The Brigadier's Daughter

by Catherine March

  Sasha swallowed, with difficulty, but her voice was choked in her throat and she could do no more than nod.

  ‘Don’t worry, my little one, we will find a way to make Major Bowen your slave!’

  Inwardly Sasha shuddered, but she said nothing as across the lawn strode the subject of their discussion. He waved and called out with a smile, reminding Sasha that he had an appointment with Sir Stanley and they must go if he was not to be late.

  They kissed goodbye in the hall by the front door, Reid making polite thanks for the delightful luncheon as he bundled Sasha into her hat and gloves and coat.

  ‘Goodbye, my dear.’ Irena kissed Sasha’s cheek and whispered by her ear, ‘If you want to know anything, just ask me.’

  Sasha nodded and smiled, yet her brow was creased in a frown as they walked back to the apartment. Reid’s pace was brisk as he hustled her along, and it took her a few moments before she sifted through the chaotic thoughts in her mind and realised that no mention had been made of any meeting with Sir Stanley, and in fact she had thought they were going to the ballet.

  ‘Reid—’ She was about to question him about his altered itinerary when suddenly he stopped on the street corner and grabbed her by both arms, demanding her full attention.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  Sasha raised her face to him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was watching you from the window. What did Irena say? You’re as pale as a ghost and your eyelashes are all spiky. What did she say to make you cry?’

  Sasha heard the anger in his voice, and for a moment she did not know what to say. It was far too shameful to tell him about Irena’s lewd ideas.

  ‘Sasha! For God’s sake, would you rather trust her than me? Tell me!’

  She closed her eyes, sagging against him, as she sobbed a half-truth against his solid shoulder. ‘She knows, Reid, she knows about us.’

  ‘What! Sasha, how foolish to tell her—’

  ‘I didn’t! My mother wrote making enquiries, and told her all about Georgia and Felix, and how I took her place. She obviously put two and two together.’

  ‘So she knows that you are not my wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then who does she think you are?’

  ‘Your—’ Sasha’s voice sank to a whisper ‘—mistress.’

  ‘I see. I hope that you did not go so far as to tell her we have never actually made love?’

  ‘Well, um, she knows that I am still a virgin.’

  ‘Oh, Sasha!’ Reid growled, infuriated. ‘You are so incredibly naïve.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘There’s only one thing we can do. Get married, pretty damn quick!’

  He took her arm and marched down the street. They had arrived at their front door, and he lowered his voice as he told her, ‘I will go over to see Reverend Jones this very moment, and ask him to perform a ceremony as soon as may be.’

  He pulled the bell and the door opened within a few moments, and with a glance he warned her to keep quiet in front of the servants before turning away and going off in search of the Welsh minister. Sasha went indoors and spent an hour pacing the drawing-room floor, chewing her thumbnail and listening with every fibre of her being for the sound of the front door and Reid’s return. At five o’clock Jane brought the tea tray and set it down, tentatively asking if she should run a bath and get Sasha’s gown ready for the ballet.

  Quite distracted by her thoughts, Sasha nodded, and wondered where on earth Reid could be. What was taking so long? She tried to steady her anxiety by sitting down and pouring a cup of tea. But it was not enough, and she found herself dwelling on Reid’s words, his eagerness for the minister to ‘perform a ceremony’. She felt a sense of disappointment that he had not said that he wanted to marry her, that their wedding would be because he loved her, but it seemed only to be out of duty, to save them from scandal and, no doubt, she thought with a vague and unusual sense of scepticism, to save his career from ruin. And then there was Irena, revealing a side to her character that Sasha had never suspected, and could not like. She sighed, realising that Reid was right and that from now on she would have to break all contact with Irena.

  At last she heard the footman go to open the front door, and Reid’s light, energetic step as he bounded up the stairs. She rose from her seat as the drawing-room door opened and he came into the room. Their eyes met, and she could tell at once from the grim set of his face that it was not good news. She sat down again and poured him a cup of tea, stirred in milk and two sugars and brought it to him as he stood before the hearth staring into the fire flames. He took the cup from her with a grateful smile, and Sasha asked, ‘Did you find him?’

  Reid nodded, and then shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of defeat, shaking his head at the same time. ‘I am sorry to say that the Reverend Jones has made it rather difficult. He is not refusing to marry us, but rather insisting that the correct procedure be followed and the banns are read for three Sundays, and then we can be married, with all our friends and family in attendance.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘That would be rather…impossible.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Do you think he will say anything? You know, make it known we are not actually married?’

  He looked at her, his eyes scanning her anxious face. ‘I hope not.’

  Sasha turned away, pacing about for a few steps before turning to him anxiously. ‘Oh, Reid, what are we to do?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here and pretend that all is well. Too many people know already, the Reverend, and I-Irena— How can we be sure that either of them can be trusted to keep our secret?’

  ‘Well, we can’t.’ He raked his hands through his hair and then turned to her as an idea dawned on him. ‘We will have to go back to England. We will have to do a Georgia and Felix.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Go to Gretna Green and get married, quietly and quickly.’ As the idea took hold Reid began to make his plans. ‘We will put it about my uncle in London is very ill, and as his only surviving relative, I have to be at his bedside.’

  ‘Would it not be better if it was someone from my family? My mother.’

  ‘No,’ Reid replied quite emphatically, not at all keen to get the Brigadier involved in anything. ‘Let me deal with this, Sasha; after all, it is my fault.’

  ‘No, it’s not, it is my fault; I brought this all upon you, Georgia and I.’

  ‘To begin with, but it is I who have kept you here with me, sharing my life, and my bed, like a wife.’

  ‘Reid—’ she laid a hand on his arm, looking up into his strained face ‘—we can put an end to this. I will go, I will leave and we can pretend to get an annulment—after all, our so-called marriage has never been consummated. I could go to a physician to prove I am still a virgin.’

  He gazed down upon her, and thoughtfully explored that possibility, but found it not to be to his taste. He shook his head. ‘I could not put you through such an ordeal, Sasha. We will simply get married and that will solve everything. Captain Turnbull is returning next week and has been invited to accompany us to the Grand Ball at the Winter Palace. I will make the arrangements with him to convey us back to England.’

  ‘Perhaps we could marry aboard ship if there is a chaplain onboard?’

  He gave her an exasperated grin. ‘I did suggest that once before, but you refused.’

  Sasha had the grace to look contrite. ‘Well, I did not think it a good idea at the time—after all, you were not particularly keen on—on—’

  ‘On what?’ he prompted.

  ‘On…me.’ She twisted her engagement and wedding rings on her finger, and stared at him, her eyes full of unspoken questions and doubts.

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  She could not bring herself to voice the words, to ask him if he really wanted to marry h
er, if he had any feelings for her, any love, because she felt sure that for him this was merely a practical arrangement.

  He reached out and pulled her towards him, one hand on her waist, the other sliding to the back of her head as he brought her face closer. He leaned down, and she felt the warmth and strength of his body, and then he kissed her, and she responded, parting her lips, her hands resting on his chest as his mouth took possession of hers. He lifted his head, his eyes caressing her lips, her face. ‘Sasha, I want you to be my wife. In a church on dry land, before God and the law.’

  She smiled then, and refrained from spoiling the moment by demanding to know why. She would wait until he could tell her, without being forced, what his feelings really were.

  ‘Now,’ he said firmly, setting her aside, ‘let us carry on as usual. I believe we are going to the ballet.’

  At Reid’s insistence, on Monday morning she went to visit Lady Cronin, and spent a dull few hours reading to her and listening to her blow her nose and moan about the harshness of Russian winters. She refrained from pointing out that they were well into spring now, but she tried to be kind and respectful, staying for a luncheon of soup and toast before departing for home. In the hallway of the apartment she searched eagerly for any mail from England—a letter from her mother, perhaps, in reply to her own—but seeing nothing, she surmised that perhaps Charlotte had been delayed in posting it.

  For the next few days she waited, on tenterhooks, for some sign that they had been denounced, but life carried on very much as it had before. No one seemed to be any the wiser and she could only hope that her little tête-à-tête with Irena would have no consequences. She had hoped that Irena had turned her attentions elsewhere, until one morning midweek when the butler, Good, knocked on the drawing-room door and announced that a package had been delivered and where would madam like it?

  Sasha beckoned for him to bring it in, and Good placed a large rectangular box on a table. Sasha found her sewing scissors and cut the string, pulling aside crisp brown paper and revealing a pink-and-grey striped dressmaker’s box, tied with a wide satin ribbon. There was a note tucked into the ribbon and Sasha drew it out, unfolding the familiar thick, cream vellum with a sinking heart, her eyes skimming over the copperplate script in black ink.

  Dearest Sasha, Please accept these, as a gift from one mistress to another. It will drive him wild! Love always, Irena.

  Sasha crumpled the note in one hand, her teeth clenched, and then tossed it in the fire. She eyed the box as though it might contain a basket of snakes, and then decided to put it out of sight, and out of mind. She had no interest in anything Irena might send to her, and she did not write a note of thanks in reply. Carrying the box under her arm, Sasha went upstairs to her bedroom and stashed it in the back of her wardrobe. She promised herself that she would not look inside the box, and she went about her day, but it niggled at the back of her mind and that evening when she was preparing for bed she opened the cupboard door and stared at it. But no, she must resist, it was only Irena playing games and trying to tempt her into something that was bound to be…indecent. She closed the doors firmly and went to bed, listening for Reid, who was working late that evening at the Embassy, and only turning onto her side and settling to sleep when she heard him come in and go to his bedroom.

  At breakfast the next morning, Reid ate poached eggs and perused a newspaper as usual, and then glanced over at Sasha as she picked at her toast, idly stirring a spoon through her tea as she stared out of the window with a glazed look in her eyes. He watched her for a few moments and then lowered his newspaper, saying gently, ‘Are you all right, Sasha?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘You’ll wear a hole in that teacup.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Sasha!’

  She started at his bark and looked up suddenly. ‘What?’

  ‘Please don’t tell me nothing, when I ask what’s wrong. What’s wrong?’

  She opened her mouth to say nothing, then snapped it shut with a smile. She shrugged her shoulders and murmured, ‘I’m just bored, there’s not very much for me to do all day.’

  ‘I see.’ Reid flicked back his wrist and glanced at his watch. ‘Well, we can’t have you moping around the house. I will make enquiries at the Embassy; maybe there is something you can get involved with.’

  ‘Oh, no, please, not Lady Cronin and her sewing circle!’

  Reid laughed, pushing back his chair as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. ‘No, something more worthy of your intelligence and education. Maybe some translation work?’

  She smiled, her eyes lighting up, and watched him go with a happy glow. How wonderful if she could have something worthwhile to occupy herself with each day. Humming softly, she finished her breakfast and reading Reid’s newspaper, and then wandered out into the garden, taking a flat basket and snipping roses for the dining table. She thought of various menus that would please Reid and decided to ask the cook for his favourite roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Taking the flowers indoors, she sent Jane to the kitchen for a vase and then went upstairs to wash her hands. In her bedroom she went to her dressing table and opened a jar of honey-and-almond hand cream, smoothing the sweetly scented lotion into her fingers and the back of her hands, wringing them round and round each other, and then glancing over her shoulder at the closed doors of her wardrobe.

  She had thought of the box and its contents several times, and had congratulated herself on withstanding whatever it was that Irena was trying to tempt her with. Now, she wondered suddenly just exactly what it was she had sent. Why, it might well be something valuable, jewellery or a trinket that could be worth a fortune; in that case it would be best to return it at once and not be held to such an obligation. She crossed the room and opened the wardrobe doors, pulling out the box and giving it a little shake. It did not rattle, or feel particularly heavy. Then she sat on the bed and slowly lifted the lid on the box, burning with curiosity and wide-eyed apprehension all at the same time.

  Between the folds of delicate tissue paper Sasha’s fingers encountered soft black silk. She withdrew a pair of black lace-topped stockings, a black satin corset and a scrap of sheer black lace that must be a pair of drawers, but were the tiniest she had ever seen. Then she lifted out a book, turning it over, the lurid title inscribed in ornate gilt Russian lettering on the leather-bound cover. She opened the book and flicked through the pages, the colour suddenly rushing red hot to her cheeks as she gasped and looked at the drawings of naked men and women doing things that she had no idea a man and a woman could, or would, ever do! Part of her protested that she should fling the book away, and yet another part of her stared with burning fascination. Her heart beat very rapidly, and she felt sudden stabs of arousal in parts of her body that made her very aware of just where her passionate self was centred.

  It was shocking, and yet suddenly she understood why Reid treated her with such polite distance. Is this what he wanted from a woman? No wonder he had been so hesitant! But surely not, Reid was such a gentleman, he couldn’t possibly know of such things, or want them! Could he? Setting the book aside, Sasha picked up the black lingerie and went to stand before the cheval mirror. She held the satin corset against her, looking at her reflection. Feeling almost guilty, she unbuttoned her clothes until she stood naked, and then fastened on the corset, which was no easy feat without a maid, slipped on the gossamer knickers and rolled a stocking on each of her legs, fastening them to the straps dangling from the corset. Then she gazed at herself in the mirror, and gasped.

  The exotic creature that gazed back at her seemed like someone from another world, and not at all like her normal self. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a strange glow in her eyes. Slowly she raised her arms and pulled her hair free from its chignon, her movements causing the swell of her upthrust breasts in the tight corset to sway. She remembered Irena’s words— It will drive him wild. How? Where? When? Did she even dare to put such a theory to the test?

  While she wrestled w
ith these thoughts, she suddenly heard Reid’s voice on the landing below. She froze. What on earth was he doing home? Surely it was not time for luncheon already? But across the courtyard she heard the Embassy clock strike twelve. It seemed her questions would be answered far sooner than expected, as his familiar footsteps bounded up the stairs. With a gasp Sasha rushed to divest herself of her unusual garments, but in her nervous, guilty haste her fingers were all thumbs and she could not reach to unhook the corset. She was rooted to the spot as suddenly the door opened after a brief knock.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Sasha, I thought we might—’ Reid’s swift entrance into her bedchamber came to an abrupt halt, as he stared with slack jaw and amazed eyes. ‘What on earth—?’ Kicking the door closed, he looked around swiftly, and felt his temper rise with violent fury. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Reid, I— I—’

  ‘Where is he? I’ll kill him!’ Reid rushed about the room, looking behind the curtains and flinging open the wardrobe doors. ‘I might have known you’d get up to mischief the moment my back was turned!’

  ‘No, no.’ Sasha shook her head. ‘It’s not what you think!’

  Suddenly she began to giggle, as Reid stomped about looking for her imaginary lover under the bed and behind the cheval mirror. She flopped down on the bed, rolling around with her knees drawn up, laughing so hard tears squeezed from her eyes, and quite unaware of how provocatively alluring her shapely bottom and legs were in that position.

  Reid, realising there was no one else in the room, paused, catching his breath, unable to take his eyes from the sight of Sasha rolling around on the bed in black silk lingerie and looking quite amazingly seductive. Then his eye caught sight of the dressmaker’s box and the slim leather-bound book. He picked it up and glanced through the pages, his voice quite strangled in his throat as he asked, ‘Sasha, where did you get this?’

  She sobered then and sat up, her hair disordered. ‘Irena sent it to me.’