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.
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.