The Mysterious Miss Fairchild (HQR Historical)

by Sarah Mallory

  Chapter Sixteen

  Natalya had eaten one of the cakes and finished her lemonade when an elderly man came into the room. She hastily rose from her chair and studied him carefully.

  He was tall and lean, his short black hair streaked with silver. He carried an ebony cane in one hand, but he barely used it for support. His bearing was upright and on the breast of his dark evening coat was a large jewelled order of merit.

  He bowed to her. ‘Have I the honour of addressing Miss Natalya Fairchild?’

  She curtsied. ‘You have, sir.’

  He raised his quizzing glass to observe her. Natalya put up her chin and gave him a challenging look in return. He smiled slightly and lowered the glass.

  ‘Forgive me, my dear. It is impolite of me to stare.’ His voice was soft and heavily accented. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Ilya Mikhailovich Borkusov.’

  Prince!

  She swallowed. Hard. ‘You are a Russian prince?’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘You are my benefactor?’

  ‘Alas, no. That privilege belonged to your father.’

  He had used the past tense. She clutched the back of a chair.

  ‘He is dead, then.’

  ‘He is. I am so sorry.’

  He was only confirming what the Pridhams had told her, but it did not prevent her feeling another sharp stab of grief. The Prince gestured with one white hand. ‘Shall we sit down?’

  Natalya was very glad to do so. She folded her hands in her lap and waited until the old man had lowered himself on to a chair opposite. There was probably some protocol that decreed she should wait for him to address her, but she was far too impatient for that.

  ‘Do you know my history?’ she asked him. ‘Can you tell me?’ He was silent for a moment and she added, ‘On peut parler en français, si vous préférez?’

  A faint smile curved his thin lips. ‘I see that the money your father put aside for your education was not wasted. But we shall continue in English, your native tongue.’ He steepled his fingers and stared at them for a long moment. ‘Your father came to England in 1792, to join the entourage of the Russian Ambassador, Count Semyon Vonotsov. Your mother, he met in London. She was the daughter of a wealthy English gentleman. They fell in love, but were forbidden to marry.’

  Natalya’s chin went up. ‘She was not noble enough for him, was that it?’

  ‘That was not the reason, my dear. You see, his bride had already been chosen for him, a young relative of his mother. His parents were unyielding, they insisted the match must go ahead. But young love, it is very strong. It was an affaire de coeur and the lady’s family, they cast her off when they learned she was with child.’

  Natalya interrupted him. ‘I beg your pardon, sir—your Highness—the lady you mention, would that be Miss Elizabeth Faringdon?’

  ‘The same.’

  She nodded. Mrs Ancrum’s suspicions had been correct.

  The Prince frowned. ‘You are familiar with the story? It was my understanding that nothing was to be divulged to you. Your father’s instructions were explicit on that matter.’

  ‘I learned of Miss Elizabeth Faringdon from an acquaintance who saw a likeness between us. But it was conjecture, sir. There was no proof and the Pridhams have told me nothing.’

  ‘They do not know the whole and they had orders not to inform you of your parentage.’

  ‘You should be pleased, then,’ she retorted bitterly. ‘They have followed those orders, to the letter.’

  ‘You have my sympathy, my dear. From everything I have learned since coming to England, your guardians have proved themselves scrupulously honest, if unimaginative, in their dealings with you.’

  ‘Perhaps it would have been better if they had not been quite so meticulous.’

  ‘Perhaps. However, what is done is done. Now we can move on.’

  ‘But not before you have told me everything you know about my parents.’ She stopped, conscious that this was not the way one should address a prince. ‘I beg your pardon, your Highness, I do not mean to be impolite, but I have waited so long to learn the truth.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Your curiosity is understandable, my dear.’

  Another pause. Natalya curbed her impatience. Only her hands, clasped so tightly that the knuckles gleamed white, showed the extent of her anxiety.

  ‘The lady, your mother, died soon after your birth. Mikhail Nikolayevich, your father, was distraught. He had been summoned back to Russia, ordered to return and marry the woman chosen for him.’ The old man stopped, his mouth turning down a little. ‘The letters he received from his parents and from his fiancée were so full of anger that he was afraid to take the child with him. His family refused to acknowledge his daughter and he feared she would be put away, an embarrassment to be forgotten.’

  ‘No. How cruel.’

  The Prince’s eyes flickered over her.

  ‘Such things are not unknown, even in your country. Mikhail left his child in England. His Russian friends here helped him to set up a generous fund to provide for her. She was to be cared for and given every advantage money could buy.’

  She felt the press of tears against her eyes.

  ‘He did not quite abandon me.’

  The old man’s face softened. ‘No, Natalya, he never intended to abandon you.’

  ‘What happened to him, after he returned to Russia?’

  ‘The arranged marriage went ahead. Alas, after a series of miscarriages, the wife died of a fever without providing Borkusov with a child. That was six years ago. In 1808.’

  She realised he was waiting for her to comment.

  ‘Our two countries were at war by then.’

  ‘Precisely. Your father wanted to return to England and claim you, but at that time it was impossible. He sent word to his contacts here and told them you were to be brought up as an English lady. The Pridhams were employed to oversee your education and to take you in, when your school had taught you everything it could. They were to instruct you in the ways of polite society. To instil in you the accomplishments demanded of every young lady and to look after you until you reached one-and-twenty.’

  ‘And did looking after me include threatening my friends?’

  ‘You mean the young gentleman who was paying you so much attention? That, I regret, was a mistake. As was your abduction.’

  ‘You knew about that!’

  ‘I learned of it when I reached England. When it was seen that their heavy-handed attempt to discourage Mr Erwin had failed, your father’s envoys here were afraid you would marry him before I arrived to tell you the truth about your family. They did not trust the Pridhams to keep you from marrying Mr Erwin and...er...took matters into their own hands.’

  ‘What did they plan to do with me?’

  ‘They were going to carry you to London and hold you at the Embassy until my arrival. I shudder to think what Count Lieven would have said to that! Bah, such incompetence! Believe me, my dear, I am sincerely relieved you came to no harm through their deplorable actions. I hope you will forgive them. Undoubtedly, they are fools, but they acted with the best of intentions.’

  She said, with careful restraint, ‘May I suggest, your Highness, that the whole sorry matter could have been avoided if I had been told the truth at the outset?’

  ‘Your father’s instructions were clear: everything was to be explained to you when you came of age, not before.’

  ‘But the Pridhams did not tell me.’

  ‘When I knew I would be accompanying his Imperial Majesty to London, I sent word that I wanted to tell you myself and my orders were passed on to your guardians. I very much regret I was not able to meet with you on your birthday.’

  She felt her anger welling up. How insensitive of them all, to keep her in ignorance. Did they not realise that she woul
d think the worst, that she would dread the future?

  No. It was hardly their fault that she had allowed her vivid imagination to run away with her. Now it seemed that her story was nothing more than the sad and commonplace tale that was all too familiar. She had been born out of wedlock, her mother had died giving birth to her and her father had done his best to provide for her. She swallowed back her anger.

  ‘Will you tell me, your Highness, what became of my father?’

  A shadow passed over the lined face.

  ‘Borkusov joined the army. He distinguished himself in battle, but, unfortunately, he was killed in battle in 1812.’

  ‘Borodino,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes.’

  Natalya put one hand to her mouth. Mr Pridham had insisted she learn about the Russian battles although she hated the stories of violence and bloodshed. Had he known her father had died there? She recalled reading of heavy losses on both sides. The Russians lost one third of their army and withdrew. The French invaded Moscow mid-September, only to be defeated when they retreated from Moscow a month later. She bowed her head, mourning the father she had never known.

  ‘Mikhail Nikolayevich died a hero, Natalya.’

  There was a commotion in the hall. The Prince rose from his seat as the door burst open.

  ‘Tristan!’ She flew across the room and hurled herself against him.

  ‘Natalya.’ His arms closed around her. ‘Thank heaven. Are you hurt?’

  ‘No. I am quite well. Now you are here.’ She closed her eyes and hugged him, overwhelmed by a profound feeling of relief. ‘How did you find me?’

  He smiled. ‘I learned this house is leased by Count Lieven, the Russian Ambassador. He uses it to entertain his guests when they attend Ascot.’

  ‘And the Allied Sovereigns were here to attend the races on Friday,’ she exclaimed. ‘It all makes sense now.’

  She became aware of an incomprehensible stream of words coming from the servant who had followed Tristan into the room, a loud and voluble flow that was only stemmed when the Prince commanded him to be silent and added, with quiet dignity,

  ‘We speak in English, Piotr, as we agreed.’

  The servant bowed low. ‘Your Serene Highness. A thousand apologies. I told Lord Dalmorren you were engaged, but he would not be denied. I could not hold him.’

  The Prince waved him away and turned back to Tristan.

  ‘Dalmorren?’ he murmured, as if trying to place the name.

  Natalya gently released herself from the safety of Tristan’s arms and turned to face her host.

  ‘Yes, your Highness. May I present to you the Nineteenth Baron Dalmorren.’

  ‘Indeed?’ The Prince’s cold glance swept over them both. ‘Charmed, I am sure, my lord. But now you have ascertained that the lady is unharmed, perhaps you would be kind enough to withdraw while we finish our conversation.’

  Natalya reached for Tristan’s hand. ‘I would like him to stay. Lord Dalmorren rescued me from my abductors. I have no secrets from him.’

  ‘Thank you, my love.’ His smile warmed her. He kissed her fingers and pulled her hand on to his arm before turning back to the Prince. ‘I believe, your Serene Highness, that, as her grandfather, I must apply to you for Natalya’s hand in marriage.’

  ‘My grandfather!’

  The Prince inclined his head. ‘It is true, Natalya. I was about to explain when Lord Dalmorren burst in so unceremoniously. Prince Mikhail Nikolayevich Borkusov was my son.’

  Natalya turned to stare up at Tristan.

  ‘You discovered this? But how?’

  ‘My secretary was waiting in George Street for me, the day I brought you back to Bath. I had asked him to look into a possible link with the Russian Embassy. I remembered Mrs Grisham saying that Mrs Pridham had a relative working in one of the Embassies. It was a slim chance, but it made sense, when I considered your name and the fact that Pridham insisted you should take an interest in Russian events. Denham turned up several possibilities, young diplomats working in London at the time of your birth. I went to see Mrs Ancrum. What she told me sent me to London to confirm the details with Welbeck Street.’

  ‘The Russian Embassy,’ said the Prince.

  Tristan shook his head. ‘No. I visited the Russian church. There I was shown the records.’ He looked at her. ‘I found evidence of your birth, Natalya, as well as the record of your mother’s death. And, more importantly for you, perhaps, your father’s name. From the entry concerning their marriage.’

  ‘M-marriage?’ She gripped his arm tighter as his face swam before her eyes, then she blinked the tears away and saw he was smiling down at her.

  ‘Yes, my darling. Elizabeth married her lover, months before you were born.’

  ‘Then I am not...’ She swallowed and turned to look at the Prince. ‘I am not...’

  ‘No, Natalya, you are my son’s lawful child. My grandchild.’ He stepped closer and held out one white hand. ‘I have no other surviving children. You are the last of my bloodline, Natalya. I have come to take you back to Russia with me, to take your rightful place. Princess Natalya Mikhailovna Borkusova.’

  * * *

  Natalya is a princess!

  A chill ran down Tristan’s spine. The announcement should not have come as a surprise. He knew Natalya’s lineage, which was how he had known where to find her, but the reality of it did not hit him until the Prince took Natalya’s nerveless hand and lifted it to his lips. Only then did he understand the implications of her status.

  The Prince had stepped back and was regarding them both.

  ‘Perhaps we should all sit down and take a glass of wine.’

  He rang the bell and Tristan escorted Natalya to a chair. He stood beside her, as if on guard, while a liveried servant entered, carrying a tray. When wine had been served, and the servant withdrawn, he and the Prince sat down.

  ‘Perhaps, your Serene Highness, you will tell us what your plans are for Miss—for the Princess?’

  ‘Princess Natalya will assume her rightful place as my granddaughter and my heir with immediate effect. The Allied Sovereigns leave England for the Continent on the twenty-second of this month and we shall be in their party.’

  ‘And what of the Pridhams?’ Natalya asked him.

  ‘You need consider them no longer.’ The Prince dismissed them with a casual wave of one white hand. ‘Their tenure as your guardians ended when you came of age.’

  ‘I understand that, but the proprieties,’ she pressed. ‘I will need a chaperon, will I not, if I am to go into society?’

  ‘Undoubtedly you will enter society. I have arranged it all. While we remain in England, you will join the entourage of the Grand Duchess of Oldenberg.’

  Tristan’s brows snapped together. ‘Tsar Alexander’s sister?’

  ‘Her Imperial Highness has many ladies among her retinue. I have already appointed one who shall act as chaperon and she will accompany the Princess on our tour of Europe and afterwards back to St Petersburg.’ The Prince turned to Natalya and his thin smile appeared. ‘When I said you would take your rightful place, I meant it, my dear. You are beautiful, educated and accomplished, just as your father decreed you should be. I have no doubt you will be fêted at all the courts of Europe. The world will be at your feet.’

  The cold icy hand squeezed even tighter around Tristan’s heart. Natalya was staring at him, her face pale. He had to stamp down the urge to cross the room and pull her up into his arms. She was beyond his reach now. As the Prince had said, she had the whole world at her feet. He forced his frozen lips into a smile and raised his glass in salute.

  ‘Do you hear that, my dear? All your fears about your origins are unfounded. I could not be happier for you. My felicitations, madam. You have a glittering future ahead of you.’

  * * *

  Natalya blinked. She had never heard
Tristan sound so uncaring. It shocked her. It was as if he had cut away the ground beneath her feet and she had fallen from a great height. She could not speak, could barely breathe.

  The Prince continued to outline all the treats in store for her.

  ‘We shall visit the capitals of Europe,’ he announced. ‘Undoubtedly, your education has been very good, but there will be omissions and these must now be addressed. I shall show you the greatest treasures and works of art Europe has to offer. You will be presented at all the royal courts and meet princes and emperors. Then I shall escort you to your new home. You must become acquainted with your country, Natalya, with your family. In St Petersburg, there will be balls in your honour. The Tsar has already expressed his wish to meet the daughter of a hero of Borodino.’

  With a sob she put up her hand to stop him.

  ‘Wait, wait. What if I do not wish to go to Russia?’

  There was a half-beat of hesitation before the Prince replied, ‘Then you need not go. We are not savages, you will not be coerced. You are free to make your own decision.’

  She looked at Tristan, but he avoided her gaze as he jumped up and walked away across the room. Silently she begged him to turn around, but he stared resolutely out of the window.

  ‘There is no question. You must go.’ He threw the words over his shoulder. ‘What is there here for you? I know how much you want to travel, to see the world. You have your wish, then.’

  He was speaking harshly, his voice cold, like a stranger, yet only moments earlier he had been about to ask the Prince for permission to marry her. Natalya put a hand to her head. Something was wrong.

  ‘Your Serene Highness,’ she addressed the Prince as she had heard others do. ‘Would you—that is, may I have a few moments alone with Lord Dalmorren, if you please?’

  ‘No.’ Tristan turned. ‘It would be most improper. Besides, there is nothing to say that Prince Borkusov cannot hear.’