Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Part III

  VIENNA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cora

  The summer season was at its height when we reached Vienna, the city of music, with outdoor concerts for the public and private concerts every night. She was a grand old city, full of baroque buildings. But despite Emperor Franz Josef’s best efforts, more modern, sleek buildings were making their appearances, inspired by architects subscribing to the “form follows function” philosophy. This city, too, we learned, had Roman foundations, with both illustrious and scandalous stories. Later, Richard the Lionheart was kidnapped here en route home from the Third Crusade and ransomed for enough to build the newer southern walls.

  “Those walls stood for quite some time,” Will lectured, frowning a bit, which I thought made him look rather distinguished and thoughtful. “But then the emperor thought it best to give way to expansion, so he decided the era of needing a wall for protection was over. Vienna became the seat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and was ruled by the Habsburg dynasty from 1273 onward. It’s been an astonishing run, really. That long, for any royal family. They’ve weathered much, but from what I can see, the emperor is losing touch with his people, and it cannot last much longer.”

  I stared out the motorcar window as the big trees of the Ringstrasse swept by me, and thought about old men of power and meeting up with my father again. And Pierre, the son of so many generations of power…

  “Are you fretting, Cora?” Vivian said, nodding to my hands. I realized I’d wound a handkerchief into a knot, worrying it with my fingers.

  “What? No. No. Only…thinking.” I met her eyes. “All right, perhaps I’m fretting a bit.”

  “Father responds best to respect.”

  I knew she meant it as a kindness, her words of advice, a means to aid me in what was to come, but I had to swallow a sharp retort. I nodded, hoping I appeared grateful, then looked out the window again.

  Did I have it in me to respect the man who had taken everything I knew, everyone I loved, and then placed me in an entirely new world, with people and places I was begrudgingly coming to love? It still wasn’t clear to me how I was to treat him. What I wanted from him. And part of it was that I needed to know if what Anna said was true—had it all been a ruse to get me on this path in the first place? So that when the walls became so high around me I had no choice but to stay?

  I resolved to find that out.

  The driver pulled off of the Ringstrasse and onto another main thoroughfare. Here, the estates reminded me a bit of the Richelieu chateau—with wide manicured lawns; perfect gardens; and beautiful stone mansions with long windows and steep copper roofs tinged turquoise from a century of rain. Our hosts, descendants of the Habsburgs—and a business associate of my father’s—had agreed to house us all. As with other places we’d stayed, we merely took up a small portion of the hundred-plus rooms.

  We were greeted by the Baroness Grün, an American by birth, who looked as elegant as her name, with her blonde hair swept up into a pearl-encrusted clip, long fingers tucked into perfectly white gloves. She wore a delicate pink afternoon dress that clung to her slender body. She walked with chin up, her arms poised as if for a portrait, and greeted us with a demure, dignified air. But her keen eyes shifted from one to the next of us, taking us in, taking stock. After her crystalline blue eyes met mine for a long moment, I felt a bit unbalanced—as if she’d pulled the very core of who I was out. I wondered if everyone else felt the same—that the woman was so keen, she knew something key about us after but a moment.

  Servants were assigned to each of us, carrying our luggage and showing us to our rooms where we would stay for the next few days. The decor inside was Rococo, with gilt mirrors and ornate chandeliers all down the hall. Walls papered in a gorgeous Danish blue were lined by thick white moldings, and golden cherubs peeked out at us from each high corner.

  “Here is your room, miss,” said the servant in a thick German accent. He was about twenty years of age and as perfectly poised as his mistress. He opened the door for me, and I walked into the sprawling suite, past a massive four-poster bed covered with a thick tapestry canopy and with the most sumptuous pillows I’d ever seen. Past the bed was a full sitting area with two couches and a chair on either end, a table between them. And on either side of the window was one of a matching set of Queen Anne chairs.

  Through a tall white door with a gold knob was a sprawling bathroom, complete with a long white tub, a separate shower—something I’d never tried—and a water closet and sink. My whole house in Dunnigan could’ve fit inside that portion alone.

  “It is acceptable, miss?” asked the servant.

  “More than acceptable,” I said to him. “It is lovely. Thank you.”

  “It is my good pleasure. Your maid will find her room right next door,” he said to me, never looking at Anna. “The baroness wishes for you all to gather in the garden at five. Tonight you shall enjoy a concert and party.”

  “Thank you,” I said and then watched him slip out the door, as quiet as a ghost.

  Anna looked around the room and then studied the painted ceiling, a picture of two large, naked women cavorting about the clouds. “We’ve landed in another palace,” she said, moving toward my trunks to fetch the right gown for the evening’s events.

  “Indeed.” I went to the window and looked out. The palace was shaped like a large U, and my room looked down on the entry. From here I’d be able to see everyone arrive. I’d be able to make certain I made the right choice as to what to wear. It was perfect, really. And given that my father was a business associate of our hosts, I hoped I’d be protected from any ill treatment.

  But my father was somewhere here on the premises. Something told me that nothing like what had transpired at Syon House would ever happen with Wallace Kensington around. It both comforted and alarmed me that he was here. The sooner we had a conversation, the better. I needed to know how deeply tied to Pierre de Richelieu he was and why he would entertain the man’s pursuit when we were sent out with explicit directions not to fall for any of Europe’s “playboys.” Perhaps he was eager to see me joined with anyone at all respectable, given my scandalous start and my humble upbringing.

  “Miss Cora?” Anna asked, obviously not the first time.

  I turned and looked at her. She was holding up my pink gown, the one I associated with Pierre and Paris. I shook my head. “I’d like another.”

  “But this one is so beautiful on you!”

  “How about the blue?”

  She stood there, frowning at me. “Are you certain, miss?”

  “Very.” I turned away, back to the window, disliking my superior tone but unable to stop myself. I felt so…disconcerted. “I need to find Mr. Kensington,” I said.

  “You don’t wish to rest for a bit?”

  “No. I need to see him.” I looked over my shoulder at her. It was partially her fault, really. The ideas she had planted. The fears.

  She averted her eyes and lifted the blue dress. “I’ll just give it a quick press and be back.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, turning to the window. I watched as a horse-drawn carriage passed by, beyond the front gates, a couple out for a romantic ride on a pretty summer afternoon; and then three motorcars as they drove in and more elegantly dressed people emerged, greeted by servants. I didn’t spy the baroness again.

  I discovered my silver-haired, distinguished father with Mr. Morgan in the library, each with a cup of Vienna’s famous coffee. They rose to greet me, holding my hands and kissing my cheek as if I were close kin. Seeing me stare at my father and then look to the ground, Mr. Morgan made his excuses and departed, promising to see us both in the coming hours.

  A maid wordlessly appeared with a new china cup and set it on the tray for me. “Cream or sugar, miss?”

  “Both, please,” I said. I accepted the cup from her and sat back in the chair Mr. Morgan had vacated.

  “You are looking well, Cora.”

  “I am
well, thank you. What news have you of home?”

  “Fine news, grand news, really,” he said, settling his cup in its saucer. “Alan was discharged from the hospital, Cora. He and your mother have settled into a beautiful little cottage not far from your grandparents. My man tells me that they have planted a garden.”

  I inwardly tripped at the mention of his “man”—a spy?—but then smiled, my heart picking up at the thought of Mama and Papa, content, well, and settling in. “That is the best news possible,” I said, hand on my chest. “Thank you,” I said earnestly. “For seeing to their care. Most especially for Papa.”

  He waved me off. “Not at all. It was the least I could do. I was in Dunnigan right before we left to make the crossing. Came across this in the general store…” He rose and went to a box sitting on a side table. He brought it over and handed it to me.

  I recognized the box immediately, even before I saw the Jaspers logo on the front. I looked up at him, loathe to open it. I felt unaccountably guilty, even if I’d not known it was from him.

  “It was a gift, Cora. For your sixteenth birthday. You weren’t to sell it.”

  I sighed. “I sold it in the hope that we could plant a crop and save the farm.”

  He studied me with those eyes so like my own, for a breath, then two. “You are a fine woman, Cora. It takes a mountain of mettle to sacrifice your own desires for the good of those you love.” He reached down, took the box from me, and flipped open the lid. Then he slid the multi-strand necklace from it and went around the chair to clip it around my neck. “But you needn’t resort to such measures. No daughter of mine shall ever have to sell her jewelry to pay for necessities.”

  I looked up at him as he came back around the chair. I knew the necklace was perfect, matching the pearl clasps at the shoulders of my blue gown, as well as the pearls that Anna had wound into my hair. “Thank you,” I whispered, trying to find my voice again. I was unaccountably glad to have the necklace back. A treasure lost, now found. I inhaled, remembering the reason I had been so eager to see him. “But it…it’s hardly the sort of thing I shall wear once I have a proper teaching position.”

  He paused and clamped his lips together. “You may be surprised how often you may have the opportunity to wear it,” he said casually, picking up his cup and sitting back into his chair. He looked over the rim of his cup at me as he sipped. “You’re as pretty as a picture, Cora Kensington.”

  “I prefer Cora Diehl Kensington,” I said quietly.

  “No matter,” he said, giving me a dismissive wave. “As fine looking as you are, in claiming my name—in whatever order you wish—it was inevitable that you’d draw the attention of Europe’s finest.”

  “You speak of Pierre de Richelieu.”

  “Indeed. He sent me a rather long, persuasive letter, Cora. I had the opportunity to meet with him in person last night. He is quite taken with you and wishes to court you in earnest. And while I resisted the idea of any of my daughters taking up with a man on the Continent, it was primarily because I didn’t want some cad with empty coffers luring you in with his dandy ways and grand, old home, only to break your heart once your funds were locked in his family’s bank vault.”

  I frowned in confusion. I had no funds. No dowry. No inheritance.

  “But this Richelieu…he is far from penniless,” he went on. “He is a rather astute businessman, eager to bring Montana Copper’s resources to France and beyond. I was impressed, in spite of myself.”

  “I admit that Pierre is rather impressive,” I said. “It’s inescapable, really. But—”

  “No, no, no!” he said, waving a finger toward me. “You may not dismiss him out of hand. Not this one. There is far too much to be gained in our relationship.”

  “Our…our relationship? I confess that I am rather confused. I thought—”

  “Do not do anything to dissuade him. At least not yet.” He gave me an aggravating wink as if I were but a small girl ready to do anything her daddy requested. As if I were in on whatever plan he had in mind. But along with the studied playfulness was an edge of power, the subtle threat that I should dare not do anything but what he asked of me.

  “I am quite fond of Pierre. He is a good man. But you see I—”

  “Fondness! A lovely way to begin.”

  “No, you misunderstand me. I do not wish to lead him on. Not when I—”

  “It is not ‘leading him on’ to simply receive his attentions.”

  I gaped at him. “What would you call it?”

  “I’d call it the ways of polite society. Call it what you wish, but do not dissuade Pierre from his pursuit. Not yet. Do you understand me? It is most vital that you follow my direction on this, Cora. Most vital.”

  “But I—”

  “My girl,” he said, rising and coming to me, putting his hands on either arm as I contemplated the words… My girl. “This deal…what we could make in working with Richelieu…” He shook his head. “It is far more vast than you can imagine. You must do this. You must not send him off brokenhearted when this deal could bring all of us—everyone in the family—”

  “Father!” Vivian cried, entering the library. I stifled a frustrated sigh and took a sip of coffee, knowing that my opportunity to find out more had just officially ended.

  Felix and Lillian were right behind her, Lil hugging him with genuine affection, Felix smiling and shaking his hand. “Good to see you, sir,” he said.

  “Is that a new necklace, Cora?” Lil asked, reaching up to touch my strands.

  “Yes. And no,” I said gently.

  She frowned at me in confusion. “It’s just like one Father gave me and Vivian on our sixteenths.”

  Vivian peered at me as if she could pry the truth of it from my eyes. “A gift from Pierre, then?”

  “No, it’s from Father,” I said, meeting her gaze with what I hoped was a challenge in my own. “He sent it on my birthday. He just retrieved it from Montana for me.”

  “Ahh,” she said with a sniff, lifting her chin and wrapping her arm through mine. “No need to be defensive, Cora. I was merely curious.”

  Wallace looked over at us, our arms entwined, and grinned. He clasped his hands together. “How delighted I am to see my girls together.” He came over and wrapped an arm around us, hugging us to him, surprising me. “This is exactly what I had hoped would happen. The tour has drawn you together.”

  We pulled back, and it was Vivian’s turn to look defensive. It was true—our travels and adventures and experiences had drawn us closer—but neither of us was quite ready to commit to anything beyond it. Not yet.

  “There they are!” my father said, turning fully toward the door. I froze as Will and Pierre entered together. What was I to do now? Here? Before I’d had the opportunity to speak to my father…

  Wallace greeted Pierre with a handshake, taking his hand in both of his. Pierre then moved immediately to me, taking my hand and kissing it as he studied my face. He held it as he straightened and searched my eyes. “Cora? These few days have felt like weeks in your absence.”

  “You are too kind,” I said, feeling the heat of my blush climb past my jaw.

  “Not kind—only happy beyond measure to be with you again.” He smiled and placed my hand on his arm. We turned together toward Will, who had just been clapped on the back by my father. Wallace was congratulating Will for getting us safely through such difficult circumstances and offered his condolences for the bear’s passing.

  I could not look him in the eyes. Would he understand? Why I had to play this out a bit longer? For his own good? Only until I could figure a way out. A path that didn’t include Wallace Kensington destroying Will piece by piece…

  I managed to extricate myself from the others and sat in the gardens for a while reading. Or rather pretending to read. But after an hour of my mind spinning, flitting from one thought to another, I was just beginning to relax, inhaling the heavy, sweet scent of the roses on the breeze, feeling the heat of the morning sun warm my
gloved hands, appreciating the utter quiet…when I saw Pierre on the far side of the garden.

  I hurriedly looked down at my book, pretending I hadn’t spied his approach, working out what I wished to say to him. Regardless of what my father said, I couldn’t stomach being less than truthful with him.

  He paused five paces away from me, then straightened, studying my face, which was partially hidden by the wide brim of my hat. He held his sketchbook in one hand. “Ahh, mon cherie. I’ve disturbed you.”

  “No. No, Pierre. Please. Come sit,” I said, patting the stone bench beside me. “I’ve wanted to speak with you in private.”

  He came over and sat beside me, taking my hand and kissing it. “While I am more than glad to have a moment alone with you, Cora, I did not come to talk.”

  “No?” I asked in confusion, wondering if he meant to steal a kiss instead.

  “No,” he said, quirking a smile. He cocked one brow. “I’d hoped to sketch you again, mon ange.”

  “But Pierre…”

  “Uh-uh!” he said, quieting me with a smile. “Speak not.” He rose and walked five paces away again, looking me over. “Exactly. Stay right there. You may read if you wish.”

  “You give me that permission, do you?” I added a smile to my teasing words.

  “But of course.”

  I wondered what I was doing. Slipping into such an easy, flirtatious manner with him. He always seemed to bring it out of me, every time. And I couldn’t deny that it felt good. To simply give in to that joyfulness, for once. To not feel everything with the weight of a thousand stones. For a bit, I gave in to the fantasy. What would it be like to accept Pierre’s pursuit? Give it full sway. To get engaged. Marry. Live at Chateau de Richelieu. Each successive thought made it seem all the more preposterous.

  “Something amuses you, mon cherie? Your smile is…mysterious.”

  “Amuses me?” I started. “No. Amused isn’t how I’d describe it.”

  “Ahh, something you don’t wish to share,” he said, still sketching. “Head up a bit, please. No. Too much. Yes. There.” He continued with quick, long strokes of his charcoal, then holding up his thumb and squinting his eye in my direction.