Authors: Susan Johnson
The next morning he felt shaky as he hauled himself into the saddle and in a state of philosophic resignation began the journey back to town; two carriages carrying Alisa, her daughter, and servants, the grooms and outriders,
fifteen trackers, and a reluctant bridegroom rode forth with two of the trackers flanking him the whole way. They even followed when he stopped to relieve a call of nature.
“Really,” Nikki protested. “This ‘protection’ is quite unnecessary.”
“Sorry, Lord Prince,” the taller one solemnly intoned. “Orders from Prince Mikhail.”
It appeared the old boy was dead serious and Nikki finally resigned himself to the constant company of the two enormous men. They even slept on either side of him with a light leather braid knotted around his waist and their wrists.
Arriving back in town five days later, Alisa was immediately whisked away by Kaisa-leena for dress fittings and other womanly pursuits necessary to organize a gigantic wedding.
Prince Mikhail summoned Nikki to his study within minutes of their return and flatly informed Nikki that he would be married in two days time. The invitations had been delivered and even on such short notice the responses were all in the affirmative. No one ever declined an invitation from Prince Kuzan, and furthermore, this wedding had all the indications of a delicious scandal. It would have been humanly impossible to keep the curious away. Prince Nikolai Kuzan actually marrying; all the servants’ gossip hinted at an exceedingly recalcitrant bridegroom and an
enceinte
bride only one week divorced. How delightfully titillating. Whom would the child look like? Most assuredly Nikki, for one could not contemplate for a second his marital capitulation to a woman carrying another man’s child. And yet—speculation ran on.
For two days Nikki’s bodyguards followed him everywhere; discreetly, of course, in order to arouse as little gossip
as possible. On the eve of his wedding, Nikki descended the marble staircase splendidly attired in white linen mufti, for the summer heat had settled on the jewel of the Baltic. His faithful companions at his heels, Nikki stopped on the last step, turned, and glared at the two guards who had stopped respectfully three steps higher, their pleasant faces tranquilly composed in spite of Nikki’s obvious displeasure.
“Good God!” Nikki complained irritably. “Enough’s enough. I’m just going to my stag tonight and promise on my mother’s soul that I’ll be back in time for my wedding tomorrow.”
Johanos just shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in apology.
“Sorry, Lord Prince, your father’s orders.” He stared impassively into space.
“Damnation!” Nikki exploded. “If you say ‘father’s orders’ one more time, Johanos, I swear, I’ll do you bodily harm.” He strode, cursing, out the door into the summer night, vowing to drink them under the table. Then he’d be free of their unwelcome company.
He should have known better than to attempt to drink a Finnish woodsman under the table. The brandy and champagne flowed freely. All Nikki’s fellow officers and friends were bent on teasing him remorselessly as Nikki, whom everyone considered the least likely to succumb to wedded bliss, was about to leave the ranks of bachelorhood.
With a drunken earnestness and a maudlin sentimentality over losing one of his drinking cohorts to Parson’s mousetrap, Illyich cornered Nikki late in the evening and whispered conspiratorily, “I never thought you’d do it, Nikki. Why in hell’s name do you consider marrying your mistress? I thought your greatest fear was the marriage block.”
“That, my dear Astrakan,” Nikki replied smoothly, “is
my second greatest fear. The first is that of freezing my vitals off on my father’s estate in Siberia.”
Illyich’s eyebrows rose.
“So you perceive, perhaps, my friend, how things go on at the Kuzans. Although when one considers that half the genius and energy of Russia has been interred in Siberia for two centuries, it’s entirely possible that its domestic society has improved, but I prefer not to be put to the necessity of discovering whether this is true,” Nikki finished, and the unwelcome thought induced him to refill his glass once again.
“So that’s it. My sympathies,
Mon Colonel
.” In his usual kind humor, Illyich attempted to cheer his friend. “But she’s very lovely, eh? And warm in bed, I warrant. Things could be worse, Nikki. Think of the advantages.”
“Somehow, at the moment, I can see only the disadvantages,” Nikki muttered. “A pox on the female sex, Astrakan,” he stated sourly. “Here, you need a drink.”
Both glasses were refilled and tossed down.
Several hours later one of the youthful officers in Nikki’s regiment who was not fully apprised of the true feelings of his colonel made the gaffe of offering his felicitations on the coming nuptials.
“Go to hell!” snarled the Prince.
The following afternoon, a pale and silent Nikki faced his father across the library desk.
“You returned home after dawn. I trust you enjoyed yourself at your bachelor party,” Prince Mikhail said in a polite, distant voice.
Nikki lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug and remained silent.
“I won’t keep you long, so you may retire to gather your strength for the ceremony and festivities this evening.
However, I have a few simple remarks I wish to leave with you.
“You are to see to Alisa and to that other life. I trust I can with confidence leave them in your hands. I hope it is unnecessary to tell you that I expect a tighter bridle on your excesses. I don’t care to hear rumors like those already circulating about Vladimir. The Emperor is quite irritated.”
11
Nikki didn’t deign to respond.
“I advise you, Nikolai,” his father continued, unperturbed, “that I would be pleased if you did not amuse yourself with Sophie again. Although I’m certainly worldly enough to understand that faithfulness is not a necessity in every marriage, indeed in few, apparently, may I remind you that Sophie is brazen enough to possibly cause public embarrassment to Alisa.”
“Sophie’s not one to be easily put off, Father.”
“I wish you to make the effort. She is a decadent slut at all accounts;
une femme facile
, in contrast to Sophie, takes on the aura of saintliness.”
“You speak from experience, no doubt?” Nikki’s eyebrows rose as he flashed his father a questioning glance.
“Naturally.” The Prince didn’t lower his gaze.
In spite of himself, Nikki grinned. “I’ll be damned! You must admit, sire, she is nonpareil in her bawdy role. A damned fine cunt.”
“I am relieved to learn,” the old Prince said mildly, “that your heart is not involved.”
Nikki laughed harshly, raised a lazy eyebrow, and commented rather caustically, “Hearts are not in Sophie’s style,
mon père
, only stiff cocks.”
Blandly ignoring this vulgarity, Prince Mikhail tranquilly resumed his lecture. “Your mother and I will retire to the country immediately after the festivities. Take care for
the mother of my grandchild.” His voice was all the more deadly for not bearing the slightest trace of emotion.
“While I’m all for family, Father, I fear I don’t have the dynastic instinct as strongly as you,” Nikki replied with a quiet contempt.
“I don’t need your impertinence,” Prince Mikhail said in that same chilling murmur. “Simply do as you’re told and reflect on the consequences of my wrath if you don’t.”
He waited patiently for ten seconds, and upon receiving no answer, rose from his chair, saying, “Please be on time at the chapel; we are curtailing the service in order to alleviate any unnecessary standing for Alisa.” He walked from the room, leaving Nikki slumped in his chair.
Nikki sat there for almost half an hour, his mind blank of any thoughts or emotions, his body fatigued from the long night of drinking. Hauling himself to his feet, he retraced his steps to his room and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake. His bath had been prepared and all his silk finery spread out ready for dressing.
Within the hour Nikki was traversing the numerous hallways and passageways that led to the family chapel. His cousin Aleksei and Aleksei’s brother were standing as witness for him and followed closely on his heels as he strode rapidly and mindlessly to his wedding. The chapel was small, holding no more than two hundred persons. When Nikki entered the gilded and stuccoed room flooded with the flickering light of thousands of candles and perfumed with the scent of tens of thousands of flowers, a sigh broke from the assembled guests. He was fifteen minutes late.
Nikki strolled across the front of the chapel and took his place under a large canopy of trelliswork interwoven with orchids. That moment Alisa reached the main door and began to walk down the aisle. A beautiful chant began.
She was breathtakingly flawless in a crème-colored silk
overlaid with deep flounces of magnificent lace, her pregnancy perfectly concealed beneath the current fashionable tunic which draped yards of material gracefully across the skirt front and pulled it all in successive folds to the back of the waistline. The increasing waistline, which had been the despair of Madame Vevay, was hardly evident to anyone who had not known Alisa’s original lithe slenderness. A small tiara of diamonds set with cameos (a gift from Prince Mikhail) crowned her red-gold coiffure and held in place the yards-long hand-made lace veil, valued at one thousand roubles an arshin. The veil was of the most exquisite texture, the design of roses and lilies so truthfully wrought that the flowers seemed raised from the surface. Full twenty feet trailed gracefully behind. A pendant necklace of emeralds from Nikki was around her neck, and Aleksei’s gift of diamond earrings hung from her ears.
Nikki caught his breath and paused to absorb her beauty, then stepped forward boldly and took her hand in his, drawing a quiet, subdued bride to his side. They both stood on a strip of satin and were given a lighted candle to hold, which they retained throughout the service. The priests wore dark blue velvet, much embroidered in silver, and began reading the ceremony.
Nikki and Alisa both put rings on their right hands, a glass of wine was given them, out of which they both drank in turns three times, the priest holding it. Then elaborate golden crowns were brought in, which the officiating priests waved before them and which were then held over their heads by the best man, who became very tired and had to change arms. The priest began to deliver a long and beautiful recitative portion of the service in a magnificent bass voice, but abruptly cut the anthem short after a meaningful curt nod from Prince Mikhail. Nikki’s father had been keenly observing Alisa, and noted a slight pallor beginning to appear.
The ceremony was blessedly abbreviated, and after intoning the benediction, the deep voice of the Russian Orthodox priest pronounced them married before the eyes of God.
Alisa clung to Nikki’s arm as they passed from the chapel, feeling faint from the closeness of the small room filled with people and heavy with the sweet odor of flowers and incense. Nikki hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with Alisa in the past two days, for despite his attempt to graciously accept the imperious commands of his father, a nagging anger consumed his thoughts.
Rationally, Nikki realized that Alisa was just as much a victim of this farce as he, perhaps more, because she was burdened with an unborn child. But judiciousness wasn’t holding sway in his emotions lately, and he quite unjustifiably and irrationally blamed Alisa for his predicament.
“Chin up, my dear,” Nikki whispered sarcastically as he pulled Alisa’s trembling body up with a tight grasp under her arm. “You wouldn’t want to faint before all these pantingly inquisitive guests.”
“I wouldn’t feel like fainting now if you could learn to keep your pants buttoned up,” she hissed petulantly as Nikki single-handedly held her upright and guided her out into the hall.
“Remember the old proverb, my love. A dog doesn’t worry an unwilling bitch,” he retorted ignobly, and Alisa blanched visibly at the bitterly insulting remark.
Now she did look ready to faint. Quickly, Nikki slipped his arm under her knees, picked her up, walked rapidly to a curving staircase, and ran up a flight of stairs. Once out of sight of the hundreds of guests, he continued more slowly to Alisa’s room, the long train and veil billowing behind them. She rested gratefully against Nikki’s black silk lapels.
Discordant emotions raced through both their minds. Nikki wanted her and didn’t want her, afraid of permanence,
while Alisa wanted him at all cost and deplored her submission and bondage. But she was mostly aware of a desperate fatigue; she was tired of parrying Nikki’s acid remarks or frigid indifference, and she was too weary to fence off any more verbal ripostes. Her sensibilities were bludgeoned, her nerves frayed. Nothing mattered anymore. She was beyond hostility, beyond apology, beyond caring for pride. She was in his arms, comforted by his strong embrace. It was the only place she longed to be.
Walking into her room, Nikki laid her on the bed, strode into his chamber next door, and returned within seconds with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. Quickly pouring Alisa a glass, he plumped up the pillows behind her, arranged her unprotesting form in a half-reclining position, and handed over the glass.
Pulling up a chair near the bed, Nikki sat down with the bottle and the other glass, poured himself a full bumper, put his long legs up on the satin counterpane, and said mockingly in his casual drawl, “Shall we both sheath our talons and attempt to amiably muddle through this charade. It seems you are mine now for the rest of our lives, and one must survive, after all. To our future, dear. Do you think we have one?” he jibed in a soft murmur, noting the still-pallid color of Alisa’s complexion.
“Am I supposed to beg for your favors?” Her voice was scarcely audible. “I won’t, Nikki—so the future is in your hands.”
His golden eyes held hers, for a long moment and then instead of answering, he casually said, “You’d better drink your brandy quickly, or you won’t last many minutes more, my dear. You look quite pale.” Lifting his glass in salute, Nikki drained it in one swallow. Over the rim of the glass he held her eyes for another long, speculative moment, his glance cool, measured, unreadable. Alisa found she could not look away, transfixed by the depths of those golden
eyes. Was it possible she’d discerned an unease registered briefly? The expression closed abruptly, his eyelids fell, his hand reaching out to refill his empty glass. The moment was over.