The girls tumbled from the carriage as soon as the footstep was lowered, ignoring the steadying hand of a powdered footman. They stared around. Sylvie's hand crept into her sister's. She felt like an ant she'd once watched crawling laboriously across the schoolroom floor. Amelia squeezed the hand tightly, totally terrified by the size of the court stretching ahead of them toward the massive golden palace.
The prince's carriage had arrived first and he stood a little way away from the children, in conversation with Monsieur Brion, who'd been alerted to his master's arrival by a runner.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at his daughters. They looked absurdly tiny and frightened, as they should, he reflected. This was no place for a pair of small children.
"Take them away," he said to Brion. "I assume rooms have been set aside for them."
"Yes, indeed, my lord. The princess has supervised the arrangements herself with the dauphine's approval."
"I trust the princess finds herself in good health?" Michael took a pinch of snuff, his tone bland.
"Perfectly, I believe, my lord."
Michael sneezed abruptly. He dusted his nose with his handkerchief. "I understood she was to ride to hounds today."
"Indeed, my lord. I gather she had a very good day." He controlled his furious disappointment with difficulty. "Is the king returned from the hunt?" "An hour ago, sir."
"Then I shall attend him at once." Michael stalked off without a backward glance at his daughters and their bemused governess.
The court was gathered in the state apartments, talking about the pleasures of the day's hunt over the gaming tables. The king looked up from his favorite game-lansquenet- as the prince bowed before him.
"Ah, Prince, you are back from your errand, I see. You have brought your children? Madame the Dauphine is most anxious to make their acquaintance."
"They are with their governess at present, monseigneur, but will wait upon the dauphine at her pleasure."
"Oh, yes, of course. Well, I daresay you wish to find your delightful wife. She accompanied us on the hunt, splendid archer. We were most impressed… brought down at least two birds." He nodded amiably and the prince took his dismissal.
He strolled through the rooms, acknowledging acquaintances, listening for interesting morsels of gossip. A man could get out of touch in as little as a day in this hotbed of scandal. There was no sign of Cordelia at the tables, although the dauphine was playing animatedly with her ladies. He took a glass of wine from a footman's tray and wandered over to the long windows overlooking the gardens. The lights on the mock Venetian windows along the canal had just been lit.
Bungling idiots! The plan had been foolproof. They had not been required to think of anything themselves, just to identify their quarry from an unmistakable description and follow the prince's orders to the letter. A simple fall, a blow to the head, a few hours lying on the forest floor until she was missed and a search party was sent out for her. How could they have failed?
"I imagine my nieces are very excited at their new lodgings."
Michael spun around. Leo was smiling his amiable smile. Damned fool, Michael thought savagely. He probably thought the palace was a perfectly good place for his nieces. Besotted idiot didn't give a moment's consideration to the deleterious effect of distractions and such a violent break in their carefully ordered routines. He had no patience to exchange inane pleasantries about a situation into which he'd been blatantly manipulated, even if he couldn't blame Leo for it. He bowed, said tightly, "I trust their governess can curb unseemly excitement." And he stalked off.
Leo's blood raced with savage fury. Michael was clearly not a happy man, and he would be bound to take out his unhappiness on Cordelia. He glanced at his fob watch. Five o'clock. The women in the Pare aux Cerfs would be preparing for the evening. But as yet, they wouldn't have visitors. Now would be a good moment to discover if Tatiana had had a chance as yet to talk to her brother-in-law about acquiring a false passport.
Michael, seething with cold fury, made his way to his own apartments, where he presumed he would find his wife, unharmed and as stubborn and defiant as ever. He found her sitting at the mirror in her dressing room peering intently at her image. She rose immediately at his entrance and curtsied. "Good evening, my lord."
He ignored the cool greeting. "You attended the hunt this morning?"
"I had some success with my bow and arrow," she offered, taking her seat at the mirror again, folding her hands in her lap, with an air of demure attention that did nothing to conceal the insolence behind it. "The king was pleased to compliment me."
"Nothing untoward occurred?" His pale eyes were pinpricks as he watched her for a reaction.
Cordelia decided rapidly. If she told him of the attempted robbery, he could well institute a search for the footpads, and he would show no mercy if they were found. Even if he didn't care a fig for his wife, his pride would not endure that a crime against his family should go unpunished.
She shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary, my lord."
A flash of vicious frustration darted across the pale surface of his eyes. He spoke with caustic satisfaction, "Hunting is not a safe activity. I am beginning to think that you should give it up."
Cordelia stared at him, her expression as dismayed as he'd hoped it would be. "Give it up, my lord?"
"If you are with child, it is unwise," he said with a grim little smile. "I would not risk my heir."
Cordelia didn't know whether she was pregnant or not, but she did know that he was tormenting her and enjoying it. She could defeat him only by not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her unhappiness. "I'm sure you know best, my lord," she said with an indifferent shrug. "The children are settled in their apartments. Would you wish to see them?"
It was a successful deflection. Michael flushed angrily. "I would not. I also intend that they should remain with their governess except when they're summoned by a member of the royal family. On those occasions, you will accompany them, but you will also be escorted by a guard."
"A guard, my lord?" Her eyebrows crawled into her scalp. "What danger could they be in at Versailles?"
"You will do as I say, is that understood?"
"Of course, my lord." She rose and curtsied again, radiating insolence, so that he took a step toward her, his mouth tight, his hand raised.
Then he stopped and his asp's smile flickered thinly. "I will deal with this further when I come to you tonight, madame. Be prepared." On which note he turned on his heel and marched out.
The familiar sick tremors fluttered in her belly, but Cordelia squashed them resolutely. She had Mathilde's little vial. Michael always took a glass of cognac before he came to her. He would have it in his hand when he stood by the bed, looking down at her as she lay waiting for him, struggling to hide her fear. Struggling and so frequently failing.
But never again. From now on he would never detect so much as a quiver of fear. And tonight she would use Mathilde's potion.
Michael entered his dressing room just after midnight. He locked the door behind him, then locked the door communicating with his wife's dressing room.
He unlocked the brass padlock of the ironbound chest and took out the book with purple binding-a startling contrast to the somber bindings of the daily journals. He turned the volume between his hands, running his finger over the gold lettering on the spine. The Devil's Apothecary. A most useful volume. If accidents failed, he could find something in here to cause his wife a serious indisposition. Enough to ensure her removal from Versailles. It was always better to do things for oneself, he thought. Relying on bumbling idiots to carry out even the simplest instructions was clearly futile.