The Lost Season of Love and Snow

by Jennifer Laam

  And yet … I found my heart beating faster than it should have when I saw the devilish look in Liza’s eyes as she approached me with these little romantic letters. Either she relished her role as the rogue agent of this courtly affair or she had a crush on Georges herself.

  Georges appeared frequently at balls and other public events, surrounded by his usual coterie of giggling women, and nearly always accompanied by his good friend and mentor, the baron, who had taken to reminding everyone that he had formally adopted Georges. Every so often, I caught him looking wistfully at Georges, the mixture of pain and joy in his eyes far from paternal, instead more akin to the looks Alexander had given me when he began his courtship.

  Or the looks Georges now directed at me.

  Georges and I danced often enough, I admit. Women must not wound a man’s ego by refusing. Besides, he made me feel as though I flew across the floor. In addition to his florid notes, Georges was quick with compliments, taking note of some detail of my costume or gown lost on my own husband. Though it pains me to admit, there were times when I drifted to sleep at night, Alexander lightly snoring beside me, thinking of Georges. Please don’t think too ill of me, for I didn’t fantasize about him in the way most people envision a wicked wife would. Rather, my mind wandered to memories of Georges’s amicable and unchallenging chatter. He had not the genius of my husband, yet I wondered if life might be more comfortable with someone like him: a man whose finances were in order, who didn’t need his wife to ask a publisher for more money, who wasn’t prone to melancholy or fears of insanity. Perhaps once or twice, I did wonder what would happen if I allowed him to kiss me. The thought of it leaves me burning with shame now, and yet who among us has not dreamed of some alternate life.

  One evening, while attending a costume ball with Ekaterina and Alexander, and finally dressed as Queen Esther, my old acquaintance Ida approached me. When we first met, she had dressed as a Muse, but now she wore a simple milkmaid’s gown. “How darling your costumes have become! I must have you help me with mine.”

  I gave a quick nod, my dangling gold earrings swaying.

  “You must show this newest creation to Georges d’Anthès!”

  Georges stood on the opposite side of the dance floor, wearing a scarlet robe over a Roman tunic with sandals. I believe he had patterned his outfit after The Last Day of Pompeii; a painting that so entranced Alexander, he’d composed a poem on the doomed Roman town. I tried not to stare, nor think about how well-muscled his shapely bare legs looked. “He is more than welcome to come and chat with me, as always.”

  “Is he really?” Ida said slyly.

  I turned to her, vexed but trying to hide it. “What do you mean?”

  Ida shifted her gaze about the room, her large blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. She leaned in close to my ear. “People say you choose not to play the coquette with Georges because you are afraid of your husband.”

  “What?” I tried to keep my temper in check.

  Ida shrugged. “I hate to be the one to tell you and of course it’s nothing I believe. It is only that your Alexander is so proud of his African blood and known to have a temper.”

  “What rubbish!” I was stunned, but remembered the hurt in Alexander’s eyes when his great-grandfather Abram Gannibal was subject to insult. At that moment, I caught Georges’s eye by accident and he moved toward us, but then hesitated. Ekaterina stood to the other side of Ida. I saw his gaze flick between my sister and me.

  “Georges!” I called. “How fine you look this evening! Are you perhaps one of the doomed patriarchs of Pompeii? It is as though you stepped off the canvas!”

  At that, Georges beamed and headed in my direction. Ida gave a quick giggle and slapped my arm. “I knew it! You are a true coquette after all.”

  The orchestra played the first lively notes of a quadrille. I thought even Alexander couldn’t object to such an innocent dance with Georges. After all, we would do naught but bow at one another for the most part. When Georges offered his hand, I accepted. His hand might rest lightly on my back for a moment, but what was the harm in that?

  “And how ravishing you look, Queen Esther,” Georges said, the gentle French accent making the words even sweeter. “I am not sure I should say you have stepped off the pages of our Holy Bible, though. It makes me feel a blasphemer.”

  “Sin can be a most enjoyable occupation,” I said, without thinking.

  If he had been beaming before, Georges was now positively aglow with pleasure. “I could not have put it any better myself. What a delightful evening this has turned out to be.”

  I would say no more on the subject of sin, nor would I refuse a harmless flirtation and have wicked tongues flapping over Alexander’s supposed temper. I nodded and gave him a small smile as we took our places on the dance floor. I glanced over my shoulder just long enough to see Ekaterina’s lips pressed firmly together and Ida regarding Georges with a look of utter satisfaction.

  * * *

  “People are talking about Georges d’Anthès and our family,” Alexander told me later as we waited for our carriage to be summoned.

  I straightened my skirt before sitting next to him on a chaise longue in the annex of the palace, knowing I needed to take great care with my words. “I can hardly refuse a dance.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “I have no criticism of you. Is that surprising?”

  “Of course not,” I said quickly.

  “I meant they talk about your sister and the scoundrel d’Anthès.”

  I lowered my gaze, a few seconds too late. Alexander had caught my expression.

  “This bothers you?” I could feel his mood souring.

  “I shall be delighted if Ekaterina makes a good match.”

  “But you wish for d’Anthès to remain your special toy and moon after you alone.”

  “Certainly not.” I shook my head, a little too dramatically. Georges had asked Ekaterina to dance several times throughout the night, and I had watched him take her hand, whispering something in her ear that made her face flush with pleasure. I chose to ignore my own petty resentment at the thought of it. “He does not moon after me. He is just a nice boy.”

  Alexander’s tone grew affable, which somehow made it worse than if his temper got the best of him. “Remember Ekaterina needs to find a husband. Not you.”

  I felt a burning at the back of my eyes, tears threatening to fall. Deep down I knew he had reason to chide me and this flirtation was not as innocent as I liked to think. Still, I protested. “How can you say this to me? I love you.”

  Alexander’s eyes grew tender and gently he moved back a tendril of hair that had fallen into my face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant words are malicious. I wouldn’t want you caught in any of the stories people float around to embarrass me.”

  Alexander had confided his suspicion he was going mad; I couldn’t imply he was imagining things. I didn’t want him to feel worse than he already did, so I didn’t deny anything, nor did I try to assure him that his worries were unfounded. Instead, I said something meant to flatter him, but which I would soon come to regret: words with which I will have to live for the rest of my days.

  “I trust you will defend my honor, husband,” I told him. “You have always been my protector and I know you always will be.”

  Fifteen

  ST. PETERSBURG

  APRIL–AUGUST 1836

  When he heard the bell from the front of our flat, Alexander grumbled and threw a pillow over his face. “What time is it? What scoundrel arrives so early in the morning?”

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, grabbing a chiffon dressing gown from a hook near our door. “My aunt,” I whispered, massaging my swollen stomach. “She said she would call this morning, only I had not realized she would come so early.”

  He groaned. “She knows this is not court? We’re not on a schedule here.”

  “She wouldn’t come so early were it not important.”

  Alexander leaned forward a
nd planted a kiss on my belly. “Fine. Only make excuses for me, if you will.”

  I doubt my aunt had come here to see Alexander; likely she wished to check on my sisters and scold them for failing to attract worthy suitors yet. She had resumed her former practice of bringing used dresses from court for Ekaterina and Azya and seemed particularly adept at finding gowns that made Ekaterina’s face seem less tiresome. Perhaps Aunt Katya thought Ekaterina had a chance with Georges, and despite my rather unfortunately confused feelings on this matter, I was as eager for my sisters to be married as anyone.

  I greeted my aunt with a hug and kiss for each cheek, before reaching for the bell pull so my sisters might be summoned to the parlor.

  “Not yet.” Aunt Katya raised her hand as my fingers wrapped around the rope.

  A harsh note in her words brought my hands down to my lap, where I folded them like a naughty schoolgirl caught stealing cookies from a jar. I felt somehow in trouble but did not yet know why—though I had my suspicions.

  “You are a great success in St. Petersburg.” Aunt Katya opened her fan, fluttering the gauze panels before her eyes for effect. My shoulders shivered. I wished I had thought to bring a blanket with me downstairs. “How far you’ve come. Why, you hardly have time to visit me anymore.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” I said, meaning it. “I will make more time to call on you.”

  “Still, I hear so many things.”

  Not all of them good, I supposed. Otherwise she would not ask to speak to me alone. I thought of Ida’s whispers about Alexander’s temper. “What have you heard? I can assure you my husband is a good man and I don’t fear him in the slightest.”

  “I hear rumors you are a minx who dishonors her husband.”

  “What nonsense!” I had no need for a looking glass to confirm my cheeks had reddened, for the parlor no longer felt cold. Aunt Katya never had been one to mince her words.

  “They say you dance all night. You whisper with handsome men…”

  “That is no more than other married women do. Why should I be singled out for humiliation? I have held myself to the highest standards.”

  “Would your mother agree with that assessment?”

  Thankfully, what Mother might think had long since ceased to be a concern of mine. “Mother is welcome to visit and attend any function.”

  “Have you invited her?”

  I had not. I had taken her grandchildren to visit her, of course, but could never find it in me to actually extend an invitation here. “My conscience is clear.” My private thoughts were my own affair.

  “Perhaps you feel that way, but it does not stop the rumormongers of this city. You are married to our great poet. Surely you understand the pressures of that position. We have spoken of them often enough. You are held to a higher standard than ladies married to common dolts for their fortune. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t speak with you.”

  “In that case, you have done your duty,” I said primly. “Consider any further matters to be entirely my responsibility.”

  “And the consequences entirely your fault.”

  My fingers clenched. “I anticipate no consequences.”

  “What about your sisters? They still need husbands and rumors about you reflect poorly on the entire family.”

  I thought of Georges bending down to kiss my hand, the light in his eyes when his gaze caught mine. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  Aunt Katya lay her fan down alongside one of Alexander’s stray journals, which had made its way from his study onto the end table in our parlor. She picked it up and began leafing through the pages. “It isn’t selling as well as he’d hoped, is it? I worry for you and your children. It can’t be easy living on the edge of financial ruin.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I told her, even though my heart raced. I knew in my heart her words were only the truth. Despite a run of intriguing true-life tales, the journal hadn’t attracted as many subscribers as Alexander had thought it would and was contributing to his general sense of disquiet.

  Aunt Katya gave me a tight smile, more melancholic than a smile had a right to be. “You say you have done nothing wrong? What does it matter? Neither did your mother.”

  A dry, cottony sensation prickled my tongue. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Do you know why your mother is no longer a lady at court?”

  “She is married…”

  “Yes, but how do you suppose that came about?”

  Though my aunt’s voice was kinder now, I didn’t care for the direction of this conversation. I knew Mother had once served at court and at one point was a favorite of the previous tsar’s wife. I imagined my mother as a young woman and confidante, lovely with her high cheekbones, but with a haughty air and a tension in her pursed lips that made her impossible to befriend. “I assume she said something ill-timed.”

  “Your mother turned heads once,” Aunt Katya said, “but sometimes a woman turns the wrong head and the wrong man falls in love with her.”

  My mouth dropped, but I contained my emotions. “Who did she love?”

  “Oh, she didn’t love him. It was one-sided. She had an admirer, not an affair. But the attention made her glow and so she acted a fool around the gentleman in question. Unfortunately, that admirer happened to be the empress’s lover.”

  I flinched, understanding now why Mother had warned me about a life at court, near the tsar and the empress.

  “Your mother thought an innocent flirtation could cause no harm, that her reputation was beyond reproach, but tongues will wag regardless and eventually the empress learned of it.”

  Though afraid of the answer, I asked the next logical question. “What happened to Mother then?”

  “Her admirer satisfied himself with another woman and sparked a crisis all on his own. As I’m sure you well know by now, in such cases the woman is always blamed. It was thought better for your mother if she took leave of the court. That’s when she married your poor father.”

  I stared out the window, at a bit of dew clinging to a birch tree. The muted sound of horses’ hooves clomping past and a group of couples singing from atop an open coach reached me. Once, Alexander and I had been part of such merry rides. Hadn’t we? Or had Alix and Karolina and the tsar and others always been there, always interfered? The early years of our union seemed a haze now. And yet I realized with a jolt that no matter how my attention diverted when Georges drew near, my passion for Alexander remained. My love remained. Despite our troubles and quirks, I wouldn’t trade my life with him for anything. How low had I sunk that Aunt Katya felt the need to scold me?

  “Surely you know your parents were not a love match,” Aunt Katya was saying. “Although I suppose they got on well enough before your father’s accident…”

  That might have been true, but I had spent so much of my time with my grandfather at his estate and factory in Kaluga as a little girl, I hardly knew of that time in their lives.

  “… even in the best times, your mother never forgot the excitement she had once known at the court. After your father’s accident, she grew bitter. Your mother wouldn’t want you to repeat her mistakes. Don’t ruin your life over a man who has lost his head over you.”

  “It’s not mutual. It’s not my fault if he lost his head. I did no more than flirt. I have given no encouragement. For God’s sake, I am expecting again…”

  Aunt Katya maintained her cool expression.

  “Alexander’s child.” My behavior had been so disparaged my own aunt needed the clarification. I wished to sink into the floor and disappear.

  “I know.” Aunt Katya drew her dainty little hands to her chest. “Yet there will be cruel whispers and jests. There always are.”

  “So what do you suggest I do?” I asked, still defensive.

  She leaned forward. I caught a whisper of jasmine fragrance in her facial cream. “Georges already courts your sister at balls. Encourage that.”

  “Gladly. But what am I supposed to do when
he approaches me?”

  “Treat him with coldness. A man’s ego cannot abide it.”

  “I can’t be rude to this man.”

  “Why not?”

  I would miss the attention. I cringed as the thought ran through my head. “Wouldn’t that look even worse than a flirtation? It would look like I had something to hide.”

  “Bring up your sister before he has a chance to say anything more to you. It won’t be a shock. This would be a prudent match for our family, and Georges d’Anthès should settle down. He can’t continue to have the run of the court’s maids like a wild stallion.”

  I blushed and dipped my head.

  “You are a married woman now, with children. Don’t pretend to be embarrassed or offended. I hope your reaction is not due to jealousy.”

  “Of course not!” I blurted. “I love Alexander.”

  Aunt Katya tilted her chin. For a moment, I saw a slight resemblance to Ekaterina and imagined my sister’s elation should Georges ask for her hand.

  “We both have a temper, I suppose,” I told her. “Alexander and I.”

  “An artistic temper,” my aunt mused. “That’s the price of marrying a poet. It’s not surprising. But now, the eyes of the court are on you and you must watch yourself.”

  * * *

  Our next child, my namesake, Natalya, was born that May. We spent most of the summer at a peaceful dacha on one of the so-called Stone Islands on the delta of the Neva River. Our country house remained cozy and quiet, even as the island grew crowded. My sisters joined the evening picnics on the shore, near sphinxes that kept watch over the Neva, and the public balls held in newly constructed mansions. I instructed them to make excuses, so I might avoid society: I was still recovering from childbirth, or a summer cold, or a lightly sprained ankle. I stayed inside with baby Natalya in my arms and Alexander at my side, cross-legged on the bed we shared, working on a set of poems inspired by his long walks around the island. It reminded me of the early days of our marriage, and though I felt content, a part of me sensed this was merely the calm before the storm.