fourteen. The malicious conversation she had
overheard between two ladies-in-waiting about her mother, Lady Caroline, the
mother who had died at her birth, the mother she had known only through the
beautiful portrait hanging in the main hall at Wyndham Court, came back to
haunt her as if it were only yesterday.
"So that is the harlot's child," a stout,
heavily rouged lady had whispered to a friend, yet loud enough for Kassandra to
hear.
"Yes, and see how she resembles her mother, with
those eyes and that flaming red hair, a damning color to be sure. To think Lord
Harrington would have married that woman, knowing who she was, that she had
been a whore on the streets of London!"
"You had best guard your son well, and see that he
doesn't dance with that harlot's spawn," the stout woman spat, a grin
splitting her powdered face at Kassandra's stricken expression, knowing she had
heard everything . . .
"Kassandra, are you listening? Please say you will
go with me," Isabel pleaded with a hint of impatience.
Kassandra blinked, her thoughts dragged back to the
present. "I-I don't think so, Isabel. Surely I can meet Stefan here. Will
he be returning to the estate before the reception?"
Isabel shook her head, a look of exasperation flitting
across her face. "No, he said he had to go back into the city for the rest
of the afternoon, to look for someone, and that he would meet us at the Hofburg."
No doubt he was looking for Sophia, she thought,
annoyed. She loved her brother, but she had been sorely vexed ever since he had
begun a dalliance with Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg, the wife to one of
Charles VI's court ministers, over a year ago. She detested the woman and
firmly believed Sophia was plotting to become Countess von Furstenberg after
the death of her elderly husband, whether from natural or unnatural causes.
But not if I can prevent it, Isabel told herself
determinedly. It was time for Stefan to choose a wife and start a family,
perhaps even retire from the military and manage the estate in person, rather
than through lengthy correspondence written to her from the battlefield. Lady
Kassandra Wyndham was her best hope, and if she would not go to the reception
tonight for the sake of meeting Stefan, perhaps there might be another way to
persuade her . . .
"Kassandra, I must insist that you attend the
reception with me, if only to represent your father at the court of their
Imperial Majesties," Isabel said, hoping this new tack might convince her.
"It is an important occasion for Austria, to welcome its victorious army.
Since Miles is not here, who could better stand in the ambassador's place than
his daughter?"
Kassandra sighed. She knew Isabel was right. Her father
would be pleased to learn she had gone in his place, even knowing her intense
dislike of such occasions . . . and the reason behind it. Yet it was ironic
that she would represent him at an event celebrating the Austrians' victory
over the Turks. It was her father's diplomatic mission to dissuade them from
any further campaigns against the Ottoman Empire to protect the trade interests
of England.
"Very well, Isabel," she agreed
halfheartedly.
"Good," Isabel said, a smile curving her
lips. She glanced at the clock on the marble fireplace mantel. It was already
half past two; the reception began at six o'clock. If she was to be ready in
time, she would have to begin her toilette at once. Such an important occasion
demanded that she look her very best.
She rose from her chair, laying her small hand on
Kassandra's shoulder. "That lovely gown your father bought for you, the
silver brocade, would be perfect, Kassandra," she enthused. "I shall
send Gisela to your room by half past four to help you dress and arrange your
hair." She swept happily from the room, her thoughts already on the
difficult task of choosing her own gown.
Kassandra sat silently in her chair, absently toying
with a knife.
Perhaps it will not be so bad, she tried to convince
herself. The
overheard between two ladies-in-waiting about her mother, Lady Caroline, the
mother who had died at her birth, the mother she had known only through the
beautiful portrait hanging in the main hall at Wyndham Court, came back to
haunt her as if it were only yesterday.
"So that is the harlot's child," a stout,
heavily rouged lady had whispered to a friend, yet loud enough for Kassandra to
hear.
"Yes, and see how she resembles her mother, with
those eyes and that flaming red hair, a damning color to be sure. To think Lord
Harrington would have married that woman, knowing who she was, that she had
been a whore on the streets of London!"
"You had best guard your son well, and see that he
doesn't dance with that harlot's spawn," the stout woman spat, a grin
splitting her powdered face at Kassandra's stricken expression, knowing she had
heard everything . . .
"Kassandra, are you listening? Please say you will
go with me," Isabel pleaded with a hint of impatience.
Kassandra blinked, her thoughts dragged back to the
present. "I-I don't think so, Isabel. Surely I can meet Stefan here. Will
he be returning to the estate before the reception?"
Isabel shook her head, a look of exasperation flitting
across her face. "No, he said he had to go back into the city for the rest
of the afternoon, to look for someone, and that he would meet us at the Hofburg."
No doubt he was looking for Sophia, she thought,
annoyed. She loved her brother, but she had been sorely vexed ever since he had
begun a dalliance with Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg, the wife to one of
Charles VI's court ministers, over a year ago. She detested the woman and
firmly believed Sophia was plotting to become Countess von Furstenberg after
the death of her elderly husband, whether from natural or unnatural causes.
But not if I can prevent it, Isabel told herself
determinedly. It was time for Stefan to choose a wife and start a family,
perhaps even retire from the military and manage the estate in person, rather
than through lengthy correspondence written to her from the battlefield. Lady
Kassandra Wyndham was her best hope, and if she would not go to the reception
tonight for the sake of meeting Stefan, perhaps there might be another way to
persuade her . . .
"Kassandra, I must insist that you attend the
reception with me, if only to represent your father at the court of their
Imperial Majesties," Isabel said, hoping this new tack might convince her.
"It is an important occasion for Austria, to welcome its victorious army.
Since Miles is not here, who could better stand in the ambassador's place than
his daughter?"
Kassandra sighed. She knew Isabel was right. Her father
would be pleased to learn she had gone in his place, even knowing her intense
dislike of such occasions . . . and the reason behind it. Yet it was ironic
that she would represent him at an event celebrating the Austrians' victory
over the Turks. It was her father's diplomatic mission to dissuade them from
any further campaigns against the Ottoman Empire to protect the trade interests
of England.
"Very well, Isabel," she agreed
halfheartedly.
"Good," Isabel said, a smile curving her
lips. She glanced at the clock on the marble fireplace mantel. It was already
half past two; the reception began at six o'clock. If she was to be ready in
time, she would have to begin her toilette at once. Such an important occasion
demanded that she look her very best.
She rose from her chair, laying her small hand on
Kassandra's shoulder. "That lovely gown your father bought for you, the
silver brocade, would be perfect, Kassandra," she enthused. "I shall
send Gisela to your room by half past four to help you dress and arrange your
hair." She swept happily from the room, her thoughts already on the
difficult task of choosing her own gown.
Kassandra sat silently in her chair, absently toying
with a knife.
Perhaps it will not be so bad, she tried to convince
herself. The
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