"Prince Michael was married to the viscount's sister," the empress told her. "Unfortunately, she died some years ago, leaving twin daughters, I believe."

But he could be married to someone else. Why could she not get Viscount Kierston out of her head? What possible difference could it make to her, whether he was married or not? Cordelia took herself to task, but her self-reproof seemed to lack conviction.

"Oh, then you're to be a mama immediately!" Toinette exclaimed, doing a little pirouette. "Shall you like it, Cordelia?"

Another thing no one had thought to tell her, Cordelia reflected, startled by this information. How could she tell whether she would be able to mother two unknown little girls? She wasn't ready to be a mother to anyone, she was only just beginning to try her own wings. "I hope so," she said, knowing it to be the only answer acceptable to the empress.

"You must pin the miniature to your dress," Toinette said. "Like mine." She gestured to the portrait of the dauphin that she now wore. Deftly, she fastened the prince's miniature to Cordelia's muslin bodice. She stood back, examining her handiwork, then gave a little nod of satisfaction. "Now you're properly betrothed, just as I am."

"Well, run along now. You must dress for the ball tonight," Maria Theresa instructed with another fond smile. "You will both look so beautiful… two exquisite brides." She patted the fair head and the dark, then kissed them both. "Leave me now. I have some papers to read before dinner."

Toinette linked arms with Cordelia and danced her out of the imperial presence. "It's so exciting," she burbled. "I'm so happy. I was so afraid, although I didn't dare admit it, but now I'm not at all frightened about going. We shall take Versailles by storm, and everyone will fall at the feet of the two beautiful brides from Vienna." Laughing, she released Cordelia's arm and twirled away down the corridor. Cordelia's head was too full of her own turmoil to be able to enter the spirit of Toinette's exuberance, and she followed more slowly.

"Cordelia!" Christian grabbed her arm as she passed the embrasure. He jerked her into the small space. "What's going on? What's happening? Who was that man you were with in the gallery?"

Cordelia glanced over her shoulder. A majordomo had appeared around the corner of the corridor and was making his self-important way toward the empress's door. "I'm to be married," she whispered. "And the man was Viscount Kierston; he's to be my proxy husband. But we can't talk here. Come to the orangery-the usual place-at midnight. I'll be able to slip away from the ball then. I've had an absolutely brilliant idea that'll solve all your problems."

She put a finger on his lips when it looked as if he was about to protest, then darted another glance at the approaching majordomo before swiftly jumping on her toes and kissing his cheek. Then she slipped away, walking sedately down the corridor. Christian heard her polite greeting to the official as he waited for the man to pass before leaving the embrasure himself.

Cordelia was always full of brilliant ideas, but how could her getting married and presumably leaving Vienna solve any of his problems? It would simply mean that he would lose his best friend.

The gala reception that began the week of festivities to celebrate the archduchess's marriage to the dauphin of France was held in the Great Gallery. The high windows were opened to the expanse of torchlit gardens beneath, where colored fountains played, their delicate cascades reflected in the gold-framed crystal mirrors of the gallery.

Cordelia kept her eye on the clock even when she was whirled down the line of dance by hot young men in powdered wigs, their rouge running under the exertions of the dance and the heat of four thousand candles. Normally, she enjoyed dancing, but tonight she was distracted. Christian had given a recital earlier, his exquisite music transporting his audience. Poligny had nodded benignly throughout and had blatantly claimed the credit both for the composition and for his pupil's performance for himself. The empress had given Poligny a heavy purse at the end, enjoying the impression her musicians had had on her visitors. The patronage of geniuses was a royal obligation, but it was very satisfying to have it acknowledged. She would expect Poligny to share the purse with Christian, but Cordelia knew as well as Christian that he'd be lucky if he saw so much as a guinea.

Christian now circled around the gallery, dancing when he was obliged to do so, accepting compliments when necessary, making himself agreeable as a man who lived on patronage must do. He kept his angry chagrin at Poligny's treatment well hidden from the crowd.

The entire palace now knew that Lady Cordelia Brandenburg was to be married to a Prussian prince, ambassador at the court of Versailles, and the archduchess Marie Antoinette wouldn't have to make her journey into her new life alone. But Christian was desolate. Paris was a whole world away. Since the moment when he'd come upon an angrily weeping little girl in the orangery five years earlier, Cordelia had been his best friend. He'd comforted her on that occasion and on many another since, just as she had supported him, bolstering his confidence, always believing in him however many times Poligny cut him down, mocked him, made use of him. Only when he was with Cordelia did Christian believe truly in his own genius.

Cordelia avoided Christian as she always did in public, but she didn't seem able to be so discreet when it came to Viscount Kierston. Her eyes constantly searched the room for him. He was never on the dance floor, preferring to stand to one side in conversation with some high-ranking French or Austrian courtier. She noticed that he didn't seem to look much at the women, who for their part couldn't take their eyes off him-so distinguished in a pale gray silk suit, black striped waistcoat, and ruffled cravat, his unpowdered black hair confined at his nape with a gray velvet ribbon.

Was he married? Did he have a mistress? She couldn't stop thinking about him… couldn't stop looking at him. His image tormented her, the questions hurled themselves at her brain. She felt as if she were in the grip of brain fever, hot and cold alternately, and unable to concentrate on anything. Her partners found her distracted and almost brusque and rarely asked her for a second dance.

Cordelia didn't realize that the viscount was observing her as closely as she was observing him. Leo was thinking that she bore no physical resemblance to Elvira, who had been fair and statuesque, unlike this spritely dark beauty with the creamy skin and deep-set eyes that were sometimes blue as turquoise and sometimes gray as charcoal. But he was convinced that the two women shared something else. Passion and a sensual appetite that would drive a man wild. He had watched Elvira before her marriage work her magic with her rich laugh of pleasure and a careless toss of her blonde mane. Prince Michael had not been the first in her bed, but that was only to be expected when a woman as lively and sophisticated as Elvira waited into her twenties before accepting a husband. She had insisted that Michael had never questioned her about her past. He was a man of the world; he wouldn't have expected a woman of the world to be a virgin. But sometimes Leo wondered how true that was. Michael cultivated a smooth diplomatic courtesy and Leo had never seen it crack, but it was hard to believe there weren't some other currents beneath the surface.

Leo sipped champagne and watched the prince's destined second bride go through the motions of the minuet, gracefully but without enthusiasm. Her partner was looking bored. Lady Cordelia turned on the floor and once again her eyes met the viscount's. A flush started on her cheeks, her lips parted, her eyes glowed.

He swung away from her. Holy Mother, what was she doing? First some poor soul behind the tapestry screen and now she'd turned her enchantment upon him, God help him!

The palace clocks chimed midnight and the guests strolled through the gallery to the supper rooms, where burned champagne, green goose, quail in aspic, larks' tongues, salmon mousse, oyster barquettes, and crab patties awaited them.

Leo remained in the gallery, staring moodily out into the gardens, where the light from the windows spilled onto the lawns and the gravel paths. He sipped from his refilled glass. Behind him the musicians continued to play softly, the sounds of laughter and the chink of glass and china drifted from the supper rooms.

A figure appeared below him, on the curved stone staircase leading to the garden. She passed beneath the line of flaming torches edging the stone-flagged terrace, and her black hair shone with blue fires. Her gown of ivory gauze swayed gracefully around her as she stepped onto a gravel path running between the parterres and walked swiftly toward the orangery.

Now where in the devil's name was she going, sneaking away in the middle of the night? Leo put his glass down on the windowsill and strode from the gallery, down the great staircase to the doors opening onto the stone stairs. If this was another tryst, he was obliged in his role as Michael's proxy to put a stop to it. She was betrothed and could no longer run around like a schoolgirl pursuing her own butterflies.

He caught a glimpse of ivory disappearing into the darkness of the orangery and quickened his step.

Inside the sweetly fragrant glasshouse, Cordelia moved unerringly down the third alley, her feet clicking on the stone floor. Braziers were lit even on such a mild night, coddling the rare orchids, the exotic fruit trees, the lush grape vines in the arbor.