“I’m tired, Gregory. I’m going up to my room.”
“I plan to use you, yes. Is not a major crime. Is not gentlemanly of me to mention it, but you use me, too, in a different way. Me, I am not consumed with fury when I discover it.”
You’re right, I thought, I’m no better than you are, and I have no one to blame but myself for this whole wretched mess. I should have listened to Sir Harry. I should never have come to Russia, but it’s a little late now to cry over milk spilled a long time ago. I looked at the dazzlingly handsome, thoroughly unscrupulous man who stood across from me in his splendid attire, and I could no longer even be angry with him. I left the room, moving wearily toward the sweeping marble staircase.
Orlov followed me. He touched my arm. I turned.
“Now that we have placed these cards down on the table, maybe we can discuss this like the sensible adults.”
“I’m afraid I don’t feel very sensible at the moment.”
“You first agree to stay in St. Petersburg for three months as my niece’s companion. I see now that you no longer wish to do this, and I understand it. I am an honorable man. I will give you the salary you have earned, and I will put you on a ship that will eventually take you to America.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
I placed my hand on the cool marble banister, ready to go on up. Orlov put his hand on top of mine, gently restraining me.
“I ask that you consider a new proposition. I ask that you agree to stay for one month only.”
“And pretend to be your mistress,” I said.
He nodded. “I ask that you continue to appear with me in public and act as hostess at the grand receptions I plan to give. You will wear the gowns I have had specially made for you—the gowns you refused to accept when I give them to you last week—and you will wear the jewels as well and pretend to be very happy in my company.”
“I think not, Gregory.”
“For this I will pay you, at the end of one month, the equivalent of one hundred thousand English pounds. This is a very large amount of money, Marietta. With it you can go back to this Texas you speak of a rich woman. With it you could probably buy this place.”
“I probably could,” I said dryly.
“You may also keep the gowns and the jewels,” he added.
“How generous.”
“For this I ask only that you play a role like one of the actresses Lucie admires. For one month only. Is this so difficult to do? It—uh—it will merely be a role. In public you are my gracious, elegant mistress. In private we are just the—how you say?—just the business associates. I do not come to your bedroom unless I am invited.”
I made no reply. Orlov removed his hand from mine and stepped back and smiled a winning smile.
“You will consider this?” he asked.
“I’ll consider it,” I replied.
He looked relieved. “I give my first reception tonight. I send out the special invitations last week. Everyone accepts. They are most eager to see Orlov again and meet the mysterious Englishwoman with the brilliant blue eyes and flaming red hair.”
I imagine they are, I thought.
“My guests arrive at ten for the late supper and dancing, and I hope you will be downstairs to greet them with me.”
I left him standing at the foot of the stairs and ascended the curving marble staircase and walked down a long corridor and stepped into the lovely, airy sitting room with its pale gold and white walls and golden brown parquet floor partially covered with a luxurious beige rug patterned with tan and gold and pinkish brown floral designs. Sunlight splashed in through windows that looked out over the back gardens, the radiant rays bathing the magnificent furnishings, the exquisite objets d’art tastefully scattered about. A fire burned cozily in the white marble fireplace, but the room was still a bit chilly. The Marble Palace might be one of the architectural wonders of St. Petersburg, but it was almost impossible to heat.
Passing through the equally elaborate bedroom, I stepped into the adjoining dressing room. One wall was completely covered by an immense yet delicate white wardrobe with gilt doors that folded back like a screen. It contained all my clothing as well as half a dozen glorious new gowns that had been made for me by Catherine’s own dressmaker. How clever he had been, I thought. One of my simple muslin frocks had been “borrowed” in London without my knowledge and shipped off to Russia in a diplomatic pouch along with details of my coloring and specific instructions about the kind of gowns to be created. All during the time we were traveling across Russia a fleet of seamstresses had been working, creating gowns as sumptuous as any Catherine herself owned.
I hadn’t worn any of them, of course. I had refused to accept them, yet they hung in the wardrobe nevertheless, putting the gowns Lucille had made to shame. Even in London, months ago, he had been so sure of himself and of me that he had ordered the gowns, spending a small fortune on them. How could I ever have been taken in? And so easily? I had played right into his ever so capable hands, from that very first evening at The Wayfarer right up to that passion-filled night in Du Barry’s bed. What a fool I had been. What a monumental fool! Sitting at the dressing table, I picked up the gold-handled brush and began to brush my hair with vigorous, angry strokes, angrier with myself than with Orlov.
How could I have been such a poor judge of character? I fancied I knew something about men, and, to be fair, I had never had any illusions about Orlov, yet that warmth, that charm, that incredible physical allure had blinded me all the same. I winced as a particularly vigorous stroke tugged painfully at the roots of my hair. You were in a very vulnerable state, I told myself. You were distressed and distraught over Jeremy Bond, easy prey for a man like Orlov, but that’s still no excuse. At least you didn’t fall in love with the bastard. At least you had that much sense. I put the brush down and glared at my reflection in the glass. Well, luv, you’ve gotten yourself into a fine mess this time. So what are you going to do about it?
I was in the sitting room some time later when the door opened and Lucie came in, looking sulky and depressed and thoroughly out of sorts. She wore a lovely pale blue silk frock striped with violet, and her hair spilled loosely down her shoulders in a mass of unruly waves. I was standing in front of one of the windows. She flopped down on the sofa, as undignified as any girl her age when in a histrionic pout.
“Did you enjoy your shopping trip?” I asked.
“It was a crashing bore! There’s not anything left in St. Petersburg I care to buy.”
“The shopkeepers will be crushed. You’ve been keeping them all solvent ever since we arrived.”
“Must you be bitchy today?”
“I happen to be in an extremely bitchy mood.”
“Six days!” she exclaimed, far too absorbed in her own mood to inquire about the reasons for mine. “Six whole days without a single word from him, and I’ve only seen him twice since we got here. He’s found someone else. I know he has.”
“Perhaps he has,” I said.
“Marietta! Do you really believe that?”
“Of course not.”
“You just wanted to taunt me!”
“I’m sure there are a dozen reasons why Bryan hasn’t come to see you, Lucie. He’s probably extremely busy. He has to prepare that report for his father, and—”
“He’s already finished it,” she interrupted. “He told me about it the last time I saw him. His father was delighted. So was the ambassador. The report was amazingly thorough and provides invaluable information. The ambassador said that if he had the authority he’d give Bryan a medal.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“He was probably lying through his teeth about the medal!” she snapped. “Bryan, I mean. Not the ambassador. He’s the most arrogant, conceited, infuriating creature I’ve ever met and I don’t know why I even care, but—Oh, Marietta, what am I going to do?”
The sophistication and world-weary poise she had once affected were entirely gone now, and she was
as wretched and confused as any young woman in love. She hated Bryan Lloyd, she wailed miserably, absolutely hated him, and if he didn’t want to see her she certainly didn’t want to see him and it was just as well because he was impossible, impossible, and she was much too mature for him anyway, she was a grown-up, a woman of experience, and he was a callow youth.
I listened to her wail, but I was too concerned with my own dilemma to pay her much mind. After a while her words became mere noise and I gazed at the fire as though in a trance, hardly aware she was in the same room. When I finally became aware of the silence, I looked up to find Lucie studying me with concerned eyes.
“I—I’m sorry,” I said. “What were you saying?”
“I haven’t said anything for the past five minutes,” Lucie informed me. “Something is bothering you, Marietta. You—you look peculiar. Here I’ve been rattling on like a despicable brat and you—you’re worried about something.”
“I—” I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell her.
“I’m going to pour you some brandy,” she said, getting up from the sofa. “I don’t like the way you look.”
“I don’t want any brandy. Brandy isn’t going to help.”
“What is it, Marietta. What’s happened?”
“I—I had a long talk with your uncle this afternoon.”
Lucie looked worried now, seriously worried, her violet-blue eyes grave as she took my hand and led me over to the sofa. I sat down and she sat beside me and I looked at her, knowing I couldn’t spare her or myself, knowing I must be entirely frank. Slowly, hesitantly, I told her all that had been said this afternoon, all that I had learned, and Lucie toyed with a handful of silk skirt, tugging at the material, crumpling it up nervously, and when I was finally finished she looked down at her lap, her lip trembling.
“I—I didn’t know, Marietta. I swear I didn’t. I thought—I actually believed it was—it was because of me he wanted you to come. I knew he found you attractive, of course, what—what man wouldn’t? I knew you slept together at Count Rostopchin’s, but I had no idea he planned to—”
Lucie cut herself short and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. I was surprised to see that the sun had already gone down. The room was growing dark. I got up and began to light the candles that stood in the beautifully wrought wall sconces. Lucie brushed her skirt. Her expression was cool and controlled when I finished with the candles, but her eyes were inexpressibly sad.
“He’s been obsessed with Catherine ever since she sent him away,” she told me. “All this time he’s been trying to find some way to win her favor back. It’s—it’s the only thing he can think about. It’s ruined his life. I should have known. When he insisted you come with us I should have known it—it wasn’t for my sake.”
“Lucie—”
I sat down beside her and took her hand. Lucie gave me a bitter smile.
“He used you. He uses everybody. I understand how you feel. I understand why you—you feel you must leave. I’ll be—sorry, of course, but I understand.”
“I’m very fond of you, Lucie.”
“I know. You—you’ve been wonderful, Marietta. The only friend I’ve ever had. I’ll be sad to see you go, particularly since—since Bryan has lost interest in me, but I—I’ll get along somehow. Somehow I always manage to get along.”
“Damn!” I said.
I let go of her hand and stood up abruptly. Lucie looked at me, dismayed. I frowned and started out of the room.
“Where—where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going to find a servant and order a bath. Your uncle is going to hold a grand reception tonight and the guests will be arriving in less than three hours.”
Lucie climbed slowly to her feet, and the hope that filled her eyes was heartbreaking to behold.
“You—you mean—”
“I’m going to use my head,” I told her. “He’s offered me a bloody fortune to play this little charade, and I’d be an idiot to turn him down. I’ve traveled halfway across the world, and—by God—I might just as well make it worth my while!”
Chapter Sixteen
Count Orlov was delighted that I had finally decided to spend some of his money. When I told him that I needed the right jewelry to go with the gown I intended to wear to the theater Tuesday night, he insisted I go to Maitlev’s and buy anything I wanted. Maitlev’s was on the Nevsky Prospekt, the richest, most exclusive jeweler in St. Petersburg. Catherine herself frequently bought jewelry there, and all of her court patronized it. Any special purchase made there was soon gossiped about in the marble corridors of the Winter Palace, and Orlov wanted people to know his “mistress” shopped there.
“Buy the necklace, the earrings, the bracelets,” he told me. “Diamonds, emeralds—anything you want. Orlov does not care what it costs.”
He insisted I take his carriage, and that presented a problem, but I had a private talk with Vanya and found a solution quickly enough. I was slightly nervous as I came downstairs in my sky blue silk gown and a hooded white ermine cloak. Instinct told me that if Orlov knew what I was planning he would be furious, would forbid me to go, and I prayed I could carry it through without his knowing. Having to take the Orlov carriage complicated matters—he wanted me to be seen, of course, and the carriage was highly visible—for there would not only be the driver and the footman to contend with but six outriders as well.
My heart sank when I saw Vladimir waiting for me in the grand hall, and I muttered an expletive I rarely used. He would be one of the outriders, I thought. Orlov would naturally send his most trusted guard to accompany his mistress. Wearing the familiar silver-trimmed dark blue livery, the tall fur cap and the short, heavy blue cape trimmed with the same sleek black fur, Vladimir scowled, no happier about his assignment than I was. During the intervening weeks, we had become no friendlier than we had been when he brought the red fox fur to me at the village. The hostility still burned in his eyes as he nodded curtly and led me outside.
The carriage stood waiting on the drive, gleaming like an enormous jewel in the early afternoon sunlight. The white laquer exterior was overlaid with ornate silver filigree, and the blue lacquer doors, framed in silver, bore the Orlov crest in silver and precious gems. The lacquer roof was domed, surmounted by a silver crown, and the vehicle was pulled by six white horses in silver harness, dark blue plumes waving atop their heads. No one would miss us as we drove through the streets of St. Petersburg, as Orlov intended.
Vladimir opened the door for me. I climbed inside and sank back against the dark blue velvet upholstery. I looked out the windows draped with cloth-of-silver curtains, watching the Marble Palace disappear as we drove through the park and turned onto the street.
I had been playing my role for eight days now, playing it to the hilt. Cool, composed, gorgeously gowned, I had greeted Orlov’s aristocratic guests that first night with just the right amount of reserve, friendly but not forthcoming. I was a bit aloof with the women, slightly warmer toward the men, flaming their curiosity about me with subtle hints about a colorful past which, in truth, was far more colorful than anything they could imagine. Gregory did not overplay his own role. His pride in me was obvious, and he cast frequent fond looks at me throughout the evening, but he didn’t stroke my arm or embrace me. When, toward dawn, the guests began to depart, I linked my arm in his and told them goodbye with a gracious smile.
We had been very visible, going to the theater, to the opera, taking long drives together, entertaining select titled guests at intimate soirées. I was the talk of St. Petersburg, I knew, and speculation about me was the favorite pastime of the gossips. I was a celebrated courtesan, Orlov merely the latest in a long line of fabulously wealthy lovers. I was the runaway wife of an English nobleman, whom I had disgraced with my scandalous affairs. I was a bluestocking from Bath, a seamstress from London, an Englishwoman who had been brought up in Paris and slept with half the men in the court of Louis XV, including the King. I was mysterious, intrig
uing, a delicious new subject for the gossips to prattle about, and Orlov was delighted. Most of that gossip had surely reached the ears of the Empress, and she was bound to be as curious as everyone else. She would summon us to court before long. Gregory was certain she would. She couldn’t resist.
I wasn’t at all concerned about Catherine, but I was extremely concerned about Lucie. She had taken to staying in her room these past days, wan, listless, reading book after book, hardly touching the food brought to her. A full two weeks had passed now without word from Bryan, and the girl was sinking into a bleak depression, convinced it was all her fault, that she was unworthy of him, that she was a flawed creature no man would ever want. I tried to talk her out of such ridiculous notions, tried to reason with her, but she was Russian, she was very much in love with a man who had apparently lost all interest in her, and no amount of reasoning could cut through those clouds.
Damn Bryan Lloyd, I thought. Damn all men, for that matter. The young scoundrel could at least have written a note explaining his absence. I was not at all convinced he had lost interest in Lucie. In fact, I was almost certain he was as much in love as she was, and I was determined to find out why he hadn’t come to the Marble Palace for two weeks.
The carriage bowled down the glittering Nevsky Prospekt, and people turned to stare at the spectacular sight. Extreme visibility was definitely a handicap this afternoon. Gregory mustn’t find out, and I only hoped my carefully planned subterfuge would work. Vladimir was suspicious of me already. Would he insist on following me into Maitlev’s? I looked out at the exclusive, elegant shops, and my nervousness returned. The carriage came to a stop. I braced myself as Vladimir opened the door. I couldn’t let him see my nervousness. Assuming my coolest, most haughty manner, I took the hand he extended and climbed out, my blue silk skirt swaying.
“I may be quite some time,” I informed him. “Come back for me in—oh, an hour and a half.”
When Love Commands Page 31
