Ahead of them, one of the smaller boys began running pell-mell along the path, and a moment later the hoops went crashing into one another. They clattered to the ground and a bigger boy began shouting at the smaller one who’d created the chaos. The younger one backed away, but the older one followed and wouldn’t stop pestering him.
“Peter!” a woman called from behind them. “Come back here!”
The older boy’s head snapped toward his mother’s voice before turning back to the younger boy and saying something in a furious tone. Then he obediently collected his hoop and began trotting toward them. Antonia waited for Peter to pass before continuing her story.
“My father dedicated himself to managing the land he’d inherited. He said he saw it as a fresh start. When he met my mother, they immediately fell in love. He told her about his first wife, but Mother still wanted to marry him, even knowing the marriage wouldn’t be legal.”
“Why?” Robert asked. “If the secret got out, she’d be ruined. Any children they had would be considered illegitimate.”
Everyone had asked that same question. Why? Blood rushed to her cheeks. “I’ve never understood it myself,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Robert’s face softened with sympathy. “You can live with someone your entire life and never understand them.” When their eyes met, his seemed haunted by some well-remembered pain.
“My parents loved each other deeply. Even Grandfather Vladamir gave his permission for them to marry once he saw how much in love they were.”
“Why would he give his permission?”
“Ah,” she said with a smile. “That decision has its roots in another story from Grandfather’s youth. It’s a tragedy. Like Romeo and Juliet. He believed people in love shouldn't be kept apart. He’d been separated from his first love, and it had nearly destroyed him.”
“You’re full of stories,” he said. His smile was tender as he gazed down at her.
“I’m sorry.” She cast him a sidelong glance. She could swear he was still flirting with her, but how could that be? “I hope I’m not boring you.”
“Not at all. You’re a born storyteller.”
The compliment sent blood rushing to her cheeks. “Father always said the same thing. My sisters and I loved to perform plays and pantomimes. I’m lucky I’m able to earn a living wage doing it now.”
“Don’t you have any other family who can help you?”
Antonia shook her head. “My only living relative is my uncle Walter. Mother is from Russia, and she had no siblings. She met Father on one of Grandfather’s many trips to London.”
“Do you speak Russian?”
“No. Mother never taught us.” Antonia noticed that they were rounding the far end of the park and were about to begin heading back toward the entrance. “I need to continue my story or we’ll have to take another turn around the park. I still have more to explain.”
“By all means.”
She took a breath. “Long ago, my grandfather loved the daughter of a wealthy man in his village in Russia. Her name was Tatianna, and Grandfather asked her father for her hand in marriage. Tatianna’s father forbade it because Grandfather Vladamir was a mere artist. A painter. Not only did Tatianna’s father reject Vladamir’s proposal, but he also forced my great-grandfather to send Vladamir away to keep the young lovers apart. Tatianna’s father promised that if Vladamir could return within two years and prove himself capable of supporting Tatianna, they could marry, but Vladamir had to promise not to contact her while he was gone.
“A little less than two years later, well within the allotted time, Grandfather Vladamir returned to the village. He’d earned a reputation as a talented artist, and he’d already accumulated enough wealth to prove himself worthy of Tatianna. Tragically, he discovered that while he was gone, Tatianna’s father forced her into an unhappy marriage. She and her baby had both died in childbirth. Based on the date of Tatianna’s death, Grandfather believed the infant must have been his child, not her husband’s. He was devastated. Both his lover and his infant son had been dead for over a year, and he’d never even known.”
She didn’t want to see Robert’s face. He must think she came from the most dreadful family. Illegitimate children, bigamous marriages, her own thievery— her family must sound appalling to him.
Then she felt him slide his hand over hers again and give it a gentle squeeze. It was a small gesture, but a comforting one. Antonia felt some of her confidence returning. After all, she hadn’t caused any of this. She’d simply been the one left to deal with the consequences.
“Your grandfather’s story is a tragic one,” Robert murmured.
“Grandfather Vladamir vowed never to repeat those mistakes with his own children. He finally married, but they had only one child, my mother, and his wife died young. Mother said Grandfather always insisted she follow her heart when it came to love. The ironic part is that Grandfather Vladamir became such a successful artist that he died wealthy. Tatianna would have been better off with him than the man she was forced to marry.”
Robert stumbled slightly as he shot her a look of surprise. “Your grandfather wouldn’t happen to be Vladamir Nevsky, would he?”
Antonia didn’t try to conceal her pride. “None other.”
A surprised chortle burst from Robert’s lips. “Now that’s impressive. Didn’t I see one of his paintings in the embassy last night?”
Antonia stood up straighter and nodded. “The outdoor scene. It’s one of his earlier works. There’s a girl along the side of the road, and he modeled her after Tatianna. Her image appears in many of his earlier works. Those paintings are referred to as his Kozinski period— after Tatianna Kozinski. That’s why I know so much about her. I was curious when I kept noticing her in Grandfather’s paintings.”
“But that makes you and your sisters, as his only surviving relatives, wealthy, doesn’t it?”
“You'd think so, but not according to British law. You see, Grandfather died before my mother did, and he left her everything. But by British law, her inheritance went into my father’s estate because a married woman has no rights to her own money. Not even the money she inherited from her family. It’s absurd, but it’s the law. So everything became Father’s once they married.”
“But I thought they weren’t legally married. Wouldn’t that inheritance have gone to you and your sisters when she died?” He absently slid his fingers over her gloved hand, as though stroking a cat, and the sensation sent a thrill through Antonia.
She sighed. “About a year after my parents married, Father’s first wife died of some illness. Even though they were eager to legitimize their union, they wanted my grandfather to attend the wedding. Unfortunately, he was quite ill at the time and couldn’t leave his village in Russia, so my parents visited him there. The local Russian Orthodox priest performed the ceremony legalizing their union, and Grandfather witnessed it.”
“Wait, does that mean you and your sisters are legitimate after all?”
She sighed out another puff of whiteness that quickly dissipated in the winter air. “It should, but my uncle claims the ceremony in Russia never took place. There’s proof of the first marriage, but not the second one. The problem arises because Father’s will states his children would inherit his estate upon his death, but the British court system says we aren’t his legal children because we have no proof our parents were married in Russia before we were born. If we did, then Grandfather’s estate would revert to me and my sisters, as would my father’s estate. In order to prove we’re legitimate, I need to prove the marriage took place in Russia.”
“But if your parents weren’t really married, then your Grandfather Vladamir’s inheritance should rightfully go to you.”
“That’s where the last cruel twist of fate comes into play. Mother and Father were married in Gretna Green.”
“A third time?”
She nodded. “They died when their train derailed as they were returning home. Their third marriage s
tole Grandfather’s inheritance from us and left us penniless. The wedding took place the day before they both died, making their marriage legal, but leaving me and my sisters illegitimate. Mother’s inheritance became Father’s property once they were wed. When I went through Father’s papers after his death, I discovered a letter from Uncle Walter that had arrived three days before they died. He claimed he’d investigated their marriage in Russia and believed it to be a lie. He said the church had burned down, destroying the church register. There was no proof their wedding ever took place. He threatened to expose Father as a bigamist.”
“Walter Winter strikes again.”
“He’s at the root of it all.”
Robert’s pace slowed. “Is that why you need the church register? Is it from the church that burned down?”
Antonia nodded as she matched his stride. “My parents were married three times, yet my sisters and I are still considered illegitimate. The only wedding making us his heirs took place in my grandfather’s village. Without that church register, we have no proof.”
“That’s oddly convenient for your uncle.” Robert frowned.
“Suspiciously so,” Antonia agreed. “After he ejected us from our home, I wrote a letter to the Russian Orthodox priest who’d performed the wedding. His reply was so long in coming I began to believe I’d never hear from him, but Father Sergey finally contacted me. He’d fled Russia shortly after the fire and escaped to France. He’s been hiding there for years. I’m lucky my letter finally made its way to him.”
“He’s helping you?” His genuine concern made her chest tighten.
“We’re helping each other. Whoever burned down the church also stole the register. It wasn’t destroyed as the government claims.” She took a deep breath. “Arson wasn’t the only crime committed that night. Father Sergey’s wife was in the church, and the arsonist killed her as well.”
“He’s a murderer?” Robert stopped on the path and faced her, his shock evident.
“It almost destroyed Father Sergey.”
“But wait. You said she was his wife, right? I thought Catholic priests couldn’t marry.”
“Russian Orthodox priests can. They follow different rules from those of the Roman Catholic priests. Father Sergey thinks his wife stumbled upon the arsonist. Apparently, someone hit her in the head and left her to die.”
Robert looked stunned.
“Father Sergey says that on the day of the fire, a stranger with an English accent tried to bribe him to destroy the record of my parents’ wedding. Father Sergey refused, of course, but the fire broke out that same night. A couple of days later, the same Englishman appeared in a nearby town with a serious burn on his arm.”
“Strong evidence.”
Antonia nodded. “But it’s the next part of my story that doesn’t make sense.”
Robert raised his eyebrows. “It gets even more complicated?”
She mirrored his raised eyebrows and cocked her head slightly to one side. “Getting confused?”
“Not in the least. This is fascinating.”
As he moved his hand, the tips of his fingers accidentally slid beneath the cuff of her dress and brushed her bare skin, making it difficult for her to concentrate.
“Are you cold, Antonia? You’re trembling.”
Antonia felt her face heat with the intensity of her blush. “A bit,” she lied. This man’s touch affected her much too strongly.
He pulled her closer to his side and covered her forearm with his hand, sharing his body heat with her.
Antonia breathed in deeply and let out a slow, calming breath before continuing. “When Father Sergey reported that his church had burned down and his register had been stolen, Russian soldiers flooded the area, searching for the arsonist and the book. Can you imagine that? Soldiers searching for an arsonist?”
“That does seem strange,” Robert said, slowing his steps. “Why would the military become involved in a case of arson?”
“Much of what transpired seems odd,” she agreed. “Even with so many people searching for him, the man managed to escape with the register. According to Father Sergey, even the czar took an interest. For some reason, the official record states the church register was destroyed in the fire, but Father Sergey says the report is false.”
Robert’s hand tightened on her arm, and when she glanced up, she found him staring at her intently. “That’s a strange thing to lie about. Why did Russian soldiers appear so quickly? Does Father Sergey think it had something to do with the arsonist, or with the church register itself?”
“He never offered his opinion. But it must be the register. Why else would the government lie and say it was destroyed? So many people keep stealing it— even Queen Victoria wants it now. Father Sergey probably knows why.”
“I’ll wager that’s why he’s hiding in France. If he’s privy to a state secret, his life could be in danger.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“You mentioned that you’d stolen the register twice. When did you take it the last time?”
“Father Sergey helped me—” she began.
“I thought he was in France.”
“No, he came to London because he hoped to identify the man who murdered his wife.”
“The arsonist is here? In England?” Robert asked, raising his eyebrows. “How can Father Sergey be sure? Has he seen the man?”
Antonia tightened her grip on his forearm and glanced away, not wanting to meet his gaze. “When Father Sergey arrived, I took him to the house where I grew up.” Her throat felt tight. “Uncle Walter lives there now. It’s his house.” She paused for a moment until she knew she could speak without revealing the depth of her pain. She hated imagining Uncle Walter there, among her family’s cherished possessions. Touching them, using them, discarding them. It turned her stomach. “We watched from the park across the street. As my uncle left, Father Sergey looked as though he’d seen a ghost.”
Robert looked at her in silent shock.
“He’s certain my uncle is the man who wanted him to destroy the proof of my parents’ marriage.”
“The same man who murdered his wife?”
Antonia nodded.
Robert let out a low whistle and then stopped walking to turn and stare at her.
Antonia didn’t want to meet his gaze, but once she did, she saw more compassion than she’d dared hope for. More compassion than anyone else had shown her in months. He seemed to be peering into her very soul, and even though he knew her worst secrets, he didn’t turn away.
“Life certainly has dealt you more than your share of woes. But you’re a strong woman, Antonia Winter. Strong and resilient. I have the feeling you could take on the world if you needed to. And win.”
Despite the winter chill, warmth suffused Antonia as she stared back at this man. She lifted her chin, letting his words sink in. Was that what she was? Resilient? She would have said stubborn, but Robert’s characterization had a much nicer sound to it. “Thank you.”
“I’m simply stating the truth. No thanks are necessary.” He twirled his cane once again and then began tapping on the ground in time with his steps. He seemed to carefully choose each spot where the tip landed. “Now that you know what your uncle is capable of, you’ll need to be cautious. He’s already killed once.”
“I need the church register as evidence. Without it, all I have is one aging man’s memories of a wedding that took place twenty years ago.”
“So you stole it.”
“What else could I do?” She’d asked herself that same question so many times in the past week she’d lost track. But she’d had no good alternative. What if Uncle Walter found out? What if he destroyed the book? Taking it had been the safest alternative. “I made some educated guesses about where my uncle would hide the church register. After all, I grew up in that house. I know all the best hiding spots. It wasn’t difficult to convince our old cook to let me inside.”
“You found it?”
She nodded. “Uncle Walter kept the register in the library with all the other books, in plain sight.” Antonia shook her head as she pressed her lips in a thin line. “I wish I’d been able to peek at the back of Grandfather’s painting, but there simply wasn’t enough time. But now I know I must.”
“Why? What’s so important about the painting?”
“It provides additional evidence that the wedding took place. If I could just check to make sure my uncle didn’t damage it—” Antonia stopped mid-sentence at the sound of running footsteps fast approaching. She turned to look behind her barely in time to step aside as two young boys came tearing toward them in a footrace.
“Sorry,” one of boys said as he darted past them.
“That would be Nathan,” Robert commented. “He nearly bowled me over on the street earlier.”
“He’s a quick one. His mother must be exhausted after chasing after him all day.”
They resumed their walk as they watched the boys dart off around the bend.
“You took the register that day?”
Antonia nodded. “I brought it with me when I joined Father Sergey in the park across the street. We hid it in his lodgings for safekeeping, but somehow the Russians discovered he had it. We never found out how. That same night, soldiers forced their way into his rooms and took it from him. He pleaded with them that I needed it, but they ignored him.”
“So last night you stole it back from Ambassador Revnik?”
She nodded.
“But how did you know it was there?”
She let out a sigh. She could tell him part of it. Would that be enough? “Someone helped me. The man I passed it to at the soirée knew the ambassador’s plan for sending it to Russia.”
“Ah, yes. Your mysterious friend. I’ve been meaning to ask you about him.”
This was it. The moment when she might lose all of Robert’s goodwill. But what could she do? Betray one of her only allies? Turn on the man who had helped her recover the church register? No, that was something she wouldn’t do. His identity wasn’t her secret to reveal.
Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book Page 14
