Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  WinterDream

  Chantal Gadoury

  Copyright © 2018 by Chantal Gadoury

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Shayne Leighton, Amanda Wright, and Erica Farner

  With original artwork by Kathryn Thompson

  The Parliament House

  www.parliamenthousepress.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  ACT I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  ACT II

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  ACT III

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Finale

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Chantal Gadoury

  The Parliament House

  Dedication: To my Mom, who took me to all those Nutcracker ballet performances when I was little. For all the evenings of watching Disney movies in our brown chair, for shared laughter and “that’s what she said” jokes, mutual chick-fil-a runs, and for being my best friend.

  I love you, Mom.

  Prologue

  Large, white puffs floated all around me. Sinking into my flesh with their cold, yet light kisses. Every snowflake was different, specially crafted before it fell from the sky. They were beautiful, even as they melted. I tipped my head back to catch the snow as it fell. I felt as though I was floating through air, caught in a haze of ice flakes as sugary and sweet as the icing on the gingerbread house my governess and I had made together.

  I stretched my arms out to my sides, spinning in place.

  The green forest turned with me, a wood full of large spruces perfect for Christmas trees. They were decorated as such, lighted with white candles and draped in silver tinsel. On some, icicles hung on the tips of the limbs. It was a world in which the snow was like sugar and the air smelled delicious, like freshly baked cookies. It was perfect—a world of my own making, if I was capable of crafting something so… wonderful.

  “Clara…”

  The sound of my name trilled from a distance, carried on the cool, winter wind.

  Turning slowly, I peered over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of a young boy my age. He was dressed in a bright red suit, adorned with golden epaulettes. His blond hair was brushed away from his face, revealing two bright blue eyes. His lips, pink as his cheeks, curved into a smile.

  “Clara…”

  “Yes?” I asked curiously, turning to face him. As I slid my hands over my cream and ivory lace nightgown, I suddenly felt quite foolish. My mama had always insisted I never wear my bedclothes in front of guests or visitors. And yet, here, in this strange and beautiful world, such things hardly seemed to matter. He took my hand and flashed another warm smile as he led me to a large, white carriage.

  “Where are we going?” I asked softly, pausing before the door. The panels were solid ivory, adorned with a golden handle and step.

  “Winter Dream,” the boy said with a relieved expression. “Home. Home to Winter Dream.”

  “Winter Dream?”

  “I’ve come to take you back, Clara. To where I am—to where all the people who love you live.”

  “But I don’t know where this Winter Dream is. I’ve never been there…”

  “Come with me,” he beckoned, squeezing my hand gently. “Come. . .”

  The snow fell all around us; small flakes clung to the tips of our hair and eyelashes. As much as I longed to go . . . there was something holding me back. Something. . .

  As I peered behind me, a small, dark shadow began to form. It started out small, like the size of a mouse, and it grew—or was I shrinking? The boy beside me held my hand, and his eyes grew wide with fear.

  “No!” I screamed, tucking myself into his shoulder. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to know.

  “Clara, wait!” I heard him beg, his urgent tone tugging at my heartstrings. “Come with me, please.”

  “No! I want to go home!”

  As soon as the words poured from my lips, I woke with a start.

  Here, there was only me and the four walls of my bedroom. A sheer sliver of light crept through the space of an open curtain, sparkling with the bright white of the snow outside. It was quiet, as if the world had not yet woken. As if I was the only one no longer dreaming sweet things. Instead, while everyone else slept, I contained the chill of my own strange dream.

  I buried myself beneath the duvet and hugged my knees to my chest. I was alone, completely and utterly alone.

  I closed my eyes tight, not wishing to face that Christmas morning. I wished only for the chance to slip back into my dream. To return back to that magical world, where a boy with bright blue eyes was waiting for me. Back to the place where an enchanting land called ‘Winter Dream’ existed.

  ACT I

  In Which Clara Is Gifted A Nut

  Chapter 1

  Ten Years Later (1850)

  “Do you see him?” Masha Lebedev asked softly as she leaned close to my ear. My dearest friend, Masha, slid her silk fan up to cover her lips, careful not to draw any attention from the other guests gathered in the embellished parlor. The servants had done a fine job in decorating our home with large boughs of holly and spruce. They were speckled by sparkling glass ornaments of gold, green, and red. Even the ornaments reflected the light from the gleaming chandeliers in every room, making it appear as though Snegurochka, the snow maiden herself, visited and dusted our home with magic.

  Wafts of baking cookies and spiced tea filled the air, making my stomach grumble under my tightly-corseted gown. It was one thing to breathe, but another to eat.

  “The Viscount does looks regal tonight,” I lied as I scoured the room in hopes of finding the gentleman she referred to, but the surrounding holiday festivities dazzled and distracted me. My father, Valery Stahlbaum, always held the most lavish Christmas parties in St. Petersburg. Everyone from high-society aristocracy came to dance, eat, and celebrate the holiday season in my family’s grand home. I always looked forward to spending my time with Masha, who would always find amusement amongst the older and stuffier guests. Whether it was in pointing out who drank too much, ate too much, or making bets on who would be the first to trip on the dance floor, we always ended the night in a fit of giggles. It was certainly not the sort of behavior expected of us, but for one night each year, Masha and I tried not to care so much about our formal etiquette training.

  But this Christmas was different. This time, Masha’s father had agreed to an arrangement of marriage for Masha to the Viscount, Andrei Stepanov. It was a good match, considering his wealth and status in the Russian court. There were even rumors of the Stepanov’s relations to the Tsar and his family. Because of her newly-developed situation, our usual party mischief had to be kept in check. As Polina, my maid, helped me to dress hours prior, Mama had visited and reminded me of my expected behavior. She was dressed so elegantly in gold and silv
er organza, she reminded me of a sparkling star on top of the Christmas tree. Polina’s fingers laced up the back of my holiday gown, crimson velvet with white lace as Mama crossed the room to stand beside me.

  “You are the same age as Masha, after all,” Mama reminded me. “You would be lucky if your Papa was able to successfully arrange a marriage for you, just like Masha. Imagine, a Viscount of your own!”

  But I didn’t want to imagine. Marriage. The idea of it made me flinch as I wrinkled my nose. There had to be more to my life than simply attending fancy parties, pricking my fingertips at needle point, and wearing tight corsets. Let alone finding oneself in an arranged marriage, experiencing painful childbirth, and then. . .

  “I’m going to travel the world,” I replied matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t jest,” Mama responded as she adjusted the glittering tiara on her head before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

  Polina knew I wasn’t jesting. I wanted to travel the world. I wanted to see the places I read about in the many books in Papa’s library. I adored scouring over the Atlas as my brother Fritz lined his lead soldiers on the floor beside my feet. He would pick from the countries I named from the pages and hold his own wars.

  But such trivial delights were to be left alone this Christmas Eve. I couldn’t ruin Masha’s chance at impressing the Viscount. We were to sit with the other women of the party, sip on punch, and smile. And so, we were.

  “Of course, he looks regal,” Masha said with a soft laugh. “He is a Viscount, after all.”

  Across the decorated room, her fiancé stood tall and proud amongst the other successful Russian aristocrats. His dark suit had been freshly tailored by the finest hand a man of his title could afford. I watched curiously as he tipped his head back, allowing the last sliver of his wine to cascade down this throat as the others around him clinked their glasses against each other’s. Though his suit was refined, I had to admit he blended particularly too well into the older crowd. The men’s collars were particularly stiff and angled high around their jaws; a new fashion for the winter parties. Amongst their neckties and fine, black waistcoats, I had decided they lacked color in the otherwise bright and cheerful room.

  How could he—or any of the men in the crowd—ever truly make Masha or I happy? How would I ever conform to the expectations of my mama and papa, if this was what my future would be? In the early years of our childhood, Masha and I had spent countless afternoons dreaming of the possible suitors we’d one day meet. She had always fancied herself a successful marriage to either a grand duke or an earl, while I imagined meeting a soldier or adventurer who would travel to distant lands with me. At least Masha’s girlhood dream came true. One day, the Viscount would become an Earl, and Masha would be a Countess.

  “Are you happy?” I asked as Masha folded her fan back.

  She rose from the chair beside me and cocked her head to the side, gesturing for me to come take a turn about the room with her. I admired the soft shades of blue and silver silk she wore. With her blonde curls twisted elegantly atop her head, adorned with a delicate, white diamond comb, she looked as regal as any future Countess should. Her eyes were a muted hue of blue-grey, while her lips were full and pink. The rouge on them made them appear as red as the skin of an apple.

  I almost felt silly, wearing the same scarlet red dress as last year—and the year before that—one adorned with frilly, white lace around the collar and sleeves. It had been my favorite party dress, though I never felt as childish wearing it in years past as I did now. Fritz had called me a ‘walking doll.’

  “Indeed,” she said with a gentle nod as I stood and smoothed the skirt of my dress. She slid her arm through mine as we began to walk around the room. “Papa was thrilled when Andrei accepted the dowry sum. I had hoped it would only be a matter of time.”

  “Oh?”

  “Our flirtation began at the Orlov party earlier in the autumn,” she said with a suppressed smile. “I had hoped he wouldn’t be able to resist my charms. And it seems I was right.”

  “Oh, as if there had ever been any doubts. Truly, Masha,” I teased as I leaned closer to her ear. She swept her fan open and pressed it against her warming cheeks.

  Masha had always been the confident one of the two us. She always knew exactly how to carry herself in a room full of strangers. She was graceful and charismatic—a born entertainer— while I was shy, and quite plain with my unremarkable features and wavy, brown hair. As we grew older, Masha charmed everyone with her musical talents and laughter. She had grown into her womanly form, while I still felt like a child. I could never compare in Masha’s great skills, both musically and socially. I was far from a conversationalist; I never knew what to say. It came as no surprise Masha had enraptured the Viscount mere weeks after meeting him. Perhaps it was all in the two years of difference between us.

  While I was still only eight and ten years, Masha was twenty. She was a real woman now.

  “I’m happy for you,” I continued with a small nod.

  “Oh, Clara,” Masha said, turning to me with a smile. “I’m so glad you feel that way! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been happy...” Her eyes flickered back across the glittering room as she squeezed my hand with hers. “Perhaps you’ll meet your own Duke or Earl? The holiday season is supposed to be about hope, isn’t it?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes as I pulled her arm tightly against mine.

  “You know how I feel about that,” I replied with a jerk of my head. “I want to explore the world.”

  Masha’s gentle laughter filled my ears as she paused.

  “Clara,” she purred. “Isn’t it time to let go of our childhood fantasies? Traveling the world…” Shaking her head, she continued. “We’re the daughters of very important families. We have a duty to uphold.” Her gaze moved around the room until she smiled brightly. Quickly, Masha flicked her fan in the direction of two men standing beside the refreshment table. Curiously, she turned her attention back to me.

  “What about the stoutly man lingering the table?”

  The gentleman in question was too easily spotted; a sunspot in an otherwise dark sea of suits. He wore an exceptionally eccentric shade of blue, adorned with gold embroidering. Count Boris Pavlychev lifted what I believed was his third cup of sbiten to his lips, suckling it down quickly. His beady eyes roamed around the room, seemingly avoiding any mirrors, lest he spot the speck of chocolate staining the corner of his lips.

  “Count Boris Pavlychev?”

  I felt my nose turn up and my lips pucker sourly.

  Despite his very large appetite, he was by far the most eligible noble, more notably for his family’s vast wealth than his countenance. I could not deny that there was nothing princely about him. His stout stomach and dull, yellow hair left him quite undesirable. I imagined his breath would smell of pickled fish and vodka, a traditional zakuski dish served to Papa’s many guests just before supper.

  “But he is wealthy,” she said fanning herself.

  “I’d rather find myself in an arrangement with the devil himself,” I hissed softly under my breath. Perhaps it was unkind of me to say, but I could never picture myself in a happy arrangement with Boris Pavlychev; wealth be damned.

  “Then what about Viscount Yakov Petryaev?” Masha asked, pointing to the other man standing beside Boris. While Yakov Petryaey was handsome and well-admired by many in the Imperial Court of Russia, I had always known him as a very conceited and obnoxious man. His title did nothing to improve his overall attitude, or lack of tact. If I had not been subject to his ire once before, I might have overlooked his more serious flaws. I had once stepped out into the street, and was nearly run over by his carriage. But, in light of my knowledge, Yakov Petryaey was as undesirable and less pleasing to me than the idea of marrying Boris.

  My brown eyes swept back to my friend as I slid a hand over the skirt of my red gown.

  “Yakov Petryaev?”

  Masha wound h
er arm tighter around mine. I could hear the disappointment as she let out a sigh.

  “He has a title. Just like my Andrei,” Masha explained. “They’re good friends, you know. We could be a part of the best families in Russia, Clara. And then, when we have children of our own, we could make the appropriate arrangements.”

  My stomach twisted into knots as I listened to Masha, all the while watching Yakov sip his wine. His dark stare swept around the room until it met mine. His lips curved into a light smirk as he lifted his glass in my direction.

  “He may have a title,” I began softly, “but it does not determine his true worth.”

  “Perhaps.” Masha bit her lip. “But I think my plan would work well for the both of us.”

  I felt my cheeks begin to warm as I felt Yakov’s gaze linger.

  “I’m parched,” I murmured softly to Masha, drawing my arm from her grasp.

  “Wait!” she hissed quickly, snatching my wrist. “He’s coming our way, Clara!”

  Before I had the chance to escape, I found Viscount Yakov Petrayaev crossing the room in a few short steps. His auburn hair was swept back away from his eyes; his beard was trimmed perfectly around the sharp angle of his jaw and chin, while the tips of his mustache curled slightly upwards. He was dressed in a fine black suit jacket and trousers, with a black bow-tie situated around his neck. While it was true Yakov would make a fine husband to a number of women in the court, I knew he would only be misery for me.