Princes and Peasants

by Catrin Collier

  ‘So we’d have separate bedrooms if we married?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be my choice.’ He picked up the bottle, refilled his glass, and topped up hers. ‘You think of our marriage in terms of “if”, not “when”?’ he asked, suddenly serious.

  ‘You’re a prince…’

  ‘I haven’t kept my rank a secret. And a prince is insignificant in the hierarchy of Russian aristocrats, as you’ll soon find out. One of my ancestors was a minor turncoat Siberian warlord who helped out Ivan the Terrible during his conquest of Siberia. Rumour has it he was hoping to be rewarded with gold, but instead he received the title of prince. Cheaper for Ivan, but not so profitable for my family. Disappointed, my ancestors devoted themselves to making their own money. Most of our wealth is the result of inter-marriage with wealthy heiresses, not always of Russian or even noble blood, and various illegal enterprises. So there you have it, my line was a mongrel one even before my father married my Manchu Chinese mother, and as for royal blood – a treacherous Siberian warlord is the highest rank you’ll find. But a plethora of roubles can open the doors of the most aristocratic of houses, even those of a Tsar.’

  ‘But you’re still a prince and I’m having difficulty imagining myself as a princess.’

  ‘There’s no law that says you have to use the title. And the marriage bed of a prince and princess is no different from that of a coalminer and his wife.’

  ‘Aside from the linen.’

  He eyed the sofa. ‘That looks very comfortable, even without the linen. If you feel so inclined I could live with a little sinning before we climb into the marital bed via the altar.’

  She felt her cheeks flame again. ‘I’ll remember that,’ she murmured without giving a thought to what she was saying.

  ‘Please do. I think I can safely promise you a pleasurable experience. However, to return to practicalities,’ he picked up his glass and drank, ‘my main concern is if you should decide to marry me before we leave for St Petersburg, it wouldn’t give you, your aunt, or the priest much time to plan our wedding.’

  She found herself wondering what exactly he’d expect of her when they were married – naked – and in the privacy of their bedroom.

  ‘My innocent and blushing bride.’

  ‘I’m not blushing,’ she protested.

  ‘You most certainly are.’ He smiled. ‘Are you blushing at the thought of marriage or what comes afterwards?’

  ‘It’s warm in here.’

  ‘Would you like me to turn down the stove?’

  ‘No, it’s just the change in temperature from outside. I’ll soon grow accustomed to it.’

  ‘If I turn it down and you get cold again I could keep you warm. Manfred’s arranged that sofa well. It looks very comfortable, and there’s a rug on it that I could wrap you in – or both of us if you get cold and you’d like me to warm you. What do you think? Shall we picnic at the table, or under a rug on the sofa?’

  ‘I think that if we’re considering getting married before you travel to St Petersburg we need to start planning a wedding.’

  ‘And inviting guests. Your relatives, and friends, and the few close friends I have here, which in my case would be John Hughes and Glyn Edwards.’

  ‘Aunt Catherine’s already asked Father Grigor to dine with us tonight along with Alexei, Ruth, Glyn, Praskovia, Anna, Richard, and Sarah.’ She shivered and not from cold.

  He offered her his hand. She took it. He pulled her towards him. His arms banded tightly around her until she felt she could no longer breathe. Then he kissed her. She’d expected him to brush his lips lightly over hers. Instead he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, passionately, holding her body so close to his she could feel his muscles, hard, tense pressing into her.

  His fingers burned her skin through the layers of clothing she was wearing. His pulse beat, until she was aware of the blood coursing through both their veins. She opened her eyes and saw his, twin green jewels brighter even than the diamond he’d given her, staring down into hers.

  ‘My apologies. I was almost carried away there for an instant.’ He released her and she stumbled, falling back on to the bench. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘your aunt has invited Father Grigor to dinner?’

  She nodded dumbly, astounded that he could continue the conversation as though nothing had happened between them, when she felt as though her entire universe had been turned upside down.

  ‘How long will you need for the wedding preparations. One week – two?’

  ‘I’ll be ready when Father Grigor is.’

  ‘If you need anything, let me know. I can always send a messenger to Taganrog. A pity St Petersburg is so far away. Salad?’ He offered her the plate.

  She glanced from the salad to Roman. The one and only thing she could be absolutely certain of was that the last thing she wanted to do was eat.

  Part of her wanted to slap him. Another part to repeat that kiss. The third part was already imagining her and Roman acting out the illustrations in the book she’d seen. She wondered if he’d sent it in the hope of arousing more than her curiosity?

  ‘You want another kiss?’

  ‘Roman…’

  ‘You’re ready to forget Nathan Kharber?’

  ‘I have forgotten him,’ she lied.

  ‘You sure?’

  When she didn’t answer him, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her again. He pulled back her jacket, and unfastened the buttons on her blouse, undressing her with a speed and expertise that surpassed her maid’s.

  When she was naked apart from her chemise and drawers, he locked the cabin door and drew the blinds over the portholes before divesting himself of his own clothes. He rearranged the rug on the sofa and pulled her down beside him.

  Feeling clumsy, foolish, and gauche she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder lest he see the expression in her eyes, and guess at her nervousness and inexperience.

  He slipped the straps of her chemise over her shoulders. ‘Your breasts are magnificent.’ He caressed them, fingering her nipples to firm points that pressed against his thumbs. He slipped his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face until he could look into her eyes.

  ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. Do you want me to stop now and dress you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You do realise that in a few minutes it will be impossible for me to stop?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He helped her to her feet and out of her chemise and drawers. His skin was silk against hers. His touch, light and gentle, set flames burning inside her, and when he finally pierced her body with his own she was prepared for the pain, brief though it was, but not the sensations it evoked.

  He held back for a moment, resting on his arms, and gazed into her eyes.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t move away, not yet.’

  As he relaxed once more against her she whispered, ‘Not ever.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Boat berthed on the bank of the Donets, Hughesovka

  February 1872

  Roman reached out to the table where he’d piled his clothes, fumbled through them until he found his waistcoat, and took his watch from the pocket. He opened it.

  ‘I thought so from the fading light. It’s almost four o’clock. Even allowing for the explanation I gave John Hughes about wanting to give you your engagement ring, we’ll be missed soon, not least by the indomitable Maria.’ He pulled her close to him, nestling the length of her naked body alongside his, and dropped a kiss on her neck behind her ear. ‘Time to dress, princess.’

  ‘Please let that be the first and last time you call me that.’

  ‘You prefer “your Ladyship”?’

  ‘I prefer Sonya.’

  ‘“Sunshine” suits you better, it goes with the colour of your hair.’ He kissed her again, on the lips this time, before throwing the rug aside. She clung to him for a moment. He gently unclasped her arms from his waist and left the sofa.

  ‘Must
you go?’ She couldn’t stop staring at and admiring his body, long, lean, and covered with golden down.

  He turned and smiled at her. ‘Only until next time.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘When I sneak into your bed tonight.’

  ‘Maria will castrate you.’

  ‘She’ll have to catch me first. Leave your balcony door open.’

  ‘Your bedroom isn’t even in the same wing of the house.’

  ‘Your room is above the library?’

  ‘I … how do you know?’

  ‘I made it my business to find out. It’s a short climb up the columns that frame the windows and on to the balustrade.’

  ‘You’ll fall and break your neck.’

  He pulled the rug from her grasp so he could admire her. ‘I wouldn’t dare when I have this waiting for me.’ He handed back the rug, turned aside, and slid the panelling on a section of the wall opposite the sofa to reveal a washstand complete with jug of water, soap, and towels.

  ‘A bathroom,’ she said in surprise, ‘and fitted into such a tiny space.’

  ‘A bathroom of sorts,’ he qualified.

  ‘I’m impressed. You really have thought of everything in your hideaway.’ She covered herself with the rug again.

  ‘A modest woman.’

  ‘Cold, not modest,’ she contradicted. ‘After what we’ve just done, it seems too late for modesty, false or otherwise.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so. I’ll make a note to remind my servants to stoke the stoves up well in all my houses. I’ve always wanted a woman who’s not afraid to display her charms.’

  She leaned back on the cushions and watched him pour water from the jug into the basin.

  He saw her gazing at him in the mirror. ‘The first man you’ve watched wash and dress?’

  ‘The first man as opposed to boy I’ve seen wash and dress and certainly the first man I’ve seen naked.’

  ‘Boy?’

  ‘Alexei when we were children. I have memories of swimming naked with him in the river and our nursemaids bathing us in the same tub afterwards. I also recall helping the nursemaids wash Alexei’s five brothers along with his sisters when they were small.’

  ‘Catherine told me that Alexei’s brothers are all in a military college.’

  ‘In Allenstein in East Prussia. All five of them. Alexei went there but couldn’t wait to leave. As he’s so fond of telling everyone, he managed to escape before his eighteenth birthday.’

  ‘Will the boys return here to work for Mr Hughes?’

  ‘Not if Alexei’s father has his way.’

  ‘Ah, your would-be suitor, Count Nicholas Beletsky.’

  ‘That’s not funny.’

  ‘I don’t think you’d have been amused for long if you’d married him,’ he agreed. ‘Well, I’m the first man you’ve seen washing and naked, and hopefully I’ll be the last. But I promise you, you’ll soon get bored with the spectacle.’

  He dried himself, tipped the water he’d used into the slop bucket, and dressed. When he finished he turned to the table and repacked the basket. ‘We never did get around to the picnic.’

  ‘There’s always another day.’

  ‘All the days of all the years of our lives Now I’ve enticed you into my bed – metaphorically speaking – and my life, I have no intention of letting you go.’ He lifted up the basket. ‘I’ll put this in the carriage and give orders for the horse to be harnessed. Don’t leave until I’ve returned to help you over the jetty.’

  ‘It’ll take me ten minutes to dress.’ She picked up her chemise from the floor and pulled it over her head

  She was in the ‘bathroom’ when he opened the door seconds later. ‘To repeat myself, when do you want to marry me?’

  She looked over her shoulder as she filled the basin with clean water. ‘As soon as Father Grigor can arrange the ceremony, but he’ll want at least three weeks’ notice to call the banns.’

  ‘Damn the banns.’

  ‘If the banns aren’t called the old wives will assume I’m pregnant.’

  ‘What if you were?’

  ‘We’d be the subjects of salacious gossip.’

  ‘Then damn the old wives as well.’

  ‘If it was up to me I’d marry you tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s the answer I’ve been waiting for.’

  ‘But it’s not. Aunt Catherine will defer to Father Grigor.’

  ‘What does he drink?’

  ‘Berlin schnapps. You’re going to try to bribe a priest?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Sonya was grateful for the privacy after he left her. She’d expected to feel embarrassed and different somehow after making love for the first time, but all she felt was confused. Roman had made what they’d just done feel so natural – so normal – nothing like the earth-shattering event she had expected losing her virginity to be.

  Yet again she thought of Nathan, and when she did she realised he’d been lost to her from the outset and long before that day. She’d ‘made love’ with Roman but didn’t love him. Not in the way she loved Nathan. But then what did she know – really know – about either man?

  Nathan had made it clear that he valued his race and religion above anything he felt for her. Roman was easy to talk to, easy to get on with, and, if his lovemaking was any indication, kind and considerate – and when she gazed at the ring he’d given her, very generous. And not just with money, which any wealthy man could be, but with his most treasured possessions. But feelings? If he felt anything resembling love for her he’d never voiced his emotions.

  By the time he’d returned, she’d finished washing and dressing, had pinned her hair up and was studying her reflection in the mirror above the washstand.

  ‘Looking to see if I left the devil’s mark on you?’

  ‘No,’ she smiled at his reflection.

  ‘Here, I’ll take that,’ He took the towel he’d spread beneath them on the sofa, which was stained with her blood, and wrapped it together with the sheet they’d lain on and pushed them into a bin that stood alongside the slop bucket. ‘My valet will dispose of them later.’

  ‘Your valet?’ She was shocked at the thought of Roman’s manservant knowing what had happened between her and Roman in the cabin.

  ‘Manfred is the soul of discretion, and that is not an invitation for you to ask me how often he’s needed that discretion in the past.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Let’s see how quickly we can arrange a wedding.’

  Hughesovka and the Beletsky Mansion

  February 1872

  The man was tall. It was difficult to make out his build as he was swathed in layers of clothing. He wore a felt hat that covered his head and had draped a long thick knitted shawl over it taking care to cover his nose and mouth. He waited until darkness fell, dense and obscuring, before leaving the dormitory he shared with twelve other workers. He hovered behind the walls of a half built warehouse across the street from the stables until the ostler disappeared into one of the beer shops. Only then did he cross the road. Tipping the orphaned boy who lived in the hayloft, he extracted a promise from him to keep the transaction secret, before hiring a sleigh and a stocky, solid Cossack horse. The snow that had been threatening to fall all day began to drift down from the sky as he left the stable and headed out to cover the verst of steppe that separated Hughesovka from the Beletsky Mansion.

  The wind picked up before he left the town limits, and the snow fell thickly enough to blind him. Drifts swept over the track covering the road such as it was, until it was impossible to differentiate between the route he’d intended to take and the steppe. The horse slowed and more than once he heard a sharp crack as the animal stepped on ice hidden beneath the snow, momentarily losing its footing. Hoping he hadn’t strayed as far as the river he cracked the whip, but still the animal stumbled and struggled and it took him over two hours to reach the gates of the mansion.

  He was frozen from the core of his body to the tips of his woollen-gloved fi
ngers and felt-booted toes. He reined in the horse in the stable yard and banged the stable door.

  ‘What do you want?’ a grudging voice demanded.

  ‘Shelter for my horse.’

  ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘Your master won’t be pleased.’

  ‘My master’s in St Petersburg.’

  ‘Count Beletsky isn’t.’

  The man inched open the door. ‘If you want to put the beast in here, get it in.’ The groom peered upwards. There was no sky, only a blanket of snow that filled the air. ‘If you’re staying the night, you can strip the harness from the horse and give her a rub down.’

  ‘I’m not staying.’

  ‘I’ll be damned before I rub her down or do any extra work I won’t be paid for.’ The man upended a vodka bottle into his mouth.’

  ‘If you do, there’s ten kopeks in it for you. But only if she’s been fed, watered, dried, and made ready to tackle the return journey.’

  The man held out his hand. ‘Twenty.’

  ‘Do the work and you’ll see the colour of my coins.’

  ‘If I do it and you don’t pay, I’ll lame the horse.’

  ‘Try it and you’ll be sorry.’

  The groom laughed.

  The man pulled out his gun.

  The groom reached for a horse blanket.

  The wavering, yellow light of the oil lamp that burned above the back door of the kitchen quarters was barely visible through the dense white blizzard. The man trudged across the yard, reached it, lifted his hand, and knocked.

  Gleb opened the door and stared down at him.

  ‘Message for the count,’ the man muttered.

  Gleb moved closer. The man pushed his hat to the top of his head. Gleb recognised him and nodded. He opened the door wider.

  The man looked in. Seeing the cook and kitchen maid sitting at the table, he pulled his hat back down on his head and covered even more of his face with his shawl.

  Gleb ushered the visitor through the kitchen, picked up an oil lamp, and opened a door that led into a long, windowless, stone-flagged corridor. They walked the full length until they reached a door at the end. Gleb knocked. When he received an answer he opened it, told the visitor to wait, and disappeared. He re-emerged a few minutes later, inclined his head, and held the door open.