A tactful suggestion—but then, Charles Mellon was ever the consummate diplomat.
She decided to respond to his counsel with a slight challenge. “That is sage advice, sir. But you know that beneath his outward stoicism, Sandro is a man of deep feelings. He is not really happy unless he is fully engaged in a pursuit that engages his passions.”
The corners of Mellon’s mouth quirked upward for an instant. “It appears that you understand my nephew well.”
“It may not seem so on the surface, but the earl and I have much in common.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “So I am learning.”
Their private exchange was interrupted by the arrival of several Prussian diplomats.
“Please excuse me,” murmured Mellon.
“Of course. I shall find Nora and pay my respects.” Moving away, Arianna sought out Mellon’s wife, who welcomed her with a warm hug.
“Arianna, how delightful to see you!” Unlike her husband, Eleanor Mellon had never kept her niece-by-marriage at arm’s length. “Do come meet some of the other guests.”
It was some time before Arianna could disengage herself from the round of greetings and seek a moment alone in one of the shadowed alcoves of the drawing room. The muted clink of crystal punctuated the soft serenade of a string quartet. Sipping her champagne, she watched the mingling of the different delegations weaving an intricate web across the polished parquet.
Chance or design? The question of how to interpret the pattern was one that would only grow more pressing in the coming days.
Narrowing her focus, Arianna began searching the crowd for a glimpse of David Kydd.
The Scotsman was across the room, half hidden by the leafy fronds of the decorative potted palms that flanked the entrance to the side saloon. He and Mellon were deep in conversation, and as befitted the pairing of mentor and protégé, the younger man was listening attentively.
A disciple showing deference. Head bowed, expression rapt, Kydd looked convincingly natural, which was no easy task. It took discipline, practice and a certain innate natural talent to perfect the art of deception. And passion. It helped to have some inner fire burning in one’s belly.
Yes, Kydd was an excellent actor and played his role well, she reflected. He was good at presenting a false face to Society.
But I wager that I am better.
Switching skins was something that had, over the years, become second nature to her. She had learned to slip seamlessly into a role—saucy wench, streetwise urchin, temperamental cook, rich widow . . .
Setting aside her empty glass, she smoothed her silken skirts into place and stepped out from the alcove.
Mellon looked up at her approach. “Ah, Lady Saybrook, do join us. I am sure that Mr. Kydd would far rather converse with a lovely lady than with me.”
Arianna gave a light laugh. “La, I fear you have placed the poor man in a very awkward position. Whether he says yea or nay, he is forced to offend one of us.”
“It’s good practice for a diplomat,” answered Mellon with a smile.
“Ah, but why must I choose?” said Kydd lightly. “To have both Beauty and Wisdom by my side is the best of both worlds.”
“I think Mr. Kydd is quite ready for the challenges of Vienna,” Arianna said. “The Peace Conference promises to be an exciting opportunity for any aspiring diplomat, Mr. Kydd. Are you looking forward to being part of the delegation ?”
“Very much so, Lady Saybrook,” replied the Scotsman. “The whole of Europe is to be redrawn and the decisions made will have a lasting effect on world peace. As Mr. Mellon has kindly pointed out, through hard work and diligence, an individual has a real chance to influence the future and write a new chapter of history.”
With ink or blood? The decoded letter seemed a clear enough answer of his intentions.
“Well said, lad. It will be a challenge,” responded Mellon. “But I have great confidence in your ability to think on your feet.”
What a pity that Sandro and I intend to knock him on his arse.
“Speaking of which, I see that Major Lowell is about to kick up a dust with Rochemont, so I had better go intervene.” He made a face. “Why is it that military men—my nephew excepted—have so little tact?”
“Because rather than mincing around with words, as we do, they are used to slashing their opponents with sabers,” suggested Kydd, a glint of humor flashing in his blue eyes.
“Sharp lad,” said Mellon, giving a quick nod of approval, rather like a proud papa, before moving away to forestall any explosions of temper.
Arianna felt a sudden, searing flare of anger rise up in her gorge, knowing how hurt and disappointed Mellon would be when the treachery of his protégé came to light. But she hid its heat behind a cool smile.
“What a great compliment that the Foreign Office has placed such trust in you. But then, Charles cannot speak highly enough of your abilities.”
A breath of air stirred the palm fronds, the soft rustling sending a shiver of bladelike shadows ghosting over his face. Black and white, blurring to an infinite range of grays.
The leaves stilled, and as he turned into the glow of the nearby wall sconce, the candlelight gilded the choirboy curl of his smile. “I shall do all I can to justify Mr. Mellon’s confidence in me.”
Oh, yes, he was good. The flickering flames added to the illusion, creating a soft, shimmering halo behind his rose gold hair.
A part of her could almost admire his brazen lies. She knew what it was like to have one’s head and heart in thrall to an abstract idea. In her case, it had been the desire for revenge. Thank God that Saybrook had helped her see the folly of that obsession before it had destroyed her.
“As I said, he has the utmost faith in you,” replied Arianna. Looking up through her lashes, she watched for any subtle signs of guilt in his expression.
Kydd’s smile stretched wider. “I appreciate your telling me that, Lady Saybrook.”
His response reminded her of her real purpose in seeking him out. Enough of my own mordant musings. She was here to flirt. To flatter. To seduce a traitor into betraying his own dangerous secrets.
“But of course.” A flutter of lashes. “I think you know how much I admire your intellect.”
The pulse point at his throat quickened, the telltale twitch barely visible beneath the starched folds of his cravat. “There aren’t many ladies who are interested in talking about ideas.”
“There aren’t many men who can make abstract theories and complex philosophies come alive.” Arianna lowered her voice to a husky murmur. “Unlike so many others here, you never are dull or dry.”
A faint flush of color ridged his cheekbones. “I’m honored that you think so.”
“Enough so to tell me some of the things you hope to accomplish?” she asked.
“With pleasure, Lady Saybrook.”
“Excellent. And be assured that I look forward to pursuing such subjects with you in Vienna.”
As intended, the statement took Kydd by surprise. “You are coming to the Conference?”
“Not precisely.” Arianna signaled to one of the footmen for two glasses of champagne. “Saybrook is anxious to study the Emperor of Austria’s collection of rare botanical books, and a fellow scholar has arranged an invitation. I daresay he will spend most of his time in the library. But I hope to take in the sights of the city. There is, you know, an old adage about all work and no play . . .”
She paused to draw in a mouthful of the sparkling wine. “I do hope that your schedule will permit you to attend a good many of the festivities. Saybrook often finds his chocolate books more interesting than people.”
“Parties are, of course, part of diplomacy,” said Kydd slowly. “And the ones planned for the Conference are expected to be sumptuous beyond imagination.”
She let a gurgle of laughter well up in her throat. “Oh, but I have a very wild imagination.”
He smiled and raised his crystal flute in salute. “A toast to those who d
are to let their minds soar free of constraint.”
No matter the danger of flying too close to the sun? The glorious wax-and-feather wings of idealism were no match for such heat and fire. Smoke and ashes. The fall would not be pretty.
“As you said earlier, the Conference offers a unique opportunity to shape history. I take it you have some ideas of your own on how to rebuild a new Europe, based on modern ideals,” prompted Arianna.
Kydd responded carefully. “I am only a junior assistant to Castlereagh, but I hope to influence some of his positions.”
He was no fool. It would be a prolonged game of cat and mouse, and for the moment, she was content to do naught but purr. Only later would the time be right to unsheathe her claws.
“Please, I’m interested in hearing what you think is important.” In her previous life, she had learned that knowing an opponent’s hopes and his dreams was a powerful weapon. One that could be wielded to great advantage.
Her request drew a chuffed laugh. “Only if you agree to stop me if I start to bore you.”
Arianna crossed her heart. “You have my solemn promise.”
“Well, in that case, we must be wary of Russia . . .”
12
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Chocolate Coconut Cake
3 cups sugar
1¾ cups unsalted butter, softened
2½ teaspoons vanilla extract
8 large egg yolks
1 12-oz. can evaporated milk
1½ cups roughly chopped pecans
1 7-oz. package sweetened shredded coconut
4 oz. German’s Sweet Chocolate, chopped
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, chopped
½ cup boiling water
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk
4 large egg whites
1. Combine 1½ cups sugar, ¾ cup butter, 1½ tsp. vanilla, 4 egg yolks, and evaporated milk in a 2-qt. pan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer; cook until thick, 12 minutes. Strain through a sieve into a bowl; stir in pecans and coconut; chill frosting until firm.
2. Heat oven to 350˚. Grease three 9-inch round cake pans with butter; line bottoms with parchment circles. Grease parchment; set aside. Put chocolates into a small bowl; pour in ½ cup boiling water ; let sit for 1 minute. Stir until smooth; set aside. In another bowl, whisk flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside.
3. In a standing mixer, beat 1¼ cups sugar and remaining butter until fluffy; add remaining egg yolks one at a time. Add chocolate mixture and remaining vanilla; beat until smooth. On low speed, alternately add flour mixture and buttermilk until just combined; set batter aside.
“Bravo, monsieur, bravo.”
Arianna didn’t have to turn around to know who had come up behind her. The Comte of Rochemont’s silky voice was unmistakable.
“The enthusiasm of youth is always so . . . energetic,” he added, moving smoothly to stand by her side. “Mon Dieu, I confess that I feel exhausted just listening to such eloquence.”
Kydd’s jaw tightened.
“I find Mr. Kydd’s ideas very thought-provoking,” said Arianna.
Rochemont winked. “I can think of far more interesting ways to provoke your thoughts than to prose on about politics, Lady Saybrook.” He gave an exaggerated look around. “Your husband is not here, is he?”
“No,” she replied.
“Thank God. I have suffered enough violence at his hands.” Rochemont rubbed meaningfully at the trace of a bruise on his brow. “The earl is a very dangerous man,” he said to Kydd. “A sauvage, as we say in French. Why, he knocked me to the ground during a grouse shoot at the Marquess of Milford’s house party. I fear that the rock may have left a permanent scar.”
“A sauvage?” repeated Arianna. “That implies a primitive wildness, a lack of discipline. Saybrook is a highly trained soldier. His quick reaction probably saved your skull from being blown into a thousand little pieces.”
“Alors, I cannot think of why the shooter would have been aiming at me,” he replied innocently. “It was your husband who was nicked by the bullet. Had he thrown himself in the opposite direction, I would not have suffered such a cut.” The comte made a face. “The mark is still there, despite my valet’s daily treatment with a slab of raw beefsteak.”
Ass, thought Arianna.
“Yes, I heard about the disturbing incident from Mr. Mellon.” Kydd’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps you would not have had a face to disfigure, Lord Rochemont, had not the earl knocked you down,” he suggested.
Rochemont expelled a low hmmph.
“I am sure you do not wish to be rude to Lady Saybrook, sir—” said Kydd. But before he could add any further chiding, he was called away by Mellon to escort the newly arrived Prussian envoy and his wife to the card room.
The comte rolled his eyes as the Scotsman walked away. “A bit too earnest, isn’t he?”
Arianna regarded him over the rim of her wineglass. “Mr. Kydd seems to believe very strongly in his ideas. You think that is a bad thing?”
“Ca depend—that depends,” answered Rochemont. “He’s a puppy, and in their exuberance, puppies are easily led.”
An interesting observation.
“My husband’s uncle has great regard for Mr. Kydd’s intellect.”
“Ah, well, who am I to argue with such a distinguished diplomat.” He lowered his voice to a silky murmur. “But let us leave politics to the men who find such discussions stir their blood. Moi—I prefer to talk of other things.”
Arianna repressed a laugh. Good God, do most ladies find such ham-handed flirtations flattering?
“Such as?” she inquired, deciding to play along for the moment. He was, after all, going to be involved in the upcoming Conference, and despite his professed laissez-faire attitude toward politics, he had a lot to gain or lose from the negotiations, depending on how the new French King viewed England and the émigré community in London.
“Oh, take a guess,” he said.
“I’m not very good at parlor games,” she replied.
“Non?” His laugh had a teasing effervescence, like a mouthful of champagne tickling against the tongue. “I have a feeling you would be very good at anything you put your mind to, madame.”
“Oui?” She held his gaze. “How so? The fact is, you hardly know me.”
“Ah, but I am, with all due modesty, a very good judge of women—”
“I daresay there isn’t a modest bone in your body,” interrupted Arianna.
“Ha! You see! You have a certain spirit . . . a je ne sais quoi . . .” His chuckle stilled. “The truth is, you intrigue me. I sense hidden facets . . .”
A chill skated between her shoulder blades. “What makes you say that?”
Rochemont pursed his lips and subjected her to a lengthy study. “You have an aura of mystery about you. I find it very intriguing.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” she said softly. “As I told you before, ladies are allowed little opportunity to do much of interest.”
“Assuming they obey the rules,” he pointed out.
“True.” The comte, she decided, was not quite as frivolous as he appeared. It would be wise to remain cool—but not too cool. A closer acquaintance could prove useful, especially if he was the prey referred to in the decoded document. Keeping an eye on him might allow her to see what wolves—or foxes—were stalking his steps.
After another sip of her wine, Arianna asked, “You think society can function without rules?”
“Ah, now that is a question we could discuss all night.”
“I had the feeling that you prefer to spend the midnight hours engaged in activities other than talking.”
He laughed again. “Conversation with you is so stimulating, Lady Saybrook.”
“Be that as it may, I shall have to cut this one short. I see Mellon is about to ring the supper bell, and he has asked me to partner Mr. Kydd.”
<
br /> “Lucky dog,” said the comte. “I console myself with the fact that I overheard you tell the puppy that you will be traveling to Vienna after all. I hope that we may continue to get to know each other better there.”
“We shall see,” murmured Arianna.
“I will take that as a yes.”
“Does that mean you never take no as an answer?” she asked.
“I am so rarely asked to,” was his response.
A man used to getting what he wants. No doubt Vienna would be filled with such hubris. Power, pleasure, privilege—a volatile mix if ever there was one.
As Saybrook had said, they would have to dance a very careful pas de deux through the ballrooms of the Austrian capital—one small slip and the intrigue could ignite, like gilded gunpowder—a burst of flame, a sudden death, shattering of hopes for peace at last.
The ormolu clock showed the hour to be well past midnight when the guests began to drift out to the curving staircase and down to the carriages waiting in Grosvenor Square.
“Thank you for keeping Kydd company, Lady Saybrook,” murmured Mellon. In the candlelight, the tawny glow of his port reflected the mellow tone of his voice.
From what she could tell, the evening had gone well, with cheerful toasts to camaraderie and cooperation punctuating the convivial dinner conversation.
“He sometimes grows a trifle impatient during these affairs,” Mellon went on. “But I’m sure he will learn that they are important. Diplomacy depends on personal relationships, not just government policies.”
“It was my pleasure,” she replied, watching the Scotsman take his leave. She had done her job—Saybrook and Henning should be done with their mission. “I find him quite interesting.”
For reasons I can’t describe.
“I hope you were not too bored. I know these gatherings are not to your taste either.”
“There is much that I must grow accustomed to, sir,” said Arianna carefully. “If I appear to move slowly, it is because I do not want to make a misstep.” And fall flat on my arse.
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