Authors: Alicia Rasley
At the marquess's pointed glance around the glamorous oriental chamber, Tatiana hastened to account for the countess's absence. "Lady Sherbourne meant to be here, for she is most punctilious. But an emergency called her away, and I wanted so to meet you and hated to keep you waiting, so I daresay the fault is mine. I shall not make such a mistake again, although I'm sure I was not wrong in assuming that I haven't the slightest need to be in fear with you, my lord."
So the marquess, of course, had to hasten to disclaim any lascivious or violent intent upon the royal person, and returned with relief to his earlier subject, quite forgetting about the countess's gross dereliction of duty. "Tomorrow morning, if you feel able, you will be presented to the queen at Buckingham House. Then, in the evening, the Prince Regent will host a dinner party in your honor at Carlton House, an intimate affair, perhaps a hundred or so guests, all of the highest circles. A representative of the Bourbon monarchy-in-exile will be there, and the Spanish ambassador, and oh, perhaps the Regent's younger brother, the Duke of Cumberland, and of course the prime minister, and ..."
Cut line, Wellesley, Tatiana wanted to say as he adroitly worked that all-important name into the conversation, we both know you have designed this whole charade to initiate a royal courtship. She wondered bitterly what form that would take—would Wellesley bring her poseys and poems and pretend they were from the royal duke? Would he go down on bended knee to proclaim Cumberland's great regard? Would he pick out the betrothal ring, set the wedding date, speak Cumberland's vows for him? And how the marquess intended to handle the wedding night, she hated even to imagine. But then, she, hated even to imagine any wedding night, except--
Wellesley's smooth voice rolled on, listing more of the important personages who would be gracing the Regent's dinner table. Tatiana kept her hands in her lap, clenching them so tightly she felt the pain shooting to her shoulders. I don't want to meet any of those people, she screamed silently. But finally, she cut off his guest list with another "Indeed."
When he stopped, startled, she added a little wistfully, "So many people, and all in my honor. I shall be quite gratified—but quite intimidated, too. Won't there be anyone there that I know, a familiar face to give me a little strength? You recollect, I have been very isolated and am quite unused to crowds."
The marquess frowned with some confusion. She suspected she did not fit his expectations of a princess, with her bold manners and her paradoxical professions of shyness. But obligingly he remarked, "Well, I shall be there, of course, Your Highness, and I hope you will account me an ally. And Lady Sherbourne. And—"
Tatiana did not breathe for a moment as he searched his mind for any other London acquaintances of a princess newly arrived from an enemy nation. "Oh, Devlyn will be there, too, I think. Your escort, you'll recall."
Tatiana let her breath flow silently, soothingly through her aching throat. Then she was able to answer calmly. "The major? How convenient. For I was about to write him a note of gratitude for his able escort. Now I shall be able to thank him in person, and I shan't have to bother you anymore with the difficult task of posting my correspondence."
The marquess had the grace to look a bit shamed. "Oh, it is no bother, Your Highness. But I would suggest that Lady Sherbourne is also able to post your mail, and she of course will be more accessible to you than I. It is gracious of you indeed to thank the ship captain and your escort, but you needn't, of course. They were merely doing their patriotic duty. The major, at least," Wellesley added darkly, and Tatiana hid a smile, recalling that Michael had referred to Dryden's fee as "confiscatory."
"Yes, the major did seem quite patriotic," she said with elaborate casualness. "Is he an aide to the regent?"
The marquess accepted without question her utter lack of knowledge of the man who had been in her company for six weeks, not to mention one entire night. Michael's reputation must indeed be sterling, she thought ruefully.
"No, Devlyn is on my brother's staff in Portugal. My brother is Wellington, the commander of the Peninsular forces, you see."
"Yes," Tatiana murmured. "I think I have heard about him. So Lord Devlyn ordinarily serves in Portugal."
"Yes. He volunteered to give up his leave—" She could take further lying lessons from the marquess, Tatiana thought, noting that he never even blinked as he said "volunteered"—"to escort you on your dangerous voyage. And we were immensely pleased that he delivered you safely."
Tatiana's pert nose wrinkled at that irritating word "delivered," but the marquess didn't notice. "In fact, the regent invited him in order to thank him. He had been most impressed with your escort's sense of duty. In fact, the regent hopes to persuade Devlyn to transfer to the 10th Hussars—that is the prince's own regiment, garrisoned here in England."
Here in England. Tatiana stared down at her clenched hands, willing the wild hope away. Here in England. That would be so—so wonderful, so painful. To have him so close, and not to have him at all. She lifted her eyes to meet Wellesley's curious gaze and dissembled again. "I so look forward to seeing Buckingham House and the famous Carlton House. I've seen so few palaces, just the Winter Palace and the Summer Palace, and Versailles, of course." She broke off with a gasp, her fingers pressed to her traitorous lips. "Oh, I should not mention Versailles, should I, especially with a Bourbon sitting right there with me. I shall be very careful, never fear, Lord Wellesley. It's just that I have been so isolated, and don't know how to go about--"
"In society," the marquess interposed with a harassed wryness. "Yes, you have told me. I know I can trust you to be very discreet, can't I, Your Highness?" Here his silky voice hardened a bit, and she knew she had succeeded in diverting him from thinking any more about the connection between the escort and the escorted. "For you are representing your nation, I know you recall, and will want to reflect Russia to its best advantage."
Demurely she agreed, and agreed, and agreed, until finally he had enumerated very diplomatically all the names and events she should avoid mentioning on her visit. She only paid his lecture half a mind, which was more than it deserved, for his strictures left her utterly nothing to converse about. So while he counseled her, his voice gliding from velvet to steel, she focused on the one important piece of information he had given her. Michael would be at Carlton House. She would see him at least once more.
Chapter Thirteen
"I hope I didn't catch the royal grippe. I cannot believe I actually kissed the queen's hand just after she blew her nose into that little scrap of lace handkerchief." Tatiana sniffed inquiringly, then, when her nose showed no symptoms of illness, she dropped with a sigh onto the tufted satin bench in her dressing room. "It does show the power of royal precedence, I suppose. When she extended that damp hand, I could not find the moral courage to decline the honor, even at the risk of my health."
Buntin stalked up behind her and with rather more force than necessary pulled the diamond tiara and ostrich plume out of the princess's curls. "You mustn't speak of the Queen of England so disrespectfully," she hissed, casting a worried glance back at the wardrobe. But only the countess's ample backside clad in royal purple was visible, the rest of her having disappeared into Tatiana's extensive collection of evening dresses. Lady Sherbourne had only two hours before they were due at yet another royal presentation, this time to the Prince Regent, and she had changed her mind yet again on the princess's apparel.
The princess's hand went to soothe her smarting scalp, but Buntin ignored her piteous wince and spirited the jewelry away to its locked box. The presentation to the queen in the royal boudoir had not been a great success, as far as Tatiana could tell. Wellesley and Lady Sherbourne had given her a list of verboten subjects—the war, the Romanov family, the queen's motley crew of children, the poor mad king—so lengthy that Tatiana found herself without a thing to say, a novel experience to say the least. And the few commonplaces she did attempt were greeted with an uncomprehending frown by the queen, who professed herself unable to understand a word the Russian princess spoke. As Tatiana was vain about the purity of her accent, she had to bite her tongue to keep from commenting that her majesty's harsh Germanic consonants hardly did credit to the language of Shakespeare.
But at least the queen had said, "Fery nice, kirl," when Tatiana dropped into her deep curtsey. And that made Buntin beam. She herself had schooled Tatiana for years in the requirements of the British royal presentation, never truly believing her lessons would be put to the test. In fact, as uninspiring as the event had been for Tatiana, this had been without a doubt the xenith of Buntin's existence. The vicar's daughter from Elham had met the Queen of England.
Tatiana watched now in the mirror as Buntin removed the white plume from her own faded fair hair. The companion smoothed the delicate feathers with a gentle finger, her eyes full with dreaming. Suddenly Tatiana was very glad she had insisted that Buntin be rigged out in the absurd hooped gown and plumes required for such a ceremony. Lady Sherbourne had termed it inappropriate to take a mere companion along. But she had not reckoned with Tatiana's stubborn refusal to leave the house without her dear Buntin. And now the royalist companion would be attending a dinner at Carlton House. She had better forgive my every transgression in return, Tatiana thought to herself with a twisted smile. For I'll no doubt commit a few more tonight.
"The champagne satin," Lady Sherbourne announced, emerging from the racks of silk and lace with her golden chignon misplaced above one ear, a shimmering ball gown hanging over her arm.
"Oh, that's so heavy. I don't know if I can make it through an entire evening dragged down by all that satin." But Lady Sherbourne was already in the next room, calling to the French lady's maid to hurry up with the princess's bath so the gown could be pressed immediately.
Her protests notwithstanding, an hour later Tatiana found herself adorning the disputed gown. It was, in fact, the loveliest of her lovely dresses, with that undefinable Parisien elan sewn into the daring jewel neckline and the enchanting little bustle gathered up below the plunging back. The sweeping skirt featured embroidered slashes that revealed a blush pink lace underskirt. The tiny puffs of sleeve seemed likely to fall off her shoulders at the slightest movement, but, as Tatiana was rather vain about her slender shouders, she did not complain.
The diamonds of the morning were exchanged for emeralds, which allowed Tatiana to put back on the little emerald ring passed down from Peter the Great's mother that Michael had admired. A relatively simple emerald pendant called attention to the swell of her breasts, and a white gold and emerald tiara caught up her curls.
As she made faces in the mirror to the accompaniment of Lady Sherbourne's detailed instructions, Tatiana wondered if the bodice of her gown weren't a little tight, for she had trouble drawing a deep breath. Her heart seemed to be swelling, pressing against her frail rib cage, as she contemplated the evening ahead. It was all too much to abide—so many strictures to obey, so many subjects to avoid, so many names to remember—and Michael to see again.
Seeing Michael again in the midst of a crowd seemed a cruelly tantalizing prospect. If only they could be alone, and if only they could speak openly for once, breaking down the barrier of her future—perhaps then he could tell her what he felt, and tell her what she felt, and how they could work it out.
Lady Sherbourne strode out to complete her own toilette, and Tatiana was left alone with her companion for the first time since they had arrived in London. How uncomfortable they were together of a sudden, now that Tatiana had joined the world outside their little apartment in the palace. Once Buntin had been her only friend; now Tatiana could barely meet the older woman's eyes. It was not shame that made her look away, rather a sense that they didn't fit anymore. Even in Russia, Tatiana had been too much for her companion. Gentle Buntin, with her idealism and her innocence, could never understand that wild part of Tatiana's nature that made her hate her uncle and defame the tsar. She would be horrified if she knew that Tatiana could long to defy the wills of two monarchs and give herself, heart and soul, to an ineligible man.
But Buntin surprised her. Coming up behind her, so that Tatiana could see the mauve silk gown in the glass, Buntin said with elaborate casualiness, "I understand Major Lord Devlyn will be at the party. You will have to remember to thank him for his kind offices these last two months." She made a great show of straightening the princess's tiara, tucking away one curl that hid a sparkling emerald. "You must not be too forward now, Your Highness. The major will not be well served if anyone should think that your connection is anything more than it should be—or is. He is, after all, a military man, and military careers can be so easily damaged by unjust accusations."
It was not a threat, Tatiana knew, only a warning. And as she twisted to escape Buntin's ministrations, she saw another warning in her friend's eyes. Don't speak the words, Buntin was warning, for you can't call them back again.
This silent admonition was replaced by a spoken one. "You must recall your place in the world, Your Highness. You are representing your country and the Romanov family, and you must portray them in the best light possible. You will be meeting Cumberland also, and you must be very gracious with him. Remember all that is dependent on your meeting with him—your nation's future, perhaps."
In the past week, Tatiana had become accustomed to a new Buntin, one who shrank away and called her "Your Highness," who deferred so abjectly to the countess, who was struck dumb by the important people they met. But this Buntin, with her quiet sterness and dutiful reminders, was so much more like her old governess that Tatiana fell back into her accustomed role as grudgingly obedient student.