvet purse. "I have five hundred louis in coin and notes," she stated. "My uncle's wedding gift. He would not have it said that he failed in his duty to his niece," she added with a sardonic smile. "It's my own money anyway, from my mother's estate, but Duke Franz always pretends that it's his own generosity that keeps me in funds." Her lip curled derisively. "I trust my husband is not ungenerous in such matters. I know for a fact that my mother's jointure is my own under the marriage settlements, so I hope he's not inclined to withhold it."

Leo frowned. He didn't think Michael would withhold his bride's estate, but neither did he believe he would hand it over to her without supervision. "It's not customary for a woman to have access to her own fortune. I'm sure your husband will make you a generous allowance."

"An allowance of my own money! It's so unjust."

Leo shrugged. "Maybe. But it's the way of the world and not to be changed by a slip of a girl."

"Don't be too sure, my lord." Cordelia thrust her irritation from her and tossed the dice again. "Come, let us throw. We don't have a flat surface, but we can toss them on the seat beside you. The disadvantage will be the same for both of us." She leaned over, the shawl slipping from her, revealing the deep cleft between her round breasts. The scent of her hair, so close to his face, filled his nostrils, the curve of her cheek entranced him.

The dice rolled on the velvet seat beside Leo, and he turned with relief to look.

"A four and a six." Cordelia sat back with a smile of triumph. "Let's see if you can do better, my lord."

Resigned, Leo tossed the dice. They came up three and a two.

"Ha! I win." She gathered up the dice and held out her hand for her winnings.

Leo drew out his own purse and handed her four louis, which she pocketed with such an air of gloating jubilation that he couldn't help laughing. "What a graceless winner you are. I trust you don't lose as badly."

"I rarely lose," she said smugly, tossing the dice in her hands again. "Shall we raise the stakes to five?"

It seemed a relatively harmless way to pass the time, and Cordelia's shameless exultation at every win was irresistible. And she won every throw.

Belatedly, it occurred to Leo that such a run of good luck was way beyond the average. She had gleefully pocketed twenty louis before the first suspicion entered his head. Casually, he turned sideways to watch closely as she tossed the dice. There was something about the way she flicked them that caught his attention. It was a little twist of her wrist that ordinarily would pass unnoticed, but he was beginning to find his continual losses somewhat tedious.

"Ha! I win again! You owe me another five louis, my lord." She held out her hand in her usual fashion.

"I wonder if I do," he said slowly, scooping up the dice from the seat beside him. They felt normal enough. He'd been throwing them for the last half hour without a qualm. He glanced up. Cordelia was looking transparently anxious and had withdrawn her open palm.

He tossed the dice in his palm, fixing her with a hard stare, watching the color rise in her creamy cheeks, waiting until her eyes dropped to her lap.

"These are weighted in some way, aren't they? Aren't they?" he repeated when she seemed disinclined to answer.

"How could you accuse me of such a thing?" Her color was high, her bottom lip clipped between her teeth.

"You cheating little fibster!" he declared, tossing the dice into her lap. "Show me how they work."

"I was going to give the money back to you." Her glowing eyes were enormous, fixed earnestly on his face.

"You'll forgive me if I doubt that," he said dryly. "Now, show me how they work."

"Oh, very well. But it's such a neat little trick. If you didn't know, you couldn't feel it. You couldn't, could you?"

"If I had been able to, I wouldn't be twenty louis the poorer," he said as aridly as before. "I'm waiting."

Cordelia leaned forward, almost into his lap, the dice cupped in her hand. "They're clipped at this corner. If you flick them onto the edge, they always fall either on the six or the four. It doesn't win every time, but most of the time."

She was far too close to him. Her scent, the deep cleft of her bosom, the midnight-black mass of curls were making his head spin, and when she looked up at him, a tentative smile in her eyes that were that moment as brilliant as sapphires, his breath caught in his throat.

"It was only a little fun, my lord." Her voice was both apologetic and defensive. "It wasn't as if we were playing seriously."

"I didn't notice we were playing for pretend louis. I tell you, Cordelia, that if I'd been playing with a man who used such tricks, I would take a horsewhip to him," he stated.

"Wouldn't you challenge him to a duel?" Cordelia asked in surprise, momentarily distracted from her own predicament.

"I wouldn't dishonor my sword with his blood," he said bluntly.

"Oh." She chewed her lip again, then rummaged through her reticule. "Here. Every one of them." She tipped the louis into his hand. "I suppose it was wicked, but I do so love to win. And I'd never do it at the tables."

She sounded so melancholy and aggrieved that amusement yet again shattered Leo's justified annoyance. It simply wasn't possible to be angry with her for more than a fleeting instant, even in the face of such outrageous behavior.

"I give you fair warning, that if anyone catches you cheating in the salons of Versailles, you will be ostracized, and not even the dauphine will be able to redeem you," he said with dire emphasis. "And if you bring such dishonor on your husband's name, he would be entitled to have you shut up in a nunnery."

"But I wouldn't!" Cordelia protested, horrified as much by the idea that he might consider her capable of such stupidity as by the contemplation of such retribution. "We only played with these tricks in the family. Toinette is just as bad as I am; sometimes it was the only way to beat the archdukes. And they were quite odious when they won and set all sorts of embarrassing forfeits."

"Well, I've a mind to set a forfeit of my own," he said thoughtfully, tapping his mouth with his fingertips as he examined her.

"What?" A little prickle of excitement ran over her skin. She leaned forward again. "How would you have me pay, sir?

Leo realized his mistake immediately. Whenever he dropped his guard, he found himself blundering into the morass. Her lips were parted in unmistakable invitation, and the tip of her pink tongue ran slowly over them in a gesture so seductive that it took his breath away. Cordelia was not the least alarmed by talk of forfeits.

He sat back, saying indifferently, "I find this tedious." Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the seat back and to all intents and purposes went to sleep.

Cordelia frowned. She didn't believe for a minute that he was truly asleep. She rifled through the contents of her reticule with great sighs and rustles as if looking for something vital. Then she hummed a little tune, tapping her foot in accompaniment. Still the viscount remained apparently asleep.

She let down the window and leaned out to watch the passing scenery. "Goodness, you should see the crowds lining the wayside to watch us pass," she observed conversationally. "Oh, and there's a dancing bear on a chain. It looks very sad, poor creature. Oh, and look, they're chasing a pickpocket… and there's a gingerbread stall. It's just like a fair, with stalls and entertainers." She withdrew her head and regarded her still-somnolent companion. "It's a deal more entertaining outside than it is in here."

Leo gave up. He opened his eyes. "Has anyone ever suggested wringing your neck?"

"Not to my knowledge," she said with a twinkle. "But it's odious of you to pretend to be asleep. I wouldn't have disturbed you if you were truly fatigued, but you're not. And I have so many things I want to ask you."

"Serious things?" he asked suspiciously.

"Utterly. The empress told me you would use the journey to educate me in the particulars of life at Versailles. Toinette will have the comtesse de Noailles to tell her things, but I have only you."

"Very well." They had to do something to pass the time, and this seemed both safe and useful. "What do you wish to know?"

"Oh, a host of things, but before we begin, I have another wager… no, not dice and not for money," she added, seeing his darkening expression. "Something much more important. Let us wager on the precise time of arrival at Melk. Whoever gets closest wins."

"And what are the stakes?" Why he was even considering it on past experience, Leo didn't know.

"If I win, I ride tomorrow instead of sitting in this stuffy carriage."

"And if I win?" One black eyebrow lifted. "Your choice."

"Oh, now, that is tempting indeed." He stroked his chin, reflecting. Cordelia waited rather anxiously. She couldn't imagine what he'd choose.

"Very well. If I win, you will refrain from pestering or provoking me the entire day."

"Is that what you think I do?" Hurt clouded her eyes but he refused to see it.

"I want none of your blatant flirtation, none of your trickery. You will behave with perfect decorum in my presence, and you will speak only when spoken to. Agreed?"

Cordelia nibbled her lip. It seemed a poor wager but she didn't have much option. She'd just have to hope she won. She shrugged her agreement. "So, let's write our projections now and put them away until we arrive." She drew out a lead pencil and a small notebook from her reticule and handed them to him.

Leo didn't hesitate. He wrote swiftly, then tore out the page and tucked it into his coat pocket.

Cordelia took the pencil and paper. She frowned fiercely, chewing the end of the pencil, trying to calculate how far they had already journeyed. They would have to stop for refreshment and to change horses, and it would all be very ceremonious, so it would take time.

"Mathematics is not your strong suit?" Leo inquired with a solicitous smile.

"On the contrary," she retorted. "It's one of my best subjects." Stung, she gave up calculating and scribbled her projection. "There." She stuffed the paper back into her reticule and sat back. "Now we'll see."

"So, you have questions."

"When did your sister die?"

He hadn't expected that, but it seemed an understandable question. "Four years ago. The girls were nine months old." His expression was neutral, his eyes hooded.

"What did she die of?"

"What has that to do with the particulars of life at Versailles?" His voice was cold, his mouth suddenly tight.

"I'm sorry," she said swiftly. "Does it pain you to talk of her?"

She didn't know how much. But it wasn't so much pain as this deep tide of rage that threatened to burst its dams when he thought of the wastefulness of such a death, such a vibrant, precious life extinguished almost overnight. He forced himself to relax and answered her first question, ignoring the second. "She died of a fever… a very swift wasting sickness."

It was far too common a cause of death to surprise Cordelia. "You loved her very much?" she asked tentatively, her eyes grave now, her expression soft.

"My feelings for Elvira can have nothing to do with your new life, Cordelia," he said, trying not to snap. He could never bring himself to talk about his sister, not even to Michael, who always maintained an understanding silence on the subject.

"Elvira. That's a pretty name." Cordelia seemed not to have heard him. "Was she older than you?"

Clearly, she was not to be put off. "We were twins," he said shortly.

"Oh." Cordelia nodded. "Twins have a very special bond, don't they?"

"So it's said. Can we talk about Versailles now?"

"Your sister gave birth to twins. It must run in the family," Cordelia continued. "Perhaps you'll father twins when you marry. Have you ever wished to marry?"

"That is not a topic for this conversation," he declared frigidly. "If you wish us to continue, then you will confine yourself to pertinent questions."

"I didn't intend to be impertinent," she said, frowning. "I was just being interested and friendly."

Leo wondered if she was being disingenuous and then decided that he didn't wish to know. He offered no encouragement, and after a minute she said, "Tell me about my husband. What kind of man is he?"

This at least was an unimpeachable area of interest. "He's a man in his prime. A great huntsman, which makes him popular with the king. He enjoys court life and you'll find that you'll be invited to most of the sojourns at the other palaces, like Fontainebleu, St. Cloud, the Trianon, the Hotel de Ville. The court picks itself up and goes on these journeys four or five times a year. The king grows impatient if he stays in one place too long."

Cordelia was listening intently, but while this exposition on court travels was mildly interesting, it wasn't as pertinent as her husband. "But will I like him?" She leaned forward again, underscoring the seriousness of the question.

Leo shrugged carelessly and drew away from her maddening proximity. "How should I know, Cordelia. Many people do, but he has enemies. We all do."

"Is he kind?" Cordelia persevered, laying a hand on his knee. "Is he good to the children?"

He was a cold, indifferent parent, one reason why Leo was so anxious that they should have a concerned and caring stepmother. However, Leo kept this reflection to himself. "They are in the charge of a governess. I don't believe their father has much to do with them."

That, too, was not uncommon. She opened her mouth for another question when the blast of a trumpet rent the air. "Oh, we must be stopping somewhere. I own I shall be glad to stretch my legs."

Leo swung open the door when the carriage came to a halt in the center of a small village. He jumped down to the cobbled square and held out his hand to assist Cordelia in the delicate maneuver required to get herself and her wide skirts through the door. He dropped her hand the minute she was on solid ground.

Cordelia proceeded to tuck her hand in his arm. "You are my escort, proxy husband," she murmured. "You mustn't treat me as if I'm a pariah dog."

He looked sharply down at her. As he'd expected, she was smiling with that outrageous invitation in her eyes. "Behave yourself!" he commanded in a ferocious undertone.

Cordelia's smile broadened. "I haven't lost the wager yet, my lord."

He had no time to respond, as the village mayor came over to them, bowing low, offering the humble hospitality of his village. The dauphine and her brother were installed in chairs on a canopied dais in the center of the square, while village maidens brought them food and drink and the inhabitants of the countryside for miles around gazed in wonder at the august presence in their midst.

Cordelia and the viscount were escorted to the village inn, where hospitality for the dauphine's retinue was provided. There were so many people milling around in the small, low-beamed taproom that conversation was impossible and the heat rapidly became insupportable. Cordelia dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief. "Pray excuse my, my lord." She withdrew her hand from his arm and turned to leave the inn.

"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 I 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.