“It seems his presence is required at the Winter Palace for—for some kind of military talks. He sent word to me as soon as he arrived, but his note wasn’t very specific. That was three days ago. I—I haven’t heard from him since.”
“This is quite understandable,” Vanya told me. “He plays a very important part in capturing Pugachev. It is natural the government would wish to confer with him. He will come to you as soon as he can. Of this I am certain.”
“I suppose you’re right. It’s just—just been difficult. I’m not terribly good at waiting.”
“It will all turn out well,” he said. His voice was gentle and reassuring. “Your man will come to you and you will leave Russia and go to this land you are eager to see again. Vanya will think of you often when he is in Moscow, serving Count Solveytchik. I have something for you.”
He opened the saddle bag and pulled out a pair of beige leather boots lined with soft beige fur, almost identical to the pair he had “loaned” me months ago on the road to St. Petersburg. Brusquely, he handed them to me.
“I bring you these. I know you lose the other pair. You wear them in Texas sometime and think of Vanya.”
“I—oh, Vanya, I think I may cry.”
“You wear the boots. You think of Vanya back in Russia. If you wish, you might one day write a letter to let me know how you are. You could send it care of Count Solveytchik in Moscow. He would see that I get it.”
“I will, Vanya. I promise.”
“I am almost glad I have the small, dainty feet,” he said gruffly. “They bring us together. I must go now. I must pack and make preparations to leave. Be happy, Marietta.”
He scowled and looked very fierce, and then he folded me to him in a tight, rib-cracking hug, released me, and swung nimbly up into the saddle. Natasha whinnied again. I gave her a final pat and fought back the tears as the gentle cossack who had befriended me rode smartly out of the courtyard. Holding the beautiful boots, I let the tears trickle down my cheeks, and several minutes went by before I was composed enough to go back inside.
Lady Clark, Lady Jamison, Mrs. Brown and two other highly respectable wives were talking in the large reception hall with its comfortable furniture, flowered rugs and profusion of potted plants. They fell silent as I moved past on my way to the staircase, all of them staring, mentally recoiling at having such a notorious creature in their midst. I heard a buzz of malicious whispering as I started up the staircase, but I paid it no mind. Grateful for the service I had done his son, Sir Reginald had been kindness itself to me, as had the Ambassador, and I had been given the small but comfortable rooms Bryan had occupied when he was staying at the embassy.
Climbing the second flight of stairs that led up to the third floor, I went down the hall and into my sitting room, closing the door behind me. The pale blue wallpaper was faded, the pink and blue rugs were shabby, and the small white marble fireplace was streaked gray with soot, but sunlight slanted through the windows and the room had a pleasant atmosphere. I set the boots down, stepping over to the window to gaze out at the city. Past rooftops, past trees, I could see the Winter Palace in the distance, majestically silhouetted against the light blue sky. How long would he be there? Couldn’t he have stolen time from his important conferences to come see me just once? Were they keeping him occupied all night as well? I had been distraught, angry, resentful, tearful, sad, going through a whole bevy of conflicting emotions when I received his message, and now I felt utterly weary.
The weeks of waiting for word had been sheer hell. Not knowing whether he was alive or dead, not knowing what was happening had been a perpetual torment, followed by incredible relief when word finally arrived that Jeremy was alive, that Pugachev had been captured, the peasants put to rout, the rebellion finally, completely crushed. Pugachev had indeed been carried to Moscow in a steel cage, and, in a generous display of clemency, Catherine had ordered that he be mercifully executed at once without undergoing any of the horrible tortures her predecessors would have made him endure. It was over now … and I was still alone.
Sighing heavily, I turned away from the window and sat down in the shabby, overstuffed blue chair and tried to read the novel one of the friendlier embassy wives had loaned me. The Vicar of Wakefield was delightful and Oliver Goldsmith a most engaging writer, but I found it impossible to concentrate this afternoon. Setting the book aside, I watched dust motes whirl lazily in the bars of sunlight, watched the pools of light spreading across the floor, and half an hour later I heard the footsteps pounding in the hall. The door flew open, banging back against the wall. I leaped up with a start. Jeremy grinned at me and strode into the room, exuding energy and robust vitality that seemed to crackle in the air about him.
He was wearing white leather boots, snug white breeches and a form, fitting white tunic festooned with gold braid, gold epaulettes shimmering at his shoulders. He looked marvelously, outrageously handsome in the uniform which I recognized as that of Catherine’s most renowned regiment. A long sabre dangled at his side, its scabbard of beaten gold. Grinning broadly, he turned around slowly so that I might fully appreciate his splendor.
“What do you think?” he inquired.
“I think it’s about time!” I snapped. “Three whole days and not a single word. I’ve been worried sick!”
“The uniform, Marietta. What do you think of it? I’m a captain! Catherine wanted to make me a count, too, but I told her I wouldn’t have much use for the title in Texas.”
“Where have you been all this time?”
“At the palace. Very important conferences. Had to tell ’em everything I knew, had to sit through a lot of dreary claptrap, hold boring powwows with a lot of prissy generals. Seems I’m a hero. Seems my ideas on military defenses and such mean a lot. Thought I’d never get away. Actually, I have to go back right away.”
“Go back!”
“Just for three or four hours, love, then I’ll come back and get you. I’m to receive a medal tonight. There’s to be a reception at the palace, and Catherine insisted I bring you.”
“Catherine?”
“The Empress is very grateful to you. The whole country’s grateful to you. If you hadn’t talked to Pugachev and gotten that information from him, he might be sitting on the throne this very minute.”
“A reception? At the Winter Palace? I couldn’t possibly go.”
“You’ve got to, love.”
“In this?” I inquired, indicating my simple blue frock. “This happens to be the nicest thing I bought. It’s hardly suitable for a reception at the Winter Palace.”
“Catherine thought about that,” he told me.
“Catherine?”
He was bandying that name about a bit too freely to suit me.
“I told her you’d lost all your clothes, and she ordered her dressmaker to make something for you—woman’s been driving her poor staff crazy for the past two days, I understand, but the gown’s finished. Should be delivered any minute now.”
“Wonderful,” I said dryly.
“She’s also sending over a hairdresser, some Frenchman.”
“Not Monsieur André?”
“Believe that was the name.”
“Oh God,” I groaned.
“I must say, love—you’re not very enthusiastic about all this.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Don’t you want to see me receive my medal?”
“I don’t give a damn about your medal! I don’t see you for almost a month and I sit here in this room wringing my hands, worrying myself sick, wondering if you’re dead or alive and going through hell and then you come back and send me a cryptic note and three more days go by and I start wringing my hands again and—”
“There’s no need to get excited, Marietta.”
“—and then you come swaggering in wearing that utterly preposterous uniform and start babbling about being the Savior of Russia and—and it’s “Catherine this” and “Catherine that” and you expect me to—to s
tart leaping about like a trained poodle and get ready for a grand reception at the Winter Palace and wear a gown I haven’t laid eyes on and—you can go straight to hell, Mister Bond, and you can go to your bloody reception alone!”
“Feel better now?” he asked casually.
“I certainly do!”
“You wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said.
“You’re damned right I wouldn’t.”
“We’re leaving Russia first thing tomorrow morning,” he told me. “Ship’s sailing at dawn, in fact. All the arrangements have been made. There won’t be time to come back here after the reception, so you’ll have to pack and have everything ready—a servant will stop by the embassy and pick up our trunks, deliver them to the ship.”
“Anything else?” I inquired.
“Guess that’s about it, love. Oh yes—” He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering something. “Damn. I must have left ’em in the carriage. Be right back.”
He dashed out of the room and I tapped my foot impatiently, and a few minutes later he came tearing back in with cheeks flushed pink and vivid blue eyes flashing and rich chestnut wave spilling untidily over his brow. He grinned at me and held out a long, large jeweler’s box covered in midnight blue velvet, a silver clasp fastening it shut.
“Your medal,” he said. “Actually, it’s not a medal, but Catherine felt you deserved a reward for the part you played in Pugachev’s capture and so she had a chap named Maitlev trot some of his wares over to the palace and she selected a few trinkets she thought you’d fancy.”
“But I couldn’t—”
“Open the bloody box, Marietta.”
I opened the box. The blaze of diamonds nestling on dark blue velvet was blinding. There was a magnificent necklace with tiers of diamond pendants suspending from looped diamond strands, a pair of diamond pendant earrings, eighteen silver hairpins studded with immense diamonds. The gems shimmered with a thousand brilliant fires, vibrantly aglow. I stared at them, amazed, and then I closed the box and set it aside.
“You have to accept them,” Jeremy told me. “You earned them, Marietta, and to refuse them would be a personal insult to the Empress, an insult to all Russia.”
“I don’t intend to insult anyone,” I told him. “I may often act a fool, but I’m not a complete idiot.”
Jeremy grinned, relieved, then glanced at the clock, said he had to dash, said he’d pick me up at eight and made a hasty departure, the sabre clattering as he darted out. I frowned and stepped back over to the window and a few moments later saw him cross the courtyard and climb into a sumptuous white carriage trimmed with gold, a gold Imperial Eagle on the door. The driver snapped the reins and the four white horses trotted through the gates, long white ostrich plumes waving from the gold bands about their heads. It seemed Jeremy had done quite well for himself these past three days, I mused, and then I realized the bastard hadn’t even kissed me. It was a good thing we were leaving in the morning, lest all this attention turn his head completely.
Sighing, I went into the bedroom and began to pack, using the trunk I had purchased when I returned to St. Petersburg. I carefully folded my gray mink cloak—I had taken it to a furrier on the Nevsky Prospekt who had cleaned it and restored it to its former glory. The garnet velvet gown had been cleaned and mended as well. I put it in beside the cloak and then put in the clothes I had recently bought and the boots Vanya had given me. The improvised money belt with its treasure of gold coins was already safely tucked away in a tiny secret compartment.
I had scarcely finished packing when two footmen in royal livery arrived laden with elegant cream and gold boxes containing my gown, petticoat, stockings, and shoes. I had them place the boxes on the bed, thanked them politely and, when they had gone, went to make arrangements for a bath. I bathed leisurely, using an entire bar of soap, washed my hair thoroughly and toweled it dry. I was at my dressing table, wearing the exquisite pale champagne petticoat with its gauzy layers of skirt, when Monsieur André arrived with brushes, combs, tongs, pots, jars, pins, and an inexhaustible fund of gossip with which he regaled me during the next hour as he worked with my hair. I was ready to scream when he finally stepped back, waved his hands dramatically and told me he had surpassed himself.
He had indeed worked wonders, arranging the coppery red waves in a beautifully sculpted pile atop my head, leaving a few long, full ringlets to dangle between my shoulder blades. He had affixed all eighteen of the new hairpins, and eighteen diamonds glittered, scattered at random about the coiffure with a stunning effect. Monsieur André had brought cosmetics as well, and he fussed and fidgeted as I applied my usual subtle makeup. Disappointed I wouldn’t let him use any of the beauty marks or heavy powder on my face, he insisted on selecting my perfume himself. I was satisfied with the delicate yet exotic teak and tiger lily fragrance he chose and, as a reward, permitted him to help me into the gown.
Although it was created in just two days, the gown was as magnificent as any of those Orlov had ordered for me, perhaps even finer. Made of pale, creamy champagne brocade embroidered with tiny bronze and gold flowers, it had narrow, off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves and a low-cut bodice that accentuated my breasts and slender waist. The extremely full skirt parted in two puffed scallop panels in front to reveal an underskirt of row upon row of cream lace ruffles. The fit was perfect, the brocade rich and luxuriant, the lace exquisite. Monsieur André went into raptures of delight, and I thought he might actually expire when I put on the diamond earrings and the fabulous diamond necklace.
“Oh, to be there tonight!” he cried. “To see them react when you enter the room! The women will all want to kill you, of course, and their husbands and lovers will want to bed you then and there.”
“It could be a very interesting evening,” I said.
“Never, never have I seen anything more gorgeous! My coiffure is a masterpiece, and so is the gown. You could use a spot more makeup—a black satin beauty mark on one of those glorious high cheekbones would be perfection. Even without it you’re a veritable vision!”
“Thank you, Monsieur André.”
He lifted the last garment out of its box, an elegant cloak of cream brocade bordered and lined with champagne-colored mink. Draping it carefully around my shoulders, fastening it, Monsieur André told me it was the crowning touch—that pale mink, that rich cream brocade, he had never seen a finer cloak. Impatient but polite, I thanked him for his help, and he reluctantly gathered up his paraphernalia and left, blowing me a kiss as he went out the door. I looked at myself in the mirror and admitted that I did indeed look rather nice, and then I stepped into the sitting room to wait for Jeremy, eager to see his reaction to my splendor.
There was none.
“You all packed?” he inquired when he arrived a short while later.
“My trunk is in the bedroom,” I replied, fuming.
“A footman will be here to collect it in a couple of hours.”
“Fine,” I said frostily.
“By the way,” he said, “you look absolutely stunning.”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I noticed,” he said, grinning. “Look, I have a suggestion. Why don’t we forget about this bloody reception? Why don’t I just remove those stupendously beautiful clothes you’re wearing and make mad, passionate love to you for the next eight hours?”
“It’s an idea,” I said. “What about your medal?”
“Who needs it?”
He knew how to rile me, the rogue, and he loved to tease, and I shook my head, amused, exasperated, elated. Jeremy grinned and gazed at me and when I saw the bulge in his snug white breeches I suspected that his suggestion hadn’t been made entirely in jest. I smiled and touched his lean cheek and told him the Empress would be terribly distressed if we didn’t show up and he said “Who cares?” and I said self-control was an admirable trait and he sighed and said I was no damn fun and I felt absolutely glorious.
He led me downstairs, looking resplendent him
self in his uniform and the short white military cape lined with cloth of gold. Lady Clark, Lady Jamison, Mrs. Brown and the others were gathered in the reception hall, buzzing about the royal carriage at the door and the dashingly handsome man who had gone upstairs a few minutes earlier. When they saw the same man come back down with me on his arm, they fell silent, gaping unashamedly at my gown, my cloak, the dazzling array of diamonds. I longed to emulate Monsieur André and blow them a kiss, but dignity prevailed and I gave them a cool nod instead, savoring my triumph as Jeremy led me out to the carriage.
It was a lovely night, the sky a deep, velvety black spangled with stars that seemed to twinkle on and off. St. Petersburg was bathed in moonlight as we drove toward the palace, all soft silver and shadow, and the beauty of the city had never been more apparent. Jeremy sat across from me, my skirts much too wide to enable him to sit beside me, and in the pale light coming through the windows I saw his lazy smile and the love in his eyes and felt his pride, his joy. What had I done to deserve a man like this? Was it really possible to be so happy?
“Grand carriage, isn’t it?” he said. “A bit more comfortable than that open sleigh we shared.”
“Considerably more comfortable.”
“By the way, love, Johanna is coming to St. Petersburg.”
“Johanna?” I was startled.
“I told the Empress about her, and Catherine’s giving her a small house, giving her a pension, and her daughter will be enrolled in a very good school here in the city.”
“That—that’s wonderful,” I said.
“Catherine’s investigating the possibility of helping all the women widowed by the rebellion. Her ministers are tearing their hair out, complaining about costs, but she pointed out that it would be considerably less expensive than the new Palace of Justice currently in the planning stage.”
“She truly does have the interest of all her people at heart.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “She’s a remarkable woman.”
“Just how well did you get to know her?” I asked, suspicious.
“Oh, we chatted a couple of times. She was present at a couple of meetings.”
When Love Commands Page 58
