The
A
Cordelia Delacourt Adventure
Chapter
1 The
Ball
Cordelia Delacourt was already sweating and she had not yet entered the ballroom
of the vast
Liz trailed slightly behind, attempting to disappear into the marble floor
of the long hallway that led to the
ballroom. It was a magnificent
gallery, glittering with the light of a thousand candles reflected through
myriad pieces of cut crystal.
Uniformed guardsmen dressed in their blue and white ceremonial garb
lined the walls, their fiercely mustachioed faces staring directly
ahead. In spite of the imperial
splendour, however, Cordelia’s mind was not on the events of the
evening. Instead they went back
to a letter she had received some months ago in
Cherie,
I know I said I would be with you, but events have conspired to keep us
apart. I thought to bring La Tortue north
across the Sahara, but a sandstorm of the like of which I had never imagined
buried her beneath hundreds of tons of sand and we were obliged to expend
all of our fuel in an effort to free her.
Please know, cherie that it breaks my heart whenever I think of
you…
There was more, but Cordelia did not care to recall
it. She had left
However, there was another reason for her disgrace. To the horror of her relations she had written a book about her adventures, although for reasons of propriety, she had left a number of rather personal incidents out of it. To her surprise it had become a runaway best seller, and would leave her independently wealthy once she came into her majority. That would not be for three years. At the age of eighteen she was not yet considered an adult and the royalties from her book were being held for her by her father. Fortunately, although he did not approve of what she had done, High Justice William Delacourt’s sense of honour meant that she would receive every shilling when she turned twenty one.
But the letter had been devastating.
Her secret romance with Antoine August Marchand, le Compte d’Artois,
had been the one thing in her life that she could look forward
to. It had been arranged that
they would meet in
She was not helped at all by her aunt. Priscilla Knotworth could have served as a model for the rigid, self-righteous, narrow-minded mid-century Englishwoman. When Cordelia had received the letter she had hardly been sympathetic. “Well, Cordelia my dear,” she said, icily, “what did you expect? Count or no, he is still a Frenchman. You should have expected such treatment from him.”
Cordelia had to resist the urge to throttle her aunt on the spot; something she could quite easily have done. Kidnapped when she was only sixteen, and sold into slavery, she had learned to take care of herself. But taking out her anger and disappointment on her frigid aunt, would have served no useful purpose. She held her tongue and submitted to Priscilla’s authoritarian rule.
It was something she found difficult to stomach, but Cordelia had always been the obedient daughter, and her one year ordeal of enslavement had not changed that aspect of her character. She would not betray her father’s trust in her. He had sent her on the Grande Tour to further her education as a young woman and she would go through with it in spite of Priscilla’s overweening personality.
Strangely, Priscilla was not that much different in age from Cordelia, being only in her late twenties. It was the main reason her father had chosen Priscilla, believing that she would be an understanding chaperone. That turned out not to be the case. Although only ten years older than Cordelia she seems decades older in attitude. If it had not been for Liz, Cordelia’s European journey would have been one of abject misery.
Liz or rather Elizabeth Brown, was something of an
anomaly. Born in the slums of
However, it was Liz’s courage and loyalty that was most important to Cordelia. The slum girl, sold into prostitution at the age of twelve, had become Cordelia’s friend and companion and she refused to go anywhere without her, in spite of Aunt Priscilla’s disapproval over treating her gutter born servant as an equal. It was the reason Liz now trailed shyly behind as they neared the entrance to the ballroom.
“Cor blimey!” Liz whispered. “ Ow do yez breathe in these bloomin’ clothes? “I’m gonna croak.”
Cordelia smiled. Uncomfortable as she was she could well appreciate that Liz was probably in agony. However, there was one positive aspect of the tight corset, and that was that Liz’s imposing bosom was set off magnificently. “Don’t worry Liz,” Cordelia returned. “You have every eye in the ballroom upon you.”
“Some’ow that don’t make me feel the least bit better,” Liz replied. “But I doubt that they’ll have eyes for much more than you, Miss Cordelia.”
Cordelia stopped and waited for Liz to catch up. It was even more difficult for Liz to move in the confining clothes than it was for Cordelia. Cordelia had at least grown up wearing such attire. Liz was now experiencing her first session with the hated mid-century Victorian clothing and it was plain from the expression on her face and the heaving of her bosom that she was having severe difficulty breathing.
Under the pressure of the moment, Liz’s English had regressed, as had her manner. Cordelia had asked Liz to drop the maid-mistress form of address, but this too was forgotten. In the splendour of the Hofburg, Liz was completely out of her element, but she needn’t have worried. Few in the splendidly dressed crowd of people spoke English well enough to detect Liz’s gutter accent. Once freed of her slum heritage Liz had blossomed and there were few women in the palace that night who could rival her for beauty. “Come on, Liz,” Cordelia smiled. “Let’s join the ball.”
Several hundred heads turned as Cordelia, Liz, and Aunt Priscilla were announced. Most, too far away to see them clearly, immediately went back to what they were doing. Others, especially the men, stopped to regard them more closely. And a few, recognizing Cordelia’s name gave her more appraising looks. One in particularly, however, studied her with more than just the normal interest.
Claudius von Thorstenburg adjusted his monocle. “Enchanting,” he muttered. “Intelligent and beautiful, and most important, she travels only with her companion and her maiden aunt. They will hardly be missed.”
“She is very young. Hardly more than a child. ”
Von Thorstenburg smiled at his twin sister. “Ah, but that will make her that much easier to shape. She is like a fine piece of marble awaiting the hand of a Michelangelo.”
Messalina von Thorstenburg curved in lips in what with her passed for a smile. “And what makes you think your efforts with her will be any more successful than your previous attempts?”
“You must have faith, Messalina. In any case, molding her will be most pleasurable.”
Messalina sipped her champagne and then licked her lips. “You should have said that the first time. Will I be allowed to share her?”
“Don’t we always share everything?” Claudius answered. “But try to be gentle. You broke my last prospect and she was very difficult to repair.”
“The little bitch refused to cooperate,” Messalina replied. “What could I do? I couldn’t have her defying me.”
“Sometimes, Messalina, it is better to hold your appetites in check; at least until I have finished with the subject.”
“Ah, but I am always so hungry,” Messalina murmured. She looked toward the topic of their conversation. “And she will be so delicious. Shall we introduce ourselves?”
“Not just yet. Let her enjoy herself first. After a few dances with what passes for the intelligentsia here she will welcome my attentions.”
“You seem overly confident, brother. Why should so beautiful a young girl find you even remotely interesting?”
“You should read more. It is all in her book. Miss Delacourt has an insatiable curiosity when it comes to things mechanical and scientific. Her descriptions of the airship and the land cruiser were most detailed. All I have to do is bait the trap properly and she will be drawn to us like a fly to jam.”
Cordelia whirled in the arms of yet another guardsman. For the first time in her life she was glad of all the lessons she had been forced to take in proper ballroom etiquette. In spite of the restraints of her corset she found she could move well enough, although most of the stately dances left her somewhat breathless. That, however, seemed all to the good from the point of view of the many young men attending the ball. Her already enhanced breasts heaved against her bodice, threatening to fly free at any moment, a prospect that drew the eyes to her of every man, and not just a few of the women, in the room.
Her only rival on this night was Liz who despite the fact that she had never attended a ball before, appeared to be having her time of her life. She was swept around the room by one attractive young gallant after the other and seemed inexhaustible in spite of the heat of the room and her overly confining garments. But then Liz was naturally athletic, or so she had been told by one of her “gentlemen” customers in Mrs. Gibson’s House for Young Ladies, prior to being acquired to serve as Cordelia’s servant and bedmate for the man who had kidnapped Cordelia.
In any case she was glad for once of Aunt Priscilla’s insistence on doing the right thing. The glitter and glamour of the ball, the splendid music, and the magnificence of the palace, helped to temporarily drive her thoughts of Antoine from her mind. For a few hours she could be a young girl again and suppress the memories of the abuse and hardship she had suffered.
The dance ended, leaving Cordelia panting, her perfect globular breasts straining
against the fabric that fought to constrain
them. Her dance partner bowed,
but was immediately replaced by another and Cordelia consulted her dance
card: Claudius von Thorstenburg, Tenth Baron Torstein of
“The honour is mine Miss Delacourt. It is such a wonderful change to meet a woman who is intelligent as well as beautiful.”
“Indeed?” Cordelia responded. She always found references to her mind much more flattering that the parade of men’s eyes over her body. She studied the man before her. Outwardly he appeared no different from most of the men at the ball. She guessed he was in his early thirties and was tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, and had the requisite fierce mustachios of a cavalry officer. However, he was not dressed in uniform, but rather an elegant dark blue swallowtail coat and matching vest. A gold watch chain was draped across his waist. However, it was not his clothing that Cordelia noticed. There was something else about him, something indefinable that sent shivers down her spine. However, her first impression of him was swept away by his next answer.
“Ah yes, I have read your book five times. I was especially interested in your detailed descriptions of the mechanical apparatus on board the airship and the land cruiser.”
“Really?” Cordelia asked, accepting a proffered glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. “Most readers find those sections of the book to be almost unreadable.”
“Not I. I am fascinated by science. Particularly in the fields of electricity. Do you find it credible that electricity flows through an etheric medium or is it moved by some other mechanism which is as yet unknown to us?”
“Well,” Cordelia answered. “According to the theories of my countryman, Michael Faraday…”
“Cordelia dear, we really should retire. This is a most unseemly hour for a young girl to be out.” Cordelia looked up from her discussion of thermodynamics. She had completely lost track of time and was surprised to note that although the orchestra still played, the number of dancers had greatly diminished and the members of the royal family were nowhere to be seen.
“I am sorry, Aunt Priscilla, I didn’t realize so much time had passed.” Cordelia looked around for Liz and found her resting on one of the comfortable chaise-lounges lining the ballroom. She appeared completely done in, and was fanning herself weakly.
“Oh,” she said. “I am forgetting myself. May I present Baron von Thorstenburg of…”
“Yes,” Priscilla interrupted. “I have been chatting with his sister. A most charming woman. She has invited us to the Baron’s estates for the weekend, provided you are willing.”
Cordelia tried not to smile too broadly. “I would be most pleased to accept the Baron’s hospitality.”
Von Thorstenburg bowed. “The honour is mine. I expect you and your companions will find my estate to be much more than you imagined.”
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