Perhaps it was this drabness in the landscape that caused his heart to feel so empty.
He was depressed, that was it. Perhaps he should have stayed in St. Petersburg after all and thrown himself into the social life there.
But he could think of only one thing that would cheer him up.
And that would be to leap upon a bicycle and pedal swiftly towards the sea –
Alas, there was no sea anywhere near to here, not for hundreds and hundreds of miles. And, should he make that long journey to the coast of the Black Sea or to the icy shores of the far North, he would be incredibly unlikely to encounter the dark-haired angel there, the girl that, try as he might, he could not put from his mind.
There was nothing for it but to be patient and wait for time to erase her memory from his mind and heart.
And to remind himself, as he did at least once a day, that by now she was probably engaged to one of the boorish English gentlemen, who had swarmed round her at the ball, like a cluster of flies in their black evening suits.
*
“What can I do to persuade you how deeply I care for you?” Mervyn Hunter was on his knees in front of Chiara, gripping tightly onto the skirt of her riding habit with both hands.
They were in the stable yard in front of Erebus’s box and she could not help thinking that his clean white breeches would be soiled with mud and straw when he did stand up.
“I have left you alone in consideration for your youth and innocence and I have given you ample time to consider my proposal – why will you not answer me?” he was saying, his lean face turning dark red with emotion.
Chiara kept her lips firmly closed, as to keep silent gave her a feeling of strength and she was determined this time not to let him distress her.
“Can you not see it? You must be my wife. It was meant to be.”
His voice was growing louder and he twisted his hands in the thick cloth of her riding habit.
Across the yard Jonah was now approaching with a forkful of hay. When he saw Mervyn Hunter, he dropped the fork and came running.
“Lady Chiara! Is all well?” he called, in his lilting Norfolk accent. “Is the gentleman hurt?”
Chiara felt laughter bubble up inside her, as she realised how absurd Mervyn Hunter must look, kneeling on the dirty cobblestones.
“I really don’t know, Jonah,” she replied. “He has slipped and fallen at my feet!”
Mervyn Hunter’s eyes now widened with anger as he heard this and before he could contradict her, Chiara stepped back and pulled her riding habit free of his grasp, so that he overbalanced and fell onto all fours.
“Be careful, sir,” Jonah said. “There’s been rain today and the stones be ever so slippery.”
He bent and took Mervyn Hunter’s arm to help him up.
“Get off!” He shook him aside angrily. “I am quite all right.”
He stood up and glared at Chiara, rage flaming in his pale eyes.
“You are making fun of me!”
He was absolutely furious and yet Chiara knew that he would not dare to strike her or seize hold of her again in front of Jonah and his raging anger made the feeling of determination inside her grow stronger.
“I am simply concerned for you, Mr. Hunter,” she replied.
“You are lying! How can that be so when you have so little regard for my feelings?” his voice was low now in an attempt to keep Jonah from hearing his words.
Chiara knew that the time had come, once and for all, to tell Mervyn Hunter that he must leave her alone.
Even if she had had some slight feeling for him in her heart, the last few days spent in the company of his sister and his nieces would have convinced her that she could never, never wish to be associated with his family.
“Mr. Hunter,” she began, “I do indeed consider your feelings and that is why I must tell you now that I do not intend to marry you and I never will. You must not ask me again.”
Jonah backed away from them, his mouth hanging open in amazement.
“How can you – speak like that to – me?” Mervyn Hunter was spluttering with rage.
“I don’t like to do it,” Chiara replied, “and I don’t wish to do it again. So please remember what I have said.”
Her limbs were shaking, but her heart swelled with confidence as she watched him.
“But – I – ”
His face was scarlet.
“Mr. Hunter, I think your relatives are with Mama in the drawing room. You may wish to change before you join them.”
She glanced down at his knees and he gave a loud exclamation of annoyance, as he saw the muddy patches on his breeches.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter,” she said politely.
He then walked away from her towards the house, swallowing an impatient curse as he went.
“Lady Chiara!” Jonah’s face was now white with shock and embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to overhear – ”
“It doesn’t matter, Jonah. Mr. Hunter asked me to marry him, but I have turned him down and now all that is in the past. I want to forget all about it and I know that you will be discreet.”
“Of course, my Lady. But I am so glad – ”
Jonah bit his lip, cutting off his words.
“What do you mean? Tell me!”
“It is just that – I’ve seen him hangin’ about here in the yard and I’ve overheard some of the things he has been sayin’. He has plans to bring all his racehorses here and I shouldn’t have liked to work for him. He’s not a good-tempered man.”
Chiara laughed.
“No indeed and I wonder if it’s the stables that he loves and not me after all!”
Jonah nodded.
“Well, my Lady – the Head Groom has seen him drinking’ at the inn and – a-speakin’ with the innkeeper’s daughter.”
He blushed very red.
“Let’s hope then, Jonah, that she will help him to get over any hurt feelings he may have. And now – I am going to forget the whole thing and go for a ride, if Erebus is completely recovered.”
“Yes, my Lady, he is, and he’ll be pleased to have you take him out, he’s been frettin’ these last few weeks, with nothin’ to do.”
“I must be quick, Jonah – Mama does not like me riding after the accident and Mr. Hunter will be sure to tell her that he found me in the stable yard.”
“I will saddle him up, my Lady, and you will be away in a moment,” Jonah said, unbolting the stable door.
Mervyn Hunter grunted with some annoyance as he pulled his boots off in the boot room, where Mrs. Fulwell had come to find him.
“Mervyn – surely you are not going to quit?” she asked him.
“I’ve had it, sister. All the stable yards in England aren’t worth it.”
He threw his boots at the wall with another grunt.
“Lady Fairfax is so keen for you to marry the girl.”
“That’s as may be. I’m not putting myself up for any more humiliation. She just insulted me in front of the stable boy. Little minx!”
“Her Mama should know of this. Come, Mervyn, speak to her Ladyship. She’s in the drawing room.”
“Much good it will do,” he replied. “I must look elsewhere. What about the Russian, Elaine? You have not spoken of him for a while. He’d be good for few thousand for a training establishment, don’t you think?”
“I do, Mervyn. But you are forgetting – he’s in St. Petersburg and myself and my girls are here in Norfolk.”
He leant forward.
“Have a word with Lady Fairfax,” he suggested. “You have pretty much got her in your pocket, sister. She will sponsor you, I’m sure, to have a little jaunt to Russia.”
Mrs Fulwell shook her head.
“I’ll try. But – if you’ve had no success with Lady Chiara, it may be that our days of being in favour here are numbered.”
*
Chiara cantered home from the beach with the wind in her hair and a lightness in her heart that she had not felt for man
y days.
No ragged-coated gentleman had come down from the dunes to greet her, but she had not expected it, as she knew that the Count had left Sandringham and gone home to his native Russia.
She could not help, though, remembering his face, so striking under his loose dark hair and the sound of his voice that had resonated so powerfully through her body.
He was thousands of miles away and yet, when she thought of him, it seemed as if he might suddenly appear again and speak to her.
If only he would.
If only he was here beside her, seated on that old bicycle and the two of them could ride away through the country lanes, so that she did not have to go and sit in the stuffy drawing room and face the questions and comments of the ghastly Fulwells.
When Chiara had changed from her riding habit and reluctantly gone downstairs, she was surprised to find that only her mother was seated on the sofa. The others were nowhere to be seen.
“You look very flushed, darling,” her Mama began.
“Yes, Mama. I rode down to the beach.”
Lady Fairfax sighed.
“You know how I feel about that, Chiara, you seem to be going out of your way to make me unhappy.”
“I don’t mean to, Mama. It’s just that I so love to ride.”
“Oh, Chiara, that’s the least of it. Elaine told me that you have been very rude to her brother this afternoon.”
“I don’t think I was rude, Mama. I simply told him that I did not wish to marry him and that he must not ask me again.”
Lady Fairfax’s eyebrows were raised in alarm.
“What has happened to you, Chiara? You never used to speak in such a bold outspoken way. I don’t like it at all.”
Chiara apologised and again told her Mama that she did not mean to upset her.
“But where are the Fulwells? I thought they would be sitting with you, as they usually do at this time.”
“They are packing their things, Chiara. Poor Elaine is terribly distressed at your treatment of her brother.”
“Oh – are they leaving?”
Chiara’s heart gave a great bound of joy.
“Yes, they are. I have given them some money to go abroad and take a little holiday.”
Chiara was very surprised to hear this, but before she could comment, Lady Fairfax’s next words caused her to feel even more astonished.
“Elaine Fulwell really is such a generous woman, Chiara. I cannot quite believe it, but she has offered to take you with her.”
“What! But – why? I don’t understand!”
Chiara’s happiness evaporated in an instant, as she imagined herself with Eglantine and Marigold, staying in a crowded boarding house on the coast of France.
“It is quite extraordinary that she should be so kind, after you have insulted and hurt her dear brother. But she insists that you should accompany them.”
“Mama – I cannot think of anything I should hate more.” Chiara cried. “Please, don’t make me go!”
“My darling, you have behaved very badly. If Mrs. Fulwell has the generosity to forgive you, I don’t think you are in a position to turn down her offer. And, to be frank, I am so upset with you that I shall be quite glad if you go away for a while and leave me to prepare for my wedding in peace.”
Lady Fairfax’s eyes were bright with tears.
“I had so hoped that we might have shared that very special day – ”
Chiara’s head was in a whirl of panic.
What if Mervyn Hunter was to follow them out to France – and renew his attentions to her? What would she do so far away from home and at the mercy of him and his relations?
But then all these thoughts vanished from her mind, as she heard her mother add,
“You had better go and look through your things, Chiara. St. Petersburg, I have heard, is a very fashionable place.”
St. Petersburg!
A thrill of excitement passed through her body as she heard the name.
Surely St. Petersburg is the very place where Count Arkady Dimitrov lives and never in her wildest dreams had Chiara thought that she might ever go there.
“Of course, Mama,” she answered, her dislike of Marigold, Eglantine and their mother completely forgotten. “I shall do so right away!”
CHAPTER NINE
At last Chiara was alone!
Mrs. Fulwell and her daughters had gone to a party and they had made no objection when she had asked if she might stay behind in the rented apartment that overlooked one of the beautiful canals that ran through St. Petersburg.
In point of fact, since they had arrived in Russia, they seemed to prefer it if she did not accompany them to the Society salons and other events to which Mrs. Fulwell had managed to arrange invitations almost every night.
“You must understand, my dear,” she had said to Chiara on several occasions, “that I simply cannot allow you to spoil my girls’ opportunities in any way. After all, we must remember how lucky you are. You have already had a very respectable proposal of marriage!”
And Chiara could not help smiling as she thought of the surprised expressions that greeted her introduction as ‘Lady Chiara Fairfax’.
People at social functions did not expect someone like her, an aristocrat, to be travelling with the Fulwells and, quite often, they seemed very pleased to meet her and much more interested in talking to her than to Eglantine and Marigold.
But the one face that Chiara really longed to see and she looked out for every time she went to a soirée or a luncheon was never there. So she was quite happy to stay behind all on her own.
She went to the window of the apartment where she was staying with the Fulwells and with a great effort pulled up the heavy sash window so that she could lean out and watch the sunset turn the blue sky above St. Petersburg to glorious rose-pink.
A breath of cool evening air drifted up to her from the still water of the canal that led down to the River Neva.
St. Petersburg was not at all as Chiara had expected it to be. It was far more attractive than anything she could have imagined, with its endless Palaces and Cathedrals and expanses of glittering water.
At the same time it was almost like Venice, where her Mama and Papa had taken her as a child. Except that St. Petersburg was built on a much grander scale.
She had been staying there for several weeks now, but she felt as if she would never grow tired of gazing at the enchanting buildings all around her.
The nights were starting to draw out as the summer approached. It must be quite late now and yet the sun had only just set.
Chaira sighed with pleasure, feasting her eyes on the beauty of the darkening sky and let her mind drift back to the first day of the long voyage from England.
She had been sitting in the salon on board the ship, playing draughts with Marigold, who seemed to have no ability to amuse herself and must always be playing some game or other.
Eglantine was not far away, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her long nose as she perused the latest fashions in a magazine.
“Oh, it’s so unfair! You’ve won again!” Marigold cried petulantly and pushed the board across the table.
“I’m sorry,” Chiara said, “but that is just the way it turned out.”
“You must apply yourself, Marigold. If you really concentrated on what you are doing, you would win easily. Draughts is a very simple game.”
Without lifting her eyes from a magazine, Eglantine rebuked her sister.
“I hate it and what’s more, I feel sick. Why do we have to make this stupid voyage to Russia anyway?”
Marigold got up and flounced away from the table.
“I’m going to the cabin to lie down.”
Chiara wondered if she should follow her, to make sure that she was all right.
The ship was moving up and down over the waves quite strongly now and, though Chiara loved the sensation, she could imagine that others might find it unsettling.
“Oh, just leave her,” Eglantine sn
apped. “She’s always carrying on about something or other.”
“So why did you choose St. Petersburg?” Chiara asked. “There are many lovely places easier to get to.”
She had been wondering about this for some time, but in the frenzied excitement of packing and beginning the journey, she had never put her question into words.
“Oh! Don’t you know?”
Eglantine looked up from her magazine and peered at Chiara over her glasses.
“We’ve been invited by a titled Russian gentleman and Mama thinks he may have taken a fancy to me.”
Chiara felt a little rush of amusement, as a picture came into her mind of an elderly aristocrat, perhaps with bushy white side-whiskers, who had fallen helplessly under the spell of Eglantine’s rather severe charms.
But her next words struck a chill into her heart.
“Count Arkady Dimitrov. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”
“Yes – I have – ”
Chiara strove to keep her voice from shaking.
“Mama says that he danced with you, just the once, at the Sandringham Ball. And then he cut you dead. Lady Fairfax told her so.”
“Yes – but – ” Chiara stopped herself.
At all costs, she must not let Eglantine know how she felt about Arkady.
“But he has always been perfectly charming to me. Such lovely manners.”
Eglantine’s nose was high in the air with pride and she raised her right hand to pat her fair hair, which had been elaborately curled for the journey.
“Have you – danced with him?”
Chiara could hardly say it, but she had to know.
“Oh, no, but Mama believes that he is completely smitten. He invited us to take Russian tea with him and paid particular attention to me the whole time.”
Eglantine’s gaze dropped to her magazine again.
Chiara’s mind was in turmoil.
She simply could not believe that the dark-haired, proud Count, who had whirled her so swiftly and skilfully across the dance floor, who had spoken of the wild swans flying North and whose dark eyes had gazed into hers with such amazing fire and passion, could possibly be attracted to Eglantine.
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