Coronets and Steel (25 page)

A fast glance; no, the soignée Cerisette did not look glad, or even welcoming. When I met her gaze she stared back with a hostility I sensed, even if I couldn’t quite see how she did it.

My question dried up: I could not see her, or any of them, eagerly reading handmade comic books, though maybe they had as kids.

Meanwhile, there were
their
questions.

“Paris,” I repeated, after a couple of pretend sips of whatever it was in that goblet. The fumes were extremely strong.

Cerisette’s eyes widened. “Pahr-r-r-eee,” she said slowly. “City on the Seine? In France?”

Robert’s wife made an arch motion toward Cerisette’s diamondbraceleted wrist, a play slap. “Naughty!” She used the French word, then added, “Cerisette has always been naughty. She never believed in miracles even as a child.”

Robert laughed, and Cerisette pouted in her mother’s direction. Then she turned back to me, and this time she, too, spoke French. “You lived in Paris?”

I got it then—these people, apparently my only living blood relatives, thought I was a fake. No, that was wrong. They thought of me as a skeleton in a closet, popping out to . . . what?

I could have reacted a number of ways. Polite and vapid monosyllables—a sickly grin as I pretended to have fun—fear and a hasty retreat. The decision took no more than a heartbeat: I was glad I hadn’t given them my last name, or anything at all about my life. I was not going to expose to their oh-so-well-bred disdain my easygoing, cake-decorating hippie mother or my wild-haired father and his clocks and Roman miniatures.

I felt my spine lengthen and my shoulders brace as all my years of ballet plus Gran’s training gave me the sort of weapons-grade deportment we assume for the stage. For I
was
on stage. “No. My first visit was recently.” I took a single sip from the fragile cut crystal. “I’ve been living in more exotic climes. Think of Rio, or Istanbul, or Florence. Or Venice. Quite inspiring to the artistic soul, is Venice.”

“Rio?” Robert’s wife repeated, perfectly plucked brows arched.

So far I hadn’t—quite—lied. Then Cerisette drawled, “Most extraordinary, none of us ever encountered you at
our
schools.”

Oh, why not lie. I was never going to see any of them again, that much was clear.

“I didn’t attend school.” I gave a tinkly laugh twin to hers—even tinklier, and plunked the crystal down on a passing tray. “I had tutors.” I said it in my best French.

“Tutors?” She repeated as if she’d never heard the word before, then exchanged looks with Danilov. I sensed her taking aim again.

“Yes . . . they let anyone into these schools, these days.” I matched her drawl. “Maman says we simply cannot be too careful.”

“But . . .” A blonde about my own age in a black Valentino dress slid her arm into Danilov’s as she cooed, her lips barely moving a millimeter, “Dear Elisabeth has hinted your circumstances are sadly reduced.”

“You mean, we don’t have any money?” I waved an airy hand. “Ah, too true! We gambled away a fortune in Monaco. Lost another when Hong Kong reverted to China. And a third vanished into the trunks of multinational corporate pirates. Ah, well, easy come, easy go! After all, what is money for but to be spent?”

“Yes, what else?” Percy said eagerly, echoed by Honoré de Vauban.

Waving my hands languidly in the manner I had adopted when pretending to be their missing Ruli, I spun ever-more glorious tales about my bohemian life. Lisa and my other fencing partner Kara would have been staggered to discover that the one wintered in Morocco and spent the rest of the year in her Scottish castle painting miniatures, and the other made her living shooting documentaries in the African wilds so that she could earn enough for her real vocation, which was breeding and training Lipizzaner horses for international dressage.

The sheer magnitude of my snow job made my reckless temper fade and I began to truly enjoy myself. And they swallowed it right down, as if the wilder I got, the more plausible it all was.

Robert had begun on my father (who I was about to reveal was a mad scientist genius with secret labs under half the Rocky Mountains, because I knew how much Dad would love it when I got home and told this story) when the door opened on a late arrival. I was finishing up about a bogus paternal cousin, “Yes, she lives in utter seclusion when she composes scores for films . . . pardon? No no, she is forbidden by contract to reveal—” when a male voice, laughing, cut through the well-bred hubbub, “Maman, what did you—”

Attention snapped to the door. I gazed across the room into slanted black eyes. I comprehended a tall man, a bit taller than Alec and about his age, with wildly curly light hair drifting down onto his shoulders and a rakishly crooked smile.

Unlike the formal guests he was dressed in a loose shirt, open at the neck, and baggy old slacks. He entered the room with an unhurried, careless step; it was obvious his lack of correct wear didn’t disturb him in the least.

He exclaimed, “Good God, Maman, surprise is right.”

Taking no further notice of his other relatives, he strode forward to clasp my hands in his. His long hands were warm and his squeeze firm as he carried my hands to his lips, one then the other. “You must be the missing Marie’s daughter, are you?” He glanced past me to his mother, smiling. “Where did you find her? Or did she find you?”

“I found her,” Aunt Sisi said, face and tone cool, her hands—long, like her son’s, but thin—posed calmly. “Taking the Sunday tour of the palace grounds.”

I turned back to the son. He was still smiling, but I noticed a vein in his high temple pulsing. He dashed back the lock of hair that had drifted down on his forehead when he kissed my fingers.

“Yes.” My heart was pounding, too. “And you’re . . .”
The Evil Count.
“Karl-Anton?”

The rakish grin flashed again. “Hell. Where are my manners! You’ll have to forgive me. Yes, that’s my name, but it’s a damned curse. Tony is the best I can make of it. Do you speak English? I was raised in England, unlike Maman and Ruli—damn.” He studied me closely from those slanty, Byzantine eyes. Laughter narrowed them as he added in a provocatively low voice, “Tell me, would it be incestuous to say you’re quite a—”

“Anton, do not embarrass the child five seconds after being introduced,” Aunt Sisi interrupted humorously. “May I get you something to drink?”

“Anything, Maman. Does Alec know?”

“I sent a note around to Ysvorod House,” she said tranquilly. “I have no idea whether he is even in the country to receive it—”

As if on cue the butler opened the far door and enunciated sonorously, “His Excellency the Stadthalter.”

“My dear boy, this
is
a day for surprises.” Aunt Sisi’s well-modulated voice broke through the elegant chatter without her lifting it at all. She moved forward with outstretched hands as Alec walked in, giving a polite smile at everyone, his cool blue gaze coming to rest on me.

T
HE PARTY NOISE started up again immediately: polite laughter, chiming crystal glasses, Robert von M.’s bluff male voice exclaiming in hearty welcome, as the entire party rearranged itself. Aunt Sisi touched the sleeve of Alec’s beautifully tailored coat sleeve and guided him to the older generation, who circled big, cigar-smoking Robert. At my end of the room, Tony was the center of attention.

Tony asked in a lazy drawl who among them had attended the latest horse races in England, and what came of that recent drinking trip through the Bordeaux section of France in search of a new source for good wine? I saw no sign of evil, or even of political ambition in his breezy manner; he didn’t act the snob like the rest, though his conversation was entirely leisure-oriented.

Twice he tried to disentangle himself from his relations in order to talk to me. The woman in the Valentino sheath leaned closer, pouting as she tried to tease out of him whether or not he was going to the Mediterranean for the rest of the summer. Tony’s attention strayed my way, his smile as lazy as his half-shut eyes.

More drinks were brought around. I passed, as I’d begun to feel the effects of being in a small, tense room with too much smoke and noise; my temples twinged warningly and I wondered how long a stay would be considered polite.

Without any difficulty I picked out Alec’s quiet voice from among the louder ones of the other guests on the other side of the room. Waiting for him to confront me was like waiting for an ax to fall: I could
feel
he was furious at finding me there, and I ached to inform him that these were my relatives, not his, and furthermore, I was free to go where I pleased and do what I pleased.

But he did not come. In fact, judging from the light murmur between the well-bred titters and chuckles, he was moving farther away.

Resisting the temptation to peek at him, I clamped my jaw against a huge yawn.

“Tired?” Tony had freed himself from the knot of relations. I found him next to me, brows raised.

I stepped back a pace. “Headache.”

He made a careless gesture toward the door. “Come along, I’ll see you off. No, you needn’t pry Maman out. I’ll stand host.”

He gave a casual farewell to the group, and I followed him to the door.

Aunt Sisi exclaimed, “What, leaving, dear child?”

“Yes, thank you, but I—”

She smiled kindly. “I am so glad you were able to come. I shall hope to see you again before you decide to leave our little city.”

Voices were raised in farewells; homely Percy, flushed with liquor, elbowed his way forward and planted a smacking kiss on my hand.

Alec lifted his glass in salute, his smile enigmatic. I zapped him with my forefinger, then got out of the room.

Tony spoke a few low-voiced words to the butler, then turned my way. “Car will be outside in a second. Here—” He reached behind me and shut the parlor door as he made a comical face. “Why Maman thought to call out the hounds of hell is beyond me. Must have been pretty fierce.” He grinned engagingly, then waved a lazy hand for me to precede him downstairs.

I said, “Maybe she didn’t want to raise false hopes. About your sister, I mean, and them thinking I’m Ruli. I guess gossip is going out all over to that effect.”

“Do you care?”

I hadn’t expected this question, but I shrugged and went for the casual. “Nope. I’ll be gone soon. But hey, maybe hearing about me here might get your sister to show up. Do you think so?”

“Oh, hell, don’t ask me. Everyone will tell you I don’t take anything seriously. Including my sister. Who, everyone says, is probably off shagging the sort of tosser Alec will expect her to chuck when he does marry her.” He laughed. “Here’s what I think: do what amuses you most. How long are you staying?” he asked, opening the front door then lounging back against the car, arms crossed.

“Haven’t decided,” I said firmly. “I’m here to see the sights.”

“Would you like a look at the best sites?” he asked as the Volvo pulled up. “Free tomorrow?”

“Well, I did have plans.”

“Somewhere or someone?”

“Huh?”

Gesturing toward the car, he said, “If it’s somewhere, I’d like nothing better than to give a new cousin a personal tour of our famous sights. All three or four of ’em.”

“A tour?” I repeated, hesitating.

“It’s free!” He smiled with easy humor. “And I know all the stories. Even the ones,” his sudden, rakishly lopsided grin invited me to share a joke, “we don’t tell the old parties who take the official tours.”

I gave him the expected laugh, but I was thinking fast. Alec had told me this guy was a game player, and hinted that he was a troublemaker. I could blow off Alec’s opinion of Tony for various reasons, including our argument about whether or not Gran had married my grandfather before leaving the country. But it seemed stupid to totally discount Alec’s words when pretty much everything else he’d told me made sense.

So . . . what to do? I looked at Tony, who leaned against the Volvo waiting, without making any further effort to coax, urge, or bully me into agreeing to his offer.

He was a relative. So far, the only one beside his mother who seemed willing to accept me as a Long Lost. The worst I had observed about him was that he sounded like a typical rich slacker. So, if I go with him, what’s the worst that can happen? He drones on about local politics, or brags about how much he wins at horse races?

I could sit through that, and smile, and nod, and after his tour was over, ask him to use his family influence to get me past the red tape so I could check the archives.

It was the red tape that decided me.

“That would be nice. Especially the juicy stories. What time?”

“You choose.” He opened the car door with a flourish. “Earlier is better. If we get rain, the roads can turn into rivers.”

“How’s eight?” I ventured, thinking of my other errand. Also, eight in the morning might show how serious his friendly intent was.