Melting the Snow Queen

by Mary Lancaster

  In fact, she was having difficulty keeping her mind on anything. The consequences of her careless discussion with Ralph Bethurst were soon brought home to her when Mrs. Bethurst came to call on the duchess. The frail widow had not left her own house in years and the sight of her being all but carried from her carriage and into the house by her faithful servant, the burly Warne, actually pierced Alba’s bubble of despair. She went at once to the drawing room to join them—after pushing Kai determinedly in the direction of the schoolroom.

  “Of course, Ralph has not yet seen His Grace, although he has written to him in London,” Mrs. Bethurst was saying. She paused to smile warmly as Alba entered. “But I am hopeful the alliance will please him.”

  “If it pleases Alba, I am sure it will please both the duke and myself,” Her Grace said, slightly bewildered. “Alba, is this quite a settled thing between yourself and Mr. Bethurst? At last?”

  “Why, if it makes you happy, I suppose it is,” Alba said, although even as she said the words, the clouds of despair grew darker. It seemed it wasn’t quite true that it made no difference to her whether or not she was married. And yet, she might as well suffer if it would make someone else happy. Mrs. Bethurst was a sweet lady, and the duke and duchess had been wishing to marry her off to someone—anyone—for years.

  When Warne carried Mrs. Bethurst back to her carriage, Alba accompanied them and helped arrange the blanket over the old lady’s knees. She promised to come to Moreland Manor to see her in the next few days. Then she went to the rose garden and sat on the bench, staring at the wintry white beauty around her.

  After a while, she realized Kai sat beside her. “It seems I’m going to marry Mr. Bethurst,” she said.

  “Make it a long engagement,” Kai said seriously.

  “Why? In case I change my mind?”

  He nodded. “You know he just sent that Mrs. Dawlish away when she had nowhere else to go?”

  “I don’t know Mrs. Dawlish,” she said, turning away. “And neither do you.”

  “But we know Mr. Bethurst. And we don’t like him.”

  “You didn’t like Harry either.”

  “We liked Yuri.”

  Pain flooded her. “He didn’t love me.”

  “We think he did,” Kai said firmly.

  She closed her eyes. “You are children.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “But…maybe it’s because there are two of us, but we see more than many adults.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it.

  ***

  Yuri had no intention of going to Winbourne, with or without Alba’s manipulative little sister. But some of Gerda’s words bothered him more than he cared to admit, perhaps because they shouldn’t have come from a child.

  “She needs pain, if only to be reminded what happiness is. Nothing touches her. She’s dying inside.”

  Had hurt and pride made him give up on her too easily? He had known her less than two weeks and yet when he had left her, it had felt as if his entire world was crumbling. Had she felt the same? Had she been waiting for him to try one more time?

  Only, time had run out. And since then, the color had gone out of his life. Even his homecoming, his reunion with his family, although intense, had not returned him to his old self. And Alba, too used to grief, too used to wallowing as Gerda put it… Everyone had called her the snow queen, but they were wrong. She was not cold. They had not understood her.

  Yuri had. And yet he had let himself be driven away. Like all the others.

  Swearing beneath his breath, he snatched up his great coat and went out again. Maybe he should go north to the Lievens’ party after all.

  It was beginning to snow again, but he had no time to appreciate the beauty, or even to compare London’s wintry streets with Moscow’s. He’d barely reached the bottom of the hotel steps before he was accosted by a liveried footman and a woman he recognized as Gerda’s nurse, into whose hands he had delivered the child that morning.

  “Sir, she’s gone!” the nurse cried, waving a piece of paper under his nose. “Oh God, my last hope was that she was with you.”

  He didn’t need to ask whom she meant. Instead, he snatched the paper from her shaking fingers and read, Have decided to go home by mail coach rather than face Dr. Hale again. Please tell Prince Volkov at Claridge’s and don’t worry. Yours, Gerda.

  “Wretch,” he uttered, crumpling the note in his fist. “Does the duke know?”

  The nurse and the footman exchanged furtive glances. “He wasn’t at home, sir.”

  Volkov understood they were trying to avoid telling him. After all, this was the second time she had eluded them today. “He has to be told,” he said severely. “What of Lord Oscar?”

  “At his club, sir.”

  “Send to him, too.”

  “Yes, sir, but there’s no time. The mail coach left at two.”

  “Tell them anyway,” Yuri commanded. “I’ll go after her.” He glanced at the filthy sky through the pristine snowflakes. “Maybe the weather is a blessing.”

  ***

  Gerda was not unaware of the dangers facing a child alone in London, and then on a public coach. The specific risks were a little vague, since she rarely encountered anyone who might hurt her in any way, but it all added a secretly fun element to her otherwise selfless motives. She rather enjoyed making up the tale of being recently orphaned and summoned to her mysterious aunt in Lincoln. It allowed her to buy a ticket and engage the sympathies of her fellow travelers, who were otherwise more concerned with the worsening weather. Of course, she was not quite sure what she would do once she got to Lincoln, or how she would get from there to Winbourne. But she had hopes that Yuri would catch up with her well before then.

  One thing she hadn’t thought of when she bought the ticket was that the outriders were well armed against highway robbery. She hoped they wouldn’t shoot Yuri for trying to stop the mail coach.

  As they galloped through London’s outlying villages, the weather—and the roads—grew worse. The snow was falling too fast and clearly had been for some time. Just outside Stevenage, the coach all but ran into a sudden snowdrift that blocked the road, and came to a halt while the outriders dismounted, got shovels down from the coach roof and hastily began to clear the snow. The horses, unhappy to be still in such cold, snorted and stamped.

  In her mind, Gerda urged them on, for if Yuri caught up with her here it would still be far quicker to take her back to London than on to Winbourne. And, of course, it was always possible that not Yuri but her father’s servants—or, worse, her brothers or even the duke himself—would be the ones to catch her.

  Outside, a threatening shout went up, followed by more horse snorting and angry voices.

  Not Yuri, not Yuri, not Yuri…

  The coach door wrenched open and she and everyone else stared in alarm at…Yuri. His eyes settled on her almost at once.

  “Come on,” he said with a sigh. “Out.”

  “And who might you be?” demanded the motherly woman who had designated herself Gerda’s protector for the journey.

  Since, frustratingly, he had caught up with her too early, it was tempting to make him the villain of her story. After all, by his accent and uniform he was quite clearly a foreign soldier and it would be easy to get the other passengers on her side. But reluctantly, she abandoned this plan. She didn’t really want him reviled or arrested. And he had come after her.

  “He’s my brother,” she said happily, and to Yuri, “Are you going to take me after all?”

  “Yes,” he said shortly, reaching inside for her.

  She went willingly, waving a friendly goodbye to the passengers, driver and the outriders who were still grumpily shoveling snow off the road.

  Yuri all but threw her up into the saddle and tossed her a blanket. “Wrap it around you,” he ordered, and mounted up behind her.

  “Thank you,” she said meekly. “Are you taking me back to London?”

  “It would be best. They’re worried sick a
bout you.”

  “Perhaps we could send a message back from the next inn instead,” Gerda hazarded without much hope. “And just travel on? Now you’ve found me, I feel quite safe.”

  Yuri regarded her, holding his prancing horse in check. “We could,” he agreed at last. “But your father will have me hanged for abducting you.”

  Gerda smiled dazzlingly, realizing she’d won against all the odds. “No, he won’t,” she assured him.

  ***

  Riding through the night grew increasingly tough, with deeper snow to contend with as well as the freezing temperature. Yuri, used to the deeper colds of Russia, would have ridden on had he been alone, but he had an English child with him.

  Since he had agreed to take Gerda to Winbourne instead of back to London, he had borne Count Lieven’s invitation in mind, for the house they had hired was not far off his route. Eventually, he knew he needed to take advantage of it. The route took them off the main road, of course, and what the count and countess would think of him travelling in company with the Duke of Snowden’s youngest daughter was anyone’s guess. But he could not risk Gerda any farther.

  He was relieved to see lights on as they drew nearer the snow-covered country mansion.

  “Goodness, it looks like a fairytale castle,” Gerda said in awe. “Does a princess live there?”

  “A countess has borrowed it. She’s the wife of the Russian ambassador to the court of St. James.”

  “Countess Lieven! Of course, I have heard of her. Everyone has.”

  “Well, she has probably heard of you, too—or, at least, your family—so I have hopes it will entitle us to a bed for the night.”

  “Shouldn’t we keep going?” Gerda asked uncertainly.

  “I think we’ve gone far enough tonight. It’s too cold.”

  “But what if the road becomes impassable during the night?”

  “There are other ways to travel.”

  She let it go at that, which was as well, for although there were other ways to travel in Russia, he doubted there were many troikas to be had in England.

  Yuri dismounted at the front door and pulled the bell vigorously. He was sure the superior servant who opened the door would rather have sent him and the child wrapped in a snow-covered blanket away. But perhaps his military uniform counted for something, for the servant stood aside to admit them, saying only, “Wait here.”

  “Tell the count, Prince Volkov waits upon him,” Yuri said shortly.

  In moments, not the count but the countess swept downstairs to them. “Yuri Ivanovich!” she exclaimed. “It is you! And on such a night. Come up, come up.”

  “My horse—”

  “Is already being attended to,” Countess Lieven assured him. “But who have we here? She is not yours, is she?”

  “Lord no, thank God. This is Lady Gertrude Snowden and I have come to beg a bed for her for tonight.”

  The countess’s eyes widened. “The duke’s daughter? Good grief, Yuri, how comes she to be with you in a snowstorm?”

  “It’s a long story,” Gerda said with dignity, offering the countess her hand. “But Yuri came to my aid and I’m very grateful to him. And to you.”

  Uncharacteristically bemused, the countess took her hand. “Good grief, child, you’re frozen! Sit here before the fire. Maria, bring blankets and hot soup from the kitchen for my guests.”

  Count Lieven was amazed to see them, too, but welcomed them to his fireplace and offered all the hospitality at his disposal. “As you see, the weather has rather prevented the house party we intended, so you are doubly welcome.” He chuckled. “How strange life is! Yours is the one face we did not expect to see.”

  Wrapped in warmth and blankets, with hot soup in her stomach, Gerda soon fell asleep on the sofa.

  The countess said, “It is Lady Alba, is it not, that you truly do this for?”

  “I don’t know,” Yuri said ruefully. “The child manipulates with dangerous starts. If I’d taken her back to London, God knows what she’d have come up with next. I need to get her home to Winbourne.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to for several days,” Lieven said from the window. “The roads will be impassable.”

  “I don’t suppose,” Yuri said apologetically, “that you have a sleigh?”

  Countess Lieven laughed. “What did you imagine we were going to do here in all this snow?”

  ***

  It was still dark when he was shaken awake by small hands. “Yuri! Yuri, wake up!” said Gerda’s frightened voice. “Something is wrong with Kai. We have to go!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Alba didn’t sleep much anymore, and she had come to hate lying in bed in the dark wide awake, swamped by memories, by thoughts of things she could and should have done differently. It was as if there were no good times to be remembered, no good people to be trusted. She attributed every act of everyone—except, perhaps, the twins—to cynical motives, and saw no beauty in anyone or anything, certainly not in herself. Only the snow seemed pure, covering the ground like a blanket, falling relentlessly from a black sky.

  It was that which drove her outside in the night. She had dismissed Siddons after being unlaced, but after gazing out the window over the white, sparkling countryside for some time, she donned her furs, took a blanket from her bed and quietly let herself out of the house.

  She didn’t really know where she was going, she simply followed the reflection of the moon in the snow. As she trudged on, a certain peace descended upon her. Life was better out here in the cold, sharp snow. She could feel it stinging her cheeks, seeping into her feet through the sturdy leather of her boots.

  After some time, she realized it couldn’t really be the moon’s reflection—the sky was too cloudy to reveal much of the moon. But something had drawn her to the frozen lake where she’d often skated in severe winters. Most recently, she had come with Rose and the twins. That was a good memory.

  She’d come here once with Yuri. And Oscar and Rose. The men had taken turns rowing in the sunshine and she had tried to ignore the tingling of her body when Yuri’s muscles rippled beneath his shirt. And when he had taken it off, when he had dived into the water to swim…

  He had been beautiful then. Perhaps she would remember that rather than the awfulness that followed.

  The lake was still frozen hard with a deep layer of snow over the top that prevented the ice being too slippery. She walked out to the center of the lake and stood for a moment gazing up at the sky. Yes, there was the moon, shining directly, briefly down upon her. She must look as white as the snow in her furs with her too pale, white skin.

  She dropped the blanket at her feet. It looked ugly and dark, so she lay down upon it, covering it up, so that all she could see was whiteness.

  She had been right to come. Because she had no more strength, and it was here that she would find her only peace. She embraced it.

  ***

  Kai woke to see Alba’s maid leaning over him, a single candle held in one hand. This was not usual.

  He sat up.

  “Has her ladyship been here?” Siddons demanded.

  Kai blinked. “No. That is, I haven’t seen her. I’ve been asleep, Why, is she not in her bed?”

  Siddons shook her worried head. “No, the maid who lights the fires noticed the bed curtains were open and her ladyship not there.”

  “Light the rest of the candles,” Kai said, but it was soon clear that Alba was not in his room or Gerda’s. “She’s probably in the rose garden,” Kai said. “I’ll go and bring her in.”

  “Good boy,” Siddons approved and left with obvious relief. It was too cold for most adults to relish going out in this weather.

  He dressed in haste and dragged his fur-lined cloak on before hurrying downstairs and out the side door. Only the servants were stirring, lighting fires and preparing for this even colder day.

  Kai took a lantern with him, for it was still dark, but despite looking in all the corners of the rose garden, there wa
s no sign of Alba, or even the miraculous red rose bud, which must have been covered in snow and finally died.

  He moved out of the garden, farther afield, wondering where on earth she would have wandered to before dawn. He hoped Gerda was having better luck with Yuri, because it seemed their eldest sister was simply getting odder and there was very little he could do to get through to her.

  As dawn began to break over pristine white snow, he trudged on toward the frozen lake. At first it looked as if God had dumped an extra few carts full of snow right on the middle of the ice. And then, as he drew nearer, he wondered if an animal had died there, a forlorn pile of snow-covered fur.

  His throat dried up. The figure was human shaped. In sudden fear, he stepped onto the ice, and ran across, slipping and sliding. He landed on his knees beside the figure, and hastily brushed the snow off her face. He already knew it was Alba.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Oh, God.”

  He needed to get help. But she needed warmth immediately or she would die. If she wasn’t dead already. He shouted out, crying Alba’s name and calling for help, even as he lay down on the snowy blanket beside her, embracing her and holding her close to his own warmth.

  “Don’t die, Alba,” he whispered, hot tears flowing down his cheek and onto hers. “Please don’t die.”

  ***

  With three trained horses and Count Lieven’s sleigh, Yuri and Gerda had no need of clear roads. They flew through the snow, across country, over fields and lanes, taking the fastest route to Winbourne they could.

  Although Gerda couldn’t explain her urgency to Yuri, he was infected by it. This time, there was no manipulation, no disingenuousness about her distress.

  “I just know he’s afraid,” she whispered. “Terrified and alone.”

  The snow had stopped falling by the time daylight dawned, but the roads were clearly impassable to wheeled vehicles. As they flew past the village, well-wrapped people began to laugh and wave to them with delight. Yuri waved back but Gerda could not even summon a smile.