Nicholas gave her none of his time, but an outrageous title
and land to go with it, did he? That underhanded, overbearing…
Outlander! I am going home, she thought. Very soon. Just wait
until I see him again—I’ll tell him what I think of his titles.
***
Nicholas spent the time waiting for Sera to comply with
his summons by attempting to work at his study desk. But he
could barely concentrate on anything but the hands of the ormolu
clock slowly rounding the hour. At the soft knock on his door,
he jumped up from the chair, forced himself to stand quietly
against the desk, and called for her enter.
She slipped inside, a graceful woman of almost otherworldly
beauty, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. “You wished to see
me, Nicholas Rostov?” she asked him.
“Where the devil have you been? I hoped to see you an
hour ago.”
“I was in the town with Katherine. Are you angry because
you thought I had already escaped?” Sera’s face set in a stubborn
expression, and Nicholas groaned inwardly.
Against his own good sense, he had called for her in order
to, well, not quite apologize, but to try and make up a little for
their last meeting. It wasn’t well done of him to leave Sera alone
without at least helping her to fit into palace life.
He took a calming breath and began again. “I wished to see
how you’re getting along, that’s all. Do you like your chamber?”
She shrugged. “It is comfortable—as prisons go,” she said.
He sighed. “I’m going to ignore that last, Sera, rather than
go into the whys and wherefores of your stay in Laurentia. So
you’ve been out in the town with Katherine. Did you enjoy
yourself?”
“When I could forget. I do not wish a title and land, Nicholas
Rostov. Please, take it back.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand yet, Sera.
Someday, you’ll meet a man at court. Someone you’ll wish to—
to….” Oh, God, he had to stop stammering. He took another
calming breath. “Someone you may marry. And in order to do
that, you’ll need both the title and the land.”
All the color drained from her face, to then rush back again.
Her eyes gave off blue sparks of fire. “You think I would ever
align myself with an Outlander?”
He nodded. “If—if you loved him.” Rushing on, getting it
all said, was the whole reason for this meeting, he reminded
himself sternly, even as he ground his teeth at the thought of
Sera with anyone else.
“And you need to know all about the court if you’re to make
a proper match. So I’ve made a list of your activities for the
next month or so.” He grabbed up the paper and thrust it into
her hands quickly so she would not suspect his own were a
trifle unsteady.
She perused the list, a look of shock fading from her face,
to be replaced by the disdainful thrust of her chin.
“A schedule. You’ve given me a schedule, like a schoolgirl.
Do you think for one moment I shall keep to it?”
Merde! It was worse dealing with Sera than with a hundred
hostile ambassadors. He hated being devious and clever with
her, when there had been only perfect harmony between them
before. “If you wish access to the stables, yes. I think you’ll
meet with the masters listed and learn what you need to know
from them.”
Her eyes flashed in regal scorn, and for a moment, he
wondered what idiocy made him think she needed to know
anything more about being a noblewoman. His hand reached
out for her, then fell to his side.
“I only want you to be happy here, Sera. It’s the best I can
do. Please, try to understand that.”
“I understand perfectly, Nicholas Rostov,” she said with
ironic scorn. “You want me to turn into one of your ladies. I
must embroider, dance, gossip, and learn the proper way to
curtsey. And then my life will surely be meaningful and therefore
quite happy, will it not?”
That had been how they’d left the matter. Except that
Nicholas woke each morning with the feeling of a heavy weight
pressing him down, and it had nothing to do with the future of
Laurentia. It had everything to do with the one woman he could
not stop thinking about, and lusting for, and wanting beside
him—and how she’d looked at him when he threatened to refuse
her the one joy she had in this palace she thought a prison.
Thus, by the king’s command, Sera faced a battalion of
embroidery masters, instructors in court etiquette, tutors in
Laurentian history, and lastly, Monsieur Gallopet, the spindly
legged, supercilious dance master, with whom Sera finally drew
the line.
“Tell that monkey to leave me alone!” she said to Katherine
one day in midweek.
“But Sera, Nikki said—
“He never bothered to say anything to me about any of
this. Do you realize that all his—his orders have been delivered
by you? I shall not learn to caper and simper, even upon the
command of the king.”
“Oh, dear,” said Katherine. “What shall I tell Nicholas?”
“Tell him I shall see him in Hades before I put up with that
spider.”
“I’ll tell him nothing of the sort. As a matter of fact,” said
Katherine with a lift of her chin, “I’ll tell him nothing at all.”
“As you wish,” muttered Sera.
She was strangling in this place.
***
That evening, the maid Annette helped her into a woolen
dress of a soft rose color. “You dine en famille tonight,” she
announced. “And the king will be there.”
The décolletage shocked Sera, who had only gone about in
day dresses before tonight’s command performance. “I cannot
wear this,” she said, coloring.
“Oh, my lady. It is charming and quite modest, I assure
you.” Annette fluffed out the sleeves, which came to her wrists,
and turned her to the cheval glass. “You see? Barely any cleavage
showing, at all. It is much more demure than your ball gowns.”
Ugh. If she had to appear in anything lower than this
neckline, she might as well stand in front of a house of ill repute
holding a sign that read “for hire; hourly rates.”
Why was she so tense? It was just dinner. Just Nicholas,
who had dictated what her life should be and then avoided her
forever.
The sky was dark by the time Sera followed a footman
holding a branch of candelabrum down the long corridor, past
other silent footmen in powdered wigs and satin. If she were
stark naked, she wouldn’t have felt any more exposed. The man
opened a door into an elegantly appointed dining room. A small
table was set beside a window overlooking a small garden.
Katherine and Andre, who had been standing close together,
jumped apart as the door opened. Katherine colored prettily.
Andre recovered first and bowed to Sera.
“Another lovely damsel. Whom shall I assist first?” he asked
with a grin.
Sera smiled back at him. With Katherine’s and Andre’s joy
fairly flaming on their faces, they would be good company
tonight, making this meeting less awkward. Still, she would
have preferred a larger buffer—say a dinner party for eighty.
“Katherine first, if you please,” said Sera with a wry smile.
“She has been a princess longer than I have been a lady.”
Andre’s hands rested possessively upon Katherine’s
shoulders as he helped her into her seat.
As he took his own, Sera leaned toward Katherine. “This
gown is too low in front,” she whispered.
“No,” said Katherine peering at Sera’s chest. “It is quite
modest.”
Nicholas walked into the room.
“Late again, Nikki,” said Andre. “This makes the fifth time
this week. Anything I should worry about?”
Sera turned to look at the king. She had a difficult time
catching her breath. Nicholas in travel-stained clothing was a
formidably attractive male, but in evening dress, he was
splendid. His deep blue velvet coat and breeches fit his body so
well that one saw everything—his wide shoulders, his slim waist
and hips, his long, muscular legs. Elegance, strength, and
symmetry together in one man. She looked down at her hands
clasped before her, her stomach a tight ball of nerves.
“Nothing of note. A meeting that ran overlong with the
Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
Nicholas’s curt nod settled into a frowning stare as he took
his seat opposite Sera. He rose and rounded the table, taking
off his dinner jacket, then dropped it over Sera’s shoulders. “That
gown is not proper to be worn publicly,” he said.
“I told you,” Sera muttered to Katherine. She wished she
could crawl back to her room. Nicholas returned to his chair.
He kept his eyes on the wine the footman poured for him.
“Nonsense, Nikki,” Katherine said. “The gown is charming.
Mine is cut a good deal lower.”
“Then perhaps you should both use a different
mantuamaker. Kindly see to it tomorrow.”
“I shall do no such thing! Nicholas, what has gotten into
you? You’ve never complained about my gowns before, and
Sera’s are perfectly proper. Are you threatening some form of
social isolation for us?”
Nicholas stared at Katherine in what looked like blank
shock. Sera wondered if she had ever openly questioned her
brother’s judgment before.
“When a kitten turns into a little tiger, it’s wise to let her
have her way,” said Andre with a sidelong glance at Katherine.
After a moment, Nicholas inclined his head in a gesture of
defeat. “Very well. Let Sera be a slave to these immodest
fashions,” he said. “And hope the men of the aristocracy have
some self-restraint.”
So she was nothing to Nicholas but a Hill slave who had
embarrassed him yet again. She wanted to clutch the heavy
dinner jacket around her and run back to her room.
Nicholas motioned to a footman standing unobtrusively
against a wall, and the man reappeared within moments with
the first course.
As Katherine, obviously emboldened by Andre’s
admiration, teased and laughed with him, Nicholas lapsed into
a stiff silence. He looked at the blinis on his plate as though
they were the most fascinating of objects.
Sera cautiously watched Nicholas out of the corner of her
eye. He leaned back in his chair, dangling his wineglass by the
rim. His face was as remote and formal as it had been when he
first refused to look at her in the palace of Iman Hadar. He looked
as though he had never been young and never laughed.
“What are you thinking, sitting so aloof in your corner?”
Katherine asked him.
It had taken an act of will for Sera not to ask that question.
It would have flowed from her so naturally in Selonia. She
needed a good, swift kick.
“I’m wondering about the Brotherhood, and about
Napoleon, and how the French are waging a bloody clever
internal campaign against us, and how I wish to h—beg
pardon—to heaven we could crack their code.”
“Why are you certain Napoleon is behind the Brotherhood?”
The words were out of her mouth before she could call them
back. Nicholas looked at Sera as though she were a foolish child
allowed to sup with adults who had more important matters to
discuss. He raised his hand and began counting reasons off on
his fingers. “Bonaparte is conquering Russia. Laurentia borders
Russia on the south with well-built roads to all of Europe. We
are a wealthy state. Our people are ripe for the winds of
liberalism—actually, they lead the rest of Europe in that
philosophy. The country is ready made for Napoleon’s brand of
reform.”
Sera raised her brows in what she hoped gave an impression
of cool superiority. “If I were king, I should not forget Ockham’s
Razor before I ruled out other possibilities.”
“What?” Nicholas looked at her as though she had just
stepped out of a madhouse.
“William of Ockham,” said Sera, in a voice that sounded
pedantic to her own ears. “Reduce things to their bare essence
by shaving away facts that do not impact upon the situation.”
“I know what the devil Ocham’s Razor is, Countess.”
Nicholas gave her a look that might have downed a bird at thirty
paces.
“Excellent,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I wouldn’t wish to discuss subjects that might confuse
you.” “Would you care to enlighten us upon the bare essence of
our problem?” At Nicholas’s icy sarcasm, Katherine squirmed
in her seat, but Sera was too angry to be cowed.
“The Brotherhood attacked you in Jehanna. Jehanna is
southeast of Laurentia. Napoleon and his army are northwest
of Laurentia.”
“Foolish woman.” Nicholas said. “Iman Hadar is far too
old and soft to mount such a devious campaign.”
Sera wanted to punch him in the stomach. “Goat-brained
Outlander.” She allowed herself that pleasure, at least. “There
is another to the east of Laurentia, younger, more evil, and
devious enough to destroy the devil, himself.”
“Galerien?” Nicholas looked at her—really looked at her.
Then he shrugged, neatly relegating the unruly Hill child to the
nursery again. “You speak from a natural antipathy, but your
theory has no factual basis. I realize Galerien harasses the Hill
people. However, Galerien, although an unpopular king, is a
long time ally.”
Sera waited for more, but Nicholas only began to spoon
Russian caviar and sour cream upon his blini. He’s only an
Outlander, and therefore, a dolt, she fumed. Why do I even care
to warn a man who ignores me and patronizes me and rudely
demonstrates that he barely suffers my presence?
Sera remained silent through coffee and brandy. When
Nicholas rose and bowed formally to her, holding out his
hand,
she stood without accepting it, and preceded him out the door.
“The Season begins soon,” he said, walking beside her down
the long hallway. “You will make your debut at the opening
ball.”
Sera had eaten little at supper. Now, she felt the effects of
the wine she had drunk. “I don’t wish to mix with your court. I
don’t wish to be here, at all.”
“You will do quite well here. As long as you make an honest
attempt to understand the expectations of society.” She hated
the new tone of voice he took with her. As though he were ages
older and far wiser. “You have a quick mind, Sera, and a great
deal of natural grace. With help and instruction, you’ll fit very
nicely at court. Katherine and you will do very well together.”
“And that is my new position, is it?” Sera shook with some
very nasty emotion she had never felt before, but it was tearing
her insides apart. “I am now a sham countess, and the Princess
Katherine’s friend.” And nothing to you, she added silently.
“That is exactly your position. Any woman of your former
status would be delighted with this advancement. And as I shall
be quite busy in the next months, it is natural that you and
Katherine utilize the time to become close companions.”
Sera looked straight at him. If her eyes were blazing or tear-
filled, she could not care less that he saw. “Firstly, you may be
ashamed of my ‘former status’, but I believe the shame of it
belongs to the Nantal and Iman Hadar. Secondly, nothing is
natural with you, Outlander. That is your saddest problem.”
When she heard a shattering crash behind her, she was too
furious to look behind her to see what it was. Instead, she threw
the dinner jacket at him. And to her own consternation, she
picked up her skirts and ran all the way down the long hallway,
past the perfect figures of stolen gods and heroes, past stone-
faced guards who looked straight through her, into the empty
place of artifice they had chosen to call her chamber.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” she said in a voice low
and harsh to her own ears. Her fists clenched at her sides. She
wanted to scream. She wanted to break something. She wanted
to—
She whirled, her gaze blazing, and stared into the fireplace,
Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Page 18
