Andrea Penrose - The Cocoa Conspiracy

Saybrook confirmed her statement with a gruff nod. “I made a lucky guess concerning the key word. Intuition tells me that we’re still looking at Vigenère Square, but a new key word has been used to make it even more secure.” He made a face. “It could be anything.”

“The individual who wrote it might well use a word that has some personal significance. Something like a battle cry, a motto, a hero.”

The earl’s gaze sharpened. “Possibly.”

“Do you think Kydd wrote it?”

He thought for a long moment before answering. “Hard to say. Again, it’s possible. I’m assuming that the codes I cracked were meant for whoever is in charge of the assassination plot. The unsolved one may well be for the head of the whole conspiracy.” His hand tightened around his empty glass. “But the damnable truth is, it’s all mere conjecture. So far, my guesses have all come up empty.”

“You need more information to work with,” said Arianna resolutely. She didn’t like to see his face pinched in such a brooding uncertainty. “Time to go flutter around Kydd and see if I can get him to share some of his innermost secrets.”

“I don’t see how he can keep from acting the hungry cat with a canary,” said Saybrook, darting a sidelong look at her plunging neckline.

“Actually, I feel a little like a drab English sparrow flitting among a flock of regal Birds of Paradise.” She smoothed the heavy silk of her gown over her hips as she made another survey of the crowd. “My London plumage pales in comparison to the Continental styles.”

There was no denying that the ladies who had flocked to Vienna from all over Europe were elegant in the extreme. The colorful crepe outer dresses were complemented by a whisper of pastel satin underneath. Sleeves were long and edged with lace, or short poufs of silk paired with long white gloves. On this particular evening, the ladies had been asked to wear blue or white, the colors of Peace, and in the twilight, the rippling of silks and satins created a sparkling sea of ocean hues. Gold and silver embroidery accentuated the effect, as did the profusion of precious stones and pearls.

“The Count de Ligne has described the ladies as looking like brilliant meteors when the dancing begins,” murmured Saybrook.

Arianna could well imagine it to be true. “Yes, they must spin by in a blinding blur of light.”

“Illusions,” muttered her husband, unmoved by all the finery.

“The gentlemen are equally dazzling,” she pointed out. “Look at all the gold braid and gaudy medals. Good God, if they all were such magnificent warriors, why wasn’t Napoleon exiled to Elba years ago?”

He gave a mocking laugh. “Yet another question to add to our growing list.” Squaring his shoulders, he turned for the main walkway. “But enough worrying. We must appear to be enjoying ourselves.”

Passing through a stone archway, they entered the building that Metternich had constructed specially for the celebration. Encircled by classical pillars, the wooden building was crowned by a dome that soared high overhead.

“Shall we stroll out to the gardens?” inquired Saybrook. “Royalty will be dining inside, while the rest of us will partake of a supper under the stars.”

Arianna followed, calming her flutter of nerves with a few deep breaths. Steady, steady. I’ve played enough roles not to have stage fright. Most of the other guests were probably just as much imposters as she was.

The estate gardens were no less magnificent. Countless lanterns lit the winding walkways, the flickering flames illuminating the formal plantings and marble fountains. White tents dotted the grounds, and beneath the shimmering silk, servants dispensed Tokay wines and champagne. Several orchestras were tucked discreetly behind hedges in different parts of the estate, the lilting notes of the violins echoing the faint trilling of the nightingales.

At the crest of the sloping lawn stood three classical faux temples. Moonlight dappled over the pale stone, its silvery glow swirling in tandem with the troupe of ballet dancers performing among the pillars.

Mesmerized by the fairy tale splendor of the scene, Arianna stood in rapt wonder, drinking it all in.

“Look—there’s Kydd,” said Saybrook.

His whisper jarred her back to reality. “Shall I stroll over to see him while you make a show of picking one of the plumed Birds of Paradise to flirt with?”

The opening chords of a Mozart sonata drifted through the greenery. “It would be best if he thinks we are not in harmony with each other,” answered her husband. “I shall meet up with you later.”

She turned, but the touch of his hand held her back for just a moment.

“Be careful. For all its veneer of civilized splendor, Vienna is a jungle—a jungle where predators are always on the prowl.”

“Lady Saybrook.” Looking up at the sound of her steps on the graveled path, Kydd appeared upset, though he quickly covered it with a tentative smile. “How lovely to see you.” After glancing around, he added, “Are you . . . alone?”

“I’ve been abandoned by my husband,” she answered. She gave a curt wave at the sparkling lights of the main lawns. “He met several Spanish ladies of his acquaintance and they wished to be at the center of the festivities.”

“Quite a spectacle, is it not?” remarked Kydd, sounding distracted. On edge.

“If you enjoy watching the rich revel in decadent pleasures,” she said softly.

He studied her face for a long moment. “Would you care to take a stroll to a quieter part of the gardens?”

“Please,” she murmured, accepting his arm. “I would much rather converse with a friend than cavort with strangers.” Her slippers slid lightly over the stones. “I do hope that I may consider you a friend, Mr. Kydd.”

“Yes, of course, Lady Saybrook.” His voice grew taut. “I’m honored that you ask.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the noises of the party fading until the only sound was the breeze ruffling through the leaves of the tall boxwood hedge bordering the path.

“It’s so peaceful here, now that we’re away from the crowd.” She sighed. “I hate these gatherings with all their false laughter, false flatteries and false promises.”

He nodded. “Believe me, I know how you feel.” Arianna paused and looked up at the heavens. Careful, careful—one false move and I will ruin everything.

Expelling a sigh, she turned her head slightly to meet his searching stare. “Do you?”

Kydd blinked.

“You speak so eloquently about noble principles. I—I come away from our talks feeling inspired by your idealism. And yet . . .” She deliberately let her voice trail off.

A glimmer of starlight ghosted over his profile, catching the tiny, telltale tic of his jaw.

Oh, the folly of youthful passions, she thought, suddenly feeling old as Methuselah.

“Lady Saybrook, may I ask you a personal question?”

At her hesitation, his pale skin darkened in embarrassment. “Forgive me—”

“No, please. Of course you may.”

He cleared his throat. “Why did you marry the earl?”

“I take it you have heard that ours was not a love match.”

Kydd shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Mellon does not indulge in gossip. But I couldn’t help overhearing several private exchanges with Lord Saybrook in which he voiced reservations about the match.”

“I can’t say that I blame him.” Arianna let her tone go a little rough around the edges. “I was caught up in a scandal—please don’t ask me to explain—and so was the earl. I had precious few choices.” She shrugged. “As you know, females have little control over their destiny.”

“I did not mean to stir painful memories,” he said haltingly.