by Anita Mills
No, that was silly … there was no time.
The stairs creaked, and she guessed that her mother came up again, but the steps stopped at her door. Three sharp raps sounded, then there was a clearing of throat before Dawes said apologetically, “Sorry to be waking you, Miss Winstead, but you are wanted below.” He waited a moment, then knocked again. “Did you hear me, Miss Winstead?”
“Yes.”
“His lordship said there wasn’t any need to dress.”
“All right.”
Mystified, she rolled to sit, then reached for the wrapper again. Standing, she thrust her arms through the sleeves, pulled it close over her night rail, and knotted the tie at her waist. If he was but drunk, she was inclined to read a peal over him herself.
Her heart thudded as she descended the stairs and walked to knock on the book room door. It opened beneath her hand. Harry was half-sprawled in a chair, a wineglass in his hand. Behind him, her mother stood, her expression quite odd. Perplexed, Kate glanced from one to the other, then back again.
“Well,” she asked finally, “is anyone going to tell me why I am summoned.”
“Oh, my dear!” Words seemed to fail her mother.
“Look like you’ve not been to bed, Kate,” Harry observed, reaching to pour more wine. “Here, you’d best have one also. He filled a glass, sloshing some of the red liquid onto the carpet. Any other time, her mother would have taken him to task for that alone, not to mention that he’d offered her wine, but this time she did not seem to notice. She merely stood there, apparently dazed. He rose unsteadily and handed the drink to Katherine. He held up his own.
“I wish you happy.”
“You are disguised,” Kate decided, disgusted.
“Not disguised,” he corrected her thickly. “Surprised. Dashed surprised.” Taking a long sip, he met her widened eyes. “If you’d have him, Kate, Volsky would wed with you.”
The room spun around her as her glass slipped from nerveless fingers. For a moment, she could only stare at him. Then she managed to find her tongue. “What?”
“Word of a Winstead,” he declared solemnly, raising his right hand as though he took an oath. “Fellow’s damned generous, I might add.” A slow grin curved his mouth. “Well? Cat got your tongue, Kate?”
She turned to her mother. “He’s funning with me, isn’t he?”
Lady Winstead’s lip trembled and her eyes were wet. “Oh, my dear—my dear child!” Overcome, she burst into tears, then dabbed at her cheeks with the ties of her wrapper. “It is more than I have ever dared wish for you!”
“You don’t have to take him if you don’t want,” Harry said behind her.
Stunned, Katherine could not think. As though she were in a trance, she dropped into the nearest chair. “But—but we are scarce acquainted,” she mused faintly. “He cannot wish—”
Moving to stand beside her, her brother touched her shoulder. “Apparently, he does, for he has offered not only to forgo the customary Russian dowry, but also to frank everything—your wedding, your bride clothes—everything. And if you accept, he has agreed to settle five thousand English pounds on you.”
“There must be some mistake—he must have been foxed—”
“Do you not see?” Her mother’s voice rose, betraying her excitement. “Katherine, Count Volsky has offered for you!”
“If you wish time to consider, I’ll fob him off,” Harry offered.
“Harry!” Lady Winstead shrieked, “There is nothing to consider—she is not like to receive any comparable proposal!”
Alexei Volsky had offered for her. Alexei Volsky had offered for her. It could not be. “Are you quite certain, Harry?”
“ ‘I’d marry Ekaterina,’ he said as plainly as I am speaking to you now.”
She was still afraid to believe him. “Did he say why?”
“Katherine, if you refuse Count Volsky, I shall quite wash my hands of you!”
But Kate waited for Harry to answer. “He must have said something,” she prompted him.
“He said he admired your excellent mind and character.”
“Oh.” Disappointed, she chided herself that she could scarce expect Alexei to declare himself head over heels for her after one waltz and a picnic in the park.
“I daresay marriages are merely arranged in Russia,” Lady Winstead said. “No doubt the Eastern influence. The point is, Count Volsky wishes to marry you, and I for one am ecstatic!”
The way her mother said it indicated that she considered Alexei’s taste beyond understanding. And for once, Kate agreed with her. “That was all?—my mind? He said nothing else?”
“Well, we discussed the terms, of course.” He cleared his throat and glanced nervously at Lady Winstead. “He will be leaving for Vienna to attend to some of the preliminaries there, then he expects to return to Russia. But Madame Malenkov is to remain with you to oversee your wardrobe and make preparations for your journey there.”
“I shall tend to her wardrobe, Henry,” their mother declared stiffly. “I do not need—”
“He was most specific on that head, Mama.” Turning his attention back to Kate, he said, “If you accept, you will be married quietly at Monk’s End. There will not be time for much of a wedding trip, but I have offered the use of my hunting box in Leicestershire, should you both wish it.”
Aware that her daughter was still looking rather blankly at Harry, Lady Winstead shouted at her, “Katherine, you will be pleased to accept!”
Settlements. Wardrobe. Wedding. It was all nearly incomprehensible to Kate. All that she could think of for the moment was that Alexei had offered for her. That, for whatever reason, he wanted her.
“Mama?” Clarissa peered sleepily in the door. “Is aught amiss? I heard Harry, and then you were speaking so very loudly.”
“Naught’s amiss, my love,” Lady Winstead assured her. “Only fancy—Count Volsky has asked Henry for Katherine’s hand!”
It was Claire’s turn to stare. “What? I don’t believe it!”
Her mother nodded. “And most generously so, I might add.”
The younger girl turned to Kate. “How could you? You did this to spite me—how could you?” Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “You—you hussy!”
“That is quite enough, missy! You must wish your sister happy, dearest. Besides, I have hopes of Hargrove for you.”
“I don’t want him!” Claire cried. “He is naught but a stuffy stick!” Ignoring Lady Winstead’s thinning lips, she declared defiantly, “Very well then, I shall have Lord Townsend!”
“You’ll do no such thing!” her mother snapped. “I have spent far too much for you to fling yourself at a profligate’s head!”
“Bell’s not a marrying man,” Harry said. “You wouldn’t want him.”
“Much you would know about it!” the younger girl retorted tearfully. Covering her face, she ran from the room.
“Clarissa! You will come back this instant!” When there was no response, Lady Winstead hesitated. Looking to her son, she sighed. “Should I go after her, do you think? I’d not have her looks spoiled by crying.”
“If anything is spoiled, it is Claire rather than her looks,” he observed dryly.
Irritated by his criticism, she snapped, “It is no such thing, Henry Winstead! She is a trifle high-strung, that is all.”
“Mama, you have petted and hovered her from the first time any thought her pretty, and well you know it,” he countered, unmoved. “I think it quite just that it is Kate who took, if you would have my opinion.”
“Yes, yes, of course, and you must know I am pleased to fire her off at all.” To Kate, she said, “It is a brilliant marriage, my dear.” With that, she hastened to comfort Clarissa.
Harry waited until their mother was out of hearing. “You don’t have to make up your mind just now, you know.” He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “In fact, you do not have to accept Volsky at all. And if Mama makes life too miserable for you, you can come to
live with me.” Releasing her, he stepped back, then walked to the window. The sun was barely up. “The choice is yours, Kate.”
“Harry, I—”
“Russia is far away, the language foreign, the customs sometimes unfathomable, I should expect. You will not have Mama, or Claire, or me there.” Abruptly, he swung around to face her again, his expression sober. “Only you can decide whether you would spend the rest of your life with Volsky, my dear.”
“You make it sound so—so very grim.” Lifting her eyes to his, she asked, “And if I accept?”
“You will be Countess Volsky, a very rich woman, Kate. And you will have Galena Malenkova for support, I think. She seems to have developed a liking for you.”
She swallowed. “When—when does he have to know?”
“I expect he would give you a couple of days.”
“And if I accept?”
“He will send the announcement off to the papers, you will make an appearance together here, Madame Malenkov will see you are property fitted, then we shall retire to Monk’s End for the wedding before Volsky leaves.”
The thought of leaving all she knew was painful, but so was life at Monk’s End. This way she would not be a failure, this way she would not have to envy Claire when Hargrove or some other handsome and wealthy lord came up to scratch. And she would have Alexei.
“Well?” he prompted gently. “Should I say you are wishful of more time?”
“It is so sudden—I scarce know him, but—” She sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. “But I think I could love him—no, I know it.”
He nodded. “I’ll tell him this morning, then.” A heavy sigh escaped him. “I told him I would stop by the Pulteney on my way home. Oh—supposed to tell you, he won’t be able to ride today, but he will bring his sister to consult with you and Mama.”
She walked up the stairs in a daze, and it was not until she reached her bedchamber and sank into a chair that she realized she was shaking. Volsky wanted her. It did not seem possible. Volsky wanted her. She sat staring, seeing Alexei in his full dress uniform, his medals gleaming, his dark hair bared, his hat under his arm. If Bellamy Townsend was the epitome of English style and looks, then Alexei Volsky must surely be his equal in Russia.
Then she realized what she had done. And for an awful moment, she panicked. Why had she accepted him? Just so she would not be on the shelf? So everyone would envy her? She hoped not. She hoped it was because she thought she could make him love her. He was, after all, incredibly kind—and incredibly handsome. And usually those two things did not come together.
It would be all right, she told herself resolutely. She would be in no worse case than half the females on the Marriage Mart, for they were often betrothed blindly, with far more attention given to their looks and the gentlemen’s money than to any pretense to affection. At least Alexei Volsky wanted her enough to ask Harry for her, which was more than she could say for any English buck of the ton. And, as Harry said, she would have Galena Malenkova.
With that comforting thought came the realization that Mama would no longer choose her clothes, that she could have what she liked. And with Galena’s help, she would have things that flattered her. No more frilled white gowns to make her look small and sallow.
Rising, she moved to the mirror to stare at her reflection, wondering what had gained her Alexei Volsky’s attention. Her hands crept to her dark, sleep-flattened curls, pulling them down at the sides of her face. No, she was still plain. She sighed regretfully, grateful that he had seen something she could not.
Kate came down the stairs more than half-afraid he’d changed his mind, but Alexei Volsky smiled up at her. When she reached the foyer, he bowed over her hand.
“You behold an honored man, Ekaterina,” he said, smiling. “And Galena is pleased.”
Behind him, Madame Malenkov smiled also. “Ah, ma petite, I shall welcome you to the family.” As Alexei released Kate’s hand and stepped back, Galena moved forward to clasp the girl’s shoulders. Pressing a kiss against each of Kate’s cheeks, she said, “We shall make you happy, I promise you.” Still holding Kate, she scrutinized the pale lemon yellow muslin, frowning. “But first we go shopping, I think.” She shook her head as though the garment offended her. “I hope this is not your favorite color, cherie.”
“No, of course not,” Kate said quickly.
Abruptly, Galena Malenkova turned to her brother. “We must visit the modiste today. She cannot go to Russia in rags, I tell you. How much should we spend, do you think?”
“Madame Malenkov,” Lady Winstead began stiffly, “naught’s wrong with what she has, and—”
“Nonsense. It is not befitting for Alexei’s countess to be a drab,” Galena declared. Her gaze returned to Katherine, and she winced visibly. “Ma pauvre petite, you shall have Galena now,” she murmured soothingly. “We will have no more of these over-washed things. You need more color to show to advantage, and we shall find what suits you.”
“Madame Malenkov, I am quite capable—” Lady Winstead began stiffly.
“But of course you are! I have seen how the other one is dressed, but they are not at all alike, I think,” the Russian woman said flatly. “She must be to Alexei’s taste, however.” Turning to Kate, she asked, “You are wishful of new things, are you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Mais non—it is of no consequence to Lexy, I assure you. He can afford anything you should wish. Lexy?”
He drew a thick leather folder from beneath his uniform coat. Counting out a wad of bank notes, he handed them to his sister. “If it is not enough, you may draw on the embassy’s credit.”
Lady Winstead was speechless. “ ’Tis a fortune,” she managed weakly when she finally found her voice.
“My dear Madame Winstead, she will be a countess,” Galena reminded her shortly. “And she has nothing.”
Taken aback, Katherine’s mother tried to recover in front of Dawes. “Well, I should not say that, but I am sure dearest Kate is most pleased, in any event. Now, I expect there are other things to be discussed, and I’d as lief not decide them before the servants.”
Galena Malenkova lifted her fine brows. “You did not settle everything with Baron Winstead, Lexy?”
“We discussed the arrangements.”
“There. You see, madame, he has already done it.”
Katherine’s mother motioned for Dawes to go on. “Yes, but there are preparations. The wedding—”
“There is not time,” Galena countered dismissively. “The wedding will occur late next week at this monk’s place, then Alexei will leave the week after. I shall stay with Ekaterina, of course, until we can return home.”
“We will have a ceremony in Russia also,” Count Volsky said, looking to Katherine. “In late October.”
“Monk’s End,” Lady Winstead said, correcting Galena.
“A strange name, I think.”
“It is an old and much-admired estate, madame—held by the Winsteads since Elizabeth’s reign,” older woman responded stiffly.
Before either could provoke the other further, Kate hastened to intervene, explaining, “During the reign of Henry VIII, a monk was murdered there, giving the place its name. Our house sits where an old chapter house was burned by rather zealous supporters of the king. The abbot, we are told, was reluctant to embrace the new religion.”
“How very interesting, cherie. Now, Madame Winstead, I cannot think what else is to be settled between Lexy and Baron Winstead. Oh, except—is it your wish that Ekaterina stays with me at the Pulteney Hotel, or would you have me come here after Lexy is gone?”
“Well, I am sure I don’t—”
“Then we shall let Ekaterina decide, for then she is a married lady, n ‘est-ce pas? Now, ma petite, you must get your shawl.” She winced as she looked again at the pale muslin. “We shall buy the best of London today.” Her eyes rested of Lady Winstead briefly. “You are most welcome to come, of course—and the other one also, if she wishes.�
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“As if any of the premier modistes should be available now. You are better advised to employ a seamstress,” Clarissa said, moving into the foyer from the saloon where she’d been listening. “Good dress lengths and trimmings are to be found in linen drapers’ shops—I should suggest Leicester Square, I think. Or perhaps Clark and Debenham’s in Wigmore Street.” Stopping in front of Alexei, she glanced up at him just so, then dropped her gaze demurely. “Count Volsky,” she murmured.
“Mademoiselle,” he acknowledged, bowing slightly.
Disappointed, she turned to his sister. “Madame Malenkov, you must forgive me for intruding, but I should be more than delighted to assist you in discovering bargains here. I mean, there are several bazaars and emporiums where ribbons, lace, gloves, and all manner of things are to be had quite cheaply.”
It was Galena’s turn to be affronted. “Mademoiselle Winstead, I assure you Alexei does nothing cheaply.”
The younger girl’s color heightened perceptibly. “Madame, I only wished to be helpful.”
“Yes, of course. So it is settled, mais non?” she addressed Kate’s mother. “I have asked of Lady Jersey, and she has referred me to a modiste—a Madame Cecile, I believe. ”
“Madame Cecile!” Clarissa gasped. “Oh, but she won’t—”
“That we shall see,” Galena said firmly. “Now, Madame Winstead, do you wish to accompany us?”
“Well, I had not expected—but, yes, of course, I shall go.”
“Go on, Ekaterina, get your shawl,” Galena urged Kate. “We waste time.”
Clarissa, who had never once been privileged to glimpse inside Madame Cecile’s rather exclusive establishment, pleaded with her eyes. “Mama—?”
“Very well. Madame Malenkov has said you may come, my love.”
“I shan’t be long,” the girl promised. “I have but to get my parasol and shawl.”
It was not until Claire caught Katherine in the upstairs hall that she dared betray her excitement. “Madame Cecile’s! Did you ever think to see it, Kate?” Then, recalling herself, she sniffed. “Well, I daresay we shall be turned away.”
