No, Varvara wouldn’t care. She adored Illarion and Irina, but considered everyone else beneath her notice. She certainly wouldn’t approve of Irina’s interest in the man. So Irina listened while Varvara lamented her broken sleep, and dashed down to the breakfast room as soon as her maid released her.
Unfortunately, no one was there. She stepped inside, her excitement ebbing away. Usually she could count on Illarion to be an early riser. But since he’d arrived home late, he must be sleeping later than normal. She let out a frustrated sigh.
And since there was no reason to stay, she slipped out of the house and walked quickly over to the aviary, wishing she’d grabbed a shawl before she’d gone. It must have rained overnight, leaving the air chilly and the gravel walkway damp. But once she stepped inside the aviary, she felt warm, wrapped in the familiar whispers of the orange trees.
She looked up and saw the dome windows propped open again, which meant Evgeny had started his day. She didn’t see him, but there was something new. A gilded birdcage on a stand stood to one side. When she got closer, she saw that the door was open, but two plain brown birds perched inside, huddled close together—nightingales. There were other nightingales in the aviary, but for some reason, these two were segregated from them.
“They feel safer there.” Evgeny had come out of a back room, a bowl in his hand. His eyes looked shadowed, so he must not have slept much, but he seemed alert otherwise.
“What happened?” she asked.
He regarded her quizzically. “Illarion paid for them. They’ve been in a cage so long that they’re afraid to live outside it.”
The birds. “No,” she said. “I meant Lysov. What happened with him?”
“Oh.” Evgeny’s dark eyes fixed on her face. “He sold Morozov to me. For Illarion, but Lysov didn’t know I was there in his stead.”
She laid a hand over her mouth. Kolya would be ecstatic. Then she recalled her worry from the previous night. “In his stead? Why did he send you?”
Evgeny’s lips twisted. “As a threat. Lysov is superstitious and feared I would pass my curse to him.”
Poor Evgeny, that someone would believe that of him. “You would never do that.”
He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “No, but he couldn’t know that.”
Evgeny’s spirits seemed low. Was it just that he was tired? Or was there something else wrong? Irina turned her eyes back to the golden cage on its stand. “Will they ever want to come out?”
He seemed relieved to speak of something other than his curse. “Eventually. They trust me, but they need to become accustomed to the other birds. It will take time.”
“Trust always does.” She wasn’t certain there was anything else to say. “I’m glad you’re home safely.”
“Have you spoken to Morozov?” he asked.
Kolya? What an odd question to ask. “No,” she admitted. “Neither he nor Illarion came down for breakfast.”
“Ah.” He set the bowl in the bottom of the birdcage—mealworms, not seeds—and one of the brown birds dropped down and began eating.
Irina folded her hands together. He had kissed her, and yet now he pushed her away. “I’ll leave you to your work, then,” she said with a sigh.
He seemed ready to say something else, but nodded and turned back to the birds in their cage.
Evgeny didn’t know what to say to Irina. He’d helped free Morozov, never realizing the man might now seek Irina for his wife. But Morozov was a whole man and gainfully employed, despite his status as a serf—or former status as a serf. If Morozov asked her to marry him, she would be foolish to choose a one-armed farm worker instead.
The only real impediment would be her father’s idea that she should marry nobility, and Evgeny wasn’t sure the man would stop her from marrying Morozov, not if her mind was set on it. It was almost as if the man was a ghost, for all the care he took of his daughter.
He startled when he felt a hand on his arm.
Irina had come back and now stood close. Her jaw clenched resolutely. “I don’t know what happened in St. Petersburg, but I will not let it steal our friendship.”
It wasn’t friendship he was worried about. “And what of Morozov?” When she gazed at him blankly, he clarified, “Your brother suspects Morozov might offer you marriage if—”
Irina laughed aloud before he could finish that thought. “Oh, no. Never. What was Illarion thinking? Kolya knows I would never accept if he did offer.”
There was no hesitation in her words. Evgeny felt the weight that had lain on his chest since the previous evening lift a bit. “He’s no longer a serf.”
“That was never a consideration,” Irina said with a shake of her head.
“You do not love him?”
She licked her lips, her eyes lowering. “I care for Kolya, but I also know that I will always be his second choice.”
Marriages were often made with no affection at all, he knew, just as hers with Sergei had been. But she no longer needed a husband, and therefore could be choosy. And that she still stood at his side made Evgeny hope she might chose him, missing arm notwithstanding.
“I was going to take my lunch out to the forest today,” she told him before he found words to speak.
“You should take a blanket,” he said inanely. “It’s damp.”
“If you wish to join me,” she said, eyes finally lifting to his, “you’re welcome to do so. The cook always packs too much food for me.”
Chapter 9
* * *
IRINA WAITED FOR HIM next to the lake, blanket over her arm and her basket at her side. He took the basket from her and they walked in companionable silence down the path into the forest. After that morning’s conversation, he was unsure what to say.
He had no idea how to court a woman. The breeze among the trees was gentle, and once they’d laid out the blanket, Evgeny settled across from her. She didn’t immediately move to unpack the food. Instead she regarded him with a curious expression on her face, as if she had no more idea what to say than he did.
“If I could find a way to convince the priest,” he asked, “would you consider marrying me?”
Irina froze in the midst of reaching for the basket, her mouth falling open.
No, I shouldn’t have said that so baldly. Evgeny felt a flush staining his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to shock her, but the words had been straining to escape his heart for . . . well, hours now.
Her answer came out a bare whisper. “Yes, I would.”
It was Evgeny’s turn to gape. “Even though I have no name and no money? Even though I am a farm worker? Even though I carry this curse?”
“None of those matter to me.” She touched his cheek and then her fingers drifted to his lips. “I want you as you are.”
Evgeny shivered, unable to help himself. He should tell her who he was, but he wanted to be sure of her first. She might still flee him if she heard the truth now. And she seemed determined not to ask after his identity, which bought him time. “You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks.”
“Are you trying to dissuade me?” she asked. “I didn’t meet Sergei until the day before we wed. And it took me less than an hour to discover I didn’t like him.”
He couldn’t imagine marriage with a woman he disliked. His own father had married for love, as had Grigori. Lizaveta had as well; she had fallen in love with her Mikhail for his kindness . . . and his persistence. Evgeny sat back, gazing at this woman who’d just agreed to marry him. “There is still my father’s wife,” he said. “I do not wish to bring her wrath down on you.”
“I will not let her keep me from what I want,” Irina said, her chin lifting stubbornly. “I have a plan to deal with her.”
This was the first he’d heard of that. “And that is?”
She patted the base of the bay laurel under which they sat. “The trees will help me.”
The trees? Evgeny didn’t want to disparage her idea, but the trees could only protect her while
she was here. Fortunately, Illarion was already working out a way to protect the rest of the dacha to keep his father’s wife at bay. And Evgeny had set his own sentries along the roads and pathways just that morning, so they should not be taken without warning. “I am grateful that you wish to keep me safe.”
She began to unpack the food from the basket, a thin line between her brows.
“I am sorry I brought that up,” Evgeny said. “But there are those who wish to harm me, and therefore you, as well.”
She gazed back at him. “I won’t be afraid of her.”
Evgeny reached over and touched her cheek. Her skin was cool under his fingertips, and soft, the skin of a lady. He felt a sudden pang, wishing he had two arms to hold her with. “May I kiss you again?”
Irina leaned close, her body brushing his, and he wrapped his one arm around her, as he hadn’t before. She was warm against him, her lips soft. She sighed gently, deepening the kiss until his balance fled him and he fell back against the blankets. And instead of laughing at his awkwardness, she smiled and followed him to the ground, her lips against his again.
Her hands ran along his tunic as she leaned over him, and the feel of her touch made his heart soar. She clearly wanted him enough to throw away her well-earned caution. He could take her now, here in the woods, and he suspected she wouldn’t complain.
“Your mother,” he whispered anyway.
Irina sat up halfway, her cheeks flushing. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gazed up at the bay laurel. “Perhaps not here,” she said sheepishly as her eyes returned to meet his.
Evgeny pushed himself off the ground, not arguing. They had a chaperone whose protection of Irina was absolute. He wouldn’t chance offending her.
When her maid came in to help her dress for dinner, Irina was forced to listen to the woman nattering on about the presumption of that farmhand seeking an interview with her father. When asked, Varvara claimed she didn’t know why Evgeny had sought an interview, but apparently Illarion had been called to the library at one point.
Irina sighed. The servants always knew everything before she did. What they didn’t know was the topic of discussion in that library. They would be scandalized, but she didn’t care. I’ve made up my mind, she said to herself, and I will marry Evgeny, no matter what Father says.
With that resolution in mind, Irina arrived downstairs early and stood in the withdrawing room—fretting—until Illarion and Kolya came in. Illarion’s eyes met hers and he gave her one brief nod . . . and suddenly she could breathe freely. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much her father’s approval had meant to her. Her throat tightened and tears stung at her eyes. She laid one hand at her throat and tried to calm her nerves.
“Were you worried?” Kolya said almost in her ear.
She hadn’t realized he’d come up behind her. “Don’t do that.”
“There was no need to doubt,” Kolya told her. “I expect Illarion had this in mind from the very day he sent Evgeny Petrovich here. Your brother would have a case to lay before your father that would have appeased any court in St. Petersburg.”
Irina cast a glance at her twin on the other side of the room, who stared down at the keys of the piano as if they were more interesting than any conversation his companions could be having. She turned back to Kolya. “You understand, don’t you?”
Kolya smiled. “That you want someone you can have to yourself? Yes, I do understand, dearest Irinka.”
She knew better than to believe she and Kolya would remain as close after she married, but it was a relief to know they wouldn’t be on unfriendly terms. “Thank you, Kolya.”
The butler appeared then with the news that her father had decided to take a dinner tray in his room rather than come down. Irina sighed, worried about her father now, but Illarion came over and patted her shoulder. “Don’t fret. He’ll be fine.”
“Shall we go in to dinner, then?”
“We’ll wait a moment longer,” Illarion said, his eyes turning toward the doorway.
Evgeny stood there, his dark eyes lowered. He wore formal dinner attire, although the left arm of his black tailcoat was pinned up with a large gold pin. He was clean-shaven—that had to be the work of Illarion’s valet—and looked every bit as dashing in his dinner garb as Irina had expected he would.
Irina realized belatedly that he was waiting to be invited in to the withdrawing room, and went to the threshold to draw him inside. “You look like a prince.”
He flushed. “I look exactly like me,” he said, “only in finer clothes.”
“That’s also true.” Irina smiled at him. “Shall we go in to dinner now?”
It turned out to be a merry dinner. Once Illarion expressed his sympathies over the loss of Evgeny’s eldest brother, Kolya steered the conversation in a more convivial direction, staying far from the matter of Evgeny’s past. Evgeny proved that he had, at one point or another, learned proper table manners, although there were a few moments of awkwardness when rules had to be bent due to his lack of a second hand.
And after dinner they all settled in the withdrawing room with glasses of cognac. Illarion explained that he would go talk to Father Piotr in the village the next afternoon to make all the arrangements for the wedding, since Evgeny himself wasn’t allowed to enter the church.
Irina spent the evening alternating between smiling secretly, rejoicing in her good fortune, and noting how well Evgeny got along with Illarion and Kolya. Kolya didn’t seem to be faking his goodwill toward Evgeny, which boded well for the future. Surely Illarion and Kolya would continue to return here every summer and it would be awkward if they disliked Evgeny.
When Kolya settled at the piano, Evgeny came and sat next to Irina on the settee. After a moment, he whispered, “I can see why you said he played so magnificently.”
Irina couldn’t recall ever discussing Kolya’s skills at the piano with Evgeny. When she cast a quizzical glance at him, Evgeny laughed softly. “In your letters to Illarion when . . . when we were all young,” he explained. “You lamented how you struggled and how irritating it was that the piano seemed to come naturally to Morozov.”
Illarion fetched out his violin, and he and Kolya continued to play, both lost to the music after that.
Irina glanced at Evgeny sidelong. “You read my letters to my brother?”
“We both had sisters near the same age. Sometimes we compared them. Often you and Lizaveta suffered similar trials. She hated her dancing lessons.”
Irina felt a flush warm her neck. Evgeny and Illarion must have been close friends back at that school. Illarion wasn’t the sort to share something as intimate as a letter with a casual acquaintance. “I didn’t hate my music lessons. I was simply embarrassed at being constantly shown up by Kolya.”
Evgeny smiled softly. “I’m not exaggerating my sister’s loathing. Lizaveta still doesn’t enjoy dancing.”
“And do you?”
“I haven’t danced in . . . well over a decade,” he admitted. “Nor did I ever learn any instrument. My horsemanship was always adequate, my fencing passable, and my boxing average. I’m not certain I would be able to pursue any of those now. My balance is still unpredictable.”
Ah, since he only had one arm. Irina sighed. It certainly sounded like he’d had a genteel upbringing. “What did you like to do?”
“I was the bookish one. My three eldest brothers were horse-mad. They spent every waking hour in the saddle, it seemed. The fourth of us was a hunter, and the fifth was the one who spent all his time pursuing the girls in the village. Lizaveta was always off in the forest, climbing trees and falling into streams and coming home muddy.” That memory brought a fond smile to his face. “Mother would always clean her off and set her at the harp or hand her over to the dreaded dancing master.”
Irina nearly laughed at the mental picture of delicate-looking Lizaveta climbing a tree. “So what was Grigori like? Were you close?”
Evgeny described a
n admired eldest brother, although they’d drifted apart after Evgeny lost his arm. She could understand that. He spoke of each of his brothers, then, although she noticed that each one’s story became vague about a decade ago. That must have been when the curse was enacted. But when she asked about the curse, Evgeny still seemed unwilling to discuss it. So Irina turned the topic to his sister, and they spent some time discussing Lizaveta as Kolya and Illarion played on.
It seemed awkward to have Evgeny join them for dinner only to have him head back to the Aviary for the night. Then again, that was to protect her reputation. It was one thing to have a brother and a father sharing the house with her—since he was a secretary, Kolya didn’t count—but if an unrelated man moved in under the same roof, she would require a chaperone. One of her aunts would have to come from the capital to watch her day and night, which she would not enjoy.
Even so, once the house had gone dark and her brother and Kolya had gone to bed, Irina tucked her wrapper closer about her and peered out her bedroom window. Under the light of the full moon, the path that led to the Aviary was easy to see.
She licked her lips. Did she have the nerve to go out there? It wouldn’t be adultery since Sergei was long dead. It would still be a sin, but Father Piotr didn’t need to know.
Her mind made up, she dashed down the stairs and sped along the paths, painfully aware of how loud the gravel sounded under her feet. She used her key to open the aviary door and stepped inside. The moonlight filtered through the panes of the dome, changing the space to a forest almost as magical as the dream she’d inhabited that afternoon. The birds must have all flown, for none cried out at her trespassing in their place. When she reached the door that led to Evgeny’s small apartment, she stood outside, frozen in indecision.
What if he laughed at her? What if he didn’t want her?
She closed her eyes and turned the latch anyway. The door opened silently inward, allowing the moonlight in to bathe the inhabitant of the narrow bed with a soft light. Evgeny lay with a rumpled woolen blanket pushed down to his hips. He was naked, as he’d been the first time she’d seen him, but now she could clearly see his left shoulder, the arm cut away just below the joint and capped in white.
The Sparrow in Hiding Page 8
