by May Burnett
“In that case, call me Julia. Madame sounds so formal.”
He kissed her hand lingeringly. “Julia, then. I appreciate your permission. My own name is Lucian.”
She gave him another look that made him think of silken sheets and featherbeds, but then returned to practicality, citing her address and the time when she would expect him. By the time all was arranged, another gentleman came to fetch her for a promised dance.
Julia. It was a pretty name, appropriate for a mistress. He’d known several Julias and had fond memories of one, a Flemish courtesan . . . It was not wrong, dammit. He needed release and was used to regular, pleasant exercise with pretty women. It was what he had always done, would always do as long as he was able. Lucian did not owe anyone explanations, and if Amanda thought less of him for his actions, then only because she was brought up by an ignorant, narrow-minded bigot like Ellen. The kind of woman who would throw her own daughter out of the house for one incident in which she had been the helpless victim.
Amanda would soon adapt to their ways and would likely enjoy many pleasant affairs herself in later life. If the idea sickened him, that was just a momentary aberration. Only the most gauche and selfish husbands imposed stricter rules on their wives than they followed themselves.
Yet Lucian still felt uneasy. Was it because, at that moment, Amanda had not yet accepted that such was the way of the world? In her current state, she was still blinkered by unrealistic hopes of love and fidelity and other sentimental nonsense propagated by magazines and novelists, to lull the nation’s women into complacent acceptance of their situation. It often amused him to observe how ladies of all stations preferred to close their eyes to the reality right in front of them, just because it was the easiest path. Of course, when it led them to deny even crimes like those of Ellen’s vile brother, their wilful blindness had its deplorable side.
Poor Amanda.
He would not be able to fully enjoy what Julia was offering, though he had no doubt that he’d be able to please and satisfy her. His member had never failed him, and his stamina was nearly as strong as it had been in his early twenties when he had performed legendary feats of endurance still whispered about amongst the London matrons. Since then, he had greatly improved his knowledge of the female body. It was a point of pride not to let any partner leave him unsatisfied.
So what if he’d be thinking of Amanda when he pounded into Julia? His wife was not there, would never know anything about it. He was not depriving her of anything she wanted or prized herself.
But you will know, an inner voice whispered. It could not be his conscience, could it? He sometimes heard it when a sharp piece of business practice or some underhanded political trick was proposed, but in matters of sexual dalliance, it had never yet interfered with his pleasures.
A short ceremony, a signature, and suddenly he was supposed to be deprived of his usual pleasures and pastimes? It made no sense.
“You look abstracted,” the voice of Major Kendorov tore Lucian out of his brown study. “A ball is hardly the best place for rumination. We are going on to Mercier’s; are you coming with us?”
Mercier’s was a well-known gambling establishment, frequented by officers and rich aristocrats. Why not? He might pick up interesting information from the patrons. Moreover, having to concentrate on his cards would put a stop to the ridiculous doubts that were suddenly besetting Lucian.
Chapter 18
As Lucian had expected, the talk at Mercier’s was mostly of the impending war. He overheard some remarks that almost made him pity the minister of war. He would not want to command soldiers who despised and resented him like that. Fortunately, being a civilian he would never find himself in that position. There was some indication that the czar might return soon, which gave him hope of progress at last.
Many of these proud, expensive young men would die when the French attack came, and they knew it even if none spoke of it openly. The way they drank and gambled and boasted of their whoring sounded forced, almost desperate in some cases, as though they were trying to cram as much living as they could into those last months. Major Kendorov was one of the exceptions, always calm and collected, which might explain why he was winning yet again.
Lucian and the major were playing vingt-et-un with four other officers, Kendorov holding the bank. The stakes were high enough to force Lucian to concentrate. He drank only sparingly from the excellent French vintage they had ordered, determined to keep his head clear.
One of the other players was quaffing the wine recklessly as he lost round after round. Lucian was wondering how to hint that it might be wiser to cut his losses and go sleep off his bout of ill luck. But such unsolicited advice could easily lead to a duel with such a young hothead. If the fool was determined to lose his entire patrimony to Kendorov, it was none of Lucian’s business.
Finally, Kendorov indicated, as tactfully as possible, that he had accepted enough IOUs from young Pjotr Ivanovich. Ivanovich only blinked owlishly and, fortunately, did not take offense.
“What are you willing to bet against those?” He drew a set of ruby earrings from his pocket. The stones were cut like small dangling pineapples and shone in the candlelight with inner fire. Though only a jeweller would be able to gauge their true worth, Lucian could see at a glance that they were of superior quality.
“Five hundred,” Kendorov said. “They are pretty, but do you really want to lose them on top of everything else? With a streak like that, it is wise to stop until the luck turns.”
“It is about to turn; I can feel it,” Pjotr Ivanovich insisted, placing the earrings in the middle of the table. “These will bring me luck. Deal, Kendorov; I want to gain some of my money back.”
With a look at the others, to see if they agreed to the proposal, Kendorov dealt. As was to have been expected, he won yet again. Ivanovich stared at his cards incredulously when Kendorov picked up the wagered jewels. “I could have sworn . . .”
“It clearly is not your lucky night,” Lucian said. “Fortuna’s ways are unaccountable; she does not allow us to guess her intentions.”
Ivanovich grasped at a bottle of vodka and drank directly from it, two, three deep droughts as they all watched him uneasily. When he fell over and began to snore, they looked at each other ruefully.
“He’ll have the devil of a headache tomorrow,” Kendorov said. “Mercier’s has some chambers for such cases.” He called a waiter over and presently, four hefty servants carried the unconscious officer towards the back of the establishment. Kendorov good-naturedly paid for the night and a lavish breakfast. Lucian doubted that Pjotr Ivanovich would be in any shape to enjoy the latter.
As they watched their drunken fellow player carried away, Kendorov drew the earrings out of his pocket and scrutinized them with a small frown. “I only accepted them so as not to insult him. I have no earthly use for such trinkets.”
“I know a pretty lady who might like them,” Lucian said. They would look good on Amanda’s ears. “I can buy them off you for the value you estimated.”
“No, no, present them to her with my compliments.” Kendorov held the earrings out to him.
Lucian shook his head. “I cannot accept them as a gift.” That was the last thing he needed, to be thought amenable to bribes. There all those officers around them, who might spread the tale.
“Why don’t you play one last game for the earrings? Or simply cut cards for them, with Rackington offering five hundred if he loses?” another player suggested.
Since they were tired enough to go home, they agreed to cut cards, and for once, Kendorov’s luck deserted him; he drew a ten while Lucian’s card was the Queen of Hearts.
“How appropriate,” Kendorov said, smiling. He handed the rubies over, and Lucian slipped them into his pocket. “Julia will love them, I dare say. Rubies will set off her dark hair.”
Lucian did not correct his assumption, natural enough after his flirtation at Countess Antonovskaya’s ball. That Kendorov called the widow by
her given name gave him pause—was he among her lovers? Was the lady so free with her favours? In any case, the rubies were not for her, but he would keep that fact to himself. Lucian felt inexplicably reluctant to talk of Amanda with his Russian acquaintances. His relationship with his wife was private, not for discussion or speculation by strangers.
Would she like the ruby earrings?
He’d better find some other gift for Julia in the meantime. Either to bring with him, or as consolation if he wanted to call the whole thing off and send his regrets to her.
Was he really contemplating such a step, for no good reason at all? Amanda would never know of it, never appreciate the sacrifice. It made no sense at all.
He had better sleep on the matter. One often saw more clearly in the bright light of morning.
***
Lucian awoke with nothing worse than a slight dryness of mouth, glad he had not overindulged like poor Pjotr Ivanovich, who might be wishing he was dead just then. After washing and dressing he inspected the rubies and confirmed his first impression that they were exceptionally fine and pure stones, perfectly matched, a worthy gift for his countess. He carefully locked them up in his dispatch case with his credentials and other important papers, then put the case back into the double bottom of his heavy trunk and secured it with the cunningly hidden steel bars. The battered trunk, specially constructed by a clockmaker, had accompanied him on previous missions. It was too big and heavy to steal unnoticed. To camouflage the extra weight he always left it half filled with books, which also helped to while away the more tedious parts of his journeys.
Lucian lingered over a hearty breakfast, trying to come to terms with the strong intuition that he should avoid Julia, and all others, until he had settled the nature of his marriage with Amanda. If she wanted to make it a true marriage, without affairs of any kind, he was willing to agree, as unlikely and irrational as it might seem. Somehow his obdurate heart had softened towards her. He wished to spare her pain and disappointment, even if she was far away. He did not want to lie to her either, and telling her he’d had affairs while travelling would hardly be an auspicious beginning for their future relationship. Unlike a woman from his own class, Amanda was sure to ask. It would be preferable if he could look into her eyes when he answered.
From what she already knew of him, she would expect the worst, but he need not live up to his bad reputation. Lucian had begun to corrupt Amanda, he realised, because to live any other way than what he’d learned from his own parents and friends seemed too difficult, too much work. Yet when he felt such doubt and hesitation over a simple, consensual affair with a widow, it might be easier to just do what his heart suggested, and refrain altogether. His manhood would survive a period of celibacy. Though physicians proclaimed it to be unhealthy, some men, like Catholic priests, managed to live to old age without indulging . . . Or did they? Presumably, a few might actually honour their vows, so it could be done.
If Amanda preferred not to try, or found him too old—he winced at the thought—or in some other way objectionable, all bets were off. He’d feel free to sleep with anyone, as before, and demonstrate to her exactly what she was spurning. But she had not seemed completely reluctant when they had parted. It would be foolish to give up before they had tried to make something of the impulsive match.
Amanda might die in childbed, of course. In which case it would still be better for his suddenly active conscience if he had not been whoring around while she lay dying. He might feel guilty for a long time if that happened.
With a twinge of regret, but no hesitation, he penned a short note to Julia—Mme Riljatskaya, he’d better remember to call her, even in his thoughts. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he had to deny himself the pleasure of their dinner and any similar occasion, to his profound regret, etc., etc. It was hardly the first such note he had written, though normally they came at the end rather than the beginning of an affair.
Lucian was not proud of letting the pretty widow down like that, but better to disappoint a stranger who only wanted to enjoy what she’d called his prowess, than the innocent girl who had been entrusted to his care.
He sent the message to Julia’s address with a huge arrangement of flowers, before meeting Kendorov and a representative of the czar’s staff for luncheon. It looked as though the hints at the czar’s imminent return were correct; at last he might be able to get on with his mission! The threat of the French attack should work in his favour; the Russians would be eager to have the weapons delivered in time and less inclined to balk at the quid-pro-quo, which consisted in a guarantee to look the other way regarding possible overseas acquisitions. Lucian harboured private doubts if his country could successfully manage all the areas it coveted, after having lost the American colonies. The war in Europe made it hard to hold on to all existing possessions, but his government was thinking ahead to Napoleon’s eventual defeat, and their ambition knew no bounds. Time would show if his doubts were justified.
It really was not the best time for mounting a new mistress, when he might soon be able to depart homewards. Normally he’d have found someone suitable within the first few days of his stay and not waited for an explicit invitation such as Julia had issued. Looking back, he had been reforming his ways before his mind had fully caught up with the unprecedented development. It might behove him to cultivate greater self-awareness in future.
But right now, he had to focus on politics and business; the rest could wait until later. How soon would he be able to see the czar?
Chapter 19
Two mornings later Lucian was pouring the first cup of tea of what he had expected to be a leisurely breakfast, when Major Kendorov burst in upon him. Impeccably shaved and dressed, the young officer sported a darkening bruise on his left cheekbone. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him.
“Oh, good, you are at home! I was not sure if I should come here first, or to Mme Riljatskaya’s house.”
Lucian did not bother to explain that he was not, after all, having an affair with the woman. Clearly there was more important game afoot. “Well, you found me. What is it?”
“You are to see the czar at four this afternoon! And before that, both the minister of war and His Majesty’s chief of staff want thorough briefings on your proposals. There is no time to be lost. You are expected in the War Office in forty-five minutes.”
“A good thing I’m up and dressed, then.” He briefly considered, and rejected, changing into a different jacket. That could wait until the audience in the afternoon; his morning attire would do for the others. He drank a little more tea. “You brought a carriage? Then, by my estimate, we have fifteen minutes before we need to leave. Have a cup of tea and some of this food while I get my dispatch case.” There were papers he needed to take with him.
“I don’t mind if I do.” Kendorov sat and stretched his overlong legs out in front of the chair. “I was awoken very early myself and missed breakfast.”
When Lucian returned with his papers, Kendorov insisted on carrying the case for him. “If you were here as an ambassador, you’d have a flunky carrying that for you. Why didn’t you bring one?”
“Why should I, when you are so helpful?” They climbed into Kendorov’s two-horse carriage. The coachman swung the whip, and the horses began to trot briskly.
“Now we have some time, tell me about your tryst with the pretty widow,” the major said.
“A gentleman never tells, my dear Major. In any case, the lady decided to postpone the invitation for reasons of her own.” It seemed more gentlemanly to pretend that it had been her decision.
“Did she? I am surprised. When Julia wants a man, she does not usually blow hot and cold like that.”
“You sound like one speaking from personal experience,” Lucian observed. In his mind, he was already marshalling his arguments and persuasions for the forthcoming meetings. How typical of crowned heads to leave envoys kicking their heels for weeks and months and then expect them to jump the moment they
wanted! But that was all part of the game. The Russians might be trying to put him off balance with the short notice, but such a ploy would not affect a seasoned professional like Lucian. More likely they had only just gotten around to dealing with his proposals, or Alexander suddenly had remembered that he’d asked for him all those months before. Possibly someone had realised the promised weapons deliveries would not arrive in time for the following year’s warfare, unless they concluded the agreement soon.
“I have had a brief but close acquaintance with the lovely Julia,” Kendorov admitted, smiling in remembered pleasure.
“Did you engage in pugilism since I last saw you? That bruise you sport on your cheek rather clashes with your uniform.”
“Yes, but you should see the other man. He is dead.” Kendorov looked at his hands, encased in spotless white gloves. “You will hardly believe it, that a ruffian dared to accost and attack me last night when I was returning home from, um, some other pretty lady’s bed. He must have been insane not to find an easier victim. He only hit me with his cudgel because I was not expecting it. When I fought back, he drew a knife but ended up stuck with it in his own throat. I had blood all over my togs, and my batman is still sulking over the mess.”
“Unpleasant,” Lucian murmured, only half listening. Would the Russians go for the political part of the proposed agreement? Logically, they should not object to the English grasping at another half dozen territories and islands, when Russia already had so much of the globe under her own dominion. With the weapons he could offer, and the war drawing nearer by the day, he was fairly optimistic; but you could never know for sure when the final decision was Czar Alexander’s.
Within days, perhaps that very afternoon, he would be able to wrap up the mission and decamp, look for a ship to carry him westwards before winter made it impossible. He could be home before Christmas, perhaps even in time for the birth of Amanda’s child. The child he’d offered to treat as his own and who must never guess that Lucian was not his or her true father.
