When Love Commands

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Dashkova’s carriage is in the middle of this jumble,” he cried merrily. “I see it myself. It will take her driver an hour to move a foot!”

  Impatient she might be, but I doubted the princess would be bored with the two strapping young students to keep her company. She was indeed fascinating, as colorful and exotic as Orlov himself. The darling of the Encyclopedists, a Greek and Latin scholar who had chatted with Catherine about science and politics yet had to pay for male companionship—yes, she was colorful. As Sir Harry began to bore Orlov with details about Dutch shipping and the German mark, I wondered if Russia ever produced any normal people. Were they all larger than life?

  A full moon hung like a swollen silver-gold ball in the sky, bathing the city with a pale, milky glow that intensified the black shapes of buildings and the masses of purple-blue shadow that filled doorways and alleys. The carriage moved slowly, horse hooves clop-clop-clopping on the uneven cobblestones. Link boys trotted along beside us, torches waving like ragged orange banners in the dark, and in the shifting light I saw that Lucie looked pale and worn, a pensive look in her eyes. She idly smoothed a graceful hand over her satin skirt, then bunched the cloth nervously between her fingers. Earlier on she had been bright and vivacious, and now she looked as though she had never known a moment’s joy. What had caused this sudden darkness?

  We dropped Sir Harry at his lodgings and, a short while later, drove through the brick portals and up the circular drive of Orlov’s rented mansion. Lights burned in the windows, elongated yellow shafts of light on the drive. A bird was singing plaintively in the garden. Claiming she had a headache, Lucie said good night and went up to her rooms, slowly climbing the gracious spiral staircase with one hand trailing along the smooth banister, a lovely, lethargic figure in her gold-and-white-striped satin. Orlov asked me if I would like a glass of brandy. I shook my head and thanked him for a pleasant evening, then followed Lucie upstairs. Her door was closed when I passed, an indication that she didn’t feel up to one of the late evening chats that had become our habit.

  Half an hour later, I was sitting in my bedroom staring at the fire burning low in the marble fireplace. Although I had taken down my hair and brushed it, I was still wearing the blue silk gown I had worn to the theater. Only a few candles burned, casting soft light over the creamy white walls with their sky blue panels patterned with gilt, over the pale violet rugs and exquisite furniture. When it was late and I was alone, the memories returned to haunt me, and I felt a deep melancholy as I watched the thin golden-orange flames leap and lick at the wood. Though surprised, I welcomed the interruption when I heard someone knock on the door of the adjoining sitting room. Lucie probably isn’t able to sleep either, I thought, getting to my feet. She probably wants to have our chat after all.

  It wasn’t Lucie. It was her uncle. He stood there in the doorway looking apologetic, as though he feared a rebuff. He had taken off his coat and waistcoat and, over the tight black breeches and thin white lawn shirt, wore a heavy navy blue satin dressing robe that gleamed richly. His golden brown locks were tousled, and he ran his fingers through them now, clearly uneasy. I suspected that beneath all the swagger and braggadocio Count Orlov was quite insecure, if not actually shy.

  “I do not disturb you?” he asked.

  “Not at all, Count Orlov.”

  “I do not mean to bother you.”

  “You aren’t bothering me, I assure you. I hadn’t even made preparations for bed. Do come in.”

  He entered the sitting room so hesitantly I had to smile. The former paramour of Catherine of Russia and the veteran of hundreds of sexual conquests acted as though he were breaking some cardinal rule of propriety by coming into my chambers at this hour of the night. It was not hypocrisy. It was, rather, respect for me that caused him to be so circumspect. I was a guest in his house. There had been no lazy, seductive glances, no lingering touches. Count Orlov knew that I had been hurt, knew I had been reluctant to come here to stay with them, and he intended to do nothing that might disturb the delicate balance of polite friendship between us.

  “You cannot sleep?” he asked.

  “I haven’t tried.”

  He looked concerned. “The headache still bothers you?”

  “A little,” I confessed.

  “You should have had some brandy.”

  “There’s a bottle in the cabinet here. Would you care for another glass?”

  “Will you join me?”

  I nodded and went over to the black lacquer cabinet in laid with brass and mother-of-pearl. The sitting room was done in a Chinese style. The walls were hung with pale yellow-tan paper vivid with multicolored peonies and chrysanthemums and birds, and wheat-colored bamboo matting covered the floor. I took out the brandy, poured it, handed Count Orlov a glass. He thanked me with a nod and glanced curiously about the room. It was the first time he had seen it, and he seemed a bit puzzled by the lacquered screens, the cloisonné vases, and the turquoise temple dogs guarding the fireplace.

  “Is strange taste you English have,” he observed.

  “The furniture is Chippendale. His Chinese pieces were very popular a few years ago.”

  “You have been comfortable here?”

  “I’ve been very comfortable, Count Orlov.”

  “I am glad. Is good for you to be with friends at this time.”

  I sipped my brandy. He drank his quickly, as though it were vodka, tilting the glass to his lips, throwing his head back, swallowing it in great gulps. Although I had put out most of the candles in the bedroom, some still burned brightly. Orlov gazed fixedly at his empty glass. I could tell that he had something to say to me, something he didn’t quite know how to say. He finally set the glass down and turned to me.

  “It has been most good for Lucie, too,” he said. “She has had a proper companion to do these things with while I take care of the business matters. She is most fond of you.”

  “I am fond of her, too.”

  “I appreciate the interest you take in her. She is a strange girl, Lucie. I am much concerned. These moods are not healthy.”

  “She is very young,” I said quietly.

  “With you, she is better,” he told me. His deep voice was melodious, a guttural caress. “She opens up. She smiles.”

  “Girls her age need a companion.”

  “This is my point. She needs a companion, and you are the perfect one. Already she trusts you, feels at ease with you. The arrangement would be most satisfactory.”

  “I—I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

  Orlov looked at me with eyes that seemed to be an even deeper navy blue because of the dark blue dressing robe. His handsome face was thoughtful. He had been so very kind to me, so gentle and considerate. I could not help but respond to his warmth.

  “In two and a half weeks I shall be finished with all these tedious business affairs. Lucie and I shall be leaving for Russia. You will come with us.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Count Orlov.”

  He seemed surprised. “But why?”

  “I have other plans,” I said, putting down my brandy glass. “I’m going to find work. Eventually I’m going to earn enough money to pay my passage to America.”

  “What is this work you plan to do?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I may seek a post as a governess. I’m a very good seamstress. I may seek work in a dress shop—I once owned a dress shop myself in Natchez, a city in America. If—if necessary, I could become a housekeeper.”

  Count Orlov shook his head. “This is nonsense,” he said gently. “Sewing, housekeeping—this is not proper work for you.”

  “I haven’t led a pampered life, Count Orlov. It’s been anything but that. I’m willing to do any kind of work to earn the money I need.”

  “Yet you are not willing to come to Russia.”

  “It was very kind of you to ask, but I have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and—”

  I let the sentence
fade on my lips. Orlov stepped nearer, the skirt of his dressing robe making a soft, silken rustle. I could smell his teak shaving cologne and the musky scent of his body,

  “But I do not speak of hospitality,” he said. “I speak of the respectable employment.”

  “You want to pay me to go to Russia with you?”

  Orlov nodded, amused at my surprise. A gentle smile curved on his lips as he explained.

  “I know you wish to go to America,” he said, “and I wish to help you. I offer to give you the money. You refuse. I think to myself, how shall I solve this problem? I see how Lucie admires you, see how happy she is to be with you, and I realize how long the journey to Russia is, how bored and unhappy she will be during the trip. I decide to offer you this employment as paid companion to my niece.”

  He was very pleased with this solution. I had to appreciate the offer, but I could think of any number of reasons why it wouldn’t work. Sensing my reservations, Orlov lifted an eyebrow.

  “You do not like this idea?” he asked.

  I picked up the empty glasses and carried them over to the cabinet. Count Orlov tilted his head slightly, watching me, heavy lids drooping over his eyes. I set the glasses down, put the brandy bottle back into the cabinet, deliberately delaying my answer.

  “Russia is—it’s very far away,” I said.

  “This is true,” he admitted. “The journey is long and very tedious. This is one of the reasons I wish you to keep Lucie company. I would give you a most generous salary, more than enough to pay your way to America.”

  “I see,” I said quietly.

  “Once we get to Russia, I would ask you to remain three more months in order that Lucie might have time to adjust and make new friends, and then I would arrange your passage to America. One can get there from Russia as easily as from England,” he added.

  “I realize that, but—” I hesitated, shaking my head.

  “I do not see your objections,” he said.

  “I—I just don’t think it would work.”

  Orlov seemed puzzled, and then he sighed and smiled warmly.

  “You are tired,” he said. “You have the headache. I propose this idea too quickly, I think. I choose the wrong time. I will not ask you to give me an answer now, Miss Danver.”

  “I’m grateful.”

  “I ask only that you promise to think about it.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Good! Now I will leave you and let you go to bed. It has been an exhausting evening for you.”

  “I fear it has.”

  I followed him to the door. He lifted my hand and brushed it lightly with his lips, and then, nodding politely, he left. I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, thinking of his offer. Count Orlov was generous, too generous. He was kind and thoughtful, could be gentle and very, very persuasive. If I accepted his offer, it would solve my predicament, yes, but every instinct told me it would present a whole new set of problems, problems of an entirely different nature. I could still see the warmth in his dark eyes as he gazed at me. I could still feel the touch of his lips on the back of my hand. I would turn him down. Of course I would. Going to Russia with Count Gregory Orlov was entirely out of the question.

  Chapter Seven

  Sighing heavily, I made a final inspection in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. The leaf brown satin gown had short, narrow sleeves, a very low neckline and snug waist, the skirt spreading out in scalloped flounces that parted to reveal the underskirt of alternating rows of sky blue and sapphire lace. The diminutive, chattering French hairdresser Orlov had brought in had parted my hair in the center, pulled it back, and arranged it in a mass of long sausage ringlets that cascaded down my back. I had applied pale bluish gray shadow to my lids, had smoothed pale pink rouge lightly over my cheekbones and used a deeper pink on my lips, but my face was still drawn, my eyes dark and disillusioned. I wasn’t going to dazzle any of Orlov’s guests tonight, I reflected, but at least I was presentable.

  Leaving the bedroom, passing through the Chinese sitting room, I moved down the hall toward Lucie’s room, dreading the evening ahead. Count Orlov’s dinner for Princess Dashkova had grown into a major social event with over fifty guests invited. The house had been in an uproar all day, florists arriving with potted plants and great baskets of roses, musicians setting up their instruments in the ballroom, the household staff in a frenzy as special decorations were hung, Orlov’s chef rebelling and throwing a tantrum when he discovered his culinary masterpieces would be augmented with food brought from London’s finest eating house. Guests were already beginning to arrive—English diplomats, Russian émigrés, various society figures Orlov had met in years past when they were visiting his country—and Lucie and I should have been downstairs already. She was dreading the evening almost as much as I was, I knew, and had been depressed ever since morning.

  Tapping lightly on the opened door, I called her name and passed through her sitting room to the bedroom. She was sitting at the dressing table, staring glumly into the mirror. Opening a bottle of perfume, she wearily dabbed the crystal stopper behind her earlobes, between her breasts, touched it to the backs of her wrists. It was an exquisite, subtle scent that evoked fields of sun-drenched poppies, but I wondered if it weren’t a bit too provocative for her. Lucie replaced the stopper, glanced at me in the mirror and then stood up, moving across the room to pick up a topaz silk fan embroidered with gold and yellow flowers.

  “Well,” she said, “here I am. I feel like a fool. I know they’re all going to whisper about me.”

  I stared at her, amazed, so amazed I was unable to speak. The buttercup yellow satin gown that had been delivered this morning was cut extremely low, leaving her shoulders bare, her breasts half-exposed. The bodice was form-fitting, emphasizing her slender waist, and the great skirt belled out in gleaming folds. I had helped her select the gown. I hadn’t realized it was going to be quite so revealing, nor had I realized so keenly what a slender, voluptuous body she had. A diamond and topaz necklace hung around her throat, diamond and topaz earrings dangling from her lobes. Her hair had been pulled back severely from her face and twisted into an elaborate French roll on the back of her head, a diamond and topaz spray affixed to one side. Her lids were brushed with mauve shadows, her cheeks skillfully rouged to emphasize the unusual cheekbones, and her lips were a luscious pink.

  I realized with some dismay that I was not looking at a girl. I was looking at a full-blown woman, gorgeous and extremely sensual. Her poise was incredible, and the violet-blue eyes that gazed at me were undeniably world-weary. It was more than just the gown, the hairstyle, the makeup. I was seeing a Lucie heretofore carefully concealed, although there had been occasional small glimpses.

  “You just stare,” she said. “You do not like?”

  “You look—you look absolutely beautiful, Lucie.”

  “This silly man makes me sit for almost two hours, chattering all the time. I do not like what he does to my hair, but it is too late to change it now. The gown I do not like. The color is all wrong. I have trouble selecting the right jewelry to go with it.”

  “It’s a lovely color.”

  “Your gown I like,” she said, eyeing it critically. “The color goes with your hair. The sky blue and sapphire ruffles showing beneath the flounces make the brown seem richer. Something is missing, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “The jewelry. You need something to set everything off just so.”

  “I no longer have any jewelry. I don’t really think I need—”

  “Is easily taken care of,” she said, interrupting me.

  She moved over to the dressing table, opened an embossed white leather box and idly began to pull out a dazzling array of jewelry—diamond and ruby bracelets, strings of pearls, emerald necklaces—tossing them carelessly onto the table as though they were the cheapest trinkets.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, “sapphires. The color of your eyes. Here, try these. I think they will
do very nicely.”

  The necklace she handed to me consisted of a dozen pear-shaped sapphire pendants caught up in a diamond web and suspended from a strand of large square-cut diamonds. It must have cost a fortune, I thought, gazing at the flashing jewels that dangled from my fingers. Dark blue flames burned vividly, enhanced by the blinding silver-violet glitter of the diamonds. When I hesitated to put it on, Lucie gave an impatient sigh and took it from me and fastened it around my neck herself, then handed me the matching pendant earrings.

  “I’m not sure I should,” I said, fastening one of the earrings.

  “Nonsense. They are perfect. Now the other one. There. The picture is complete.”

  I had to admit that the jewelry was enhancing and added glamour, but I was still apprehensive about wearing it. What if something happened? What if the clasp broke on the necklace or one of the earrings slipped off without my knowing it? Lucie waved these objections aside and told me she rarely wore the sapphires anyway.

  “You shall be the most beautiful woman here tonight,” she declared.

  “I think not, Lucie. That honor will unquestionably belong to you.”

  “You humor me. It is polite of you, but I know I look a fright. No one will notice me, and it is just as well. I do not like crowds. My uncle feels he must make the big splash to impress this woman he hates.”

  “I suppose we’d better go on down,” I said.

  “Yes, it is an unpleasant duty.”

  She might have been on her way to a firing squad as we moved slowly down the grand staircase, side by side, our full skirts spreading, rustling. The foyer was already full of guests, more arriving by the moment, and all eyes were upon us as we made our descent. Count Orlov hurried foward to greet us, taking my hand as we reached the bottom step.

  “Here you are,” he said. “You are a vision tonight, Miss Danver. All of my guests will wonder who this lovely creature is.”

  “Thank you, Count Orlov. You look resplendent yourself.”