Princes and Peasants

by Catrin Collier

  She had to forget him. To that end, she almost tossed the letter into the bin, then thought better of the idea. If ever she needed a reminder that nothing beyond a polite exchange of platitudes could exist between them, this was it. She returned the letter to its envelope and filed it away in the top drawer of her desk.

  She opened her package. She shook out the paper hoping to find a card, or at least a slip of paper with the name of the sender but there was nothing. It contained a book beautifully bound in embossed brown leather. She opened it.

  There was a handwritten line on the flyleaf.

  This book contains information an engaged woman about to be married needs to know, and is sent with the best of intentions.

  She flicked through the pages and stared in disbelief at the illustrations. Colour flooded her cheeks, hot, burning. Her aunt had been open and honest with her about sex and what was expected of a woman – complete chastity before marriage and the reverse, but solely with her husband, once the wedding ring was on her finger. As for the mechanics – no child brought up on a country estate, as she’d been, could have failed to have seen horses at stud and other animals mating. When it came to humans, her cousin Olga had been almost continually pregnant from the day she’d married the count.

  But these illustrations went beyond the sexual act as she’d imagined it. When she started reading the text she realised it was a guide to gaining as much pleasure as possible from lovemaking.

  Until that moment she’d thought of love between a man and woman as pure, beautiful, romantic, and, from something Olga had said, sacrificial and noble on the part of the woman. Whenever she’d thought of it in a personal context she’d imagined lovemaking as an extension of the feelings she had for Nathan, which she’d never associated with the naked writhing of the man and woman depicted in the pictures.

  She was still immersed in the book when Roman breezed into her cubicle. She hastily snapped it shut, dropped it into a drawer and closed it.

  ‘Caught you?’

  ‘Pardon.’ She knew her cheeks were flaming because she could feel them burning.

  ‘Reading novels in work, tut, tut,’ he teased. ‘But your secret is safe with me, I won’t tell Mr Hughes. Is it interesting?’

  ‘What?’ she stared at him blankly.

  ‘The book, of course?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s just been delivered?’

  ‘A present?’

  ‘There’s no card or return address.’

  ‘I’m not sure I approve of my fiancée receiving presents from strangers. May I see it?’

  She changed the subject. ‘You have work for me?’

  He dropped a basket on to her desk. ‘No, I’ve come to kidnap you and I’ve brought English afternoon tea.’

  ‘That looks like one of Lyudmila’s baskets.’

  ‘It is,’ he confessed, ‘she promised me that she’s put all your favourite foods into it.’

  Sonya dropped her pen on its stand and, suspecting that she wouldn’t be doing much work for the next half hour, screwed the top back on to her inkwell. ‘Such as?’

  He lifted the towel from the top of the basket and peered inside. ‘Her best white dinner rolls, filled with caviar of mushrooms, liver pate, and caviar of aubergines. He sniffed. ‘I also smell salt herring salad and cheesecake with vanilla and fruit sauce. Do you want to eat here or the perfect hideaway I’ve found?’

  ‘I can’t take time out in the middle of the afternoon to picnic with you in the snow. Aside from the fact that we’d freeze to death I have work to do for Mr Hughes.’ She picked up a pile of letters from her in-tray to prove her point.

  ‘I asked Mr Hughes to give me his blessing. He knows I have an important question to ask you, and as everyone here is too busy basking in the glory of having the blast furnace in full production to go looking for new projects, those letters can wait until tomorrow.’ He lifted her shawl from the hook on the back of the door and draped it around her shoulders. ‘I have a carriage waiting.’

  ‘With driver and chaperone?’

  ‘Your aunt’s grooms, drivers, and servants were all busy.’ His eyes shone as he raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Even Lyudmila?’ she persisted.

  ‘Especially Lyudmila.’

  ‘That’s odd. I happen to know that my aunt is lunching with Father Grigor in his house today, so Lyudmila only has the servants to cook for, and at this time of year she makes chanakhi or goulash for the staff’s lunch which can be easily heated up.’

  ‘I confess, I didn’t press Lyudmila after she told me that she’d made plans for her afternoon off.’

  ‘So considerate of you.’

  ‘Wasn’t it? And then again I assumed that your chaperone would be with you.’ He peered under her desk and opened a cupboard. ‘I can’t see Maria lurking anywhere. Is she likely to jump out and attack me for attempting to spirit you away without a moral guardian?’

  ‘Maria is at the hospital. They’re short-staffed so I asked her to help out in the kitchen.’

  ‘Do you want me to fetch her?’

  Sonya tried to push the illustrations in the book from her mind. She’d promised to marry this man on a whim, principally to belittle Nicholas Beletsky and show the count exactly what she thought of his ridiculous proposal. But she couldn’t say that she knew the prince, or even liked him, simply because she didn’t know him well enough. She found his direct manners and blunt way of speaking, especially in relation to Nathan Kharber, disconcerting.

  Nathan Kharber … she pushed the image of him that had risen unbidden to her mind aside. This was one afternoon she was determined to forget Nathan and concentrate on Roman. If for no other reason than she owed it to her fiancé to get to know him, as she’d accepted his proposal of marriage.

  Although they lived under the same roof, Maria had taken care to ensure that they’d never been left alone together – not even for a moment – during the Christmas and New Year celebrations. Given her aunt’s penchant for entertaining and welcoming a constant stream of guests, the house had been even fuller than usual during the holidays, and the scope for private conversation severely limited both at the meal table and drawing room. And now – no matter how hard she tried to forget the book that had just been delivered – the depictions of lovemaking had burned into her consciousness, exciting far more than just her curiosity, holding the promise of a delicious, erotic tang of forbidden sensual pleasure that she had a feeling no well brought-up lady should be aware existed.

  ‘Shall I fetch Maria?’ he prompted.

  ‘No, they need her in the hospital.’

  ‘In that case let’s be little devils, shall we?’ He stretched out his hand. ‘Shared secrets already, fiancée. But I won’t tell if you don’t.’

  She hesitated but not for long. ‘Pass me my coat, please. It’s too cold for just a shawl. You’ll find it hanging in the cupboard.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Boat berthed of the bank of the River Donets, Hughesovka

  February 1872

  ‘As you see, the perfect spot.’ Roman jumped down from the carriage and offered Sonya his hand.

  ‘This is where you’re building your house?’ She looked at the waist-high brick walls.

  ‘Our house,’ he corrected. ‘It is.’

  ‘It looks as though it’s going to be enormous.’

  ‘Forty rooms, but as that includes kitchens, still rooms, storerooms and the usual offices that are the province of the servants, it won’t be that enormous. That area fronting the river is going to be part conservatory and part outside terrace. We can entertain out here in summer and when it gets cold we’ll retreat to the conservatory. Remind me to show you the plans sometime. My hideaway is down here, next to the river.’ He offered her his hand. They passed a large shed where carpenters were working on doors and window frames. Roman shouted to Manfred.

  ‘See the horse is cared for and covered with a blanket, will you please, Manfred, we’ll probably be an hour or two.�
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  ‘Yes, sir.’ Manfred barked an order at one of the workmen who ran back to the carriage.

  ‘All these men work just for you?’ Sonya asked.

  ‘These are just a few who are doing the preliminary work on the house, there are many more.’ He offered her his arm as well as his hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ She was grateful for his support as they negotiated the icy path that had been hacked through the snow down to the bank. She stood and looked around when they reached a bluff that overlooked the river, which was thickly clotted with ice floes. ‘There are no buildings,’ she said suspiciously.

  ‘Look again at the end of the jetty below you, but not for a building.’

  ‘A boat?’

  ‘Boris mentioned a fisherman friend of his had made so much money selling his catch since Mr Hughes had moved here with his workers, he could afford to buy a larger boat. I’d been looking for somewhere quiet where I could sit and plan out the finer points of the architecture of our house, away from the distractions of the office and your aunt’s house, not that your aunt’s house isn’t wonderful…’

  ‘But at times it can resemble an Orthodox Church at Christ Arisen Easter service.’

  ‘She’s so hospitable people love to flock to her,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, to return to the subject, I viewed the fisherman’s old boat, and made him an offer. When he accepted it, I had the boat moved to this spot, ordered a jetty built, and asked my valet to refurbish the cabin and make it more comfortable. Careful on that plank, it’s sound but narrow. One slip, you’ll be on the ice, through it, and frozen to death before I can haul you out.’

  He held her hand as she walked on to the deck, then opened the door to the cabin. Heat blasted out to greet her as she entered. It was surprisingly large, the furniture carefully arranged to make the most of the space. The walls were panelled in varnished pine, two cushioned bench seats and a table made of the same wood were screwed to the floor filling one corner, the table was covered by a white damask cloth and a silver vase that had been filled with her aunt’s hothouse roses stood in the centre. The wall behind the door held a long, wide-cushioned sofa. A tall, thin cupboard had been pushed alongside it, and a small, and if the temperature was any indicator, surprisingly efficient oil stove stood in the remaining corner.

  Roman went to the table, set down the basket and opened it.

  ‘These flowers smell heavenly, did you pick them yourself or ask your valet to choose them for you?’ Sonya sat on the bench, bent a bloom to her nose, and breathed in the scent before taking the plate, napkin, and cutlery he handed her.

  ‘I spent hours choosing them this morning.’ He lifted the plates of food from the basket.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. I spent most of the morning with Mr Hughes, as you well know. My valet, Manfred picked them – with your aunt’s permission, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ She left the bench and opened the cupboard alongside the sofa. ‘A wine cellar? On a boat?’

  ‘Hardly a cellar. It’s above the water line. And wine is an essential component of any retreat.’

  ‘Yours, perhaps.’

  ‘Not yours?’

  ‘I regard good wine as a luxury, especially in the middle of the afternoon.’

  ‘What makes the middle of the afternoon different to the evening?’ he asked.

  ‘Because one glass is enough to send me to sleep.’

  ‘I must remember that, the next time I want to catch you off guard.’

  She allowed the comment to pass without remark. ‘Do you intend to make a habit of organising picnic baskets?’

  ‘Only on special occasions. It could be a new tradition.’ He uncovered the bowls of rolls, caviar, pate, and salad and lifted out a bottle of chilled wine and two glasses that he’d packed at the bottom of the basket. He opened the wine, filled the glasses, and handed her one, before taking a bottle from the cupboard and dropping it into a basket outside the door she presumed had been left there for the purpose. ‘In this weather that’s the best way to chill it.’

  ‘A two-bottle lunch?’

  ‘One bottle each, it sounds less that way. Have you given any thought as to exactly when you’d like to marry me?’

  That book! And the images it contained. Why was she having such trouble forgetting it, and why was she mentally undressing Roman?

  ‘This week, month, year – decade?’ he prompted.

  ‘You said there was no hurry.’

  ‘There isn’t. But this will make our relationship official. My apologies for not giving it to you on the day you accepted my proposal but it was in a vault along with the rest of my family jewels in St Petersburg. Uncertain of your reaction to my offer I thought I’d tempt fate if I sent for it before you agreed to be my wife.’ He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and lifted out a ring box. He opened it before handing it to her.

  ‘That stone. Is it…’

  ‘Real. Yes.’

  ‘Roman, that emerald is enormous.’

  ‘It’s not an emerald. It’s a green diamond. My father had it set for my mother when they fell in love. He wanted a stone that matched her eyes. As you see, I inherited the colour, so instead of matching your eyes I thought this would remind you of mine. I hoped you’d wear her ring but if you’d prefer a new piece, you can choose one the next time we are in St Petersburg, though I doubt we’ll find another stone as flawless.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, Roman.’

  He took it from the box and slipped it on her finger. ‘It’s too small.’

  ‘No it isn’t.’ She pushed it down. ‘Just tight, which is good. It means I won’t lose it.’

  ‘You want to wear it? I mean all the time.’

  ‘Not when I’m scrubbing floors.’

  ‘When have you ever scrubbed floors?’ he enquired in amusement.

  ‘In the hospital when we were fighting typhus.’

  ‘As you no longer work there you won’t have to do that again.’

  ‘I suppose I won’t.’ She suppressed a twinge of regret. When she’d left the hospital she’d hoped, without cause or reason, that one day she’d return. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Vasya – but she’d dreamed of Nathan returning her love, if not as her husband, then as her lover, although she was pragmatic enough to realise that could only remain a dream. If she had an affair with Nathan and it became public knowledge, she would lose her reputation and he would lose the one thing he held most dear – his religion.

  She looked at Roman and forced herself to concentrate on him – and only him.

  Roman stared back at her for a moment. There was an odd expression in his eyes that she was still trying to decipher it when he touched his glass to hers. ‘To us, and a long and happy marriage whenever it starts.’

  They drank and she replaced her glass on the table. ‘Is the ring a hint that you’d like us to marry soon?’

  ‘Only if you want to. Now the furnaces are in full production, I’m making plans to travel to St Petersburg to make my report on Hughesovka to Grand Duke Konstantin. I hope to persuade him to accompany me back here so he can see just how much progress John Hughes has made for himself. If you come with me to St Petersburg…’

  ‘As your wife?’

  ‘Or fiancée, whichever you decide, we’ll stay awhile and spend Easter in the city. It’s beautiful at that time of year. A snow tipped plethora of golden palaces – and talking of palaces, before I drift into poetry, the Tsar will undoubtedly invite us to stay in the Gatchina. He almost never resides anywhere else these days’

  ‘Roman, what Count Beletsky said about my parents…’

  ‘Your aunt told you the truth. When your father was diagnosed, he drank to forget how ill he was and was labelled a drunk. Contagious and condemned to live out his days in a sanatorium, he received more punishment than any sinner who develops a liking for vodka should receive. That’s if drink can be regarded as a sin. If it is, ninety-nine out of every hundred Russians are sinners. And
probably the remaining one per cent are babies who are too young to drink.’

  ‘You knew my father?’

  ‘Only by reputation. As a child I occasionally heard my father and his acquaintances speak of him. They were friends.’ ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘The aristocratic world of Moscow and St Petersburg is very small. The young men’s social circle of card tables, horse racing, and duels even smaller. Your father and mine were young together.’

  ‘And my mother…’

  ‘Any woman who dares leave her husband to live under another man’s roof is given a foul name by polite society. Especially by women who suffer in secret and lack the courage to do what your mother did and forge a better life for themselves.’

  ‘You can’t shrug off gossip, some of it will stick and reflect badly on you for marrying me.’

  ‘Years-old gossip? Watch me ignore it, Sonya. I want to marry you, not your parents. And I never want to speak of them again.’

  ‘Because they are shameful?’

  ‘Because they are nothing to do with us, or you. Catherine is the one who brought you up. She is in effect your only parent.’

  ‘If we aren’t married she won’t allow me to travel with you without a chaperone.’

  ‘If you don’t want to marry before I leave for the north, Catherine could accompany us.’

  ‘And Alexei’s baby sister?’

  ‘In my experience babies are not good travellers.’

  ‘You have experience of babies?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Some of my servants have fathered children and tried to take them on journeys with me. It’s never a pleasant experience. It might be better if Kira remained here with Alexei and Ruth.’

  ‘It might.’ She continued to sip her wine.

  ‘If we did marry, I wouldn’t make any demands of you.’

  ‘For example?’ She was amazed how easy she was finding it to talk to him.

  ‘I’d never try to climb into your bed.’

  ‘You’d wait for me to climb into yours?’ She felt audacious for even suggesting such a thing.

  ‘Exactly, on the understanding that the invitation to climb into mine would be open to you anytime you chose to take me up on it, day or night, whether we are married or not.’ He winked at her.