“Colonel Buford! What a wonderful surprise!” A beautiful young woman of medium height approached them. She wore a silver gown with a shocking décolletage, her blue sash of rank tucked beneath her ample bosom. She drew close to the colonel and, in a very familiar way, touched his red sash. “What is this?” she asked with a faint French accent. “Are you now Sir John? Have you been elevated?”

“Yes, Countess, as have you.”

“Ah, but you earned your knighthood by your labors for your king, n’est-ce pas? I have done so by the usual method afforded to women.” She finally turned to Caroline. “Will you introduce me to your companion?”

Buford ground his teeth. He knew Roxanne could see their wedding rings. “Countess, I present to you my wife, Lady Buford. Lady Buford, Countess de Pontchartrain-Villières. Her husband, the Count de Pontchartrain, is a member of the French delegation.”

“Countess.” Caroline curtsied.

“Charmed. So, you are married, Sir John? But how could you not with such a lovely creature.” She nodded at Caroline. “I had not heard; is it a recent event?”

“Our wedding was in January, Countess,” Caroline answered.

“And a honeymoon in Vienna! What could be more delightful! Sir John, you must not keep this charming lady to yourself. You simply must excuse us. Come with me, Lady Buford.” The countess gave each of them a smile, took Caroline’s arm, and walked off with her.

Sir John could only look on with a shade of concern on his face.

Caroline could not like the Countess de Pontchartrain. Her familiarity with Sir John set her teeth on edge. She wondered at her pointed attentions, but she tried to submerge her doubts. The countess was French, she reasoned, and the French have strange ways. Besides, Caroline was a veteran of the games of the London ton, so surely she could handle a French vixen. Still, she found herself striving valiantly not to feel completely underdressed next to the countess.

For the next few minutes, Caroline was introduced to several other grand ladies and was quizzed politely about herself. Finally, Countess de Pontchartrain pointed out a handsome gentleman standing a little ways from them, wearing a black suit with a red-and-white sash.

“Have you been introduced to that gentleman, Lady Buford?” When answered in the negative, the Countess called the man over. “Baron, allow me to introduce Lady Buford of Wales. Lady Buford, this is Baron Wolfgang von Odbart of Prussia.”

A roar of laughter rolled across the room, and the countess glanced away. “Oh! I must leave you now; my husband calls, I think. The baron is capable of ensuring your entertainment, Lady Buford. À bientôt.” The countess then left the two together.

The dashing baron turned to Caroline. “Are you available for a set, Lady Buford?”

“The second set is available, sir.”

“Wunderbar. Bis dann—until then, my lady.” He clicked his heels, bowed, and left her.

Soon, other august noblemen were introduced to Lady Buford, and it was not long before her dance card was filled, two sets reserved for her husband. Caroline tried her best not to appear as intimidated as she felt, but it was a relief when Sir John came to claim the opening set with her. Sir John was an excellent dancer, and Caroline was able to lose herself in the movements of the dance, watching her husband.

Soon the dance was over and Sir John surrendered his happy bride to her new friends. She was in conversation with the ladies when the baron reappeared.

“Lady Buford? It is time for our set,” he informed her as he held out his arm.

Caroline accepted the gesture and allowed herself to be glided to the dance floor. She did not see the looks of concern on the other ladies’ faces.

*   *   *

Buford stood by himself, taking in the crowd and enjoying the dancers, when the Countess de Pontchartrain approached him.

“I finally have you to myself, Jean,” she said in French.

His contentment evaporated, the colonel responded in the same language. “What can you mean, Comtesse?”

The lady laughed lightly. “Jean, have I not always been Roxanne to you? Surely, you have not forgotten.”

Fighting his feelings, Buford remained gallant. “Of course not. But those days have passed, milady.”

“Surely, you do not refer to our… recent acquisitions?” The countess looked upon him with dancing eyes. “Have you met my husband, chéri? Non?” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Well, he is over there, across the room.”

Buford looked to the gentleman she indicated. He beheld a rather dandified older man wearing not only a wig but also what looked suspiciously like rouge on his cheeks. The look was a bit excessive, even for a French noble.

“You spy him, oui? Well, observe the man to his left. Watch!”

Buford saw a young footman, who could not be older than one-and-twenty, crossing over to the comte with a glass of wine. His clothes were very fine and fit like a glove. Count de Pontchartrain accepted the wine, taking the glass with a slight caress of the young man’s hand. It was very brief, and only one who had been observing very closely would have caught it.

The countess chuckled. “Yes, Pierre is a particular favorite. What say you?”

Despite his deep revulsion, Buford could not help himself. “A ballet dancer’s breeches should fit so well.” They were so tight as to be almost indecent.

“Ah, how did you know? My husband pays better than ballet de l’Académie impériale de musique.” She laughed. “Of course, we know he is also a spy for the government, sent to keep an eye on us—an amusing game.”

In a very low voice, Buford demanded, “Why do you tell me these things, Roxanne?”

“We have an understanding, he and I, as pertains to les affaires d’amour. We are discreet. I do not embarrass him, and he does not embarrass me. I have no reason to complain. Have you a similar agreement in your house, chéri?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied with some force.

“You may need to—observe!” She gestured to the dancers with her fan. Buford saw Caroline dancing with Baron Wolfgang von Odbart.

Buford’s throat tightened; he had learned via his research into the other members of the Congress that Baron von Odbart was a notorious seducer and womanizer. Buford saw no parallel to his own previous behavior; his past conquests had all been voluntary, but the baron’s had not.

“They look lovely, oui? I think she will thank me for the introduction,” the countess purred. “What time shall I expect you tonight, Jean?”

Deep anger flushed Buford’s face. He turned to her, and it took all of the colonel’s discipline not to slap the woman.

“Madam,” he spoke in English through clenched teeth, “I am afraid you are under a mistaken impression of our acquaintance. I shall say no more. If you would excuse me, I shall return to my wife.”

The countess’s jaw dropped slightly. “Have you made un mariage d’amour—the love match?” She laughed again. “Oh, that is too amusing; that cannot be. Not you, chéri.”

Buford pursed his lips but said nothing. He certainly would not reveal his feelings for his wife to her.

A grin touched by malice was on the countess’s face. “You had better hurry, chéri. The dance is finished.”

Buford whirled around. Sure enough, the music had ended, and most of the couples had already left the dance floor. Caroline was nowhere in sight.

*   *   *

After two sets of dancing, Caroline was in need of refreshment, and she noticed that others were like-minded.

“Lady Buford, these tables are so crowded,” said the baron. “Come, there is another near the library.”

Wishing to slake her thirst as soon as possible, she allowed herself to be escorted out of the ballroom. Once they reached the table, the baron gave Caroline a glass of punch. She drank as quickly as a gentlewoman could and shyly requested another.

“Ja, dancing is hot work, is it not?” remarked the baron with polite humor. He handed Caroline her replenished glass. “Here you are, my lady. I am at your command.”

“Thank you, Baron.”

“Sie sind herzlich willkommen—you are most welcome.”

Caroline thought it would be best to make some polite conversation with her companion before she was claimed for the next set. “Have you always lived in Vienna, sir?”

“I was raised in a small village outside Berlin. My estate has been in my family for eight generations.”

“It is very beautiful, I am sure.”

“Ja, es ist ein schöner Ort—a most beautiful place.” He grew very close to Caroline as he eyed the library door. “I will take you there soon, mein schönes Mädchen.”

“Baron von Odbart, what are you saying?” Caroline asked.

*   *   *

Buford tried not to appear anxious as he walked through the crowd looking for Caroline. Unconsciously, he looked for feathers—Caroline was one of the few ladies wearing them. He had searched the ballroom twice without success, when he noticed M. Talleyrand looking at him. While he was anxious to find his wife, Buford could not ignore the French ambassador.

“Bonsoir, Excellency,” he greeted him in French.

“Good evening, Sir John,” he returned in English. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much. Do you join the dance?”

“Non, such pastimes are beyond me. I take pleasure in observing the festivities.” The minister owned a pronounced limp.