The colonel glanced about for ghostly eavesdroppers as he whispered the introduction. “Your highness, may I present Major Lord Devlyn of the 16th Light Dragoons. The Princess Tatiana of Saraya Kalin."
When the major bowed, murmuring something about being her servant, Tatiana repressed a nervous giggle. This Lord Devlyn would be no one's servant. Rather he looked born to command; every line of his straight, lean body showed authority. Suddenly her bubbling excitement stilled, for authority had always been unkind to her. Certainly there was no kindness now in his cold, correct expression. Was he like Dmitry, fierce and foreboding, determined to rule her and then to ignore her?
But Tatiana refused to give in to this momentary cowardice. She squared her shoulders and gave him a blinding smile. For an instant his eyes clouded and his features froze as if he had caught his breath. Then he looked away to greet Buntin, and Tatiana sensed she had been dismissed. A bit insulted, she took a seat on the velvet settee and began to pour tea from the heavily figured silver pot.
As she usually did when she was flustered, she began to chatter. "I thought that you might be our escort when I saw you arrive. We've been so eager to start for England and—do have some tea, Lord Devlyn. It's rather strong compared to English tea, I believe, but does energize one." She poured tea for them all, spilling only a bit in her excitement. But the colonel did not sit with them, as he was too occupied poking into the fireplace for spies and yanking open the door hoping to catch a hallway eavesdropper.
Lord Devlyn took a place across from her and Buntin, watching Tatiana silently, making her a bit giddy. He really was handsome, like an Arthurian knight of old, although he might as well have been wearing a suit of armor, so little emotion did he express. "I've never been on a sea voyage, you see," she went on in her fluid English, filling his silence with her cheery words. "Buntin has, when she came years ago from Kent to be my governess, and she has prepared me. Are you familiar with Kent, Lord Devlyn? Perhaps you know Buntin's sister Mrs. Langston." Struck by a memory, she added without waiting for his answer, "I did go to Paris once, but that was overland, and we were escorted by a whole contingent of palace guards. All of the princesses were presented to the emperor at Versailles. He was hoping to take one of us to bride, but none of us suited, or perhaps the tsar had second thoughts, I don't precisely know. There was great disappointment from some of the girls when Bonaparte took that Austrian bride instead."
Lord Devlyn's fine black-lashed eyes closed just for a moment, and Buntin murmured something incoherent and aghast. Tatiana wrinkled her nose in exasperated reply. "Oh, I should not speak of the emperor, now that Alexander is returning to the alliance, do you think?"
Buntin nearly twisted her hands off during this artless monologue. But Lord Devlyn only said quietly in perfect Parisien, “You must speak in French, your highness. You do speak French?"
"Of course I do," she replied in English, glad to be able to please him, for she sensed he had very high standards. "Better than Russian. We all do at the palace. Only the servants speak Russian, and we speak Russian only to them. We speak French among ourselves. In fact, I speak English better than Russian also, for it's Buntin's tongue—she is English, you know—oh, of course, you know that. But Buntin and I speak in English much of the time. I have been studying a book of English grammar and Dr. Johnson's dictionary, and I read the newspapers and journals that Buntin's sister sends to us, and I have been practicing, and I feel very confident—"
"Speak in French."
Tatiana flushed at his terse words and clattered her teacup into its saucer in a vain attempt to distract herself from her silly mistake. "Of course. No—Bien sur." She went on in swift, idiomatic French, "I won't make that mistake again, my lord. But why must we speak French?"
Lord Devlyn handed her a small packet. "Your traveling papers. You are Mademoiselle Marie-Claire Lebov, of Dieppe."
Another new name!' Tatiana could not believe her good fortune. But she was less impressed with the major's own new identity. He said, "I am your brother Jean-Luc."
"But we look nothing alike." It was true; he was so tall, bronzed from the sun, with thick dark hair, and she was tiny next to him, her dark red hair and gold-tinged complexion hinting at incompatible bloodlines.
"Different mothers." At her dubious look, he added, "We could be man and wife, but think of the complications."
She thought she heard a bit of malice behind his cool words, so she refused to blush and instead regarded him steadily. "I should like better to be man and wife, I think, and it would be more plausible." As soon as the words left her lips, Tatiana knew she had said something outrageous, for Buntin gasped and even Major Devlyn looked away from her with a hint of disdain hardening his beautiful straight jaw. Absurdly hurt, she rushed on, hoping to blot out the effect of her mistake with more words. "But you have gone to so much trouble, giving us names—Marie-Claire is rather pretty, actually. I don't think I could have done better myself. I suppose I should not try to tell you your own business."
"Thank you," he said ironically. His courtesy was tinged with something like contempt, and Tatiana despaired that, once again, she had made a bad first impression. Buntin was right, she thought sorrowfully, she always spoke too quickly.
But Lord Devlyn took no notice of her distress, "If we expect to reach Southhampton by the end of November, we must leave on the morning tide. Our sloop is small, so you and our Tante Emilie must share a cabin."
Thoroughly chastened she might be, but Tatiana could not help but point out, "Buntin is fair and bears no family resemblance to either of us."
Devlyn's eyes grew a bit more steely, his tone a bit more icy. "She is our uncle's wife."
Intrigued by this new character, Tatiana gave free rein to her always fertile imagination, almost forgetting her recent disgrace. "Is he still alive? Our uncle, I mean? Does he await us in Dieppe? Or perhaps he died abroad, and we're bringing his body home!"
"Murdered, no doubt." Devlyn did not smile, but she imagined a certain encouraging glint in his steely eyes, more than she needed to restore her to her usual high spirits.
"By the Pasha's secret assassins! Because uncle was trying to rescue his daughter—"
"Our cousin?"
"Yes, from the Pasha's harem." Tatiana's cheeks pinked again, as she recalled what pashas were reputed to do with their harems. She could hear Buntin's foot tapping convulsively on the plush carpet and knew she was in for a rare scold. So she dared not look at her companion, instead surging on to cover up her latest faux pas. "Uncle was so courageous, but not strong enough to take on all the assassins. And our poor cousin still languishes there in Constantinople."
Devlyn did not smile exactly, but Tatiana heard a certain wry tone in his steady voice that made her wonder if he were quite as remote as he pretended to be. “We would need a body, however. For poor uncle. And Tante Emilie would have to be prostrate with grief.”
Buntin did look nearly prostrate, breathing rapidly and holding her hand to her heart as if to still its pounding. Tatiana quickly looked away, for the sight of her mischievous green eyes seemed to make Buntin even more apoplectic. Devlyn regarded his charge enigmatically and said without a hint of apology, "No, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But we are not returning from an unsuccessful skirmish with the Pasha's harem, only from a tour of the Byzantine churches. I am a student of history, you see."
The princess sat back against the heavily embroidered cushion, momentarily deflated. Eventually she said sulkily, "I do think my story is more believable. But you are the escort, so I will defer to you." She lifted rebellious eyes to his, but now he was gazing at a point beyond her shoulder, appearing bored again.
“You may console yourself that you are unlikely to have to use my paltry story." Devlyn rose, then stood with military erectness in front of her. She felt suddenly diminished by his height, his calm, his power, his very controlled maleness. She might be a princess, she might be a royal bride, but she was only a woman after all, his stance s
eemed to say. "I will make all the arrangements for our exit from the Ottoman Empire, and after that, we will trot out the Lebovs only if we happen to be stopped by a French ship. On board the sloop, you may speak English, for you are simply Mademoiselle Denisova, a Russian lady coming to England to marry."
"How dull. I should rather be—"
"Yes, I'm sure you would. Please be ready to leave by dawn. The first tide will be about half after seven."
***
Tatiana had never been overly aware of her consequence as a royal princess. After all, the Winter Palace was crawling with princesses, and she had been unpopular enough with the other courtiers to learn to shrug insult aside. But even this new acquaintance, while perfectly courteous, seemed to have taken her measure and found her lamentably lacking. Perhaps he had very high standards for the conduct of princesses, although, from all she had heard, the conduct of English princesses was hardly above reproach. But Lord Devlyn had responded to her friendliest overtures with a sort of ironic detachment, as if, were he not so bored, he might find her merely irritating. Only that once, while she weaved the story of their poor uncle, did true amusement flicker in his eyes. Oh, she would have to be a Scheherazade indeed to melt that icy reserve of his!
After he had gone, followed by the colonel, Tatiana fell into the wing back chair Lord Devlyn had vacated and said mournfully, "Oh, Buntin—I mean, Tante Emilie, was I too bad?"
Predictably, Buntin buried her head in her hands. Her words were muffled but admonitory. "Oh, my dear, I know you were very anxious, and you always chatter when you are anxious. But you didn't make a great deal of sense, and you rambled on, and just let your imagination get away with you!"
Sulkily the girl shrugged and swung her legs over the side of the chair so that she was lounging comfortably. "Well, at least I have an imagination. Lord Devlyn gave no evidence of one. His story of our origins was too ordinary to be true. I think perhaps he was piqued because I was so quick to come up with a superior tale."
Buntin couldn't repress another moan. “His lordship was not piqued for that reason, Tatiana. Think. He is a military man. He is calm, quiet, used to command. And doubtlessly he expected that a princess would be, well, a bit more contained—in fact, a great deal more contained. I don't doubt he thought you were a bit—fast. And imagine what he must have thought, to hear you spin adventure tales and rhapsodize about your visit with Napoleon!"
"I didn't rhapsodize," Tatiana retorted, sitting up again and crossing her arms over her chest. “And Lord Devlyn did not seem shocked by my mistake. I like to think we can trust him to be tolerant of a little slip of the tongue."
"You must not expect tolerance, Tatiana, if you behave as you did in the confines of our little school, teasing our little charges with your silly stories. You have been too isolated, my dear, but now you must learn to converse with adults." The older woman took a deep breath, for she too had been isolated these many years, and the prospect of controlling the princess must seem less and less likely.
Tatiana worried at her full lower lip, annoyed and a little hurt. She had hoped—oh, that this new acquaintance would in fact be more tolerant of her many failings—and they must be many, for everyone was always enumerating them. She was flighty and frivolous and stubborn and unmanageable and all sorts of disastrous things. But she wasn't evil or cruel or anything really bad, so surely not every person she met would always disapprove of her. She'd hoped that her escort would regard her as Count Korsakov had, as lively and amusing and charming. Since her parents died, Tatiana mused sadly, only her undemanding schoolchildren and her ebullient cousin had liked her just as she was. But she realized now she couldn't expect anyone else to accept her as Peter had, for he had wanted to marry her, and besides, he had been even more frivolous than Tatiana herself. Lord Devlyn, she supposed, could be forgiven if he regarded her less appreciatively, for he, of course, was not a suitor for her hand and was not in the least bit frivolous.
As usual, she came too late to the realization that Buntin was right. She had already lost what little credit she might have had with her escort. She had so little experience with society, at least the society of adults. And Lord Devlyn was, indisputably, an adult. "I promise to try to be more sensible around him."
Unfortunately, she feared that around Lord Devlyn what little sense she had would fly out the window, and she would be left with her own nonsensical self. And that, she knew, would not serve.
Satisfied that her lecture had taken effect, Buntin rose and said, "Let's go back to our suite, dear, and go over the names and titles of the royal family and the terms of address of the nobility. I believe the colonel said Lord Devlyn was a viscount, which is above—"
"Above a baron and below a count. I mean an earl," Tatiana recited. With renewed enthusiasm, she tugged Buntin toward the door. "And do let's read that scandal sheet your sister sent, so I can converse with the viscount about society doings. Imagine, I shall soon be meeting the infamous Lady Coopland and her identical twin.cicisbeos, and the dangerous duellist Sir Winston Margolies, and—"
Once again, Buntin hastened to dampen her expectations. "We will be staying with the Countess of Sherbourne, a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and I'm sure she will not be introducing you to that sort at all. And Tatiana—Lord Devlyn does not look to be a man entranced with gossip."
Tatiana stopped with her hand on the door to their suite and nodded slowly. "He does seem to be of a more serious cast. He almost smiled when he spoke of our uncle's body, but then recalled his heavy duty and did not. Poor man! He is evidently so burdened by the weight of the war and politics that he has forgotten how to laugh." She stood there in the hallway, oblivious to her companion, and imagined that hard mouth curving into a delightful smile. He would look much happier with his cloudy eyes lightening with laughter, his arrogant face more boyish and carefree. It had been a very long time, she realized suddenly, since Major Devlyn had been carefree. And if there was one talent she had, it was making people forget their cares, if only by distracting them with her teasing. Perhaps her project for this voyage should be to wrest a smile from the cool major. "I shall have to make a point of amusing him—in the most mature way, of course!—else we shall all have quite a grim voyage."
"Tatiana, it is not your place to amuse the major, or his to be amused. I'm certain his lordship knows that private conversation with you will be most improper," Buntin cried, her hands flying in circles again.
" 'Proper,'" Tatiana mimicked, a militant light in her green eyes. "How I hate that word!"
"Well, you must make it fast in your mind, Tatiana," Buntin replied with unusual firmness, dislodging the princess's hand from the knob and opening the door herself. She shooed the girl into the room and when she was sure they would not be overheard, added, "You will be representing your country in England, and later you will be a royal duchess. All eyes will be upon you, and if you are not careful, I fear you will find yourself in.. disgrace."
Tatiana was hurt by this rebuke, but more than that she was suddenly, irrevocably angry. "Why is it that the farther we get from Petersburg the more critical you are of me? You have done nothing but find fault with me since we left that prison called Russia behind!"
Buntin had the grace to look ashamed, but she pursed her lips and said pointedly, "I was so eager to leave that I did not consider what hazards awaited you. But now I see that your conduct is not truly suited for the sort of company you will be keeping in London. Your behavior with Lord Devlyn merely underscores that. You hadn't the slightest notion how to address him, or what sort of subjects were appropriate. I see now that I have been remiss in not teaching you how to go about. Of course, I have never been in society either, but—"
"But you do know how to be proper, don't you?" Tatiana's eyes blazed, but she fought to keep her voice level, for she had never shouted at her dear Buntin before. "And being proper is far more important than being honest."
"That is not what I meant—"
"Then what did you me
an? I was too bold with Lord Devlyn, too silly, too imaginative. I should not try to make him smile, although that is perhaps the only talent I have—to amuse people. Instead I should be an entirely different person, a pale shadow of myself, with nothing to say and no reason to say it."
Tatiana moved agitatedly to the window and looked out at the harbor, but even the beauty of the tall ships bold against the evening sky could not distract her. She put her hands against the cool glass, breathing deeply, striving to regain some composure. Finally, in a low, hurried voice, she said, "Just once, just once, I would like to be myself and be liked for that. Even you, my dearest friend, tell me I must be someone else or I shall be disgraced. Why is it so disgraceful to be me? I know you are not lying to me, for all my relatives at the palace disliked me, except for Peter Korsakov, and he was even sillier than I. But no one else liked me, except the children, and I know you will say that is because they knew no better."
"Oh, Tatiana, don't ever think I don't like you," Buntin cried, her pale eyes brimming with tears. "It's only because of my affection for you that I want to instruct you, so that you can avoid social ruin."
Social ruin. Such an ugly term, like disgrace and humiliation and ignominy, all those things visited upon her parents. Was that what awaited her in England, if she weren't the pattern card of propriety Buntin wanted? Suddenly she had to get away, away from her companion's disapproving affection and dire predictions and inevitable disappointment. If she stayed here with Buntin, she would surely say something she would regret later, and perhaps destroy a decade-long friendship.
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