They had to do something to pass the time, and this seemed both safe and useful. “What do you wish to know?”
“Oh, a host of things, but before we begin, I have another wager … no, not dice and not for money,” she added, seeing his darkening expression. “Something much more important. Let us wager on the precise time of arrival at Melk. Whoever gets closest wins.”
“And what are the stakes?” Why he was even considering it on past experience, Leo didn’t know.
“If I win, I ride tomorrow instead of sitting in this stuffy carriage.”
“And if I win?” One black eyebrow lifted.
“Your choice.”
“Oh, now, that is tempting indeed.” He stroked his chin, reflecting. Cordelia waited rather anxiously. She couldn’t imagine what he’d choose.
“Very well. If I win, you will refrain from pestering or provoking me the entire day.”
“Is that what you think I do?” Hurt clouded her eyes but he refused to see it.
“I want none of your blatant flirtation, none of your trickery. You will behave with perfect decorum in my presence, and you will speak only when spoken to. Agreed?”
Cordelia nibbled her lip. It seemed a poor wager but she didn’t have much option. She’d just have to hope she won. She shrugged her agreement. “So, let’s write our projections now and put them away until we arrive.” She drew out a lead pencil and a small notebook from her reticule and handed them to him.
Leo didn’t hesitate. He wrote swiftly, then tore out the page and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Cordelia took the pencil and paper. She frowned fiercely, chewing the end of the pencil, trying to calculate how far they had already journeyed. They would have to stop forrefreshment and to change horses, and it would all be very ceremonious, so it would take time.
“Mathematics is not your strong suit?” Leo inquired with a solicitous smile.
“On the contrary,” she retorted. “It’s one of my best subjects.” Stung, she gave up calculating and scribbled her projection. “There.” She stuffed the paper back into her reticule and sat back. “Now we’ll see.”
“So, you have questions.”
“When did your sister die?”
He hadn’t expected that, but it seemed an understandable question. “Four years ago. The girls were nine months old.” His expression was neutral, his eyes hooded.
“What did she die of?”
“What has that to do with the particulars of life at Versailles?” His voice was cold, his mouth suddenly tight.
“I’m sorry,” she said swiftly. “Does it pain you to talk of her?”
She didn’t know how much. But it wasn’t so much pain as this deep tide of rage that threatened to burst its dams when he thought of the wastefulness of such a death, such a vibrant, precious life extinguished almost overnight. He forced himself to relax and answered her first question, ignoring the second. “She died of a fever … a very swift wasting sickness.”
It was far too common a cause of death to surprise Cordelia. “You loved her very much?” she asked tentatively, her eyes grave now, her expression soft.
“My feelings for Elvira can have nothing to do with your new life, Cordelia,” he said, trying not to snap. He could never bring himself to talk about his sister, not even to Michael, who always maintained an understanding silence on the subject.
“Elvira. That’s a pretty name.” Cordelia seemed not to have heard him. “Was she older than you?”
Clearly, she was not to be put off. “We were twins,” he said shortly.
“Oh.” Cordelia nodded. “Twins have a very special bond, don’t they?”
“So it’s said. Can we talk about Versailles now?”
“Your sister gave birth to twins. It must run in the family,” Cordelia continued. “Perhaps you’ll father twins when you marry. Have you ever wished to marry?”
“That is not a topic for this conversation,” he declared frigidly. “If you wish us to continue, then you will confine yourself to pertinent
“Oh, a host of things, but before we begin, I have another wager … no, not dice and not for money,” she added, seeing his darkening expression. “Something much more important. Let us wager on the precise time of arrival at Melk. Whoever gets closest wins.”
“And what are the stakes?” Why he was even considering it on past experience, Leo didn’t know.
“If I win, I ride tomorrow instead of sitting in this stuffy carriage.”
“And if I win?” One black eyebrow lifted.
“Your choice.”
“Oh, now, that is tempting indeed.” He stroked his chin, reflecting. Cordelia waited rather anxiously. She couldn’t imagine what he’d choose.
“Very well. If I win, you will refrain from pestering or provoking me the entire day.”
“Is that what you think I do?” Hurt clouded her eyes but he refused to see it.
“I want none of your blatant flirtation, none of your trickery. You will behave with perfect decorum in my presence, and you will speak only when spoken to. Agreed?”
Cordelia nibbled her lip. It seemed a poor wager but she didn’t have much option. She’d just have to hope she won. She shrugged her agreement. “So, let’s write our projections now and put them away until we arrive.” She drew out a lead pencil and a small notebook from her reticule and handed them to him.
Leo didn’t hesitate. He wrote swiftly, then tore out the page and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Cordelia took the pencil and paper. She frowned fiercely, chewing the end of the pencil, trying to calculate how far they had already journeyed. They would have to stop forrefreshment and to change horses, and it would all be very ceremonious, so it would take time.
“Mathematics is not your strong suit?” Leo inquired with a solicitous smile.
“On the contrary,” she retorted. “It’s one of my best subjects.” Stung, she gave up calculating and scribbled her projection. “There.” She stuffed the paper back into her reticule and sat back. “Now we’ll see.”
“So, you have questions.”
“When did your sister die?”
He hadn’t expected that, but it seemed an understandable question. “Four years ago. The girls were nine months old.” His expression was neutral, his eyes hooded.
“What did she die of?”
“What has that to do with the particulars of life at Versailles?” His voice was cold, his mouth suddenly tight.
“I’m sorry,” she said swiftly. “Does it pain you to talk of her?”
She didn’t know how much. But it wasn’t so much pain as this deep tide of rage that threatened to burst its dams when he thought of the wastefulness of such a death, such a vibrant, precious life extinguished almost overnight. He forced himself to relax and answered her first question, ignoring the second. “She died of a fever … a very swift wasting sickness.”
It was far too common a cause of death to surprise Cordelia. “You loved her very much?” she asked tentatively, her eyes grave now, her expression soft.
“My feelings for Elvira can have nothing to do with your new life, Cordelia,” he said, trying not to snap. He could never bring himself to talk about his sister, not even to Michael, who always maintained an understanding silence on the subject.
“Elvira. That’s a pretty name.” Cordelia seemed not to have heard him. “Was she older than you?”
Clearly, she was not to be put off. “We were twins,” he said shortly.
“Oh.” Cordelia nodded. “Twins have a very special bond, don’t they?”
“So it’s said. Can we talk about Versailles now?”
“Your sister gave birth to twins. It must run in the family,” Cordelia continued. “Perhaps you’ll father twins when you marry. Have you ever wished to marry?”
“That is not a topic for this conversation,” he declared frigidly. “If you wish us to continue, then you will confine yourself to pertinent
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