He ignored her query. ‘Why wouldn’t you see me until now?’
‘You know that I’ve been very busy. Mostly enjoying myself. As I’m sure Isabelle has told you, I continue to design and she makes each one up for the fashion dolls, but otherwise we have nothing to do. I’m negotiating her return in a courier’s sledge to St Petersburg, even if I have to stay. She is eager to get back there. Do sit down, Tom.’
Although she took a seat herself he continued to stand. Again he ignored what she had said. ‘I came to Moscow specially to see you.’
She shook her head wearily. ‘I hoped you were not going to say that. Don’t let us get into some pointless discussion about something that can never be.’
‘Listen to me! It’s you I want with me for the rest of my life! Nobody else!’
She regarded him incredulously, rising slowly to her feet again. ‘You’re out of your mind! Sarah loves you! She lives for you!’
‘She thinks she does, but she’s never been a wife to me as I would have wished. She lives in some airy-fairy dream of love and will go on cherishing some idealized image of me wherever she is. She shuts out of her mind anything that threatens to bring her down to earth and that includes the marriage bed!’
‘Don’t you care anything for her?’ Marguerite demanded angrily.
‘Of course I do. Who wouldn’t respond to her gentle charm and her vulnerability, just as one would to a helpless child or a dependent kitten? I was captivated by her when we married, but it was not long before I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. That’s why I sought work abroad, wanting to get her away from her dominating mother and hoping that we could build up a good relationship, but it was not to be.’ He flung out his hands despairingly. ‘Sarah suffocates me with her cloying, unrealistic devotion! Even if you had not come into my life I could not have gone on much longer in these circumstances.’
In her own mind Marguerite felt intense pity for him and for Sarah that they were such a mismatched couple, but there was nothing she could do to solve the matter for either of them.
‘How you settle the crisis in your marriage is entirely between you and Sarah,’ she said, managing to keep an even tone in her voice, ‘but my life is my own and you can have no part in it. I was attracted to you, because you reminded me so much – and still do! – of someone I loved and lost before I left Paris. In you I was seeking the past, refusing to see that it had gone for ever.’
‘But I can be your future instead!’
She shook her head firmly, tortured by the decision she had made. ‘No, Tom.’
‘No matter what you say I’ll not be turned away! There is nothing in this world that can stop me making you my own. You and I belong together for the rest of our lives!’ He was moving towards her, wholly confident that he had only to take her into his arms and all her resistance would melt away. ‘My dearest love!’
‘But I’m going to marry Konstantin Dashiski!’
The words were out almost before she realized it. He halted, rooted by shock, total disbelief in his eyes. She saw his face drain white before his colour flooded back, rising up from his crisp cravat to flood up his cheeks in crimson-hued rage. He swung up his hand as if to strike her, but almost at once he let it fall again to his side. Then, to her sorrow, she saw a terrible sadness sweep over his whole face and he sank into a nearby chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down limply, his head bowed in abject misery.
‘I don’t know how to bear this,’ he said very quietly.
She had never seen a man so devastated. This breakdown into such terrible despair was dreadful to see. He looked utterly broken.
‘Don’t, Tom,’ she pleaded, dropping to one knee beside him. ‘I’ve never wanted to hurt you, but it has to be.’
After a few moments he raised his head abruptly and looked at her with a rallying fierceness she had not expected to see. ‘I’ll not give up! I’ll have to see you wed before I’ll ever accept losing you!’ Then he seized her face between his hands and devoured her mouth passionately in a long kiss that she could not escape. She remained kneeling, shocked and distressed, as he stood up abruptly and went from the room.
When Isabelle came looking for her she had not moved.
Fifteen
The Empress was in a dressing robe having her fingernails manicured and buffed when Marguerite was able to see her.
‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ Marguerite began, ‘I’m at a loss to know what is expected of me. I’m still designing your gowns and sending my drawings to my seamstresses at the Winter Palace, but I wish to be there to supervise. When may I return?’
‘Have you no desire to be a lady of my court, Frenchwoman?’
‘It is a great honour, but I came to Russia in order to use my skills to create for you.’
‘I see no obstacle there. You have excellent needlewomen carrying out your dictates and you continue to serve me as my designer. It would please me if that state of affairs could continue after you have married Major Dashiski.’
Marguerite gasped. ‘I’ve not . . .’
‘Not accepted him yet? I’m aware of that. As a member of my bodyguard he had to ask my permission to marry you and I granted it. There’s another matter. You have not attended any of the formal court functions since the evening I granted you my portrait, although I’ve seen you at every ball. I hope you will soon amend that absence in Major Dashiski’s company. Now you may go.’
Marguerite was furious as she left. She was not a Russian subject to have her personal affairs settled for her. She was French-born with the right to make up her own mind about anything and always would be! If she had not become drawn to Russia and enjoyed her work here so much she would have left with the next convoy for France!
Yet would she have wanted to leave Konstantin? He had made her happier than at any time since she had come to this country, except perhaps for some of the times she had spent with Jan and that special evening when he had given her the painting. She had brought it with her to Moscow and it was hanging in her present room. Although she had tried so many times to discover what hidden meaning was there it still evaded her.
On the evening of her investiture as a portrait lady, Konstantin had joked about her new status enabling them to marry without question, but he was quite different when he seriously asked her to marry him. They were at a private party given by friends of his when he drew her away from the dancing into an alcove draped in silk that partly concealed them from the sight of others.
‘I have something to ask you,’ he said quite solemnly as they sat down together. ‘Will you marry me, Marguerite? I realize we haven’t known each other for any length of time, but it’s long enough for me to have fallen in love with you and to believe that we could enjoy being together for the rest of our lives.’
Although he had taken her by surprise she looked searchingly at him before she spoke. ‘I think we could,’ she answered reflectively, ‘but we both need more time before any decision can be made.’
‘Not in my case. If you wished to marry me tomorrow I’d be off to the church to wait for you now!’
She could see that he was desperate to marry her. For herself, he was all she liked in a man: intelligent, good company, serious when it mattered and yet able to enjoy life to the full. By the very nature of the career he had chosen, he was courageous too. She had become immensely fond of him in a very short time. Was that the most sensible form of love? Friendship and affection and laughter without any of the heart-tearing turmoil of highly charged love? She would have to wait and see.
Isabelle left for St Petersburg in the French Ambassador’s entourage. Not that he knew that Marguerite had managed to secure a seat for her with three of the French maidservants. Isabelle would have enjoyed their friendly chatter more if she had not been weighed down by the dreadful conviction that Mikail had forgotten her, for in all the many weeks she had been away she had not received one letter from him.
When back again at the Winter Palace she s
ent word to him by Igor that she had returned, but feared the worst. Yet he came the same evening and as she appeared in the doorway, looking timorous and uncertain, he was overjoyed to see her and ran to snatch her up in his arms and twirl her around, making her petticoats flutter like flags.
‘You’re here again, my love!’ he exclaimed exuberantly. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’ Then he realized she was weeping and set her feet on the ground again, one arm still around her as he tilted her face to his. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Then it all came out. His lack of letters, her fear that he no longer loved her and had found someone else. It took many loving kisses and much reassurance on his part to finally convince her that nothing had changed between them. It never occurred to him that Rose had had anything to do with the disappearance of his letters, supposing that carelessness or wrong delivery, both of which were not uncommon, had been responsible. Yet when he mentioned having become acquainted with Rose and how helpful she had been there was no doubt in Isabelle’s mind as to what had become of the letters.
Isabelle decided to say nothing to her erstwhile friend. It would only create an unpleasant atmosphere at work and, on a surge of regained self-confidence, she was buoyantly triumphant in knowing that all Rose’s wiles had failed to take Mikail from her. She longed to believe that Mikail loved her enough now to understand with compassion whenever she should choose to tell him the dark secrets of her past, but at least for a while she could still put aside that terrible test of his devotion.
In Moscow Marguerite began attending formal court functions with Konstantin. She wore the Empress’s miniature each time and, far from having it taken from her, she received an imperial nod of approval at its display. It became noticeable that even the Court was warming to her, partly because it was unwise to snub anyone whom the Empress favoured and it had not escaped notice that the Grand Duchess always acknowledged her.
She was soon in demand as a partner in the dancing, Konstantin being unable to monopolize her. He knew himself to be envied by many men, but as yet she would not accept a betrothal ring from him. He wanted to give her other jewellery, but she would not allow it. Her stubbornness exasperated him, but at the same time he admired her for it, having known too many avaricious women in his time.
When the announcement came that the Empress would soon be returning to St Petersburg Marguerite faced the fact that Tom would be there. Recalling how wild with love for her he had been, she thought there was no telling what risks he would take with his marriage while trying to make her reconsider all he wanted from her. She would not let poor Sarah endure the misery and despair of knowing that the husband she adored longed to be free of her. There was only one solution.
That evening Marguerite finally agreed to marry Konstantin after he had proposed yet again. It was in the troika taking them to a party being given by one of his fellow officers. He gave a great shout of joy that she had finally agreed, making her laugh, and he bundled her into his arms to kiss her heartily.
‘Darling Marguerite! You’ve made me the happiest man alive!’ Eagerly he took from his pocket the diamond-and-pearl betrothal ring, which he had optimistically carried with him on every recent occasion they had been together. Pulling off her glove, he slid it on to her finger. Triumphantly, he kissed her hand and then her mouth. Out of the fondness she felt for him she responded warmly, certain they would have a good life together. She had peace of mind. After all, she had known one great love in her life, which was more than many people experienced, and could not expect anything like it to come again. And yet? What was it that seemed to echo faintly in her mind from a far distance? She dismissed it as irrelevant.
‘We’ll be married before we leave Moscow,’ Konstantin declared, passionately eager for her.
‘Yes!’ It was what she wanted. When she arrived as a married woman in St Petersburg it would mean that Sarah would retain her happiness and Tom would soon become resigned to her marriage. ‘Let us have a quiet wedding.’
‘No chance of that! The Empress will want to be there! She has honoured you and I’ve served her well as her bodyguard.’
They had arrived at the house where the party was being held and he threw back the fur coverings to jump out and help her alight, not noticing in his jubilant mood how subdued she had become. Inevitably through the Empress’s presence the marriage would be a grand occasion, and she had a sudden feeling of being swept out of her depth.
Konstantin burst out with the news of their betrothal as soon as they entered the crowded room that was golden with candlelight, pastel-hued gowns mingling with bright uniforms and the crystal gleam of raised glasses. Many toasts were proposed to the betrothed couple during the supper with the smashing of glasses in the traditional way. Marguerite was not aware that some of the women giggled and whispered maliciously behind their fans until she caught a particular glance from one and then another of them. In both women it was a curiously mocking glance as if they were amused by something unknown to her. Momentarily she was puzzled, but promptly forgot the incident in her enjoyment of the party. All the officers wanted to dance with the bride-to-be, but as the proceedings became more riotous Konstantin, more than a little drunk himself, took her away.
‘I’ll make you happy, Marguerite,’ he declared fervently, holding her close to him before they parted for the night. ‘No matter what happens you’ll always be the one I love. Promise me you will remember that.’
‘I promise,’ she answered, soothing away the anxious frown from his forehead with her fingertips.
He caught her hand and held it in his own as he looked into her eyes again. ‘Within a week you’ll be my wife. We’ll never be parted again.’
It suited the Empress that there should be no delay with the wedding, for she was restless now to return to St Petersburg. She showed her approval by promoting Konstantin to the rank of colonel. The resident seamstresses began sewing the bridal gown of cream silk trimmed with gold lace and preparations for a marriage banquet at the Palace were made.
On the wedding morning Marguerite wished so much that Jeanne and Sophie could have been there to help her dress instead of two of the Empress’s own ladies. She thought how much she would have welcomed the presence of Violette, Isabelle and even Rose too. Konstantin had no family, except an uncle in Moscow, who would attend the ceremony, and two cousins who lived too far away to be there.
Konstantin’s marriage gift was a parure of emeralds and diamonds, consisting of a necklace, bracelets and earrings, all of which Marguerite had to wear. On her head she wore a traditional Russian fan-shaped headdress, a gift from the Empress, which was similar to Sophie’s on her wedding day, except that this one sparkled with diamonds. With a sable cape around her shoulders against the cold, Marguerite left the Palace, accompanied by the two ladies.
A great number of people were present in the gilded magnificence of the cathedral and thousands of candles were burning. Konstantin was waiting in dress uniform and gave her a wide, reassuring grin as he took her hand to lead her to the splendidly robed priest, who stood among others equally richly clothed. It was long service with much ceremony and chanting. She and Konstantin made their vows, the symbolic crowns held above their heads, and wedding rings were exchanged. They were married. As they turned to leave Konstantin bowed low to the Empress and Marguerite gave a deep curtsey before they advanced on their way, her hand resting on his wrist.
It was then that one of the great doors of the cathedral burst open and Jan stood there with snowflakes flying about him.
‘No, Marguerite!’ he shouted hoarsely as if refusing to believe he had come too late, his voice seeming to echo endlessly in that vast interior.
Instantly guards rushed at him and he, struggling and fighting, was hauled away through the door and out of sight.
Both Konstantin and Marguerite had halted, he in surprise and she in shock.
‘What will happen to him?’ she asked, white-lipped.
Gently Konstantin propelled h
er forward with his hand over hers on his arm. ‘Prison. Maybe a flogging first.’
She stopped again, looking at him in dismay. ‘No! You must see that he is released.’
He was beginning to lose patience, aware of the stares and whispers all around them, a smothered laugh here and there. ‘Yes, yes. Now let’s get out of here.’
Outside there was no sign of Jan. She refused to get into the bridal sledge until Konstantin had instructed a captain of the guard to see that the Dutchman was released without charge. Only then was she reassured enough to take her seat.
‘Who the devil is he?’ Konstantin demanded as they were driven away from the cathedral. ‘How do you know him?’
She explained, adding that Jan had been kind in letting her spend time in his apartment while he was away. Konstantin glowered.
‘You’re never to go there again!’
She caught her breath at his words, taken aback at being given such a sharp order, but then she supposed that he was racked by jealousy. It was the first time she had seen another side of his character beyond his normal good humour.
‘You don’t have to be concerned,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Perhaps he thought I hadn’t known you long enough to be marrying you and was just anxious for me.’
Her calm words had their effect and he looked at her with recovered cheerfulness. ‘From now on I’ll be the one watching over your well-being.’
Although he kissed her as if sealing his purpose he was resolved to give orders at the Palace that the Dutchman was to be barred from visiting Marguerite at any time.
The Empress attended the wedding banquet, but left before ladies escorted the bride to the bedchamber. Konstantin’s roistering fellow officers had plied him with plenty of vodka and he was very drunk when he staggered naked beneath his dressing robe from the adjoining bedroom to the marriage bed.
To Dream of Snow Page 19
