Chapter 21 #2
Kassandra nodded, following him through the throng of guests to where Prince Eugene was engrossed in sober discourse with a thin, sallow-faced man, who, like most everyone in the room, seemed to tower over him.
The general turned at their approach, his dark eyes flickering over her and lighting with recognition.
“Lady Kassandra Wyndham,” he murmured graciously, his lips grazing her fingers.
“It is a distinct pleasure to see you again.” He glanced at Stefan, his expression genuinely warm.
“I commend you, Count, for escorting such rare beauty to my hall. Rousseau here”—he nodded toward the middle-aged man at his side—“would do well to set his pen to paper and write a glorious ode in her honor.” He quickly commenced introductions to the celebrated French poet, who was under his patronage during a brief stay in Vienna.
“I am charmed, mademoiselle,” Rousseau murmured, bending over her hand. He straightened, studying her intently, as a painter might appraise a model. “My kind patron is most apt in his assessment of your beauty. You are indeed lovely. I would be delighted to compose a poem for you.”
His peaked features grew animated as he warmed to his favorite subject.
“In truth, I have begun one already, dedicated to the beauteous ladies of the Viennese court. Each verse is represented by a different flower. When completed, it will be a bouquet of prose to enrapture the senses. Hmmm…which shall you be?”
“I love roses,” Kassandra offered, flattered. “Cream roses, tipped with scarlet.”
“So it shall be,” the poet agreed with a thin smile.
“You will have to meet Count Stefan von Furstenberg’s sister, Rousseau,” Prince Eugene said with indulgent humor. “No doubt you will wish to include her in your composition as well.” He glanced around the room. “Where is Countess Isabel?”
“Unfortunately she has taken ill,” Stefan began, his gaze moving from Kassandra’s pleased expression to his general.
“Nothing serious, I trust.”
“No, my lord, but she sends her fond greetings, and her regrets. She had been looking forward to this evening for some time.”
“As have I,” Kassandra broke in, smiling prettily. “Isabel told me that you possess a remarkable library, sir. Perhaps I might have the opportunity to view your collection at some point in the evening?”
“So, an intellectual as well,” Prince Eugene remarked, his sparse brow lifting with interest. The faintest of smiles touched his serious face.
“An unusual trait in a woman, but one to be admired and encouraged.” He held out his arm to her.
“I fear that once the banquet begins, there will be little chance for a tour, my lady. But if you would care to view the library at this moment, I would be more than happy to show you its treasures.”
“Oh, yes, that would be delightful,” Kassandra agreed, taking his arm. She glanced at Stefan. “Do you mind—”
“Not at all,” he interjected evenly, quelling his sharp jealousy.
The emotion startled him, for it was not one he had ever felt before, and so strongly.
Yet he knew he had nothing to fear from his commanding general.
Prince Eugene’s life was devoted to his passion for military conquest and strategy, his longstanding affair with Countess Eleanor Batthyany the only sensual diversion he allowed himself.
Kassandra’s request had merely appealed to his love of books and his great pride in his library.
“Will you accompany us, Rousseau?” Prince Eugene queried. “I would swear you know more about my library than I.”
Stefan watched silently as Kassandra and Prince Eugene strolled arm in arm from the ballroom, followed by the poet. He could not help chuckling. Obviously his general was far more aware of propriety than he had allowed.
“Oh, what a pity.” A woman’s sultry voice broke into his thoughts, a bejeweled hand pressing intimately upon his arm. “I was so hoping to congratulate her on your marriage plans, Stefan.”
He turned, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.
“Sophia,” he murmured with a short nod. “You look well.” His gaze flickered over her, the black satin gown she was wearing incongruously extravagant for a woman in mourning.
“Kassandra will return shortly, and you may greet her then,” he continued tersely.
“Though I must ask you to refrain from discussing our marriage openly. Consent has not yet been given.”
“Oh, yes, Stefan, forgive me,” Sophia murmured, removing her hand from his arm. “I had forgotten.” She gazed up at him from beneath thick, curling lashes. “There has been so much on my mind of late.”
Stefan shifted uncomfortably, chiding himself for his callous lack of manners.
“I was saddened to hear the news of your husband’s death,” he offered in a gentler tone.
“Though many a man would envy such a peaceful end. Archduke von Starenberg was a respected minister of the court. I am sure the Emperor will miss his thoughtful wisdom, as well as his company.”
Sophia sighed deeply, averting her gaze.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It was so kind of Prince Eugene to invite me to this splendid gala. I can hardly wait for the dancing later. I have not been out of the house since my poor husband—” She glanced back at Stefan, wrinkling her nose in distaste, then caught herself.
She turned away, feigning a light sneeze.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling a black lace handkerchief from her pocket and delicately dabbing her nose.
Stefan eyed her quizzically, laughter welling up inside him.
He had almost been fooled by her display of grief, but this last gesture confirmed his suspicions.
He knew Sophia far too well. She had never expressed any concern for her husband while he was alive.
Why should it be different after his death?
He lifted her chin, her topaz eyes meeting his steadily.
“Sophia, you cannot fool me,” he said, smiling. “You are incredibly wealthy and free at last from a marriage you despised. Now, tell me. What will you do with this newfound freedom?”
Sophia did not speak for the briefest instant, her gaze softening, then her red lips drew into a smile. “Oh…there are many things to occupy me for a time,” she breathed huskily. “When they are completed, perhaps I shall seek a husband. Someone who is more worthy of me.”
“Then as you drank a toast to me, I shall drink to you,” Stefan offered gallantly.
He signaled to a servant bearing a silver tray laden with crystal glasses filled with red wine.
With a flourish he took two glasses from the tray and held one out to her, then lifted his own.
“To this most worthy of husbands…may he bring you happiness.”
Sophia raised the glass to her lips and drank deeply, her eyes never leaving his face.