Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (29 page)

“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.