Cordelia walked past him into her bedchamber. He followed her in and she heard the key turn in the lock.
Leo rode along the left bank of the Seine toward the Belle Etoile, where he had told Christian to put up.
As he turned away from the river, however, he spied the musician hurrying down the street toward him with an abstracted air.
"Christian?"
Christian stopped in his tracks. He looked up at the horseman, blinking, clearly trying to come back from whatever astral plane of genius he had been inhabiting. "Oh, Viscount Kierston." He smiled, with an air still somewhat bemused. "I was thinking of Cordelia. I'm so worried about her."
Leo swung down from his horse. He looped the reins over his arm. "There is a pleasant little tavern on the next street. Let's quench our thirst and talk in private."
Christian fell in beside him. "Have you seen her, sir? That man… her husband… the prince… he seemed so severe.
To talk to her in such manner and in such a place. I haven't been able to sleep for worrying."
"I think she worries as much about you," Leo said casually, wondering why he was reluctant to share his own concerns with the musician.
Outside a tavern on the rue de Seine, Leo handed his horse to a waiting urchin and politely stood aside as his companion dipped his head to pass beneath the narrow lintel. Inside, it was dim, the air musty, sawdust on the floor. It didn't strike Christian as a pleasant place at all, whatever the viscount said. But then, he wasn't to know that it had a very special reputation among those in the know.
"Wine, mine host!" Leo waved a hand toward the apron-clad tavernkeeper standing at the stained bar counter. "My usual." He brushed off a chair and sat down, swinging his sword to one side. He drew off his gloves and placed them on the table, saying with a smile, "You might find it hard to believe, but Raoul here has as good a cellar as any house in Paris. And I mean any house. There isn't a lord or prince of the blood whose cellar is more extensive."
Raoul, grinning, put a dusty bottle on the table. He wiped two glasses on his less-than-clean apron, plunking them beside the bottle. "Aye, that's right, milord. But don't ever ask where I gets it from." He tapped the side of his nose with another suggestive grin before drawing the long cork. His expression was reverential as he sniffed the cork, held it for Leo, then passed his nose across the neck of the bottle. As reverently, he poured a measure into one glass, swirling it around until the sides were coated, then he handed it to Leo.
Leo sipped and closed his eyes on a blissful sigh. "Manna."
Raoul nodded and filled both glasses to the brim. "I'll fetch a bite of cheese and some bread. It's no quaffing wine."
"Raoul is a sommelier who could teach the stewards at Versailles a thing or two." Leo took another sip of wine, then sat back, crossing his legs at the ankles. He didn't open the conversation until the tavern keeper had returned with a crusty loaf of bread and a round of cheese.
Christian controlled his impatience as best he could. He was indifferent to wine, and the ceremony and the savoring struck him as a complete waste of time. He broke a piece of bread, cut a piece of cheese, and ate with relish. Food was a different matter. He seemed always to be hungry.
"Have you heard of the Due de Carillac?" Leo finally began.
Christian nodded. "He's well known even in Vienna for his patronage."
"Well, I think he might be interested in offering you his support." Leo refilled his own glass after casting a glance at his companion's barely touched one.
Christian looked up from the cheese that he was cutting into again, and his eyes sparkled. "Really? Really and truly, sir?"
"Really and truly," Leo said, smiling. "I promised to bring you to him this afternoon… if you're free, of course."
"Oh, but of course I will be… whatever else could I be doing?" Christian stammered. "You are too kind, sir. I hate to think that I might have caused you trouble. I would never have asked for such a favor myself, but…"
"But Cordelia has no such scruples," Leo finished for him with another dry smile. "She's a most loyal friend, I believe."
"And I would do anything for her," Christian said, his delight fading from his eyes. "I don't like that husband, sir. He makes me uneasy."
And me also. But Leo didn't say that. He nibbled a crust of bread and said carefully, "Prince Michael is more than thirty years older than Cordelia. It's inevitable that he should feel a need to mold her to his-"
"But Cordelia cannot be molded." Christian interrupted passionately, banging his fist on the table in emphasis. "Surely you must know that, sir. You've spent time with her. She's her own person." He pulverized a bread crumb with his fingertips against the stained planking of the table.
Leo put a protective hand on the bottle as the table continued to shake. "Yes, I understand that," he said quietly. "But she will have to adapt in some way, Christian, surely you accept that."
"Why would her husband forbid us to talk to each other?" Christian took another tack. "I know I'm a humble musician, but I have some status. If I have the duke's patronage, I shall be at court. I shall play at court. Why should we not be able to talk to each other?"
"Prince Michael is very conscious of his social status," Leo said lightly. "It's a Prussian characteristic. But Cordelia, I'm certain, will win him over, once he's become accustomed to her and she to him. Until then…" He paused, picking his words carefully, "Until then, it would be wise of you to keep your distance. For your own sake as well as Cordelia's. Carillac is a close friend of Prince Michael's. You don't want to ruin your chances there."
"Have you seen her since her marriage?" Christian raised his head from his gloomy contemplation of the table. He'd asked the question once already but hadn't received an answer.
"This morning." Leo drank his wine, keeping his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "Is she well?"
"Perfectly. And looking forward to going to Versailles."
Christian still looked doubtful. "I wish I could speak to her myself. Do you think I could write to her?"
"Give me a letter and I'll see she gets it." Leo wondered ruefully why he would suggest playing postman. Except that he knew how it would please Cordelia to be able to communicate with her friend.
Christian's face lit up. "Then, if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll go back to the inn and write at once. I can give it to you when I see you this afternoon."
Leo inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I'll come for you at three o'clock."
Christian, burbling his thanks, hastened away, leaving
Leo staring into space. He couldn't shake his own uneasiness, despite his dismissal of Christian's fears.
"Raoul!" he bellowed across the noisy taproom. "Another bottle. And drink it with me. I've a wine thirst this afternoon and a need for company."
It was late morning when Cordelia stepped out of the carriage in the great court of the palace of Versailles. They had left rue du Bac before dawn, and the thirty miles from Paris had taken hours as the long procession of carriages had wound its way single file along the narrow road. Half of Paris, it seemed, had come to see the dauphin wed. Burghers, merchants, even tradesmen mingled in the court with elegantly dressed courtiers, the women sporting plumed headdresses and skirts so wide they needed at least six feet of space around them.
The palace of Versailles was a city in itself, its doors ever open to the populace who wandered freely through the great rooms, uninhibited by the careless dismissal of courtiers and the haughty glares and commands of powdered liveried flunkies. The people of Paris regarded their king in the light of a father, and his palaces and entertainments were as much for their benefit as his. A royal wedding was a party to be enjoyed by everyone.