Queen of Someday (12 page)

Wait for me, sweet Paris. For I will come.

~Helen

Sergei arrives for my lesson, and I’m still quite distracted; it does not go unnoticed.

“I think that must be all for today,” he says kindly. “You seem tired.”

I shake my head.

“What did the doctor say?”

“He says your recovery is nothing short of a miracle and that he would recommend you keep in bed another week at least. But I assured him you would rest at the earliest sign of fatigue. So please, do not make a liar of me.”

I smile up at him, grateful for his intervention. The idea of another week confined to bed, being bled every day, makes me want to cry.

“Of course, I will be quite vigilant.”

He hands me the book. “Here, practice with this on your own between lessons. You’ll pick it up faster this way.”

I clutch the book to my chest.

He offers me his arm and leads me from the library. As we turn the corner, we nearly run into Alexander.

“Off in a hurry?” Sergei asks playfully.

Alexander rocks back on his heels, bowing to me.

“No, of course not. Just, wiling away the time before Peter returns. Please excuse me, Princess.”

I nod, not looking at him. As we pass, the urge to turn back is strong. Only Sergei’s arm in mine gives me the strength to keep moving forward.

That night, I dismiss the maids before they help me undress.

“I’ll do it myself, thank you,” I say, and they scurry from the room. If my ladies think it strange, they say nothing. Elizavetta is working on her sewing, and Rina is reading a large tome. I allow myself the opportunity to doze for a bit, only to be awoken by the bells chiming eleven. I open my eyes to find Elizavetta long gone off to bed, but Rina still reading quietly, her long, yellow hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

“My lady,” she asks, seeing me wake. “Are you ready for bed?”

I shake my head. “I have been feeling quite heavy hearted since yesterday. I think I’m going to the chapel for a bit, try to find some comfort.”

She nods. Though her expression is placid, I see a flicker behind her eyes.

“Please, speak plainly Rina.”

She pauses, closing her book and setting it aside.

“It’s just that, I want you to know you can confide in me. I will guard your secrets as closely as my own, on my life I will.” She takes a breath. “And I worry for you.”

I motion for her to take a seat beside me.

“Yes, that is fair. You have always been so kind and honest. I do count you as a friend. I hope you realize that.”

She nods.

“I have… something of a delicate matter to attend to this evening. I hope that once it’s done, my mind and heart will be settled again.”

“Does it have to do with Alexander? He asked after you often while you were ill. Always with the look in his eye of a man obsessed, a man deeply in love.”

I tilt my head, unable to meet her in the eyes.

“Yes, it does. The heart is a… difficult thing to manage. But I will put an end to it tonight. There can be no future for us, I see that very clearly.”

She takes my hands in hers.

“I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

I wish I could send her in my place, have her deliver my words so at least I would be spared the pain of looking him in the eye. This never should have gone so far, I chastise myself.

“As do I. But it is my responsibility, and I will deal with it.”

Rina smiles sadly. “Spoken like a true queen.”

Rina’s words don’t hold much comfort as I walk down the deserted hallway toward the secret room, though having someone to speak with it about does lighten my burden.

I push the door open. Alexander is already there, waiting for me.

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As soon as I close the door behind me, he rushes over, catching me up in his arms and twirling me around before setting me back on my feet and leaning forward, kissing me deeply.

I know I should put a stop to it, but I can’t bring myself to break away. Finally, I push back, gasping for breath.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says, clutching his body against mine. “I was afraid you would stay away, and I would never get to touch you or kiss you again.” His words are rushed, his time bordering on desperate. Carefully, slowly, I extract myself from his arms and step back.

“I’m so sorry, Alexander. This never should have happened. I have to marry Peter, you know that.”

He frowns and steps forward. I know that if he touches me, my resolve will fly out the window like a bird and I will melt into him, so I step back again, holding my hands up.

“Sophie, please,” he begs. “Don’t do this, don’t push me away.”

The air between us is so thick that you could slice through it with a sword. I can barely breathe through it.

“I cannot allow this. The idea of being with him, all the while wanting, wishing for you, is more than my heart can bear. The only solution is for us to forget each other, to put our feelings aside and do our duty,” I reason with quaking words.

He reaches out, catching my hands before I can stop him.

“If I could, I would offer you my heart, my soul, and make that be enough. But I know it is not. I know that Peter is your destiny. You are going to be the most beautiful, clever, kind empress Russia has ever seen. And I want to be there for that. But I can’t think about that now because today, in this moment, all I want is you. The thought of losing you cuts me to my very marrow.”

I look away, even as he draws me closer. The war rages inside me, one part wanting nothing more than to kiss him until the sun rises, another part knowing why I can’t.

He tilts my chin up gently.

“If you want to send me away, tell me only that you do not love me, and I will go. I will never speak your name again, never touch your hand. I will pretend that the loss of you hasn’t killed me.”

I sigh, my hard-fought resolve fading quickly.

“I could never say those words, because they would be the gravest lie. Of course I love you. I love you so much that I risk everything just to come to you tonight. If anyone knew—I would be ruined, sent away in a cloud of scorn. No one would ever have me, and I would bear the shame all my days.”

He takes my face in his hands.

“I would have you, in shame or sin, I would have you in any way I could, in any way you could give yourself to me.”

He kisses me again, and I know I’ve lost. Reaching up, I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him to me. He smiles against my lips.

“My sweet Helen, for you I would be Paris, and for your love, I would defy God himself and then return to you for a kiss.”

“Peter and the empress will return in a few days. What will we do? Meeting like this… it’s too dangerous,” I say, unwilling to pull away again.

“Do you trust me?” he asks solemnly.

I nod. “I do.”

“And do you love me?”

“With all my heart and my life, I do.”

He kisses my hair.

“Then trust me. Give me a few days and by the time they return, I will have a plan. In the meantime, if you need me—”

“I always need you,” I interrupt.

He grins.

“If you want to meet me…” I open my mouth to interrupt again, but he puts a finger against my lips, which I kiss. “Leave me a message in a book. John Wilmont’s letters to his mistress.”

I frown. “Am I to be your secret mistress?”

He shakes his head. “No, my love. I will be yours.”

***

Sunday comes and my ladies walk me to confession. I haven’t caught a glimpse of Alexander in nearly two days, and my heart aches for him. I know we agreed not to meet for a while, until he could come up with a solution to our problem, but takes all my willpower not to rush to him when the chapel doors open and I catch sight of him seated inside. My heart leaps to my throat as we pass him. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back, though I dare not turn around. Bishop Todorskey approaches me, resplendent in his red-and-white robes. He reaches out and I offer him my hand, which he kisses chastely.

“Princess, I am so glad to see you are well. I admit that I was overjoyed when you requested me at your side during your illness.”

I incline my head to him. “I have come to see that the differences in your faith and that of my father’s is less one of doctrine and more one of… logistics.”

He smiles humbly, leading me to prayer.

When I enter the confessional, my heart is heavy. I know I should commit all my misdeeds to God, that I may be clean, but I also know that the Bishop is the empress’ advisor, and I think, as with many here in court, that his loyalty must surely lie with her. So I speak vaguely, of missing the man I love, of looking forward to our future together. I never utter Peter’s name once. A lie of omission, perhaps. The least of my sins.

I leave the confessional and take a seat across the chapel from Alexander. A quick glance tells me his eyes are closed, his head bowed. I follow suit, though my prayers today are far different from others in my life. Today I pray for strength, for the wisdom to know my own mind and heart, and for the courage to follow it.

We leave the chapel and I stop in the library, checking the book for any messages. It’s empty, so I leave one of my own. Not seeing him has grown unbearable. How will I survive when I’m married, when I have to leave him behind for good? Or was he serious when he offered to be my mistress?

Without thy light, what light remains in me? Thou art my light; my way, my light is in thee. I live, I move, and but by thy beams I see.

I tuck my note away quickly and head for the parlor where I’m to meet my new instructor.

Madame Groot is not at all what I expected. Her gown is slender, none of the large hip bustles the women wear these days, and low cut in the bust, while somehow still seeming modest. Her dark hair is curled in a tall stack upon her head, her face powdered and lips rouged.

I enter and she stands, curtsying.

“Princess Sophia, how lovely to finally meet you.” She motions to the wine and bread set out on the table. “Would you care to join me for a bite?”

I almost laugh. What had I expected? A brazen French whore in net stockings and garish underdressing, I suppose. The woman in front of me is probably in her early thirties, and holds an easily sophisticated wit about her. With a gracious nod, I take a seat across from her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” I offer.

She smiles coyly, handing me a glass of red wine.

“I imagine you expected something more… exotic?”

I nearly choke on my beverage. She is, at least, direct.

“Yes, I suppose I did. This is all very new to me.”

She nods and waves her hand. “Oh, yes, dear. Anyone looking at you could see that.”

I frown.

“Oh, no, you mustn’t take that as a criticism, it isn’t meant as such. I only mean to say that you have a virtuous look about you. It’s a good thing, truly.”

I take a bite of bread, not sure how to begin. Thankfully, she does.

“Don’t be nervous, dear. There’s no reason to be. This is a safe place. Anything we discuss in this room remains in this room. I want you to feel comfortable here. All right?”

“I shall try,” I say honestly.

“Good. Before we begin, I wonder, do you have any questions? Anything you are dying to know but never had the courage to ask?”

Her face is serene, absently amused by my obvious discomfort. I try to remember what little my mother had told me.

“Does it hurt?” I blurt out. Then, embarrassment floods over me, and I drop my voice to a whisper. “I’ve… I’ve heard it hurts.”

She takes a drink. “Not terribly. There is a moment of discomfort the first time, but that is all. To be honest, if you are able to relax and allow yourself to get swept up in the moment, there should be no pain at all.”

“Truly?” I’d heard the pain was nearly unbearable. My mother likened it to being run through with a blade.

“Truly. The act of love can be a very beautiful thing. It’s not something to fear.” She pauses. “Of course, often couples are so young and so nervous, they bungle the whole thing. That can be a different story. But that’s why I’m here. I’m here to set you at ease, so you have no cause to panic.”

I sit back. I can’t help thinking of my ill-advised night with Alexander. Of course we had never gotten close to… but, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if we had.

“What did you think of just now?” she asks suddenly, drawing me from my thoughts.

“Oh, nothing.”

She takes another drink.

“Oh dear, I know that expression. It’s love. So, you are in love with the good prince?”

I shift in my seat, preparing some lie. But she cuts me off before I can say anything.

“No, not Peter, then,” she says. My head jerks up. “It’s fine, dear. Many young ladies fall in love with a man before the man they marry. There’s no shame in it, so long as you didn’t act on those feelings?”

I shake my head. “No, of course not.”

“Good, because you should know they have a custom here at court. Before you can be married, the physician will check to confirm your virtue. That won’t be an issue, I assume?”

I shake my head.

“I thought not. So, tell me, when you think of this young man, what happens to you, physically?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do your hands shake? Does your heart race?”

I nod sheepishly.

“All good things, dear. Believe it or not, men feel those same things.”

I nod again. I know she’s right because I’ve seen the pained look on Alexander’s face, felt the quake in his touch. But I say nothing.

“The trick, my dear, is being able to excite those responses from your husband. Men are created differently than us, and thus they must be treated differently. While each is unique, there are some general things you can learn that will help.”

I’m too stunned to speak as she stands, beckoning to the valet from the hall. He’s older than the boy at my door, probably near to Sergei’s age, though he seems younger by virtue of being clean-shaven. She seats him in the chair she vacated, whispering something in his ear. He relaxes instantly.

“This is Phillip. He has helped me with demonstrations before,” she whispers lightly.

She holds up one gloved hand, sliding it off slowly.

“Men are tactile by nature. They respond best by touch. So when you are alone, use a technique I call the subtle touch.”

As she sets her glove on the table, her hand just barely grazes his arm, and I watch as his eyes dart to the area of contact.

“They are also visual creatures. But one must be careful to be subtle, exposing too much, too boldly, does no good.”

She knocks the glove to the floor, and then lowers herself slowly to retrieve it. As she dips, I see the valet’s eyes dart to her chest.

“You see?” she asks.

I nod, feeling as if I should be taking notes.

She dismisses the valet and returns to her seat. We spend the rest of the hour talking plainly about things I should expect and the subtly of flirtation.

“Every man is unique in terms of what sets him at ease. Can you think of something Peter enjoys?”

“He likes hunting,” I offer, unsure if that’s what she meant.

She nods. “Then he may very well be comfortable outdoors. But that, I think, is an advanced lesson.” She smiles wryly, as if she’s just told a joke only she understands. “What else?”

I wrack my brain.

“He likes military things,” I remember.

She looks off in the distance.

“Yes, that’s something you can work with.”

“How?” I ask.

She sets down her cup of tea. “My first suggestion, have a gown made that greatly resembles a military uniform.”