A Magnificent Match

by Gayle Buck

  Prince Kirov came out of the house to see them off. He held Megan’s hands a moment longer than was protocol. “I will fol­low you soon, my dove,” he said solemnly.

  Megan smiled and shook her head quickly. She gently pulled free her gloved hands. “You think so now, your high­ness. But you will not. I am but a passing fancy, as you will discover.”

  “No, I tell you, no!” he exclaimed fiercely. “You have cap­tured my heart.”

  Megan looked up into his face. His blue eyes blazed with conviction. “If that is indeed true, then I shall see you again in London. But I shall not hold it against you if you do not come, your highness,” she said in a low voice.

  “You try me almost beyond endurance,” he snapped.

  She smiled again. “I am a woman, your highness. Is that not excuse enough?”

  His countenance changed and he laughed. “Yes, mademoi­selle, you are right. Very well, then. I let you go still doubting me. But first”—he stripped a heavy ring from his hand and placed it in her palm, closing her fingers around it—”this is my pledge to you, my dove. I shall claim it again.”

  Megan’s cheeks were flushed. “I shall treasure it always, your highness.” She got into the sled. The glistening gold ring went into her reticule.

  The sled took off over the ice. Megan glanced back once. Prince Kirov stood watching her drive away. A swirl of snow obscured his figure, making him appear ghostlike. A smile touched Megan’s lips. Just so would she remember him. A fantastical, unattainable lover.

  She was too levelheaded, and now even a little too worldly, to really believe that Prince Kirov would follow her to London for the purpose of declaring himself. He was a prominent man, much courted. Megan had not a sliver of doubt that Prince Kirov would manage to forget her within a fortnight. She raised her hand in farewell.

  The sled whipped swiftly out of St. Petersburg and into the surrounding forests. There was a fairy-tale quality to being whisked over the snow, the sled throwing sprays of white in its wake, but with only the jingling of the horses’ harness bells and the driver’s pleasant monotone singing to break the cold clear silence.

  For several miles, the ladies were silent, busy with their own thoughts. Megan smiled without consciously realizing it as she recalled all the enjoyment and the discovery of new things that she had experienced over the months.

  “It’s a pity to be leaving Russia so soon,” said Mrs. Tyler, voicing her own regret.

  “Yes, it is. I have enjoyed myself very much,” said Megan. “It has been a perfectly magical time. But now it is time to re­turn to reality. I shall be glad to see our own shores again.”

  “And I,” agreed Mrs. Tyler. She curiously observed Megan’s serene profile. “I overheard you say something about London to Prince Kirov. Do you plan a shopping expedition before we return to Ireland?”

  “Actually, I have decided to remain in London for the Sea­son,” said Megan. She flashed a glance at her companion. “I cannot endure the thought of sinking back into obscurity now that I have been brought out into society, Gwyneth.”

  “No, indeed,” agreed Mrs. Tyler emphatically. “But, my dear, what will her ladyship have to say to this decision?”

  Megan laughed. “My mother will be quite displeased,” she acknowledged. “But I am determined to carry the day. Gwyneth, I intend to make the most of the Season and find a suitable husband. I do not wish to moulder away in my fa­ther’s house the remainder of my days.”

  “I understand perfectly, my dear. And naturally you have all of my support. However, I rather thought that you would make a match of it with Prince Kirov,” said Mrs. Tyler. “Do you not harbor some feelings for him?”

  “Oh, the prince is the stuff of which a maiden’s dreams are made!” said Megan, laughing lightly.

  “My dear, I know you too well to be put off with such froth,” said Mrs. Tyler gently.

  Megan glanced at her companion, hesitating before she an­swered. “Perhaps I do, Gwyneth. However, it makes very little difference now. I am leaving Russia and will likely never see the prince again. I will never know whether the emotions I feel could ever grow into anything warmer or of permanence. So I have determined to put aside those things and instead cultivate a comfortable relationship with a fellow countryman.”

  “But my dear!” Mrs. Tyler stared at her in astonishment. “How can you say such a thing? Why, Prince Kirov gave you his own ring as a pledge.”

  “Gwyneth, I hope that I am too practical to place much con­struction upon a generous, spontaneous gesture,” said Megan. She shook her head. “No, Gwyneth. Though Prince Kirov thought himself completely sincere in uttering his promise, he will not follow me to London in order to court me. I would do far better to set aside our flirtation as a pleasant memory and look to the settling of my future.”

  “I have never heard anything so baldly cynical in all my life!” exclaimed Mrs. Tyler.

  Megan laughed. She looked at her companion with sympa­thy. “Poor Gwyneth! Have I shocked you so terribly? But I am not of a particularly romantic nature, you know. Oh, I should very much like to be swept off my feet by an adoring gallant whom I held in equal esteem. But that is not at all likely to happen, is it? And so I have set my sights much lower. I will settle for a good, kind husband who will show me gentle cour­tesy and lend a polite ear to my chattering.”

  “One may surely aspire to both romance and practicality!” said Mrs. Tyler with asperity.

  “My dear Gwyneth, I fear that you are a hopeless romantic,” said Megan tolerantly.

  Not another word would she volunteer about Prince Kirov, no matter how often or how persuasively Mrs. Tyler presented the advantages of the prince’s possible suit. Megan merely laughed and passed them off, likely as not countering by intro­ducing another topic. The verbal sparring continued in the same way for the length of Russia.

  By the time that Poland’s borders were crossed, Mrs. Tyler had exhausted every argument that she could muster on Prince Kirov’s behalf. “Very well, then! I shall not say another word about the prince,” said Mrs. Tyler, closing her lips tight. She folded her hands and stared determinedly out at the wintery landscape.

  Megan merely glanced at her with quiet amusement. She knew it would be but a matter of time before Mrs. Tyler would summon new arguments to her command and begin all over again.

  The first opportunity arose when they stopped at an inn to exchange their sleds for carriages and their sable furs for warm wool. Mrs. Tyler managed to bring Prince Kirov’s name into the conversation several times as she reminded Megan of vari­ous amusing experiences they had had in Russia. The depar­ture of their Cossack escort brought even more poignancy to Mrs. Tyler’s reminiscings.

  However, as Europe rolled away under their wheels, Mrs. Tyler’s thoughts became increasingly centered on their desti­nation. She began talking about London and what they might expect there during the Season.

  Megan was grateful for it. She had not allowed herself to betray how arduous it had been to listen while her companion extolled Prince Kirov’s several virtues. She entered gladly into discussions of how best to handle Lady O’Connell’s un­doubted opposition to their intention to enjoy the London Sea­son, hoping at last to be able to put away all lingering thoughts of Prince Mikhail Kirov.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  The shadows were long when the mud-spattered carriage drew up in front of the elegant town house. The driver climbed off of his box to let down the step and opened the car­riage door. Out stepped a stylishly dressed young lady. She paused for a moment on the walkway while another lady was assisted down from the carriage.

  Two gentlemen perambulating down the walkway noticed the elegant young lady at once. They slowed in mutual appre­ciation and curiosity. When she glanced around, the two gen­tlemen were favored with the sight of a lovely countenance framed by an elegant confection of straw and feathers and rib­bons on her head. In hopes of discovering a clue to her iden­tity, the two gentlemen slow
ed their steps as they passed. They touched their beavers and bowed to the young lady, and were gratified when she favored them with the slightest of bows.

  When the other lady had joined her, the young lady said, “Here we are at last, Gwyneth. Let us see if Mother is at home.” She started up the steps to the town house, her skirt lifted gracefully in one gloved hand.

  The gentlemen were startled by what they had overheard. The town house belonged to Lady O’Connell. They had never heard of a daughter, but here was this pretty creature claiming kinship and banging the knocker.

  A haughty woman had also descended from the carriage and began directing the driver in the placement of the baggage on the walkway.

  The door was opened. Megan smiled at the porter’s aston­ished face. “Good afternoon, Geoffrey. I trust that we are wel­come.”

  “0’ course, miss! I shall notify Mr. Digby at once,” said the porter, ushering in the ladies. With a quick look down the steps, he saw that there was a well-loaded carriage at the curb and that a superior female was dealing with the driver. Leav­ing the front door open, he hurried down the hall to alert his superior.

  A moment later, the butler returned with the porter. His dig­nified expression relaxed into the shadow of a smile. “Why, miss, the last we heard of you was that you and Mrs. Tyler were still in Russia.”

  “Well, we are here now,” said Megan cheerfully. “We have a great deal of baggage coming, Digby. Simpkins is already giving instructions to our own driver, I know.”

  “Of course, miss. I shall send out some men to bring it in,” said the butler. He snapped his fingers at two footmen, who at once leaped into action. “Did you say that there was another carriage, miss?”

  Simpkins appeared in the front doorway. “Indeed there is. I shall go up directly to make ready for the deposition of our baggage. You will naturally direct your people here, Mr. Digby.”

  The butler nodded. “Of course, Miss Simpkins. The second housemaids are at your service.”

  Megan was busy pulling off her gloves and putting off her pelisse, as was Mrs. Tyler. She listened with a good deal of amusement as her dresser climbed the stairs and overawed the under-staff trailing in her wake.

  Megan turned back to the butler. “Digby, is her ladyship at home?”

  “Indeed she is, miss. Lady O’Connell is presiding over tea in the front sitting room,” said the butler, ushering the two ladies upstairs. “And very surprised her ladyship will be to see you and Mrs. Tyler.”

  “Yes, no doubt,” said Megan. She swept into the sitting room with Mrs. Tyler close behind.

  Lady O’Connell was entertaining her callers. Tea and bis­cuits and cakes had been served to the ladies while they ex­changed mutual pleasantries. Lady O’Connell looked around at the opening of the door, a polite smile on her face, expect­ing some others of her acquaintance. She was stunned by the sight of her daughter and her daughter’s companion coming into the room. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

  Megan smiled and swooped down on her mother to greet her in the Russian manner. After kissing her mother on each cheek, she stepped back. “Mother, what an utterly ravishing dressing gown. You look extremely well in it.”

  “Megan?” faltered Lady O’Connell, still startled and off balance.

  “And who is this? Surely this cannot possibly be your daughter, Agatha,” said one of the visitors, raising a lorgnette to her rather protuberant eyes.

  “My daughter? Oh! Yes, this is my daughter, Miss Megan O’Connell,” said Lady O’Connell, her ingrained social train­ing enabling her to recover sufficiently to make coherent intro­ductions. “Megan, Lady Stallcroft and her daughters, the Misses Stallcroft.” She gestured to her other visitors. “And this is Lady Bishop and Mrs. Hadcombe.”

  Megan greeted the starchy lady and the other ladies with a murmured word and a handshake. She nodded in a friendly way to the two misses who sat beside their mother on the set­tee, regarding her like wide-eyed barn owls. “Lady Stallcroft, Lady Bishop, Mrs. Hadcombe, it is a pleasure, I assure you. Goodness, I have only been back in England for two days and already I am beginning to feel quite at home. Allow me to pre­sent my dear friend and companion, Mrs. Tyler.”

  Mrs. Hadcombe and Lady Bishop murmured polite greet­ings to Mrs. Tyler. “Pray join us,” invited Mrs. Hadcombe, in­dicating a space beside her on the settee, “You will want tea, of course. Lady O’Connell, I shall do the honors, if you have no objections.”

  “No—no, not the least in the world,” stammered Lady O’Connell.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Mrs. Tyler quietly, seating her­self. With a soft word and smile, she accepted the tea that Mrs. Hadcombe handed to her.

  Lady Stallcroft spared Mrs. Tyler only a prim dismissing nod before she turned back to Lady O’Connell’s daughter. Pinning a sharp gaze upon Megan’s face, she said, “You have but recently returned to England, I believe you said? Have you come from Ireland, then?”

  Lady O’Connell was staring as though she still could not quite grasp the fact that her daughter stood in the same room with her.

  Megan chuckled as she seated herself. She also accepted tea poured by Mrs. Hadcombe. “Oh, no. I have been in St. Peters­burg these several months past. Mother, I must at once convey Princess Kirov’s fond regards. She sent me away with deep expressions of regret, for she quite considered me one of the family, a favored niece, in fact. I must admit, it was difficult to tear myself away from St. Petersburg, for I had made so many friends and I still had so many engagements. However, the London Season has already begun and so I shall not repine too terribly much.”

  “St. Petersburg? Russia? You have been to Russia!” ex­claimed the eldest Miss Stallcroft, her soft gray eyes lighting up. “Oh, how I do envy you!”

  Lady Stallcroft sent a steely glance in her daughter’s direc­tion. “That will be enough, Annabelle. I am certain Miss O’Connell is quite willing to expound without the encourage­ment of your histrionics.”

  Miss Stallcroft’s face flamed and she lowered her eyes. “Yes, Mama.” Her sister’s hand stole into hers to give her fin­gers a light squeeze. Miss Stallcroft glanced in gratitude at her sister.

  Megan decided at once that she did not care for Lady Stall­croft. The woman was obviously a bully of the worst sort. “Yes, well, it was wonderful, of course. There were balls and routs and soirees and sledding parties every day of the week. I met ever so many personages, including the czar. Czar Alexander is quite an extraordinary gentleman. I found him to be rather enigmatic, but—”

  “I am certain that he is. However, one must naturally make allowances for the deficiencies of foreigners in comparison to our own countrymen,” said Lady Stallcroft, bestowing a pa­tronizing smile on Megan.

  Megan returned the lady’s smile. Flatly, she said, “I am cer­tain that I do not know what you mean.”

  Lady Stallcroft’s expression stiffened.

  Mrs. Tyler was sipping at her tea and she spluttered, draw­ing all eyes to her. “So sorry,” she gasped. “I—I seem to have choked somehow.”

  “Quite all right,” said Lady Bishop, slanting a glance in Megan’s direction. She turned to the elder of the travelers. “Did you also enjoy St. Petersburg, Mrs. Tyler?”

  “Very much, indeed,” said Mrs. Tyler, glad to turn attention from Megan’s less than subtle snubbing of Lady Stallcroft. “It was vastly different, of course. All that ice and the furs one had to wear and the sleds racing up and down the streets with their bells merrily pealing! And the plethora of languages one heard! Why, I have never seen so many different nationalities gathered in one place in my life. It was quite exhilarating, ac­tually.”

  “Yes, no doubt,” said Lady Stallcroft repressively. She set down her teacup and saucer and rose to her feet. “I fear that I must be going, Lady O’Connell. It has been a delightful visit, as usual. You must come take tea with me one afternoon. Come along, girls.”

  Lady O’Connell rose to accompany her guests to the door. “Yes, of co
urse. How delightful that you could call. Lady Stallcroft. I shall certainly come to tea.” She exchanged a few more pleasantries with Lady Stallcroft and waved good-bye.

  When she returned it was to discover that her daughter was deep in friendly conversation with Mrs. Hadcombe and Lady Bishop. Indeed, it appeared that the two ladies were highly amused and even mildly scandalized. Lady O’Connell realized with a start what her daughter was saying.

  “It was the Italian count who so sadly disillusioned me, however. I discovered quite by accident that he was safely wedded and the proud papa of six hopeful heirs,” said Megan, shaking her head. “Imagine my pique when this most faithful of swains was revealed for a philanderer!”

  “Megan!” exclaimed Lady O’Connell, shocked.

  Megan turned an inquiring expression. “Why, it is perfectly true, Mother. You may ask Gwyneth if it is not,” she said, not at all abashed.

  Mrs. Tyler sighed and nodded her head. “Indeed, it is all perfectly true. The count was a consummate gallant. He deceived us all with his pretty protestations and his finger-kissing.”

  “Finger-kissing?” asked Lady Bishop, fascinated.

  “Oh, yes. It was quite his trademark,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I do not believe that there was a single lady whose fingertips he did not mumble over.”

  Mrs. Hadcombe turned an amused expression to Lady O’Connell. “I am highly diverted, my lady. You must bring Miss O’Connell and Mrs. Tyler to my ball and supper next week so that I may hear more of their sojourn in St. Peters­burg. I am persuaded that their recollections will be quite the highlight of the evening.”

  Lady O’Connell summoned up a polite smile. “That is ex­tremely kind of you, Mrs. Hadcombe. However, I scarcely think—”

  “I do realize that it is short notice when Miss O’Connell and Mrs. Tyler have but just returned. But they cannot yet have a full calendar, so I shall expect them,” said Mrs. Hadcombe. She was still smiling, but there was a determined expression hardening her eyes.