by Gayle Buck
Megan laughed. “Yes, I perceive how much you envy me the Turkish pasha.”
Countess Annensky giggled. “Well, perhaps not. But there is that nice baron—”
“Too old,” said Megan.
“And that very handsome captain—”
“Too young,” said Megan, shaking her head.
“Or that Italian count—”
“Too married,” said Megan.
Countess Annensky stared at her. “No!”
Megan nodded. “All too true. I had it from Madame Riasanovsky, who had it from her maid, who was told it by the count’s driver. The count has a wife and five children at home in Italy.”
“No!” gasped Countess Annensky, greatly entertained. She shook her head. “Poor Megan. You have been cruelly disillusioned, have you not? The count makes such perfect love to one’s fingers, kissing each tip with such reverence. Such a heartless philanderer!”
Megan shook her head in a mournful manner, though her smoke-gray eyes danced. “I am utterly cast down, I assure you. I have completely lost my trust in all the gentlemen.”
“You trusted none of them from the beginning,” said Countess Annensky shrewdly.
Megan’s mouth curved in a smile. “Perhaps not, indeed.”
The countess shook her head. “You are all fire and grace, Megan, yet you have such a coolness of head. Have none of the gentlemen touched your heart?”
“I tell no secrets, Irena,” said Megan lightly. “There are too many ears to overhear. I prefer to keep my own counsel on such private matters.”
“Yes, perhaps that is wisest,” said Countess Annensky with another sidelong glance. “Princess Kirov makes no secret that she will be very happy to see your hand contracted in marriage before the spring comes.”
“Princess Kirov has taken her role of matchmaker in too serious a vein,” said Megan with a smile and a small shrug. “The princess knew of my mother’s hopes for me when she invited me to come to St. Petersburg. I am proving to be a sad disappointment to her highness.”
“Do you dare to go counter to your mother’s and the princess’ wishes?” asked Countess Annensky curiously.
“I shall not marry until it is my decision,” said Megan quietly.
Countess Annensky shook her head. “I could not be so brave. I shiver at the thought of defying my father. No doubt he would beat me very hard.”
“But you have no need to defy your father, for he has contracted your hand to the very gentleman that you like the best,” said Megan.
Countess Annensky blushed and dimpled. “Yes, Prince Sergei suits me very well,” she agreed demurely.
“Fortunate, indeed, for it saves your back,” said Megan.
Countess Annensky trilled laughter. “No, no, my father is too fond of me! He would not beat me at all. That is for crude men, not great brown bears like my father. They growl more than they bite.”
“I have seen many Russian bears and also many others from other countries. I have been wooed and made the object of wonderful flatteries. It is enough to turn a country girl’s head,” said Megan.
“But not yours,” said Countess Annensky.
“No, not mine,” agreed Megan. Flashing a smile, she exclaimed, “I have had a perfectly grand time. I am so glad that I came to St. Petersburg.”
“I shall miss you when you return to your country,” said Countess Annensky, giving the other young woman an impulsive hug.
“I am not gone yet,” said Megan, laughing.
“But when the spring comes, you will leave us,” said Countess Annensky positively. “It is a sad thing, and so I shall not think on it anymore. Ah! Here is Prince Vladimir with your ice.”
“Thank you, your highness,” said Megan, accepting the ice. “You are too good.”
The youthful royalty blushed. He made an elegant bow and embarked on a tangled compliment, which Megan received with smiling good humor. Countess Annensky, standing to one side out of the prince’s vision, rolled her eyes.
Prince Vladimir ended by requesting the honor of partnering Megan in the next set.
“I regret, your highness, but my hand is already claimed for the waltz,” said Megan gently.
The youth’s face fell. Even his extravagant mustache seemed to droop. He bowed again. “Naturally it is to be expected. There is not a gentleman here who does not recognize your worth, mademoiselle.”
“You see, Megan? What did I tell you? The moths flutter and their poor wings are singed,” murmured Countess Annensky.
“Enough, Irena,” said Megan, giving a gurgling laugh.
Prince Vladimir looked from one lady to another. In French, he said, “Pardon, but I do not understand.”
Megan had long ago gotten over her initial surprise that French was spoken as often as the native Russian language in St. Petersburg. She shook her head. “It was nothing, your highness. Prince Vladimir, I hope that I may impose on you yet again.” She was finished with the ice and set the glass down beside the column.
“Anything! But ask!” exclaimed Prince Vladimir ardently.
“Dare we request your safe escort through this crowd? I have left my dance program on my seat and I should like to retrieve it. You see, I believe that I have a country dance open, if that is agreeable to your highness,” said Megan.
Prince Vladimir flushed with pleasure. Pushing out his chest, he said expansively, “You may rely upon me, mademoiselles.” Offering an elbow to each lady, he slowly promenaded with them across the floor. He looked right and left, nodding regally to any of his acquaintances who were privileged to witness his elevated task.
One of Countess Annensky’s acquaintances stopped their progress. After a few words among them all, the countess agreed to her friend’s entreaty that she lift his boredom and join him for refreshments. With a laugh and a wave of her hand, she left Megan and Prince Vladimir. “I shall speak to you again!” she called.
Prince Vladimir brought Megan to her chair with a flourishing bow. He pressed a kiss against her gloved hand. “I thank you for the honor bestowed upon me, mademoiselle. I shall anticipate our dance together with a passionate longing.”
A tall English gentleman sauntered up and presented himself. “It is our waltz, I believe, Miss O’Connell?”
Prince Vladimir straightened to his full height. He leveled a smoldering stare on the intruder. His mustache bristled with possessive outrage.
Megan rose hastily. “Indeed it is, Lord George.” She turned with a smile to Prince Vladimir. “I also shall look forward to our dance, your highness.”
Mollified, Prince Vladimir bowed. Before he stepped back, however, he turned a burning glance on the Englishman who was appropriating the object of his desires.
As Lord George led Megan onto the floor, he remarked, “Puppy. I thought for a moment that the boy might actually bite me.”
“Truthfully, I felt much like a juicy bone in contest,” admitted Megan.
Lord George barked a laugh. “That is good, ‘pon my soul!”
“The prince is actually quite well-meaning and sweet,” said Megan hastily.
“I am quite sure of it. He wants a little sense, of course. You are a bit too sophisticated for such a youngster as that. Now I am a different matter altogether,” said Lord George, wiggling his brows meaningfully.
Megan laughed and shook her head. “We have been down this path before, my lord. And my answer is still the same. We would not suit. Friends we have become and friends we shall remain!”
Lord George heaved a tremendous sigh. “I am thrown down to the pit of despair. I am up to my neck in miry clay. I am a vessel cast adrift upon an unfriendly sea.”
“My lord, how can this be? I have it on very good authority that you have formed a somewhat scandalous connection with a certain pretty widow,” said Megan. “Surely Madame Lanochet is not the French version of a fishwife!”
“No, of course not! I say, where did you hear about—” Lord George broke off. He bent a repr
oving gaze on his partner. “Miss O’Connell, you have betrayed a knowledge that is quite beneath your notice. I am shocked, to say the least. Yes, and what’s more, I am piqued that you are laughing at me. I am utterly sincere in everything that I have said.”
Megan laughed in earnest. Shaking her head, “Dear Lord George, if I were to believe half of the farragoes that have been whispered in my ears over these past months, I would have gained a reputation for being a goosecap. And justly, too.”
“Yes, you have never lacked for admiration, have you?” Lord George regarded her amused expression speculatively. “One wonders what goes on in that head of yours, Miss O’Connell. I could swear that your heart is as vulnerable as any other lady’s, but you have not succumbed to any of our overtures.”
“Not yet, in any event,” said Megan cheerfully. “I am having such a wonderful time, you see. I cannot conceive of bursting my bubble with a betrothal. Such a hindrance, don’t you think?”
Lord George shouted with laughter. “Upon reflection, Miss O’Connell, I do not believe that I am the man to win you. There is a better man in the wings than my poor self, one who will know just how to handle the ribbons.”
“So I should hope,” retorted Megan. “From what I have gathered, you made a poor showing for England last week in the sledding race.”
“I am not used to a three-in-hand. Half-broken brutes and hard-mouthed to boot,” said Lord George, defending himself.
“And there was the snow, too,” said Megan, twinkling up at him.
Lord George nodded, very much on his dignity. “Besides, I have never driven over such slick ice in my life. Sleds are different from carriages, you know. They fly. I swear it! But I shall have my revenge in England. Both Count Juarasky and Don Sevilles y Perez have pledged themselves to me for the summer. I shall show them what it is to drive to an inch!”
“I am sure of it, my lord. England’s honor must be upheld at all costs,” said Megan. “I trust that you are prepared to do so?”
“With my life,” declared Lord George dramatically.
There was much more such lighthearted nonsense until the set was over. Lord George escorted Megan back toward her chair. “There is a rumor that you will be returning to England in the spring,” he said abruptly.
Megan looked up at him in surprise. “How did that get about?”
Lord George shrugged. “Someone had it from Countess Annensky and I had it from someone else. If it is true, I shall miss you. You have been like a breath of fresh air this winter.”
Megan felt her face warming. “That is very kind of you, my lord. I don’t know my plans, actually. It depends upon Princess Kirov more than anything, I suppose. There was no set date for my departure.”
“Speaking of the house of Kirov, here is the prince himself,” said Lord George. Looking up into the Russian’s handsome face, his own face broadened into a grin as he put out his hand. “Misha, you bear! Will you join me at the crossroads inn? I am leaving shortly with a party of roisterers that begs the honor of your company.”
“We shall see. I am committed to wait upon the pleasure of Miss O’Connell and my mother, and the ball does not end until the morning,” said Prince Mikhail Sergei Alexsander Kirov, a friendly expression lightening his ice-blue eyes.
“Oh, is that how it is? Dull duty, indeed. Well, I shall be off, then,” said Lord George. He bowed to Megan, nodded to the prince, and left them.
Prince Kirov held out his hand commandingly. “Come, mademoiselle. I wish to show you the conservatory. There is a striking lily in bloom which reminds me of your extravagant beauty.”
Megan opened her fan and set it in languid motion. “I am sorry, your highness. But I have made it a rule that I am never seen going off alone with any gentleman.”
“I am not any gentleman. I am your devoted host. There can be no objection,” said Prince Kirov with a glinting smile. His was a very charming smile, one that more often than not set female hearts fluttering and overrode gentle scruples. However, this once it failed in its objective.
“On the contrary, your highness. Mrs. Tyler is very strict in her views of propriety. She guards my reputation with intense fervor,” said Megan.
“Indeed! And where is Mrs. Tyler now, Miss O’Connell?” asked Prince Kirov, making a show of his disbelief. “Surely in the eyes of such a strict guardian, it must even be beyond the line for you to acknowledge a gentleman’s address without a chaperone within sight.”
“Mrs. Tyler has us in her sights even now, your highness,” said Megan demurely. She raised her fan slightly to point toward a small knot of ladies seated a short distance away.
Prince Kirov looked around quickly. Mrs. Tyler, mistaking Megan’s gesture, waved back in a friendly way. He bowed, then turned again to Megan. “You have reminded me of my duty, mademoiselle. Naturally you are correct. It would not be seemly for you to leave the ballroom alone with me as your only escort. I shall immediately bring together a few friends so that we may all go to the conservatory and enjoy the lilies.”
Megan started to laugh. “But how absurd! You should not order things tailored so exactly to your whims.”
“Why should I not? How am I to take you to the conservatory otherwise?” inquired Prince Kirov in a reasonable way. He sat down beside her, half-turning in his chair so that he could observe her face.
“The conservatory must wait, your highness. I still have a very full dance card,” said Megan, proffering it for his inspection. “It would be exceedingly rude of me to disappoint my admirers.”
“I shall admit to it, for my name appears on that card as well,” said Prince Kirov. He smiled and shrugged. “It is a pity that we are constrained by convention and by duty from what we most desire to do. But I am a Kirov. I have been raised to a full awareness of my duty to family and country. I shall not shirk either, even for the glimpse of a prized lily.”
“What of those things that are of equal importance as duty, your highness?” asked Megan curiously.
“Ah, you speak of the heart. Once I believed that my duty was always to be placed above matters of the heart. I have learned that sometimes that is not entirely true,” said Prince Kirov. He regarded her with lazy interest. “What of your own ideals. Miss O’Connell? Do you pay heed to the voice of duty or to the whisperings of your heart? Would you throw over all of this”—he made a sweeping gesture around at the glittering bejeweled crowd, then placed his hand against his chest—”in order to satisfy the yearnings of this?”
Megan shook her head. “I do not know. You ask me something of which I have no experience.”
“I have had such experience, dear sister.” Prince Kirov smiled again, but as though he was looking back over a particular memory. “It is a felicitous thing indeed when one’s heartfelt inclinations come into alignment with one’s duty.”
“I know little to nothing of such difficult choices,” said Megan. She was made vaguely uncomfortable by the prince’s unusual descent into sober rumination. “However, I do know that our time together grows short, your highness. Here is Prince Vladimir to claim his set with me.”
“I shall send him away,” said Prince Kirov, his brows lowering as he glanced at the approaching young gentleman.
Megan laid her hand quickly on his arm. “No, pray do not. He is but a youth, easily cast down. I do not wish him disappointed on my account, for I promised the country set to him.”
Prince Kirov smiled. He covered her hand with his own, warming her fingers through the thin fabric of her glove. “Your heart is soft, mademoiselle. Very well. We shall deal gently with Vladimir. I have known him since his cradle. Perhaps he will grow into a man someday, though I have heard his father often despair of it!”
Megan was grateful that Prince Kirov’s statement was uttered in a low tone and so was not heard by the young gentleman. Unobtrusively she slipped free of Prince Kirov’s handclasp. She smiled at Prince Vladimir, holding out her hand to him. “You are prompt, your
highness. The set is not yet begun.”
“How could I be otherwise when I shall lead out the most beautiful woman in the room?” exclaimed Prince Vladimir, bowing over her fingers.
“Perhaps there is yet hope,” murmured Prince Kirov.
“Pardon, Mikhail? Did you address me?” asked Prince Vladimir.
“No, no, I was but contemplating a thing of astonishment that I must tell to an acquaintance of mine,” said Prince Kirov.
Megan did not glance at him, afraid that if she did she might laugh. “There is the music striking up now, Prince Vladimir! We must not tarry. Prince Kirov, I shall undoubtedly speak to you later in the evening.”
Megan saw Prince Vladimir slide a triumphant glance at Prince Kirov as he led her off. He obviously thought he had snatched her from under the nose of one of St. Petersburg’s most respected and eligible parties. Men could be so foolish, she thought as the dancing began.
* * *
Chapter 7
A week later, Megan was summoned to an audience with her hostess. She knew that it was for a matter of some portent since Princess Kirov, though kindly disposed toward her, was an awe-inspiring personage who did not indulge in comfortable cozes.
“I shall be down directly,” said Megan to the servant who had relayed the message. The servant bowed and effaced himself from the sitting room. When he had exited, Megan turned to her companion. “Well, Gwyneth, what do you think?”
“Her highness does not dally in incidentals,” said Mrs. Tyler, confirming Megan’s own thoughts. “Obviously Princess Kirov has news of a serious nature to impart to you. It struck me at once that I was not included in this summons. Perhaps she has had word from Lady O’Connell? Though I cannot imagine what her ladyship might have written that would evolve into a private audience.”
“Yes, Princess Kirov has always shown you a particular respect,” said Megan with a small frown. “It is odd, indeed.”
“You would do well not to keep the princess waiting too long,” suggested Mrs. Tyler. “Hers is a formidable personality. We are both aware how thoroughly she despises tardiness in any member of her household.”