To Love a Horseguard (8 page)

A tall blond man stood from his place opposite her and bowed. “Allow me to
informally introduce myself. I am Victor, Dimitry's cousin. You look lovely this evening, Princess Elizabeth.”

“Thank you.”

A servant rushed to place a napkin across her lap and fill her wine glass. Another servant placed a bowl of thin red soup in front of her. She eyed the large spoonful of thick soured cream floating on top and cast a questioning look at Victor.

He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth and smiled at her. “It is Borsch, beet and cabbage soup, traditionally a peasant dish
, but one of Dimitry’s favorites.”

She took a small spoonful and tasted it. The tart taste thrilled her taste buds.

When Victor cleared his throat she glanced up. He smiled at her and then fixed his gaze on his cousin. Dimitry ignored him and continued to eat. 

She bowed her head over her bowl and spooned up the soup, watching out of the corner of her eye.

Victor stared at Dimitry, but the man’s attention seemed focused only on his dinner. He cleared his throat again, louder this time.

Dimitry
raised his eyebrow. “Is there something caught in your throat?”

“No.”

“That is good.” Dimitry put down his spoon and signaled for his attending servant to fill his wine glass.

Victor frowned, and focused his attention on her. “So princess, have you ever been to Russia bef
ore?”

She looked up from her bowl and smiled. “No. Well, at least I do not believe I have ever been out of England.”

Dimitry fixed her with a doubtful look. “And yet you are engaged to a Frenchman?”

“I am? I am afra
id I cannot remember. The physician said it might be a while before things are clear to me again.”

He gave a small snort of disbelief. “You cannot remember or just do not care to?” 

Victor shot him a stern look. “It sounds perfectly logical.”

“This morning you failed to mention you were engag
ed.” Dimitry’s eyes narrowed. “Any reason?”

His tone rubbed her already strained nerves.
Was the man actually hinting she was faking her memory loss? “I—well, I just do not remember much yet.”

Dimitry scowled at her. “I see.” He turned his attention back to the second course being served.

Victor glanced at her, the small smile playing about his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “Well then, we will have to show you the sights of our great city, will we not Dimitry?”

Dimitry shoved back his chair. “No, we will not. I doubt she will be staying long enough to bother.” He stood, threw down his napkin and stalked from the
room. She dropped her gaze to her plate.
Have I done something wrong?

“You will have to forgive Dimitry’s lack of manners. He is not used to the role the tsar appointed him with or much company for that matter. You see—”

“I would like to return to my room,” she interrupted, without looking up.

Victor sighed and put down his fork. He carried her back to her room and left her in Anya's care.

She stared into the fire as the woman fussed with the blankets, smoothing them across her lap. “Prince Dimitry does not like me for some reason.”

The housekeeper patted her hand. “Nonsense, he doesn't even know you.”

Rose shrugged, letting a tear trickle down her cheek. “I want to go home, wherever that is.”

Anya sat
on the edge of the bed and patted her hand. “In a few days you will remember everything, you'll see. Dimitry will send for your family and you will return home and all will be as it was.”

Doubt nagged at her mind. What if her family didn't come for her? What if she had run away because she had done something terrible?  What if the prince knew or suspected what she had done, if she had done something... She was so confused. Why couldn't she make her mind recall the events that brought her here? Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to remember anything before awaking in the prince's tent.
A costume. A room filled with people, and a man who…who I do not like, smiling at me. Cold water.
Her heart leaped.
I am drowning!
She placed a hand to her head as it began to throb. It was no use. The puzzle of her memory had too many missing pieces for her to put them together. Perhaps the maid Dimitry said knew her could shed some light on the situation. “Is the girl who claimed to be my maid still here?”

Anya nodded. “She has been given a room in the servants’ quarters. I thought it best she rest for a day or two. Would you like me to fetch her?”

When Rose nodded, the woman hurried from the room.

A few minutes later a short red-haired
girl arrived. She glanced at the bed, lowered her gaze and shuffled forward. “Can I be of service, my lady?”

“I was hoping you could answer some questions.” Rose patted the bed beside her. The maid stayed where she was, a flicker of fear passing over her face before she hid it.
Why is the girl afraid? Am I awful to the staff?
Something told her that this was not the case.

“What did you want to know, my lady.” The maid kept her eyes on her feet, her hands washing each other with obvious distress.

It suddenly occurred to Rose perhaps the girl was afraid of being blamed for her apparent kidnapping. “I want you to know I do not blame you for anything that has happened.”

The girl glanced at her, and then lowered her gaze back to her feet.

“Who am I?”

“Princess Elizabeth.”

Rose frowned. She was sure the woman was lying. “How did I come to be here in Russia?”

“A man named Sergi kidnapped you.”

“How did you come to be here with me?”

The woman's face visibly paled. “I was hired by Sergi to serve as your maid. I didn't know he was kidnapping you. I needed the job.”

Rose sighed. “Is there anything you can tell me that might help me remember?”

The maid scuffed her shoe on the carpet. “No, my lady.”

She waved the girl away. It seemed she was on her own to find her lost memories. Being alone was a horrible feeling.

Chapter
Eight

“What is the matter with you?” Victor demanded when he entered the study.

Dimitry looked up from his chair where he was seated, a bottle of vo
dka in his hand, staring into the fire. “What do you mean?”

Victor scowled at him. “You were rude to Princess Elizabeth.”

“You are the one acting like she is here on a social visit,” Dimitry pointed out.

“It is not her fault she is here. She was just another one of Sergi’s victims.”

“How do you know?” Dimitry spat. “Do you not think this is all very suspicious?”

Victor stared at him, his brows furrowing. “Suspicious?”

“Maybe this is all part of Sergi’s plan. What if the princess is really here to spy on me? This might all be a ploy. Maybe France and England are behind Sergi’s attempts to become tsar and take over Russia.”

Vi
ctor shook his head. “What makes you think that?”

“Think about it. We know Sergi went to England to raise money for his plan. Maybe he convinced the English he really was Nicoli, and they agreed to help him if he would give them some Russian land, along with a share of power.

“What about the princess’ accident?” 

Dimitry shrugged not wanting to give an inch in his theory, even though doubts nagged his conscience. “Maybe she ran into us on purpose—that way she could make us think she was running away from Sergi. Then, she could use me to get close to the tsar and spy on him.”

“That is ridiculous!” Victor shook his head. “For starters you ran into her. Second of all she is of English royalty. If she wanted to gain entry to spy on you she could have written a letter asking to visit our country, and the tsar would have had to put her up out of duty. Besides, why would the king of England send a princess as a spy?”

Dimitry frowned, the man had a point. Not willing to give up
an inch in the discussion, he shook his head. “What if she is not a princess? What if she is just pretending to be one? What if this whole convenient memory loss is just a ruse?”

Victor groaned. “Have you lost your mind? Just because Sergi wants the tsar dead does not mean the whole world wants to be in on it. Your paranoia is starting to get the better of you.” He put his hand on Dimitry’s shoulder. “I am starting to worry about you my friend.”

Dimitry took a long drink from the vodka bottle. “You are not the only one. Ever since I was forced to take this government appointment, it seems as though everyone is out to get me. Everyone wants me to do this and do that. I cannot please everyone and fix my uncle’s damage all at once. I would rather be back in the country tending my horses, not dealing with sickly women, whining peasants and bossy gentry. Not to mention my own brother who wants the tsar dead!” He slammed the bottle down on the desk.

“Sergi is only your half-brother.” Victor reminded him. “You have got to stop feeling sorry for yourself. So you did not choose to be of service to the tsar. Who chooses their lot in life? We are all just born into it. Look at me. I am nothing but a bastard. I do not know if my father was even a nobleman. My own mother did not want me and tried to smother me. I did not choose my birth any more than you. But I chose to serve you as both your friend and the tsar’s loyal subject.” Victor turned to leave. “You know, under that protective shell of yours beats the heart of a true leader. If you would just accept your fate and open yourself to the land and the people you would see that. Let people see you are human too. You can start by apologizing to that confused and frightened princess upstairs.” He opened the door to leave and added, “And lay off the vodka. You never could handle it. Besides, answers have never been found at the bottom of a bottle.”

Dimitry frowned as the door slammed shut behind his cousin. Perhaps he was being too suspicious. Who wouldn't be when their own flesh and blood turned against the tsar and sought to destroy the whole country? With a sigh he set the bottle of vodka back on the desk and took out a piece of writing parchment. He dipped his quill in the ink pot and penned a note to the tsar informing him of all he knew so far about the situation. When he finished he stamped it with his wax seal and rang for a houseboy to deliver it.

The tsar would know what to do about the lovely stranger upstairs. Was she a spy, or just another of Sergi's unwitting victims? He couldn't be sure, either way he wasn't going to be drawn into her treacherous web by her tawny gold eyes, full lips or enticing figure. Either she was a spy, which would mean it was his duty to execute her, or he would be returning to her own home in England to marry the French marquis. He couldn't help but think of her lying in the man’s arms being ravished. A pity someone as lovely would be wasted on a foppish Frenchman. The alternative wasn't much better. He never had to sentence a woman to death before, but the price for betraying the tsar would have to be paid. He pushed the thought from his mind.

Chapter Nine

“It will do you good to sit in the garden for a while,” Anya insisted.

Rose finished her late afternoon tea and waited as the housekeeper removed the tray from
her lap. Anya set it on the bedside table and hurried to help her dress in a mauve velvet dress.

“I will speak to Dimitry about ordering you a more suitable wardrobe today.”

“There is no need,” she protested. “I will not be here much longer.”

“Nonsense. You can’t have just two
outdated gowns to wear. They were all that was left by the last princess who lived here.” The housekeeper finished doing up the buttons along the back of the dress and then wrapped a warm wool shawl over her shoulders. She put her arm around her and they strolled downstairs. Once Rose was tucked into a chair on wheels with a quilt across her, Dinah was pressed into service, pushing the chair outside to the gardens.

“I’m glad to see you’re feelin’ better, my lady.”

“Thank you, Dinah.” A couple of houseboys lifted her chair down the stone steps onto the garden path. They wandered down the bough-sheltered trail for a few minutes. Rose gasped when the path they were following came to an end by a massive iron cage.  It contained an orange cat-like creature with black stripes and a long tail. It lay panting, its eerie yellow stare fixed on her in a most unnerving way. “What is that creature?” she asked the maid in awe.

“I don’t know,” the maid answered in a whisper, pushing the chair to a sunny spot between the cage and a carved stone bench. “I’ll leave you here for a wee bit while I tidy your room,” the girl said, and then scurried back up the path. 

Rose watched fascinated as the large animal stood and paced back and forth in the cage. He hissed at her once in a while showing off large yellowed fangs. Tears welled up in Rose’s eyes which she refused to shed.
What am I doing here? Who am I? Who is this Sergi fellow?
She had the distinct feeling she was fleeing from the man but the question was why?
Is he the man I am supposed to be engaged to? No, hadn't the prince said something about me being engaged to a Frenchman?