The Diamond Slipper

Chapter Seventeen

"What it is to have influential friends," Cordelia announced jubilantly as she closed the door of the dauphine's boudoir the following morning. "Michael has gone to Paris and I'm free for at least twenty-four hours. That was such a clever idea to send him for the children."

"Wasn't it?" Toinette said smugly. Then her expression sobered. "I wish I could send him away altogether, Cordelia It's so terrible to think of him misusing you. Why can't I tell the king?"

"You know why." Cordelia curled onto the end of the sofa, kicking off her slippers. She was in dishabille and it was blissful to be without hoop and corset. "The king would be furious at being told something so distasteful. You know he doesn't like to hear anything unpleasant." She plucked a grape from the bunch on a side table.

"I assume he's heard about my husband's reluctance… failure… oh, I don't know what to call it, Cordelia." Toinette cut a handful of grapes with a small pair of silver scissors. "But I'm so embarrassed. Everyone must be whispering about it. And if he doesn't get me with child, they could annul the marriage and send me home again." She munched glumly for a minute. "Can you imagine being sent home to Vienna in disgrace? A failed wife? It doesn't bear thinking of."

"No," Cordelia agreed. "But it won't happen because someone will discover what's wrong and fix it."

"But what if it's me that's wrong?" Toinette wailed.

"How can it be? You're beautiful, you're an empress's daughter and an emperor's sister. You're young, you're charming. The whole country is half in love with you already, and the king adores you."

Toinette brightened considerably. "Yes, it does seem to be so, doesn't it?" Cordelia smiled slightly. Much as she loved her friend, she wasn't blind to her vanity. It was always easy to coax Toinette out of the doldrums with a few well-placed compliments.

"Was your husband very angry about having to go and fetch his daughters?" the dauphine asked, restored to her customary cheerful self.

"Yes, but he didn't take it out on me for once." Cordelia leaned forward to pour coffee into two shallow cups. "In fact, he didn't come to my bed at all."

"Ah." Toinette looked knowing. She took the cup Cordelia handed her. "I heard that the king gave permission for some of the courtiers to go to the Pare aux Cerfs for amusement last night. Perhaps your husband was one of them?"

"Perhaps," Cordelia mused, sipping her coffee. In the Pare aux Cerfs, Michael could have exhausted as many harlots as he needed in order to exorcise his rage. Maybe he had thought that taking it out on his wife when she had an early morning appointment with the dauphine might be unwise. "Where did you hear that?"

Toinette pinkened slightly. "I overheard Madame du Barry telling Noailles."

"You were eavesdropping? Shame on you!" Cordelia exclaimed, laughing. "You won't even recognize the du Barry with as much as a nod, and yet you listen in on her conversations."

"At least I don't cheat at the king's table," Toinette retorted. "I don't know how you dared, Cordelia."

"Well, ordinarily I wouldn't have done. But the temptation to get even with my husband proved overpowering." She selected a gingersnap from the tray and dipped it in her coffee.

"You used the mirror trick?"

"Yes and it worked beautifully. Not even Viscount Kierston could guess how I was doing it." "Why should he?"

"He caught me a couple of times on the journey," Cordelia confessed. "With the notched dice. And he was most unpleasant about it."

"You are outrageous, Cordelia!" Toinette exclaimed.

Cordelia laughed merrily. She was feeling extraordinarily lighthearted, much as if she and Toinette were back in their own private parlor in Schonbrunn. Toinette's chuckle joined hers and neither of them heard the door open.

"What a delightful sound."

They both leaped to their feet. The king stood in the doorway, an indulgent smile on his face. The Countess de Noailles behind him looked far from indulgent.

"Monseigneur… I… I… wasn't-You do me too much honor." Stammering, Toinette curtsied. Cordelia was already in a deep curtsy, wondering if she could unobtrusively catch her discarded slippers with her toes. To appear before the king in dishabille was unheard of. Barefoot added insult to injury. True, they hadn't been expecting him, but there was no way of knowing whether His Majesty would take that into account.

"Princess von Sachsen, how charming you look. Rise… rise." The king accompanied the command with an illustrative gesture. "You will excuse us if I have a private word with Madame the Dauphine."

Thankfully, Cordelia curtsied her way backward, grabbing up her slippers as she slid from the room. She caught sight of Toinette's alarmed expression. The king didn't ordinarily visit even his granddaughter-in-law unannounced.

She hurried from the royal apartments. Her informal morning gown of peach muslin was very pretty, but it was clearly time to dress herself for the day. Gathering her skirts into her hand, she ran up the flight of stairs leading from Toinette's apartment, enjoying the freedom of movement, the ability to stride instead of glide. She whirled around a corner at the head of the stairs and bumped headlong into Viscount Kierston. She flung out her arms as if to steady herself.

"Oh, I wasn't looking where I was going!" Her arms had found their way around his waist. "But how very fortunate that it was you who saved me." She looked up at him, still clutching him tightly. "Would you believe I've just been barefoot in the king's presence?" Her eyes brimmed with the laughter that bubbled in her voice, and Leo saw again the carefree, mischievous girl who'd thrown roses at him in Schonbrunn. But underneath, he now detected the dark currents of experience, and he was filled with a great sadness. Cordelia would never again be that girl. She had had too many illusions shattered in too short a time ever to recapture her carefree girlhood.

"For pity's sake, Cordelia, let go of me!" he demanded, laughing, glancing over his shoulder. The corridor was for the moment deserted.

"No," she said with another chuckle. "You're my proxy husband again and it's your duty to catch me when I fall."

"What are you talking about?" Despite himself, he grinned down at her. She was utterly enchanting and her body was unconstrained, warm and fluid beneath the thin muslin gown.

"Michael has gone to Paris at the behest of the king and the dauphine," she informed him, her eyes shining. "They sent him to fetch the girls so that the king might notice them. Oh, you should have seen his face. He had to say how honored he was, of course, but you could see he was grinding his teeth in rage. And now I have no husband, so I must rely upon my proxy as escort at all the functions. Oh, and at the hunt in the morning," she added. "I can't wait for that, it's been an age since I've been on horseback."

Her arms still encircled his waist. Her breath was warm and sweet carrying the excited gush of words. He could see himself reflected in the turquoise pools of her eyes as he looked down into her face.

"I could come to you tonight." Her voice was now low, throbbing with sensual anticipation. "We could have all night, Leo. May I come?"

He fought to get his bearings. She was talking in riddles but all he could see were those huge brilliant eyes singing their siren's song, inviting him to lose himself in her sensual tempest. But one of them had to be sensible. Half laughing, half exasperated, he seized her hands at his back and tried to break her grip. "For God's sake, Cordelia, remember where we are. Let go of me, girl!"

"I haven't got my balance yet," she said wickedly, linking her fingers tightly to resist him. "And anyway, as my proxy husband, it's your duty to support me."

Leo glanced around again. Two courtiers appeared at the far end of the corridor. A door stood ajar on an empty antechamber across the passage. "Come here!" With a final tug, he succeeded in breaking her clasp, seized her wrist, and jerked her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. "You are an impossible creature."

Cordelia chuckled. "We're quite safe here, though, aren't we?" With a swift movement, she darted behind him and turned the key in the door. "There, now you can relax. Nobody is going to come upon us unawares."

He didn't reply but his lips twitched. She was leaning against the door, eyes sparkling, lips parted. "I love you," she mouthed.

"And for my sins, I love you, you dreadful girl!" He pulled her into his arms kissing her hard, before setting her back against the door. "Now, would you just begin at the beginning, please?"

"What room is this?" Mischievously ignoring his request, Cordelia looked around with every appearance of fascination. "It's like a junk room."

Leo massaged the back of his neck and found himself absently examining his surroundings. Cordelia's description had been accurate. Piles of furniture and boxes, covered paintings, and massive gilt frames littered the dusty marble floor. It looked as if the room hadn't been used for years. But Versailles was full of such places, even along the most populous corridors and staircases.

He pulled himself back to the issue at hand. "Never mind where we are, Cordelia. Just explain what the devil you were prattling about in the corridor?"

"I wasn't prattling," she protested. "I never prattle. I have got rid of Michael for a while and the girls will be here soon. And we can have a whole night together!"

She plunked down on the faded striped chintz, setting up a cloud of dust.

"Where has Michael gone?"

"To fetch the girls." She told him of Toinette's clever scheme. "And while they're here, I intend to make a lot of changes in their lives," she finished. "If the dauphine and the king take an interest in them, then they'll have to have my escort rather than the Nevry's, won't they?"

Leo frowned. "In theory. But I don't know how Michael will react in practice. Did he say how long he'd be gone?"

"No, but it can't be less than twenty-four hours. He hasn't said anything to me since the opera. I don't know where he was last night, but he didn't come near me, and Monsieur Brion said he left at dawn this morning." She jumped up again. "We'll have the whole night together."

"Brion will know that you're not there."

"Ah, but Brion and I are allies," she said with a decisive little nod of her head. "I am building my defenses, you should know."

His gaze sharpened. "Explain."

Succinctly she gave him the details of her unspoken alliance with the majordomo. "I am becoming adept at political scheming, my lord," she finished with another little nod.

He couldn't help laughing at her smugness, but neither could he hide his admiration. Cordelia was very young, but she could be remarkably sophisticated.

"Come to my room at midnight," he said with an apparent nonchalance that concealed the heady rush of arousal. He would plan for a night that would live in Cordelia's mind and body until her dying day.

"I won't be able to endure the waiting," Cordelia said with a catch in her voice. "How can I wait until midnight? It's but eleven in the morning now."

"You will learn, my sweet, that anticipation has its own rewards," he replied. His eyes were golden fires, ablaze with promise.

Abruptly, Cordelia sat down again. Her legs seemed to have gone to butter and she was not prepared for the abrupt change of topic, when he said coolly, sitting down beside her on the dusty sofa, "For the moment we have other matters to discuss.

"If you leave your husband with my escort, you will be going to a life of exile. Every court in Europe will know the scandal and we will be received nowhere. And you will always be in danger of recapture by your husband. Do you understand these things, Cordelia?"

"Yes, of course. I've thought of it myself. But we could live privately, couldn't we? As private citizens on your estates, or something? You do have an estate in England, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. But I don't think you understand what such a life could be-"

"Oh, but I do," she interrupted eagerly. "A life with you, loving you. Just the two of us. I can't think of anything more blissful."

Part of him wanted to agree, but he owed her the knowledge of reality. Love's first raptures didn't last forever. And how could he be sure that Cordelia's passionate convictions could survive a lifetime of their consequences? "My sweet child, you must consider." He was very grave now. "You're only sixteen years old. A life of a disgraced exile buried in the English countryside will pall very quickly. If we have children, they will be illegitimate. Have you thought of that?"

"No, I hadn't." She was frowning now, the light gone from her eyes. "But if they had us to love them, then-"

"While they're children, yes. But to carry that stigma for all their lives? Just consider, Cordelia."

Then perhaps we shouldn't have any children," she suggested. "We'll have the girls, won't we? We can't leave them with Michael." She spoke the thought as it popped into her head. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn't had a chance to think further than this all-consuming love. But of course the children had to be a part of that love, of the future of that love.

Leo had had plenty of time to think. He took her hand. "No, I can't leave them with Michael. Not knowing what I do about him. They are Elvira's children and I am self-sworn to protect them."

"Yes, of course, I understand that," she said impatiently. "That's what I said-"

"Cordelia, listen!" He took her other hand. "To take a man's wife is one thing. Michael might agree to divorce you so that he would be free to take another wife. It's not impossible. But if I take his children-that's a crime punishable by death. Michael will never willingly give up his children."

"Then we'll have to go somewhere far away and take on other identities," she said simply.

Leo was silent, frowning down at the floor, absently noticing tiny footprints in the thick dust. Mice presumably.

Cordelia swallowed uncomfortably as the silence lengthened, then she drew a deep breath and said, "Do you not wish to take me away, Leo? Have you thought better of it? I understand, of course I do. The children are your blood. They must have first consideration."

"No, I haven't changed my mind," he said, raising his head. "I was merely trying to point out to you the difficulties. I'm no fairy godmother, sweetheart. I don't have a magic wand."

"I understand that," she said in a small voice.

"You cannot go back to Vienna-"

"No, of course I can't!" she exclaimed. "My uncle would simply send me straight back to Michael."

"As I was saying," he said repressively, "you cannot go back to Vienna. If I can procure a passport for you, you could perhaps travel incognito to England. My sister and her husband would take you in." His frown deepened. Lizzie was an impulsive creature with a head full of romance. She'd throw herself heart and soul into such a scheme, but her husband, Francis, was less impetuous. He might well fight shy of sheltering an adulterous relationship under his roof, particularly when the woman was sought across the Continent by an outraged husband and her own family. Cordelia, the goddaughter of an empress and the wife of a prince, was much less of a private citizen than he himself.

"You wouldn't come too?" she ventured.

"Not immediately. It would be suspicious if we disappeared together."

"And what of the girls?"

"Until I can find a way to get them away from Michael, I must be able to see them. Therefore I must stay close by."

"Yes, I see." She swallowed. Leo loved her. He loved her enough to save her from her husband. But his love and responsibility for his sister's children must take precedence. She understood that. She wouldn't argue with it. Loyalty to one's friends and loved ones was an imperative she could never deny. Leo had to find a way to handle the conflicting demands of two such loyalties. She could think of only one way to help him.

She sat up very straight, facing him across the separating length of the sofa. "I told you that as long as I have your love, I can endure anything, Leo. I can stay in this marriage, if I have you near me. If I know that I have my friends. Mathilde and Christian and Toinette, and you." Her eyes were bright with tears and the light of conviction. "I will stay with Michael until we can develop a plan that enables us to take the children with us. If you don't desert me, Leo, I can endure anything."

And again he thought bitterly that while love might make endurance easier for Cordelia, it made it impossible for him. He would send her to Lizzie as soon as he could arrange it. And then he would worry about the children. But since Cordelia would resist being sent away, he must make his plans in secret.

"I'll work something out," he said confidently. "But I do want you to think about the realities of life as it will be. Think very carefully, love, because once done, it cannot be undone."

"I know that. Do you think I don't?" she said, gripping his hands tightly. "I won't want it undone, Leo. Never."

"Never is a very long time," he said, his smile disguising his racing thoughts. There was a whore in the Pare aux Cerfs whose brother-in-law was the chief of police on Ile de la Cite in Paris. For the right consideration, passports could be acquired. He could have Cordelia out of Paris within the fortnight.

And in the meantime, they had a whole night ahead of them. Deliberately, he allowed his mind to dwell on the images already building. As yet half formed, most of them, but the picture of the coming night was painting itself in sinuous silhouette.

"If you wish, this afternoon I'll conduct you to Mathilde." His voice was as calm as the Dead Sea, and he knew Cordelia couldn't begin to guess his erotic thoughts.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," she said. "I so miss her." She leaned into him, placing her flat palm against his cheek. "We'll make it work, Leo, I know we will."

The conviction of idealistic youth? The conviction of an incurable optimist? He turned his head to plant a kiss in her palm. "Come to me after the stroke of midnight." He tipped her chin and kissed her mouth, the delicate fluttering eye- lids, the tip of her nose. "Now you must go."

He stood up, drawing her with him, unlocked the door, and stepped behind it, out of sight of the corridor. "Go, and don't look back."

He waited five minutes before stepping out himself, strolling casually down the corridor, blending with the crowd of courtiers hurrying to the king's levee. A tall slender man in a charcoal gray suit lined with crimson silk mingling easily with the scurrying throng. And behind the amiable smile exquisitely erotic dreams warred with the facts of a grim reality.

Prince Michael, arms folded across his chest, sat back in the cumbersome coach as it lumbered over the narrow road from Versailles to Paris. At his feet rested the leather chest He was glowering in the dim interior of the vehicle. The leather curtains covered the windows, protecting the occupant from the curious stares and insolent observations of passersby on the carriage's frequent enforced stops at crowded intersections.

Two outriders attempted to clear the roadway ahead of the carriage, but often enough their whip-cracking orders were ignored by sullen-eyed peasants driving their cattle or produce to market They stared at the gilded coach with the von Sachsen arms emblazoned on the panels, and one or two surreptitiously spat into the ground beneath the large painted wheels of the aristocratic conveyance.

Michael swore under his breath as the carriage slowed yet again. He still found it difficult to believe that he was driving to Paris to act as nursemaid for his children in the middle of the wedding celebrations. He could not believe that he had been manipulated by a schoolgirl-by two schoolgirls. That arrogant chit of a dauphine had definitely played her part. He could still see the complicitous glance she'd exchanged with Cordelia. They had been laughing at him. But he who laughs last laughs loudest, he told himself grimly.

He had no choice but to obey the king's orders, but if he could remove Cordelia from Versailles, then, of course, his children would have no reason to remain. He would have all three of them back in the palace on the rue du Bac, and he would make damn sure that they stayed there. His wife must become indisposed. An accident that would force her removal from Paris. A concussion, such as might result from a fall from a horse. Easily arranged if one knew the right people.

The coach lurched forward again. It was only a temporary solution to the problem of Cordelia. She was in her way every bit as unsatisfactory a wife as Elvira had been. For the moment, he still enjoyed bedding her, but that would pall eventually. He needed a son, and once she had supplied him with the child, he would be free to dispose of her. If he could arrange to leave Versailles, return to Prussia, he could concoct an accusation of adultery and banish her to a convent. It would be a neat solution and a very appropriate punishment for such a willful and flighty creature. It would take time to arrange his transfer out of France. He would have to petition his own sovereign, and Frederick the Great was not known to heed the personal wishes of his servants if they went against his own. But he could set the process in motion.

He closed his eyes, his foot unconsciously resting on the chest as the carriage jolted in a pothole.

It was midafternoon when he reached the palace on the rue du Bac. The household had been alerted by a runner of the master's impending arrival, and when he entered the cavernous hall, even his most critical eye could see nothing amiss. Monsieur Brion remained in Versailles, but his second-in-command was bowing respectfully even before the prince set foot in the house.

"When would you wish to dine, my lord?"

"Later," the prince said with an irritable gesture. "Bring claret to the library and send for Madame de Nevry immediately."

The majordomo went off to inform the harassed cook that he'd better delay the spit-roasting ducks, and sent a footman posthaste to the schoolroom.

Louise was nursing a cold, her head wrapped in a turban, a blanket around her shoulders, a tisane, heavily doctored from her silver flask, in her hands. The little girls sat at the table, laboriously copying their letters. There was a lowering silence in the room to match the overcast sky beyond the shuttered window.

"My lord commands the governess to attend him in the library," the footman intoned from the door in a tone of studied insolence. The governess was ill liked in the household and treated with scant respect.

The children looked up, curiosity mingling with anxiety in their bright eyes. Louis sniffed and stared at the footman. "Prince Michael is at Versailles," she said thickly.

"No he's not. He's in the library and he demands your presence immediately." The footman sneered. The smell of brandy in the room mingled unpleasantly with the powerful distillation of herbs that the sufferer was periodically inhaling to relieve her congestion. He offered a mocking bow and departed, carelessly leaving the door ajar.

Louise rose to her feet in a flurry. The blanket dropped to the floor, her fingers scrabbled at the tightly wound turban. "Oh my goodness. What could have brought the prince here so unexpectedly? How can I go to him like this? Where's my wig? Oh my goodness, in my old gown, too!"

The girls watched, sucking the tips of their quills, their eyes shining with enjoyment at their governess's frantic antics. Their father's unexpected arrival meant little to them except that they would probably have to endure one of the dreaded presentations in the library that evening.

Fluttering, complaining, Louise crammed her wig onto her sparse gray hair. "I mustn't keep his lordship waiting, but, oh dear, how can I go to him in this old gown? What will he think?"

Her audience didn't venture an opinion, just continued their bright-eyed observation of the spectacle. Finally, Louise's mutterings faded as she scurried down the corridor, frantically smoothing her skirt, wondering if the mud on the hem of her petticoat was too noticeable. She'd worn it in the rain the previous day, but linen was expensive to launder and it hadn't occurred to her that she would see anyone but her charges for the next few days.

Amelia and Sylvie threw down their pens, simultaneously leaped to their feet, and did a silent dance around the gloomy room, celebrating their moment of freedom. It was a ritual they performed whenever they were free of observation.

"Do you think Madame Cordelia came with Papa?" Out of breath, Amelia fell in a panting heap into a chair.

"Yes, yes, yes!" squealed her sister excitedly, still dancing like a dervish in the middle of the room. "And Monsieur Leo too!"

Amelia jumped up again, grabbed her sister's hands, and they twirled in a circle, skirts flying, hair escaping pins, chanting the names of the two people who lightened their daily drabness.

"If she did, she'll come to see us soon." Amelia, a little less robust than her sister, collapsed onto the floor in a puff of stiff tarlaton skirts.

Sylvie dropped beside her, her legs sticking out in front of her like thin sticks from beneath her own ruffled skirts. "I wish," she said. "I wish wish wish!"

"I wish wish wish," her sister repeated fervently and they both sat still, closing their eyes tightly.

"What are you doing on the floor?" The outraged tones of their governess destroyed their dream. They both scrambled to their feet, guiltily brushing down their skirts, standing, hands folded, to gaze penitently at their governess.

Louise looked as if she'd suffered an acute shock. Her wig was slightly askew and two bright spots of color burned on her powdered cheeks. "Sit down at the table," she snapped, "and continue with your lesson." She turned back to the open door and called shrilly, "Marie… Marie… where are you, girl?"

"Here, madame." The flustered nursery maid came running.

"Pack Mesdames Amelia and Sylvie's best clothes and all necessities for a journey."

The nursery maid stared, mouth ajar. The prince's daughters had never left the palace on rue du Bac except for sedate walks in the park with their governess and the occasional drive with Viscount Kierston.

"What's the matter with you, girl? You look like a halfwit. Do as you're told."

"Yes, madame." The girl bobbed a curtsy and scuttled away.

"Where are we going, madame?" Sylvie gnawed at her fingernail, too absorbed by the momentous occurrence to notice the bitter paste.

"Never you mind," the governess snapped, taking perverse delight in keeping them in ignorance. "Get on with your lessons or there'll be no supper tonight."

The girls dutifully bent their heads over their copying, but their eyes met across the table, brimming with excitement and questions. What could be happening?

Louise unscrewed her little flash and took a swig of the contents hearty enough to have done justice to a drover after a hard day's work. She was in shock.

Summoned to Versailles for the children to be presented to the king and the dauphine! It was an astounding prospect. The prince had been very unforthcoming about the circumstances that had led to the summons, but it was clear to the governess that he was seriously displeased. He had made it clear that the children's conduct would reflect entirely on her care of them but that she could expect to keep to the palace rooms assigned to them for the most part. The princess would take responsibility for her stepdaughters when they were to be seen in public.

It was the princess's doing, of that the governess was convinced. That interfering, unorthodox, frivolous girl had created this disruption in Louise's carefully ordered world. She had a horror of crowds and public appearances. The children's routine would be destroyed, the princess would encourage them to misbehave, and then the governess would be held accountable. It was appalling, terrifying. And inconsiderate when she was as sick as she was. The prince hadn't even seemed to notice her sniffles and watery eyes. She certainly needn't have worried that her appearance might cause unfavorable comment; her employer had barely looked at her throughout the interview. He'd drunk his wine and stared at the wall above her head while he'd rapped out his orders.

She began to wind the turban around her head again, quite forgetting that she still had on her wig. Sylvie gave a snort of laughter and buried her face in her arms. Amelia kicked her sister under the table.

Louise looked across at them, frowning, her mouth pursed tight. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the empty grate and hastily pulled off the turban and the wig. She glared at the girls who were now solemn faced, bent studiously over their papers, their little legs swinging beneath the table.

Muttering, the governess rewound the turban and took up her flask. Sylvie and Amelia, flushed with laughter and excitement, exchanged another gleeful look.