She nodded numbly, desperately wanting to believe him, but fear lurked deep in her heart. British or not, the Bolsheviks would never respect such laws. They were the enemy of law.
The figure moved into the flicker of candlelight. Tatya. With a breath of relief, Svetlana hurried toward her with Wynn right behind her.
“What are you doing here?”
Tatya looked her up and down before pressing a hand over her own rumpled dress. “Apology no dress up. No fine duchess like you.” She winked at Wynn. “Hello, sir knight. Pozdravlyayu.”
“Spasibo.” Wynn gave a slight bow, his Russian lessons proving themselves at her congratulations. “You’re the lady we met before in the rain.”
Tatya laughed, startling the priests who were talking to Mama and Gerard. “I no lady. If were, no hearing things. Bad things.”
Cold swept through Svetlana. “What things?”
“I come warn. Sheremetev. He know. Get out while can.” Tatya brushed past her.
“Wait!” Svetlana hurried after her and unbuckled the sapphire brooch at her throat, pressing it into Tatya’s gloveless hand. Her fingers were little more than bird claws, frozen from the November wind. “Take this.”
Tatya shoved it back at her. “I no charity.”
“It’s not charity.” Svetlana closed Tatya’s fingers around the expensive piece. The last jewel she owned. “Take it. Get out while you can.”
* * *
The wedding feast was a solemn affair with a few pastries and sandwiches allotted by the rations to feed the equally solemn guests as they gathered in Wynn’s Parisian townhouse. More specifically, Château Sable Bleu, which sat a mere stone’s throw from the grand Champs Élysées along the fashionable Rue de Faubourg Saint-Honoré, and belonged to Hugh as one of the many grand homes owned by the Duke of Kilbride. Since the war began, the house had been occupied by a major in Hugh’s regiment and the man’s wife. The major was killed a fortnight ago and the wife had gone back to England, returning the key to the MacCallans once again.
The night Wynn proposed to Svetlana, he’d whisked her here along with her mother, sister, and Mrs. Varjensky while he kept to his bachelor lodgings with the other doctors. That would change now.
“Congratulations, mate,” Gerard said as he put on his hat and coat to meet the bitter November air. “You’ve a charming bride, and I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you for coming,” Wynn said. “Listen, I’ve been going over the charts for the influenza cases, and tomorrow I’d like to—”
“Tomorrow you’ll be here with your wife. Leave all hospital problems and thoughts to me.”
“Yes, but there’s—”
“The hospital can survive a few days without your brilliance blinding the patients. If there’s an emergency, I’ll know right where to find you. In the meantime, enjoy being married.”
Wynn’s gaze, heavy with doubt, drifted up toward the bedchambers beyond. “I’ll do my best.”
After seeing out his one and only guest, Wynn instructed the new maid to clear away the remaining food and then attend to her mistress upstairs. Wanting to give Svetlana as much time as she needed, he went to the study and pulled out the list of remaining expenses owed to Sheremetev that he and Svetlana had compiled the night before. Tallying them once more and throwing in a bit extra for cushion, Wynn wrote a cheque to the monstrous boar and signed it with a flourish. He then took out a blank sheet of stationary stamped with the Kilbride ducal seal and added a short note.
This payment hereby honors and discharges all debts owed by the Dalsky family to be paid here in full on behalf of Princess Svetlana MacCallan, Marchioness of Tarltan.
He signed his name at the bottom, relishing the weight of his full title for once.
There. The whole sordid deed was done. He’d have the money delivered to the White Bear first thing in the morning, and then he could begin arrangements for Svetlana and her family to travel to Thornhill. They would be safe at last on his family’s Scottish estate.
Hopefully soon the war would end and he could join them. Maybe start a new medical practice out of Glasgow. He and Svetlana would have to find themselves a new home, one with a large garden for her to plant roses in and for children to play in. He stopped himself at the fanciful dream. He’d promised her this was a marriage in name and appearance only. Yet in time he hoped it would become more. Much more.
Occupying himself for another hour, Wynn finally made his way up the winding staircase to the second-floor landing and knocked on Marina’s door.
Mrs. Varjensky bustled out carrying an empty bowl of soup. She said something and pulled his head down to plant two squishy kisses on both his cheeks. “Golubchik.”
Wynn kissed her back. “Good night, babushka.”
Giggling like a little girl, the old woman clomped down the stairs. Wynn stepped into the room and took quick note of his patient now turned sister-in-law.
“How are you this evening, Marina?”
“Well, thank you.” Marina settled against a fluffy pillow in the oversize bed. “I’m only sorry to have missed the ceremony. But the bride should not have to worry about a fainting sister.”
“The important thing is you’re improving.” He moved closer to the bed. No sweating, clear eyes, pale cheeks, and full breaths. “A few days more and you might be able to move around a bit.”
“I couldn’t do it without Mrs. Varjensky’s nursing. Svetka tries, but she frets too much.” She yawned. “I know you’ll be good to her. She doesn’t think so, but she needs someone to take care of her. Good night. Brother.”
Wynn had moved to the door but stopped at her words. Could he live up to them? He was going to try. “Good night.”
Ascending to the third floor, which was designed as master and mistress suites with a shared common space between them, Wynn hovered outside his door. Should he change and then go see Svetlana? No. She would get the wrong impression if he appeared at her door in pajamas. He could knock on the door of their shared common room. No. That might appear too casual. Before he lost his nerve, he walked down to her door and knocked.
After several long seconds he was met with an, “Enter.”
The room hadn’t changed since he was a boy and his mother ruled as Duchess of Kilbride. Soft lavenders and creams, pillows on every available surface, and silver fixtures that reflected the glow of candlelight. The botany book he’d given Svetlana lay open on the small table next to the bed. To what page he could not see from where he stood in the doorway.
Svetlana turned from where she stood at the window. She’d changed from her wedding attire into a billowy dressing gown complete with out-of-date mutton chop sleeves. To his disappointment her hair remained pinned up. What had he expected? For it to be flowing intimately loose down her back?
He could hope.
She tugged the belt tighter about her waist. “The maid is soaking your mother’s dress. She believes the wine will not stain.”
“Mother hasn’t worn these clothes in over twenty years. I doubt she remembers they’re here. She’d be glad to know they came to good use, though I wish you could have worn the wedding dress you wanted.”
“This was not a usual wedding. I could not have expected anything I wanted.” Color bled to her cheeks. “Forgive me. That is not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant, and you’re right. It wasn’t the wedding I wanted either, but it’s done now.”
“Yes, it’s done now.”
They stood on opposite sides of the room, but the space between them constricted to within the stroke of a single heartbeat. She was wreathed in golden light, illuminating beauty of another world. But she wasn’t of another world. She was here, with him. Claiming his name, and the knowledge of it filled him with awed pride.
She fiddled again with the knotted sash at her waist, breaking the moment. Nervous.
“Won’t you have a seat?”
Eager to put her at ease, he chose the most uncomfortab
le chair in the room that forced him to sit erect. No draping against pillows or velvet settees.
“Marina looks better this evening. I imagine she should be strong enough to take small strolls around the back garden in a few days.”
“I missed having her at the ceremony today, but I’m grateful you allowed her to come downstairs for the feast. Important moments should be shared with one’s sister.”
“I wish I could have brought her to the church, if only to make you happy.”
“I know.”
He shifted against the chair’s hard back. “I’ve written a cheque to be delivered to Sheremetev in the morning. He has no further reason to pursue the debt.”
“What of his threat about the Bolsheviks? He’s not a man to allow a slight to pass unheeded.” She jerked on the sash, creating another knot. “I would rather face the Reds than marry him.”
“You married me instead.”
Her hands stilled as her eyes flickered to his. “Yes, I did.”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees in an attempt to appear nonchalant. He felt anything but on this, their wedding night. “As your husband I’m getting you out of France as soon as possible. You and your family will be safe enough on my family’s estate in Scotland.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“As long as this war rages and the injured are brought in, my duties remain here. I will come to you as soon as possible.”
“What will keep Sheremetev from taking out his revenge on you? The danger you have put yourself in because of me—”
“Because you’re my wife.”
“I wasn’t your wife three days ago when you proposed and inadvertently threw yourself into the line of fire.”
“Hardly inadvertently. I knew from the first moment that any relationship with you would be difficult. You don’t make things easy on a man.”
Her eyebrow arched. “You claimed to be a man who appreciates a challenge.”
He smiled. “True, but sometimes a little peace and quiet can be nice too.”
“I seem to have brought anything but peace and quiet to you. You would have been better never having met me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“No? I’ve offered you nothing in this arrangement. Fake though it is, what good will our union do for you?”
He locked his fingers together as the conversation veered into territory he wasn’t ready to dissect. “You’ve asked me that before.”
“And you gave me a doctor’s answer. Because I needed help. Any number of your patients can say the same thing, but you didn’t marry any of them.”
They’re not as beautiful as you. Nor as fascinating or intellectually stimulating. You alone I wish to know all of me. He could tell her none of that. She’d run out the front door and never look back, and he’d never have the opportunity to woo her properly.
“As I told you the night I proposed, you may think of this as a business transaction offered to you because it was the right thing to do. I can offer you a good position in society where you will lack for nothing and enjoy the comforts to which you are accustomed. And despite your perseverance to convince me otherwise, I enjoy your company and wish to continue doing so.”
“My part in this transaction is companionship?”
“Yes.”
She watched him, waiting to cut apart his answers to find the true meaning behind his words. She’d lived in a shroud of secrecy for too long. Was it any wonder she craved the truth? He wanted her to count on him for that.
“Because I’m drawn to you.”
A simple confession, yet he could not mean it more.
She turned away and faced the window. Whatever response he was hoping for, cold dismissal wasn’t it.
He stood. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“You haven’t.” She turned back to face him. Her cool reserve dropped as faint pink dusted her cheeks. “In Russia we are not accustomed to sharing such straightforward sentiments. Forgive me if I do not always know how to respond.”
“Honesty. That’s all I ask. In return I’ll be honest with you.”
She nodded. “Honesty between us always.”
Her simple wedding band winked in the candlelight. He longed to kiss it as affirmation of the vows he’d made to honor and protect her. He longed to kiss the tender inside of her wrist, trailing kisses up her arm and over the curve of her shoulder. He longed to press his lips to her throat, feeling her pulse increase as he moved to her jaw and finally to her lips. More than anything he longed to kiss her. His wife. He had every right to, but he wouldn’t violate the tenuous trust between them. He would wait for her.
“Good night, Svetlana.” Gathering his self-control, he crossed to the door.
“Wynn.” He stopped and turned back. She didn’t smile often enough, but now she did. And she was smiling at him. “Thank you.”
Nodding, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him, heart nearly beating out of his chest. His wife might like him after all. In the books, November the tenth would go down as the best day of his life.
Chapter 16
“Where is all that noise coming from?” Svetlana got up from her chair, crossed to the window, and drew open the yellow drapes. Light flooded the bedchamber in a golden halo.
Marina roused in her bed. “Are we being invaded?”
“If we are, the citizens of Paris look quite jubilant about it.”
A sea of humanity swept down the street in front of the townhouse with shouts of celebration and fluttering of blue, white, and red flags. Svetlana opened the glass door and stepped onto the small balcony. Canons shot in the distance as a wave of voices singing “La Marseillaise” rose higher and higher above the din. Tears and smiles glistened on the peoples’ faces as they marched south toward the Place de la Concorde. This was no invasion.
She spotted Wynn’s head weaving through the crowd. The only one without a hat. He looked up and saw her. A wide grin split his face, and he waved before shouldering his way to the front door. A few seconds later, feet pounded on the stairs. He bounded into the room and swept her off her feet, swinging her in a circle and laughing.
“It’s over! The war. At eleven o’clock this morning. Our lads are no longer fighting.”
Elation like she’d never known flooded her and she laughed along with him. The horrible nightmare that had swept the world into death had gasped its last destructive breath. Wynn set her on her feet but didn’t let go. Pressed close to him, her face inches from his, the world and its celebrations narrowed to the space between them. For an instant she forgot about the happenings that brought them together, the vows that claimed her as his wife. All she saw was the deepened desire in his golden eyes, knowing it reflected in her own and drew her to him.
She stepped back, out of his arms, away from his pull, and clasped her hands in front of her for protection. Against his magnetism or her own unsettling reaction to it she couldn’t decide. This was a business arrangement, a mutual companionship. Not a romantic fantasy to be swept away in.
“I’m delighted there will be peace at last.”
The desire in his eyes flickered then snuffed out and a polite expression slipped in place. “They said it would be over by Christmas the first year. So far, we’ve had four Christmases pass, but this year we can finally celebrate.” He walked to Marina’s bed and grasped her hand. “How about that? Would you like to have a festive Christmas in Scotland this year?”
Marina nodded eagerly. A light no longer feverish danced in her eyes. “How wonderful! We can see if the sochivo sticks to the ceiling. After all this misfortune, I bet it will.”
Wynn frowned. “You throw socks at the ceiling?”
“Sochivo. It’s a porridge made with wheat, honey, and fruits. It’s good luck if it sticks to the ceiling.”
“The dining hall at Thornhill is near three stories tall, but I’ll make a go of getting porridge up there if it brings us luck.”
&n
bsp; Marina laughed again, but it quickly turned to coughing. Wynn placed a hand on her back. “Breathe deeply through your nose. Good. Again.” He poured water into a glass from the bedside table and handed it to her. “Small sips. We need to calm the bronchial hairs from agitating your lungs.”
Marina’s eyes widened over the rim of her cup. “I have hairs in my lungs?”
Wynn nodded. “When they get tickled, we cough.” He tossed a wink in Svetlana’s direction.
How effortless he made it all look. Never rushing but always moving with purpose and complete embodiment of his confidence. He was easy to get caught up in. If she wasn’t careful, she might do just that.
Mama ran into the room, her hair still in rag curls and sleep blinking in her panicked eyes. “Has a herd of elephants come crashing in?” Her attention shot to Marina. “Kotyonok! What has happened? Do we need the hospital?”
Coughing less, Marina batted Mama away as she came at her with hands aflutter. “I’m well enough. We have our own doctor here.”
Mama grabbed Wynn by the lapels of his coat, clinging to him like a scuff on a shoe. “I was resting—my nerves, you understand—when I heard a terrible noise like thunderclaps.”
Wynn tried to loosen her grip. “Probably me running up the stairs. Or the captured German canons they’re hauling down the Champs Élysées.”
“I dreamed we were in Petersburg—I mean, Petrograd—again and the revolutionaries were coming.”
“They aren’t. No one is. The war is over.”
Mama glared at his outrageous claim. “Do not tell me the war is over when those crazy men sit in the Winter Palace as if they own— What do you mean? Which war?”
“The Great War. The one the nations of Europe have been waging for four years.”
“No one is dying?”
Wynn pried her fingers loose from his crimped lapels. “Hopefully not anymore.”
“This is wonderful news! Why did you not tell me right away?” Mama clapped her hands. “We must celebrate. I’ll have that maid fetch us chicken and beef, vegetables, fruit, and pastries, and anything left from the wedding feast yesterday. You really must hire a trained cook. I found part of an eggshell in my soup last night.”
The Ice Swan Page 19