The Lost Season of Love and Snow

by Jennifer Laam

  “You are the poet’s wife?” The blonde held a grinning mask in one hand so I assumed she was Thalia, the Muse of Comedy. “We’ve heard so much about you, Madame Pushkina. I’m Idaliya. Call me Ida.” She nodded at her dark-haired friend. “And Alexandra here wishes to be called Alix. Like a foreigner.” They giggled a bit at that.

  “Nice to meet you. Thank you,” I said awkwardly, and then realized she hadn’t paid me a compliment. Already, I felt a fool.

  “You are as beautiful as they say!” Alix declared, perhaps reading my thoughts and wishing to spare me further embarrassment. She had beaded stars affixed to her toga, so she was likely Urania, the Muse of Astronomy. “I would expect no less from our Pushkin.”

  “I am disappointed you didn’t dress up though!” Ida said. “I heard you charmed Tsar Nicholas when you appeared as Dido’s sister over the Christmas holidays.”

  They exchanged meaningful glances. They knew full well I had attempted to appear in costume this evening, as it was not the custom to trot about Moscow in laurel leaves and togas. At that moment, I missed Ekaterina. She would have had something sharp to say to the Muses.

  I tapped the gold braiding about my waist. “I meant to portray the goddess of love, but had not the time I wished. Alexander and I have been occupied as of late.”

  “Of course!” Ida said. “Newly married and all.”

  They giggled more and I caught a whiff of alcohol on their breath. A memory of my father staggering around our house came to my mind and I wanted nothing more than to retreat.

  Alix had been examining my dress. Her gaze lingered for a moment on my cleavage and I detected a sneer of disapproval as she pointed to something on my dress. “Oh dear. I’m afraid you’ve had an accident.”

  I paled. What could she possibly mean? I glanced down. A faint smudge, like facial powder, marred the gown. It was not my own powder as I was still too shy to make such a purchase from the apothecary and too vain to think I had need of it. The smudge must have been left over from when I had been made up to appear as Dido’s sister under harsh stage lights.

  “There is a washroom downstairs,” Alix told me. “You can tend to that stain.”

  This was nothing more than sound advice, but I had a feeling she wanted to find fault with me and I didn’t care to give either of them such pleasure. “Oh, it is but a trifle.” I kept my voice falsely merry. “I’m sure no one else will notice.” Out of the corner of my eye, I made out Alexander approaching us, not a moment too soon.

  Alix retained her smile. “I only meant to help.”

  “I’m sure,” I said lightly, “but you see I would rather spend time with my husband than fuss over a smudge.”

  “Even so, you wouldn’t want anyone else to notice, poor girl.”

  I straightened my back, emphasizing my height so I might look down on them both. “I have not heard my husband offer any complaint about the way I have dressed tonight.”

  “Ladies.” Alexander took my arm. “I do hope the Muses have made a show of delighting my wife with the secret hope of inspiring me.”

  “As though you would need our help,” Alix declared.

  Alexander smiled and a spark of jealousy flared in me, but then he tapped his heels together. “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to show my wife to the dance floor. Madame Pushkina?” He offered his hand.

  As we left, I heard Ida say, “I believe they came in costume after all. I heard it said they’re Venus and Vulcan. A mismatch.”

  “You mustn’t!” Alix declared. “A mismatch indeed, but only because he is a great man while she has an empty head.”

  I drew in a sharp breath and glanced at Alexander, praying he hadn’t heard either comment. Mars was the handsome lover, while Vulcan was the homely husband the god Jupiter had chosen for beautiful Venus to keep her out of trouble. A husband she had never loved. A husband she had cuckolded on more than one occasion. If I was thought to have an empty head, I was surely also thought capable of such cruelty.

  Alexander’s hands worked in and out of fists. I remembered the wicked comment his mother had made after our wedding and squeezed his upper arm.

  “They hate me,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry, but you will need to get used to it.”

  “Who hates you?” I asked, horrified. “Those two?”

  “Not Alix, but the blond one, I think. And any of those here who see fit to praise my writing while treating me like I’m beneath their contempt when I dare arrive at a ball. It is no more than how my mother made me feel when I was forced into dancing lessons and she called my clumsy appearance a shaming mark on our family, but never mind.”

  He rubbed his hands together and I took them in my own to still his trembling. His mother. I wanted to slap the woman. “You should never be made to feel such.”

  “To the devil with them anyway. Someday I should like to get away from all of this. I would like to take you to the country where I might have you to myself.” My touch had calmed him and the good humor began to return to his expression. He kissed my hands, glanced over his shoulder, and then pinched my thigh playfully. The small gesture of our intimacy, the reminder of what would pass between us that night, was all the more exciting for having been in public. “I can only imagine what I might do with an entire country house at my disposal and no worries in my head. None of the shallow distractions of cosmopolitan life. You as muse.”

  I inclined my head to speak directly in his ear. “Don’t give another thought to the false Muses. Urania’s stars covered a flat bosom. And Thalia might pretend to be the Muse of Comedy, but her face was a tragedy.”

  Alexander laughed heartily at that. “There’s the girl I love. My Venus with a squint.”

  * * *

  After our night at the Bolshoi Petrovsky, Alexander decided we should host a small party in our own home. He may have spoken fondly of the country, but he seemed determined to show Moscow that small-minded gossip about our supposed mismatch was nothing more than the jealous rumbling of fools.

  I felt far more nervous playing hostess than appearing at a ball and needed help. Fortunately, Aunt Katya was in town visiting Mother. I called on her one afternoon when I knew Mother and Ekaterina to be out running an errand.

  “All eyes are on you now,” Aunt Katya informed me after we had taken seats opposite one another in Mother’s parlor and between sips of the hot cocoa we both loved. “You are married to one of the most famous men in the land. Of course you must host an affair.”

  I set down the mug of cocoa, feeling awkward in the old rosewood armchair; the frayed cushion made me itch and I had to cross my arms and rub them up and down, for Mother still kept the parlor excessively cold and the hot drink was only starting to warm my insides. I appraised the peeling wallpaper and took in the dull, musty scent that still clung to our family’s home. I had not visited since my wedding day three weeks earlier. It all seemed even shabbier now than when I had lived here, and it had seemed shabby enough then. “Alexander’s income is rather…” I tried to think of a way I might phrase it without alarming my aunt. “Unpredictable.”

  “Surely that’s not your problem.”

  “I do not wish to be a burden to him.”

  “His duty is to support you. He’s no fool. He knew this before he married you and social life in Moscow comes at a price.”

  “This is not why I married him,” I insisted. “I knew his income was modest. I knew that when I accepted his proposal.”

  Aunt Katya leaned back in her chair. It made an ominous creak, as though struggling to support even my aunt’s modest weight. She picked up her fan and slanted the base in my direction. “You say these harpies noticed a smudge on your dress. Is this the same gown?”

  “Of course not.” I wore a simple lilac shift from the hand-me-down box Aunt Katya had brought from court. It was a bit worn, but Alexander had been pleased enough with its effect on my figure when I modeled it for him earlier that morning.

  “This one has a rip in it.” A
unt Katya pointed her fan accusingly at my sleeve. “Did you not notice?”

  I tried to smile, but my aunt was not treating this lightly, as I’d hoped she would. “I suppose I had not.”

  “You might use a lorgnette…”

  “What does it matter?” I said, exasperated.

  “You came here for help. Do you want my advice or not? Stop trying to make sense of it. Success is predicated on appearances. You must take greater care with the way you present yourself. Take care with your clothes. Treat them as a knight would a coat of armor and then you can face any insult these shrews might care to throw your way.”

  I bit my lip. Mother preferred simplicity in all things, including dress, and spent little time attending to our wardrobes. And Alexander lived so fully in his own head, I don’t think he noticed much about my clothes save for the way they flattered my figure. “We have not the money to spend on clothes,” I protested weakly.

  “You will need to persuade Alexander to find the money. A beautiful wife who rules over society will be a tremendous credit to him. You must spend a substantial portion of your budget in order to have greater wealth in the future.”

  “You sound like that man who goes on and on about the wealth of nations.” Though I would choose a novel over an economic treatise any day, even I had heard of Adam Smith’s ideas.

  “The English are wise with their money … if an uncultured lot in many respects.” Aunt Katya flicked her wrist. “They have mastered a concept called ‘investment.’”

  “I have no clue what this means.”

  “Think of it this way: your mother hoarded money and guarded every kopek like a hawk. Did this make her happy?”

  I said nothing. No one needed to confirm Mother’s unhappiness. It was established fact.

  “The English see money differently. They would advise your mother to spend some of her money wisely now in order to make more money in the future.”

  “One can make money last, though. We could save money by moving away from the city. Alexander mentioned he was productive when he was away at his family’s estate. Perhaps he will be productive in the country. We can live on less income there.”

  “He is spending time in the country?”

  “He has spoken of moving us away from the small worries of society.”

  “Oh no.” Aunt Katya shook her head. “Oh no. That won’t do.”

  “Why not?” It seemed a reasonable enough solution. I wouldn’t feel terribly upset if we had to cancel our little party or if I wasn’t forced to deal with women like the Muses again.

  “Perhaps some time in the country might be good for Alexander’s writing, but he would tire of that quiet life soon enough. And where would that leave you?”

  “Happy? Free to read all day and wear my spectacles whenever I wish?” Free to enjoy certain pleasures all night, I wanted to add, but knew this would be tactless. For all her sophistication, even Aunt Katya might take offense.

  “During the first few weeks, perhaps.” My aunt raised her eyebrow slyly, making me suspect she knew what I was thinking even though I hadn’t uttered it aloud. “Perhaps even for a year. Then what? Trust me, child, you will get bored as easily as your husband will. You’ll long for the excitement of Moscow and St. Petersburg. You’re a beautiful girl! I should say a beautiful woman now. All eyes are on you.”

  “What if I don’t want that?”

  “Every woman wants that, but let’s say you truly have no desire to be admired. You have others to consider.”

  “Alexander’s words speak for themselves.”

  Aunt Katya set her fan down and stirred her cocoa with a tiny pewter teaspoon. “I was not thinking of Alexander.”

  My stomach twisted as I sensed the direction this conversation was to take. “Who then?”

  “You have two sisters of marriageable age, yet they have no husbands, nor many prospects from what I understand. They now have an advantage they had not before: a sister with the potential to occupy the highest position in society.”

  I looked down at my hands. “I suppose I could make introductions—”

  “Precisely. So what is a little debt here and there? Think of the benefits. Your sisters are lovely enough, even if they pale in comparison to you. Ekaterina is sharp with her tongue, but we can rein that in, and Azya is a sweet little thing. With the proper introductions, they will have no trouble marrying noblemen or soldiers or whomever else they desire. Any expenses you spend now will seem a trifle in comparison. An investment in your entire family’s future. Your husband can’t possibly object.”

  Perhaps not if I put it to him that way. Still, I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with the scheme. “How will we fund this investment?”

  “Alexander is a popular man and from a noble family on his father’s side, if I remember correctly. Surely he has no problem securing credit.”

  “I suppose not…”

  Aunt Katya patted my arm. “When you are next in St. Petersburg, I shall be happy to accompany you to the finest French shops. Once you see how you look in the latest fashion, I am confident you will not only see the wisdom of what I say, but the fun. After all, what is life without a bit of fun?”

  That sounded like something Alexander would say and I smiled.

  “You are in an enviable position,” Aunt Katya said. “We shall make the most of it.”

  * * *

  I did not have time to shop for anything new to wear prior to our party, but I did take particular care with the menu and listened carefully to the opinion of our new cook on popular items to serve. Together, we decided on a French spread consisting of onion soup, crusty baguettes with butter, and a duck with orange sauce. When Alexander saw the proposed menu, he shook the paper as though he thought he might somehow make it less dear. “It’s lovely, wifekin, only I dread bringing these expenses to our steward.”

  At first, I was tempted to relent. The only experience I had with household management was listening to Mother battle with our family’s steward over every kopek spent. Yet the chat with Aunt Katya had convinced me there was a better way to manage money. “You have mentioned you wish to start a new journal. Such a venture will require funds, I assume.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but his lips curved into the start of a smile.

  “You know as well as I that appearances are important. If we wish people to”—I stumbled on Aunt Katya’s word—“invest in your journal, we must convince them our finances are in good order.”

  “Invest? Are you an Englishwoman now?”

  “The tsar himself referred to me as Lady Pushkina in the English manner.”

  “The tsar himself. I see.” Alexander tightened his smile. “Well, then order champagne in copious amounts as well. We want to ensure everyone leaves happy at the very least.”

  It was a charming event. At least I thought so. Alexander invited an elderly nobleman named Prince Yusupov who graciously told stories of his time as a young man in the court of Catherine the Great, a topic that still intrigued me. His stories were not as coherent as they might once have been; I appreciated the effort nonetheless. The food was delicious and the champagne plentiful, but I felt more conscious than ever of the unfashionable design of my gown. Even worse, our housekeeper set out the repurposed table linens Mother had embroidered for my trousseau. The stains never truly washed out and the fine dishes beside them only served to highlight their dinginess. Finally, there was some confusion as to where pots and platters should be placed on the overcrowded side table. One of the guests—one of Alexander’s poet friends who had traveled all the way from Odessa—sneered at the muddled dinner service.

  I resolved to speak with Alexander the next morning.

  By the time he rose at midday, I was already dressed and waiting for him in our parlor. I had fixed my hair, taken extra care in choosing my gown, and made sure I had time enough to swallow down some hot cocoa and a bit of breakfast before we spoke.

  Alexander crept into the parlor as though every movement h
urt. He wore his red-checkered silk robe and had drawn a green scarf around his neck to ward off the chill of the morning. He placed a lavender sachet on his forehead as he sank onto our new chaise longue with a moan.

  “Damn success last night,” he told me. He never held his tongue when he spoke to me, a quality I still appreciated. “Yet I should have stopped after the port.”

  “You were a delight!” I ran to him, took a seat on his lap, and kissed his hands. They were large, especially considering his stature, and I felt safe when they were enfolded over mine.

  “You think so?”

  “The wit and charm our guests might expect from a night at the theater.” At some point, I supposed, he might tire of my flattery but then again men never seem to tire of women telling them how wonderful they are. He kissed my hands, before drawing them to his chest to feel his heart beat. The movement aroused me, but I would not allow myself to be distracted from my goal.

  “They came for you,” he said. “I was merely homely Vulcan to be tolerated so they might catch a glimpse of Venus in all her glory.”

  My poor poet was still wounded it seemed. “I am only your wifekin.”

  “You are far more than that.” I fancied he might ask then about my own notebooks full of poems and translations, but I still had yet to share my literary aspirations.

  “I hope you might approve of investing money in our table linens and service ware for future events. It might even make sense to hire additional men for the evening so that our guests might be served properly.”

  Alexander opened his eyes, sat straight up, and flung the sachet aside. “Served properly? Why, I would not have been ashamed to serve such a meal to the tsar.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “What did you mean? Speak plainly, woman.”

  I knew eventually we would have our first quarrel, only I had not thought it would be over linens. “It makes sense for a man of your position to spend more on such accouterments.”

  Alexander’s features relaxed. “Rubbish.”

  “It’s my fault. As the hostess, I should have attended to such matters, except…” I blushed. “The nights we spend together are such a joy all other thoughts leave my head.”