‘You look beautiful, Marguerite,’ he slurred, throwing off the robe to fall into the bed beside her. Then he pulled her under him and took her forcefully before rolling away to snore immediately.
In the morning he was full of remorse. He awoke to an aching head and the sight of Marguerite brushing her hair before a mirror. Sitting up, he met her reflected gaze with an apologetic downturn of his mouth.
‘I drank too much last night in my joy at winning you for my wife,’ he said.
She thought how skilfully he had made his apology. ‘I think you did,’ she remarked dryly, not considering him wholly to blame, for she believed that several times his glass had been spiked.
He forgot his headache when he saw with relief that she was not angry with him. His eagerness for her returned and he held out a hand persuasively. ‘Come back to bed, my beautiful wife. Let me make amends.’
She hesitated only momentarily. Jan had given their marriage a precarious start and their wedding night had been disastrous. It was time to begin again. She moved towards him and held out her hand to meet his. He drew her down beside him and gathered her close to kiss and fondle her, re-awaking her long suppressed desires with his skilful touch. He was an experienced lover and found her responsive to him in every way. Yet during a pause in their love-making when he leaned on an elbow looking down into her quiet, sleeping face, her hair spread like a coppery aura about her head on the pillow, he felt that in some inexplicable way she had yet to be truly discovered.
He recalled their first meeting. Although she had been frightened of the Grand Duke she had still retained that elusive air that had made him hope he might see her again. It was what made her so tantalizingly attractive, whether she realized it or not. Had there been a sweetheart or lover in Paris? A relationship she had chosen to end by coming to Russia? He found it hard to believe that Frenchmen would not have noticed her sexual allure in their midst. The thought made him wonder if she had been a virgin when he had taken her, but his memory remained hazy and he knew from other times of drinking too much that he would never be able to recollect one way or the other. All that mattered was that she was his now and he had won the Empress’s approval again by this marriage.
‘Marguerite,’ he said softly, disturbing her sleep. Even as she opened her eyes he began caressing her again. He did not know that already she had discovered that fondness was no substitute for love when it came to intimacy. It was as if her heart had detached itself and vanished.
Sixteen
Marguerite was glad to leave Moscow. She had not liked the city, probably because it had become associated in her mind with the upsetting scene she had endured with Tom as well as Jan’s alarming interruption at her marriage. There had also been two terrible fires and on both occasions she had seen the red glow and smoke from her window, reminding her agonizingly of the past. But now she and Konstantin were on their way to his country home in the vicinity of St Petersburg where they would stay until the end of his marriage leave. Afterwards they would be back once more in the most beautiful of cities and spring would have arrived.
The approach to Dashiski Palace was pleasing. The drive, bordered on either side by marble statues on plinths, opened up to a wide forecourt where the Palace itself was of moderate size. It presented a charming frontage painted rose pink with the customary white ornamentation laced by a liberal gleam of gold. Konstantin had told her that the reason that it was called a palace was only that it had once been imperial property.
‘Now that you are here I’ll spend more time in this house than ever before,’ Konstantin said. ‘In the past I’ve held the occasional house party, but otherwise I’ve preferred city life to wandering about here on my own. That’s why I’ve used my rooms in the military quarters of the Winter Palace whenever the Court is in residence there.’
She was surprised. ‘I thought this abode to be your family home.’
‘No, my parents were both dead long before this place came into my possession.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why he had purchased such a mansion when he seemed to have had such little use for it, but already they were drawing up at the entrance. Their carriage had been sighted and servants, both men and women, were pouring out in a flurry of white gloves and spotless aprons to line each side of the wide flight of marble steps.
Marguerite acknowledged with a smile the bows and bobs as she and Konstantin mounted the steps together. She looked about her as they entered a grand hallway with a double staircase shaped like an inverted wishbone, the wide parquet floor shining like a mirror and intricately patterned. Although she had hoped to have an immediate feeling of coming home, that did not happen and she thought herself foolish to have expected it.
Konstantin threw aside his hat and seized her hand. ‘Come! I’ll take you on a grand tour!’
Her spirits lifted as he took her at a run, just as if they were excited children, through one lovely room after another, each leading into the next. Her cloak slid from her shoulders to tumble to the floor behind them as on they raced through room after room until finally they came skidding back into the hall opposite where they had started.
‘Now upstairs!’ But there he only rushed her along to the bedchamber that was to be hers and they collapsed breathless and laughing on to the bed together.
‘That was a lightning viewing!’ she exclaimed merrily.
‘You’ll have plenty of time to settle down here and discover everything more fully while I’m in St Petersburg.’
She sat up to look down at him, her laughter fading away. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. You’re mistress of this house now. You’ll want some time to take charge and order everything to your liking. It’s only an hour’s drive to the city and I’ll be home as often as possible, although I’m sure to be extremely busy for the next few weeks.’
‘But I’m still the Empress’s designer! She made it plain to me that she would expect me to carry on even after our marriage.’
He propped himself on an elbow. ‘Just think rationally for a moment, Marguerite. We’ve nowhere to live yet in St Petersburg. I have to be near the Empress when I’m on duty and you can’t share my rooms in the Winter Palace’s military quarters. Nor can you return to where you lived as a seamstress before becoming my wife. I would not allow it.’
She gasped, springing from the bed. ‘Have you been planning all along to isolate me here?’
‘No, that’s not the case at all.’ He hoped she was not going to be difficult and sat up, resting an arm across his up-drawn knee as he spoke on a gentle note, intending to placate her. ‘There’s nothing to stop you working from here with a trip every two or three weeks to show your designs to the Empress, and we’ll find somewhere to stay together overnight. There will always be a carriage here at your disposal. Remember never to take it out with less than eight horses as befits your social position. You can go riding too. In fact, the time should pass pleasantly for you. You’ll be able to visit and also receive those who have country homes around here. You can hold card parties and soirées. There are about thirty rooms under this roof, so why not have one fitted out for your design work? I know you would want to be here to supervise those alterations. If you wish, you can have friends to stay in my absence.’ He smiled with satisfaction at having pointed out all the advantages to her.
Anger coloured her cheeks. ‘You don’t understand! I’ve been longing to get back to St Petersburg. Jeanne is capable enough to be in charge of any sewing room, but I know from the letter she sent me in Moscow that she has been looking forward to my return and an easing of her burden.’
He narrowed his eyes incredulously. ‘Did you imagine that after our marriage you could take up your stitching again with no more change than as if a peasant had made you his wife?’
‘No, indeed not! But I thought we should be living in the city and I could visit the atelier at least twice a week for an hour or two just to deal with any crisis and keep an eye
on the work in progress.’
He rose from the bed to come around to the foot of it and stand facing her. ‘You can do that whenever you go to see the Empress, but otherwise you shall remain here until we have a city residence. Then you can take your place at court again with me.’
He was like most even-tempered people in disliking quarrels, but in this he had to make a resolute stand. It was not as if he wanted to be apart from Marguerite, but the Empress had stipulated that after the marriage his wife, although remaining her designer, should live out of St Petersburg, for he would have extra imperial duties now that he was a colonel. There had been a promise in her tone and he was certain that further promotion would be his if he carried out her wishes to her satisfaction.
‘Then for the time being we must take an apartment for a short period,’ Marguerite said firmly, determined not to be brushed aside. ‘Since you will be so busy, I shall look for a suitable place for us.’
‘No!’ His patience finally snapped and he wanted no more. ‘We could be jumping the gun, as the saying goes,’ he stated sharply. ‘The Empress mentioned something about arranging a suitable city residence for us. It could jeopardize my future if it should appear to her that I was not prepared to wait for her favour. You know how temperamental and difficult she can be.’
Yes, she knew, but she had never expected to find their marriage dominated by a third person, even though it was the Empress. ‘But I’ll need a pied-à-terre,’ she insisted determinedly.
He was already bored with the argument. ‘Very well. So find a small apartment to rent for yourself, but where I can stay with you whenever you’re there.’
She realized that it was the best she could hope for at the present time, able to tell nothing would sway him from awaiting the Empress’s indulgence.
He was relieved there had been no tearful scene, not knowing her well enough yet to realize that was not her way. It had been like walking on a tightrope, compelled for his own good to obey the Empress and yet not wanting to quarrel with Marguerite. His wide smile showed his relief and he reached out to hold her close.
‘We’ll soon be together all the time,’ he murmured, beginning to unfasten her bodice. ‘That is my promise to you.’
She let him lift her on to the bed, where he began to make love to her for the first time in the mansion that already seemed like a prison to her.
As the days went by Konstantin became increasingly restless before he decided he could wait no longer before returning to his St Petersburg. The Empress had allowed him four weeks’ leeway in which to become accustomed to marriage under his own roof, but he missed city life with all its pleasures and was soon thoroughly bored in his country retreat. It had nothing to do with Marguerite, whose beautiful body was such a constant joy to him, for it had been the same previously whenever he had brought his mistresses here or somebody’s wife for an amorous sojourn. He would have sold the house tomorrow if it had not been a gift from the Empress, but he did not dare to do that in case she ever decided to visit it.
Marguerite was equally glad to leave for the city with him, except that for her it would only be a short absence with the alterations at Dashiski Palace and some redecorating to oversee. They parted at the foot of the main outside staircase of the Winter Palace, he already back in uniform. He held her to him for several minutes, reluctant to let her go from his arms. Now that the time had come to leave her for a while he realized more than ever before the true depths of all he felt for her. He watched as she went off to the atelier and then he turned resignedly to go in the opposite direction to reach the Empress’s apartment.
Yet as always when he saw Elisabeth again after an absence he instantly desired her, no matter that her beauty was fading and her figure being lost to extra weight, for her powerful sexual allure remained undiminished.
Elisabeth greeted him enthusiastically. ‘Darling boy! You have returned early! Could you not stay away from me any longer?’
She enveloped him in her ample arms, her mouth upturned to his and he kissed her as she liked to be kissed. When he had gone to her bed for the first time he had been wildly excited by her, dazzled by her beauty, and overwhelmed by her generosity. Soon he had realized with pride that he was her favourite lover and he had been young then, only nineteen years old and newly commissioned. She had taught him many erotic ways to sexual pleasure and their relationship had always been totally satisfying.
When she had been so insistent that Marguerite should become his wife he had been puzzled as to the reason, for he had no illusions about her. Her own self-interest dominated everything she said or did, and he was certain some devious purpose lay behind her wish for such a marriage. It had only come to him by a chance remark that Marguerite had made quite innocently and his sudden enlightenment had almost made him burst out laughing. What better way to enforce her will on Marguerite than to marry her off to him! Fortunately he had no regrets.
Elisabeth almost purred with anticipation as she watched him shrug off his uniform jacket and sit to remove his high shining boots. She doubted that she would ever tire of him and would always keep him in tow, no matter that she took other men to her bed. By marrying him off to the Frenchwoman she had figuratively killed two birds with one stone. Most importantly she had permanently secured the best designer of gowns to be found anywhere, as it meant that Marguerite as his wife could never leave Russia and go back to France. Nor would there be any flitting off to Holland with the Dutchman, whom her spies had told her had been the Frenchwoman’s escort for a time. Her purpose in raising Marguerite’s status by making her a ‘portrait lady’ had been to make her acceptable as the wife of a nobleman and cause Konstantin no social embarrassment. What was more, by keeping the Frenchwoman at his country house most of the time, it gave him the freedom to come to her whenever she wished without any questions being asked. She did not want him harassed by a suspicious spouse. How pleasant she had made life for him!
In the atelier Marguerite found all her Russian seamstresses and apprentices at work, but no sign of her Frenchwomen.
‘Where is Madame Jeanne?’ she asked.
‘In the French living quarters,’ one woman replied.
Surprised, Marguerite hurried along to the salon where leisure time was spent. When she opened the door an unexpected scene met her. Rose, her cheeks flushed with anger and her mouth stubbornly set, was seated on a chair with her mother on one side and Violette on the other. Even Sophie was there, discarding her outdoor clothes, and had obviously been sent for. Only Isabelle stood apart, her face very white, staring at Rose with her eyes large with dread.
‘What’s happening?’ Marguerite asked anxiously, closing the door after her.
Jeanne, who had been leaning threateningly towards her daughter, straightened up and burst out her reply. ‘You may well ask! Rose is with child!’ She turned on her daughter again. ‘How long have you been doing it?’
Rose shrugged defiantly. ‘It’s none of your business! The first time it just happened and then every time we met it seemed the natural thing to do. I wouldn’t have told you now if you hadn’t been clouting me for being late for work! I need cosseting in my condition.’
Jeanne was almost speechless with fury, making her choke on her words. ‘You wicked girl!’
Violette was regarding Rose with exasperation. ‘You’ve been a stupid little fool! Why didn’t you come to me for some advice before you started playing with fire?’
Rose bared her teeth. ‘Because I’m not a whore like you!’
Violette screeched furiously and would have hit her, but Marguerite intervened in time, gripping her wrist and lowering it. ‘No! This is no time for violence! We have to talk over this situation calmly. Workers who become unlawfully pregnant in the imperial service are dismissed instantly. None of us wants that to happen to Rose.’
Sophie spoke up. ‘She will have to marry the father.’
Jeanne gave a sharp nod of agreement and turned back to her daughter. ‘I demand that you
tell us his name!’
‘I’ve told you that he’s Russian and I expect he would marry me out of a sense of duty. He’s that kind of man. But I don’t want to be his wife and I’m not going to be!’
‘When did you meet him?’ Marguerite asked quietly. She was sharing the same misgiving that had already made Isabelle chalk-white.
Rose answered evasively. ‘A while ago.’
‘Was it after Isabelle and I went to Moscow?’
‘It might have been.’
Jeanne took over again, giving her daughter’s shoulder a sharp shake. ‘Come on! Who is he and what is he? Does he work in the Palace?’
‘No! You can stop questioning me, because I’ve no intention of tying myself up for the rest of my life with someone dedicated to a career that would turn my stomach!’
Marguerite looked across at Isabelle and their eyes met. The girl gave her an almost imperceptible nod of permission before turning her face away in distress.
Jeanne had caught the exchanged glance. ‘What is it you know, Marguerite?’
Marguerite looked directly at Rose. ‘Is the father-to-be a young man named Mikail Legotin?’
There was instant confirmation in Rose’s explosion of hysterical tears and she drummed her fists on the chair arms and stamped her feet in temper. ‘I’ll never marry him! You can’t make me!’
‘Indeed I can!’ Jeanne shouted furiously, slapping her hard across the face. ‘You’ll get your cloak now and we’ll rout him out! Where does he live?’
Only Marguerite noticed Isabelle rush from the room. She became deeply anxious for the girl, but could not go to her yet. Rose was kicking and bellowing, holding on to the chair as Jeanne tried to wrest her from it.
‘Wait, Jeanne!’ Marguerite caught the woman’s arm to restrain her. ‘Although I happen to know where he lives I’ll not tell you until you’ve calmed down. By all means go to see Mikail. He must be informed. From what I’ve been told of him, I’m sure it would be as Rose has said, even though I believe him to be in love with someone else.’
To Dream of Snow Page 20
