by May Burnett
“Don’t be absurd,” Amanda said more curtly than she intended. “I would prefer not to discuss my husband at all, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well,” Mattie agreed. “I’d rather talk of new curtains anyway. What would you say to a very light blue-green shade? And matching wallpaper? Shall we send to town for some patterns?”
There was no escape from her companion’s zeal for home improvement. Amanda supposed it was as good a way as any to pass the time until the child was born at long last.
Chapter 12
Lucian had used his connections in the city to commandeer a two-masted schooner for his journey. Discretion seemed advisable on his delicate mission, and officially, the Anna Lucia was merely bent on commerce. Russia had reopened trade with England only the previous year, and the holds were loaded with printed cottons and porcelain. The cargo master expected a tidy profit.
For the return journey Lucian would have to find a different berth, as a trading vessel could not wait in one port for weeks or months.
As he sped across the shallow waves of the Baltic Sea, he imagined Napoleon’s great army assembling in Poland for an attack on Russia. A poorly advised undertaking, but then after two previous sojourns Lucian knew Russia rather better than Napoleon did. He even had a smattering of the language, enough to order a meal or scold a tardy waiter, though he had rarely had to use it; educated Russians were all fluent in French and German and, sometimes, English. Negotiations would be conducted in French as usual.
He reviewed his experience with Czar Alexander. Lucian had first been presented to the monarch in 1803, only two years after Alexander’s coronation. At the time, at least, he had not seemed as irrational as his late father, Czar Paul, whose morbid fear of assassination had proved all too justified. Yet Alexander, too, could be capricious and had to be handled with utmost tact. By all accounts, he had not become easier to treat with over the first decade of his rule.
The czar’s fickleness was only to be welcomed, of course, when it irritated Napoleon and ruined the precarious alliance between France and Russia concluded at Tilsit in 1807. Since then, diplomatic relations between Russia and England had been broken off. If Lucian’s mission prospered, they would be resumed sooner rather than later.
All signs were propitious: Alexander had already reopened trade with England, and Napoleon had not forgiven him. War between France and Russia was imminent, a fact of which Amanda was happily ignorant. Not that Lucian felt particular alarm for his own safety. He should be back in England before the hostilities got underway and thus escape the coming tide of blood. The Russians had every reason to welcome him, not least because he brought the latest fruits of British intelligence with him, detailed information that Alexander’s generals could compare to their own gleanings. In their aim of defeating Napoleon, their two countries had temporarily found common ground.
In St. Petersburg, Lucian would stay with his old friends, Prince and Princess Korosev, if they were in residence. There had not been time to inform them of his coming. If not, he could always hire a house of his own.
Irene Koroseva had been his mistress when he’d last seen the couple in Finland three years before. Her husband had no objection to her little pleasures; Nikolai even liked to watch her sport with partners who enjoyed that sort of thing. The princess would expect to take up where they had left off, though likely Irene would already have a couple of handsome officers in their early twenties on her string. If she offered her body to him, it might merely be for old times’ sake, and she would not mind too much when he declined.
When he declined? Lucian pulled himself up short. Why on earth would he do so? In her late thirties, Irene was still a very beautiful woman as well as an experienced and sophisticated lover. He had not enjoyed intercourse since that rushed ceremony in Northumberland, for nearly eight weeks now; he should be more randy than he felt. Ships did not offer the refined female company he preferred, and he was too fastidious and wary of contagion to seek out courtesans—whores, as Amanda would say with that little crinkle of her nose—whenever the schooner called at a port. Normally, he would have taken care of the matter in London, discreetly, but what with the hurried preparations for the mission and making provisions for Amanda, he had not found the time.
Only a few more days until they reached St. Petersburg. The harbour had been founded by Czar Peter the Great, whose name the city commemorated. These days it was becoming a showplace, an impressive achievement that most of his compatriots back home would gawp at. Even his friends in the Foreign Office were unaware how quickly Russia was developing. New and ever more imposing buildings were shooting up at a surprising pace.
Since there was currently no British Embassy, he’d have to look after himself. Just as well, perhaps, since incumbent ambassadors hated that kind of special mission on their turf. Who would next be appointed to the post? He would include recommendations about the future ambassador’s qualifications in his confidential report. In these extremely dangerous times, it was essential that they pick someone level-headed and experienced who knew Russia and Alexander. They might try to persuade him to take the job, but that was not an option. He never should have left Amanda alone.
It was ridiculous how his thoughts on any subject sooner or later circled back to his indifferent young wife. She would be happy to be free and hardly pining for him. Lucian must take care not to become too attached to the girl. There was nothing more pathetic than an older husband doting on a youthful wife.
Dammit, he was not yet forty, not an ‘older husband’ by any means. That line of thought was absurd. If he tried, with all of his experience to call upon, surely he could make Amanda fall in love with him. But was it wise? Love was a dangerously volatile emotion with unpredictable consequences, especially in the young. Far better not to attempt it. If he succeeded, he might feel obliged to live up to her naïve notions of a faithful husband. And if he failed—no, he would not even think of it. Much better to focus on Irene’s luscious way of playing with certain body parts, even if it seemed inexplicably sordid to dwell on his old lover’s tricks when he’d just been contemplating Amanda.
This near-obsession with his wife was too strange. Was absence making the heart fonder, as the saying went? And would his absence have a similar effect on Amanda, or would she forget all about the husband she had never wanted, who had merely been a convenient solution to her desperate situation?
He could not do anything about it just then and had an important mission before him. That was what he should concentrate on, exclusively, for the remainder of the tedious sea journey. The sooner he completed his assigned task, the earlier he could return to . . . um, return home.
***
It turned out the Korosevs were not in St. Petersburg. The prince had undertaken a mission to the Great Porte, and the princess was minding her husband’s vast estates in the Caucasus. Other notable families were also absent from court. Within a day, Lucian found and rented a house belonging to one of them, fully furnished and staffed. While that was convenient, since Lucian had only brought his trusted valet, he would need to be careful not to leave any sensitive papers lying around. His temporary staff were no doubt informing the Russian secret police of his every move, but he was more worried about French agents subverting them.
Having established a suitable base of operations, Lucian went to call upon a count of his acquaintance, who would discreetly let the proper authorities know of his arrival and whereabouts. To his annoyance, Count Terzeff had gone to the countryside to hunt boars. It hardly mattered, as his real target was the Russian general staff and the czar’s closest advisers and, ultimately, Alexander himself. If Terzeff was unable to serve as intermediary, he would soon find another.
This proved unnecessary in the event; he had underestimated the vigilance of the Russian secret police.
“A gentleman to see you, sir—an officer,” the major-domo of his miniature palace announced just as he was about to go out again.
“Bring
him to the library.”
Presently, a hussar major in the splendid dress uniform of the Imperial Guard made his entrance. He stood three inches taller than Lucian, who was not short by any measure. The huge young warrior introduced himself as Major Kendorov in impeccable French.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance?” Lucian asked, though he had already guessed.
“You are expected, Lord Rackington,” the major replied, “and I have been placed at your disposal during your stay in our country, as native guide and liaison, on the order of General Prince Katanis.”
That name needed no further elucidation. Katanis was closely allied to Kutuzov, the most admired general of the Russian Army. Although, wasn’t Kutuzov temporarily out of favour, one more victim of Alexander’s capriciousness? It was not easy to keep up when you had to spend so many days aboard.
Kendorov was only in his late twenties, extremely good-looking, and with a puppy-like, jolly air that invited confidence, not unlike some of the best diplomats of Lucian’s acquaintance. Such a first impression tended to be extremely misleading. He suspected that the major, too, had depths not to be guessed at from superficial acquaintance.
“That is very thoughtful of the general, but I have been to your country before and know my way around. I only need an appointment or two with the right men, the sooner the better.”
“I know,” Major Kendorov said. “As for the military part and the information we are told you carry, I shall have the honour to conduct you to General Katanis tomorrow morning at ten.”
“That is fast, and I thank you.” Lucian tried not to show his surprise at such quick progress. Of course, they would be looking forward to receiving the papers he carried, which lost in value and freshness with every day that passed. Yet, was he being played by one of the various factions within the military establishment? “What about the minister of war, M. Barclay de Tolly? Is he aware of this meeting?”
“He will be fully informed at the earliest opportunity; you have my word of honour.”
“In that case, I shall gladly pass whatever information I brought with me to the general’s own hands,” he agreed. “But that is not the whole of my mission.”
“I am not informed about the rest of your brief, my lord. I understand that the other matters you want to discuss can only be decided by his Imperial Majesty?”
“That is so.” It had been Alexander himself who had asked for him, according to the Foreign Office. With Napoleon’s Grande Armée preparing to attack even now, and part of his offer concerning weapons deliveries, it was to be hoped the Czar would not keep him dangling overlong; but you never knew with Alexander. He would casually mention the weapons on offer to Katanis and Kutuzov; they had to be as interested as anyone in obtaining additional supplies for their country’s defence and would understand that time was of the essence.
“While we shall do everything in our power to make your stay in Russia pleasant and fruitful, there is an unfortunate hitch.” Kendorov’s face was the picture of innocent candour.
“Oh? Of what nature, may I ask?” Delays and obstacles were the normal course of such missions, he reminded himself. Patience.
“His Imperial Majesty is not currently in residence. He is inspecting certain of our preparations. I tell you this in the strictest confidence; officially, he is here in his palace, but there are no public events scheduled. In reality, he has been travelling for weeks already. Monsieur Barclay de Tolly has gone with him.”
“I am glad to hear His Imperial Majesty is taking such a personal interest in your nation’s defence,” Lucian replied, cursing inwardly. “Is there no chance I may join him, perhaps meet him halfway when he turns back?”
“No, his route is secret for security reasons. Besides, I imagine the kind of negotiations you hope to undertake require the presence of his counsels and of a Foreign Office representative.”
“That is, in fact, the normal practice.” Lucian would not have minded doing without all the others, who tended to put forward unnecessary objections. The Czar was an absolute ruler and could negotiate all by himself if he wanted, but clearly he did not want to in this case. There was nothing to do but wait until his return, whenever that would be.
“Since the meeting with General Katanis is not scheduled until tomorrow, may I have the honour to invite you to dinner tonight, Lord Rackington? There is a club frequented by staff officers with a French cook I fancy you will not despise, and the vintages are excellent.”
“It sounds most inviting.” Lucian would sound out his young liaison, get to know him better, since he clearly could not get rid of him. “Is it not odd that however much we might fight Napoleon, we all welcome his country’s cuisine? And are even now speaking his language?”
“Not that odd,” Kendorov replied. “I imagine we shall still enjoy champagne and French dishes long after Bonaparte is defeated.”
Lucian could only hope that he would prove right.
Chapter 13
After three months at Racking, Amanda felt quite at home there and had firmly established her authority. She had quickly established friendly relations with all her neighbours, even the arrogant Viscount Mebberling and his wife once they had called on her. Since she outranked them, they were affable enough to her, though Mattie avoided them whenever possible.
At first it had been strange to be listened to with deference by much older persons, seated automatically in the place of honour and curtsied to by ladies twice her age. Inside, Amanda did not feel any wiser than six months before, when she had been merely Miss Prendergast, a girl of no particular importance. But Amanda Prendergast would often blurt out what she thought, while Lady Rackington maintained her dignity by thinking before she spoke, at least much of the time. If people persisted in paying heed to her pronouncements, she owed it to herself not to sound empty-headed.
The new housekeeper had taken over with hardly a ripple in the smooth running of the estate. Mrs. Struthers, as she was styled despite her unmarried state, was grateful to Amanda and gave her excellent service, not only obeying my lady’s slightest wish but also actively suggesting whatever might increase her comfort and consequence.
Muffin was perfectly accustomed to the side saddle, but so far only Mattie profited from the mare’s training. Amanda was beginning to show, and rather more so than normal, according to the midwife. Mrs. Cummings was a stout middle-aged woman whose no-nonsense manner inspired immediate confidence. Amanda applied the lotion Mrs. Cummings had prepared after an old family recipe, to keep her skin smooth as it stretched, twice per day. The midwife called every week to check that everything was progressing normally and had convinced Amanda that so far all looked well.
Amanda had thought long and hard what to tell Mattie, Mrs. Cummings, and her local acquaintances. Their good opinion was important, but more importantly, her vile uncle must on no account guess her child’s parentage and cause trouble to Lucian and herself. She told everyone that her child was due at the New Year, a full month later than was, in fact, the case. Only Mrs. Cummings knew the true date, and she had been sworn to secrecy.
The nursery had been repainted in cheerful primrose, and a bassinet and carved cradle were standing ready for Amanda’s child. She could not wait for the last months of confinement to pass. None of the pretty clothes she had ordered in London fit anymore. The ones she was wearing, loose and comfortable, were locally produced, for who of any importance would see her in them? It was acceptable to eschew unwanted visitors at such a time, and as her stomach protruded ever more annoyingly, only a few persons outside her household, such as the vicar’s wife and daughter, were admitted into Lady Rackington’s increasingly impatient presence.
Mindful of the midwife’s advice not to coddle herself, Amanda walked daily on the estate’s extensive grounds, followed by two stout footmen at a discreet distance in case she fell and needed assistance. Mattie insisted on that precaution, and Amanda grudgingly gave in when she remembered the promise Lucian had exacted
before his departure.
She often felt the child kick, especially when she was trying to sleep. Despite this nuisance her feelings about the unseen little creature were less hostile than at the time of her wedding. She fervently hoped that it would not be blond. That would remind her of its origins each time she looked at the babe and raise awkward questions in view of Lucian’s dark colouring. According to Mrs. Cummings, it might be several months after the child’s birth, sometimes a whole year, until one could tell the permanent hair colour. Even the eyes were subject to change for a time. No wonder one rarely saw pictures of new-born babes in portrait galleries.
Amanda had received one short letter from Lucian, sent from a Swedish port on the way to his destination. How was he faring in that far-off, cold country? The summer was ending, the days were shortening. Would he be caught there in the ice and snow, unable to return before the next spring?
The mild autumn days were at least intermittently sunny and pleasant. She was glad to have left the bustle of London behind. Her sister and father had written several times, but her mother had yet to relent.
One afternoon, Amanda was reading a novel in her sitting room, the last of a batch Tennant had brought her from town during his monthly visit. She always gave him a long list of commissions and enjoyed the small luxuries she could indulge in as a rich countess. She was even considering a lapdog to keep her company, but had decided to wait to see how she felt about it after the inconvenient child was born.
Mrs. Struthers knocked on her door and begged for a word. Amanda did not mind the interruption; the book had proved too melodramatic for her taste.
“My lady, a party of ladies and gentlemen has arrived. What are we to do about them?”
