When Love Commands

by Jennifer Wilde

  Dashkova touched the side of her head, causing the emerald and black feathers to tremble. Turning away from the mirror, she looked at me and opened her spangled black fan.

  “He was shockingly unfaithful to her, you know. Orlov is incapable of fidelity. He paraded his sluts before her, threatening to leave her if she didn’t buy him another carriage, give him another estate, sign another document granting concessions to one of his wretched brothers or political cronies. Catherine put up with it because, inexplicably, she loved him and because his skills as a lover were—undoubtedly still are—nothing short of phenomenal.”

  I made ho reply, maintaining a cool silence that left the princess to think anything she chose. She snapped her fan shut, and her green eyes glittered with malice as she continued.

  “He has an incredible technique, I’m told, and a staying power that is not to be believed. Half the women at court slept with him. To be bedded by the great Orlov was a matter of pride. Catherine could overlook casual animal coupling, but when she discovered he was having a serious affair with Princess Colitsyna she finally had enough. Colitsyna was sent away in disgrace, and the randy stallion was dismissed.”

  “Generously rewarded for past services, I understand.”

  Dashkova arched one dark brow, her eyes widening. “So that’s what interests you? I can’t say I’m surprised. You look a bit more intelligent than most of his doxies, and he is almost forty. Perhaps he’s losing some of his skills after all. If I were you, I’d take that lovely necklace and whatever other trinkets he may have given you and get out before the bloom wears off and your aging provider turns vicious. You’ll be sparing yourself a lot of grief.”

  I smiled politely. “Thank you for your advice.”

  “Don’t mention it, my dear,” she said, equally polite.

  We exchanged nods and left the powder room together as though the conversation had never taken place. Dashkova made some idle comments about the party as we moved down the hall, and I answered in kind, relieved when we reached the ballroom and Reginald Burton stepped foward to claim her, his thin, cruel young face petulant at the long delay. As he led her away I suspected that much of her malice might be due to the fact that she was one of the women at court with whom the great Orlov had not indulged. She had placed a bit too much emphasis on his skills and had obviously given them a great deal of thought. Had she perhaps offered herself to him years ago and been scorned? As I watched her disappear into the crowd, I thought it likely.

  Putting Dashkova out of my mind, I resolved to be as pleasant as possible for the count’s sake. I danced several times with various dignitaries and talked with their wives and had champagne with a boring, withered old Russian nobleman who had silver hair and a cracked voice that droned on and on about the glories of St. Petersburg under Empress Elizabeth. I watched the Russian folk dances Orlov had organized as entertainment, applauding politely when the dancers in their colorful native costumes finished their turn. More refreshments were brought, marvelous ices, chilled fruit and cheeses, and there was more dancing, more talk, and it was well after one o’clock when a few people finally began to leave. I told Orlov I had had a wonderful time and, pleading a mild headache, gratefully went upstairs.

  Only a few candles were burning in the hallway, and it was dim, thick shadows flickering over the walls. I could hear the music playing as I walked to my room, for many of the guests were staying for the breakfast that would be served at five o’clock and there would be dancing all night long. As I passed, I noticed that Lucie’s door was closed. She had the right idea, I thought, and I wished that I had had the good sense to come on up three or four hours ago. I hadn’t been lying to Orlov about the headache. My temples were throbbing as I stepped into my bedroom and I was bone weary from all the dancing, the smiling, the strain; yet, tired as I was, I felt overstimulated as well and knew it was not going to be easy to get to sleep.

  Removing the earrings and necklace, I placed them on the dressing table and sat down to brush my hair. What an evening, I mused, shaking out the long ringlets. The conversation with Sir Harry had been most interesting. He certainly hadn’t minced words about the unsuitability of my going to Russia, though the reasons he had given were not my own. I was no stranger to hardship and discomfort, far from it, and the trek to Russia couldn’t possibly be as harrowing as those I had made along the Natchez Trace with Jeff Rawlins and up the Gulf Coast with Jeremy and Em. Russia might be a barbaric country, but it could scarcely be more barbaric than parts of America I had known. No, those weren’t the reasons why I intended to turn Orlov down.

  I put the brush down and lifted my hair up in back, letting it fall in a rich tumble of natural waves. I was very grateful to Sir Harry for offering to help me find employment. I was eager to start working, eager to start earning the money that would take me to Texas and Em. I had delayed too long already, enfolded snugly in the luxury of these past two weeks. I would miss Lucie, for I was genuinely fond of her. She had a touching quality that moved me deeply, and I felt strangely maternal and protective toward her, though I was not yet ten years her senior. I would miss Orlov, too. I had to admit that. His warmth and good humor, his thoughtfulness and courtesy had made a very favorable impression, and I liked him a great deal, even though I knew there was another side to the coin and that he was undoubtedly amoral and could probably be utterly ruthless as well.

  Not that I believed Dashkova. She might well be the most intellectual woman in Europe, but so far as Orlov was concerned her venomous tirade had given every indication of a woman scorned. She had been completely wrong about Orlov and me, but then she was hardly the only one tonight to make the same assumption. Standing, I caught sight of the jewelry and, on impulse, decided to take it back to Lucie. I doubted that she would be asleep, and I was a bit concerned about her.

  Several candles had gone out, and the hallway was even dimmer than before, a long, shadowed corridor broken here and there by faint yellow-orange circles of light. Music still played, muted by distance, and there was a barely audible murmur of voices. An occasional burst of laughter rose, floated in the air, died away. The rustle of my satin skirt was unusually loud as I moved down the hall toward Lucie’s door, the jewelry in my hand. I was perhaps five yards away when the door opened and a flood of light spilled onto the carpet. I froze as a man stepped out.

  Although his back was to me, I recognized those broad shoulders, that dark blond hair immediately. John Hart turned, giving me a three-quarter’s profile, and I saw the smile on his lips, the triumphant look in his brown eyes. Swaggering, he straightened the lapels of his coat and cocked his head. The smile turned into a leering grin.

  “Enjoyed it, luv,” he said heartily. “We’ll have to do this again one day soon.”

  “It’s not likely,” Lucie said coldly.

  “No? Well, it’s been lovely. I’m mightily obliged.”

  He turned then and swaggered on down the hall with shoulders rolling, hands thrust into his coat pockets. Lucie stepped into the hall in time to see him turn and start down the staircase, and when she turned to go back into the room she saw me standing there a few yards away. Her face was expressionless. I could feel her pain. I wanted to rush to her, take her in my arms, comfort her. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

  “I—I wanted to return this jewelry,” I finally said.

  “You saw.”

  “I could hardly help seeing, Lucie.”

  “Come in,” she said.

  I followed her into the sitting room. She closed the door. The room was done in shades of pale blue and gray and ivory. A fire crackled quietly in the marble fireplace. Candles burned low in silver sconces, filling the room with a softly diffused light. Lucie looked at me with the violet-blue eyes of a lost soul. Her hair was down, streaming heavily between her shoulder blades. She had removed her jewelry. Her gown was rumpled, the gleaming buttercup yellow satin sadly creased. Her lips looked bruised. There were faint smudges under her eyes.

  “
You disapprove,” she said.

  “It’s not my place to pass judgment, Lucie.”

  “You are shocked. I can see it.”

  “Surprised, perhaps.”

  “Now you will hate me, too.”

  “Hate you? Darling, of course I don’t hate you.”

  Her lips trembled. I thought she was going to cry. She didn’t. She pulled herself together, straightened her back, assuming a cool dignity that was pitiful to see. I was still holding the jewelry. I placed it on a low table in front of the fireplace. Lucie brushed a damp golden brown wisp of hair from her temple. The hard-won composure threatened to slip at any moment.

  “He is not the first,” she told me.

  “I—didn’t think he was.”

  “There have been many. Many,” she repeated, turning to stare at the fire. “Now you know. Now you will hate me.”

  “You mustn’t use that word, Lucie. I could never hate you. I’m your friend and friends—friends try to understand.”

  “No one could understand.”

  “I think perhaps I do,” I said gently. “You want to be loved, and—this is your way of seeking that love. It’s the wrong way, I believe, and it can only lead to more pain, but—I think I do understand, darling.”

  Lucie was silent a moment, and then she moved to sink down into the pale gray velvet sofa. I sat down beside her. She didn’t look at me but gazed down at the soft sky blue rug patterned with faded pink flowers. After a time she lifted her eyes and looked into mine.

  “Since I was thirteen,” she said. “The first took me by force in a pile of hay on my—my father’s estate. None of the others have had to use force. I do not enjoy it. Please do not think that.”

  “I—I’m sure you’re aware of the dangers.”

  She smiled a deprecatory little smile that looked strangely out of place on those bruised pink lips. “There are certain precautions,” she said. Her voice was flat. “I carry a box of sheaths with me. Men never think of these things. They think only of their pleasure.”

  That did shock me. I tried hard not to show it. I idly examined the rows of sky blue and sapphire lace ruffles showing beneath the leaf brown flounces of my spreading skirt.

  “Does your uncle know?” I asked quietly.

  “I think not. I have been—how you say?—most discreet. My uncle is too involved with his own interests to pay much attention to me.”

  “I see.”

  “He is very good to me. You must not think bad of him. He sees that I have all the comforts, all the fine things, but my uncle is not able to—to look into the heart.”

  I could look into her heart, and I saw the pain, the confusion, the sadness. There were tears in her eyes now. They streamed down her cheeks in tiny, glistening rivulets. I took her hand. She bit her lower lip, trying not to sob. I pulled her gently into my arms and held her and murmured comforting words while she cried and cried and cried, and after a long while she sat up and brushed the tears from her eyes. The worldly woman was gone. In her place was a thin, frightened child.

  “It is wrong, I know,” she said.

  “Yes, Lucie, it’s wrong, because”—I hesitated, choosing my words very carefully—“because the love you have inside of you is something very precious, far too precious to squander on—on those who are unworthy to receive it. One day you will meet a fine young man who will be worthy of the gift of your love, who will love you in return. You will not want to give him a gift that is—that has been tarnished.”

  “Who could ever love me?” she asked.

  “Darling—”

  “No one ever has. They laughed at me. They mocked me. Everyone on the estate knew about me. I never belonged. I did not belong in the servants’ hall because my father was the mighty Count Alexis. I did not belong in the great house because my mother was a gypsy woman of pure Tartar blood who died giving birth to me. My father should never have taken me in. He should have left me with the gypsies. He eventually sent me off to a fine school for aristocratic young ladies. I was tall and skinny and had slanting eyes. The girls there all knew. They shunned me. The teachers disliked me. They resented having the bastard child of a gypsy woman in their midst, even if her father was a count.”

  Lucie fell silent, remembering. The fire crackled, the log a glowing pink now, beginning to flake away. Candles spluttered. I looked at the girl sitting beside me, and I was beginning to understand so much. How desperately she needed a friend, someone to help heal her wounds. She finally looked up at me, her tear-stained cheeks wan.

  “Until my uncle took pity on me and made me his traveling companion, I had nothing, no one. You are the only friend I have ever had, and now—” She hesitated. A tear spilled over her lashes, slid slowly down her cheek. She wasn’t even aware of it. “Now I will lose you, too.”

  I couldn’t turn my back on her. I knew that already. The child needed me, and I realized that helping her would help me forget my own pain. I didn’t want to go to Russia, but my decision had finally been made. I couldn’t accept charity from Count Orlov, but I could conscientiously accept a salary. By agreeing to accompany them as Lucie’s companion and to remain in Russia for three more months I would ultimately get to America much sooner.

  “I know that my uncle asked you to come to Russia with us,” Lucie said. “I know that you haven’t given him an answer yet.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Russia is very far away and—and I can understand why you wouldn’t want to come. It is asking too much.”

  Lucie stood up. Wan, wounded, she brushed heavy golden brown waves from her temples and smoothed down the rumpled satin skirt. Moving over to one of the windows, she held the curtain back and gazed out at the night for a long while, and when she turned back around to look at me her face was carefully composed.

  “I will be all right, Marietta.”

  “I’m sure you will, darling.”

  “This—this student, he was the first since I met you. I was feeling sad, and—and I was pitying myself because soon I would be leaving and never see you again, and—”

  “I understand, Lucie.”

  One of the candles spluttered, went out. Pale golden shadows leaped nimbly over the walls. We could hear the music playing downstairs, the sound barely audible through the closed door. Lucie looked at me, her violet-blue eyes dark and defeated, inexpressibly sad.

  “I am sorry this has happened,” she said.

  “But it’s brought us closer together, and—and that’s good, darling. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the months to come.”

  She looked startled. “Does—does that mean—”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence. She was on the verge of tears again, her composure crumbling. I stood up and smiled and crossed the room, taking both of her hands in mine.

  “It means I’m coming to Russia with you,” I told her. “It will be exciting. It—it will be an adventure, and God knows I can use one.”

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter Eight

  I had seen snow before, of course, but never anything like this. It was a solid, shifting, swirling mass of blinding whiteness that came plummeting from a sky as black as night though it was not yet four o’clock in the afternoon. Huge flakes pelted and pounded the window through which I gazed, and the window itself had a glittering coat of rime, the icy turfs forming intricate patterns on the glass. I could see nothing but snow, snow spiraling in the air, snow forming fantastic mounds on the side of the road. How could the horses possibly move through this fury of snow, I wondered, yet the bells jangled merrily and hooves clopped noisily on the icy road and the broad runners of the troika glided smoothly over the hard, glassy surface.

  “You mustn’t stare at it too long,” Lucie said in English. “It can cause blindness.”

  “I’m not surprised. It—it has a bizarre kind of beauty, doesn’t it?”

  “It can be lovely, particularly in the moonlight when everything is silver and blue. Shall we speak Russian?”


  I let the heavy velvet curtain fall back into place and settled against the cushions, sighing.

  “I’d rather not. I don’t think I could concentrate on the words, much less the pronunciation.”

  “Your pronunciation is a bit eccentric,” she informed me, “but your command of the language is already superb.”

  “Not nearly as good as your command of English. Your French has improved, too. You have a wonderful gift for languages, Lucie. It’s a pity you never developed it before.”

  “It has been interesting—learning all this, teaching you my own language. It helps to pass the time.”

  “And we’ve had lots of time to pass,” I added.

  Lucie smiled, pulling the enormous sable lap robe closer about her, looking’ at me with a fresh young face framed by the dark golden brown sable hood covering her head. I wore a hooded ermine cloak and had my own lap robe, silver-gray mink, as large as a blanket. A silver brazier filled with hot coals rested at my feet, spreading warmth up my legs, and though I wore long kidskin gloves, I still placed my hands inside the large white ermine muff with glossy black tails trimming the sides. Despite all these comforts, it was still icy cold, and our breaths caused condensation in the air when we spoke.

  “A cup of hot tea?” Lucie inquired.

  “It might help,” I replied. “Let me pour it.”

  “No, no,” she protested. “Keep your hands inside the muff. Warm yourself for a while.”

  She opened the gilded, built-in cabinet and took out the tall silver container and poured hot, sweet tea into two delicate rose pink cups with silver handles. I took mine, sighing again, and sipped it gratefully, feeling warmer at once. Although I knew the container was lined with a special metal, I was still amazed the tea could be so hot. Lucie asked if I would like some chocolates, a piece of almond cake, perhaps some goat cheese or cold roasted duck. I shook my head. Settling back against the tufted violet and blue velvet cushions, she smiled again, looking all of fifteen, looking wonderfully content as the bells jangled and the enormous troika sped along with scarcely a jolt.