Lord Buckingham’s Bride

by Sandra Heath

  ‘I’m quite all right,’ repeated Natalia, glancing quickly at her as she wondered again why the man named Golitsin had asked about this young woman and her husband-to-be. Then Mr Clearwell was leaning in to assist his wife from the carriage, and in a whisper of turquoise and white silk Natalia alighted.

  Francis then Caine to the carriage door, extending his hand to Alison. True to his promise, he had been all that was attentive and apparently natural when they had been with her uncle and step-aunt.

  A throng of people was already crowding the noisy gold-and-white vestibule, moving in a sea of jewels, plumes, velvet, and uniforms beneath an array of brilliantly illuminated chandeliers. Little black boys in splendid Eastern attire hurried about selling programs, and a number of liveried footmen were at hand to relieve the new arrivals of their outdoor garments, spiriting coats, top hats, cloaks, and mantles away to the vast cloakroom that was already filled to overflowing, for tonight’s performance was very well attended indeed.

  Of Mrs Fairfax-Gunn there was no sign, because she had long since proceeded to the box, but of her activity there was already evidence, for most of the British persons to whom Alison and Francis were introduced had quite obviously been acquainted with with certain shocking facts concerning them. The quickly exchanged glances, the fans raised to lips, and the awkwardly cleared throats were very eloquent. The very first time it happened, Francis took the matter in hand and announced that he and Alison were in St Petersburg to be married. It was an announcement that Mr Clearwell and Natalia immediately confirmed and that Alison herself gave weight to by smiling and leaning a little closer on his arm. It was a first-night performance of her own, one that she had had to steel herself to go through with now that things had deteriorated so much between them. She wished she had held her tongue, but she hadn’t; she had allowed her guilty conscience to overwhelm her and said things that would have been better left unsaid.

  The announcement of the impending wedding had to be repeated numerous times as they made their slow way up the sweeping marble staircase to the inner vestibule on the floor above, from where passages and smaller staircases gave admittance to the various tiers of private boxes.

  Alison half-expected to see Nikolai, to meet his eyes suddenly, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Nor was there any sign of a woman with titian hair who might be his sister, the countess Irina.

  The inner vestibule was an impossible crush, but no one made much of an effort to pass hurriedly through, for convention demanded that such a crush was to be endured. Alison and Francis became separated from her uncle and aunt for a moment or two, but before they could rejoin them, something happened that reminded Alison very forcefully indeed that Francis’s secret purpose here in St Petersburg was very important to Britain.

  A studious-looking young man in formal but plain clothes pushed his way through the press toward them. He had straight brown hair, a beaky nose, and a wide mouth, and his watery blue eyes met Francis’s for such a brief moment that if Alison hadn’t been looking she would never have noticed it. The young man paused, toying with his cuff and glancing around as if looking for someone, and he didn’t appear to be paying any attention at all to Francis, but he spoke to him all the same, and in a low, discreet tone that revealed him to be a fellow Englishman.

  ‘Something’s up, and it’s important you have new information about a certain highness. Be in the Clearwell coach house before first light and I’ll meet you there.’ Then he walked on, still appearing to be looking for someone and still not seeming to have spoken to Francis at all.

  Alison put a quick hand on Francis’s arm. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘The British ambassador’s private secretary.’

  ‘A certain highness – does that mean Prince Naryshky?’

  ‘I imagine so.’

  ‘What do you think it’s about?’

  ‘I really have no idea and I certainly don’t intend to indulge in a discussion in a place as crowded and public as this,’ he replied sharply.

  She recoiled a little. ‘As you wish,’ she said stiffly.

  At that moment her uncle returned for them. ‘Ah, there you are, we thought we’d lost you. Come, for everyone is about to adjourn to the boxes. Natalia is waiting for us in the passage.’

  13

  Several glittering candlelit passages extended from the inner vestibule, and Mr Clearwell led his small party along the one that gave on to the grand tier, or bel étage, of boxes. The passageway was lined on one side by gilt-framed mirrors interspersed with doors to private rooms, and on the other by the rich crimson velvet curtains that gave on to the boxes themselves.

  Count Vorontzov’s private box was at the very end, almost directly above the stage, and a box-opener in golden livery was waiting to admit them. The box was crowded with people, for Mrs Fairfax-Gunn was holding court among her new St Petersburg acquaintances, all of whom were much impressed by her connections in London’s high society. Thus the four new arrivals, who were the only guests she had actually invited to share the box throughout the performance, were able to enter without being particularly noticed.

  Alison managed to squeeze her way to the front of her box and look out over the sumptuous crimson, gold, and white auditorium. It was ablaze with chandeliers, each one shimmering and flashing in the warm air, and the chatter of refined voices echoed all around the vast horseshoe-shaped hall, where tiers of elegant golden boxes stood out against pure white scagliola walls that were exquisitely painted with wreaths of flowers.

  The stage was immediately to Alison’s right, its immense gold-adorned crimson velvet curtains moving barely perceptibly in a hidden draft, and the orchestra pit was directly below, the sound of the musicians’ tuning-up exercises almost drowned by the babble of the audience. The tiers of boxes swept regally away to her left, reaching all around the auditorium to end directly opposite with the imperial box, where Czar Alexander himself would soon be seated.

  Garlands of flowers decorated the imperial box, which was larger and more luxurious than any of the others. Magnificently draped with swathes of golden velvet, it contained several elegant crimson sofas and chairs, but at the front, in splendid isolation, was the gilt chair that the czar would occupy. It was beautifully carved and upholstered, and its back was topped by a likeness of the imperial crown. It drew glances, as if Alexander were already seated there.

  Mrs Fairfax-Gunn’s box thinned a little as people began to adjourn to their own places elsewhere, and at last she perceived that her four special guests had arrived. She gestured to them to join her on the seats that had been placed in readiness, patting the one next to her to indicate that that was where she wished Alison to take her place.

  The scourge of London society wore the inevitable vermilion, satin this time, with three enormous dyed ostrich plumes soaring above her head. Her gown plunged low over her ample bosom, and its tiny sleeves exposed an expanse of dimpled upper arm before the wealth of flesh vanished into long white gloves that looked uncomfortably tight. There was rouge on her cheeks and lips, and her brown eyes had a predatory look as they lingered for a long moment upon Alison. It was quite obvious that she was wondering how susceptible Mrs Clearwell’s intriguing little niece might be to some subtle prompting.

  Alison reluctantly took the indicated seat and Francis positioned himself at her shoulder. Natalia sat on the other side of Mrs Fairfax-Gunn, and Mr Clearwell stood by her, as was expected of the gentlemen until the performance commenced, at which point they too would be seated.

  After a little polite conversation, comments upon the splendor of the gathering, the chill of the St Petersburg spring, the regrettable absence so far tonight of both Prince Naryshky and the Countess Irina, and soon, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn was just about to embark upon a minute interrogation of Alison when Francis took the wind completely from her piratical sails by coolly informing her of the impending marriage.

  The woman’s rouged lips parted in utter amazement. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord? I’m afraid
I don’t quite understand, so would you mind—’

  ‘Repeating it? Why, of course, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn. Alison and I are here in St Petersburg to be married; indeed, we hope to be man and wife before another week is out.’

  She gaped at him, her mouth resembling that of a codfish Alison had once observed at a fishmonger’s shop in Bath. Come to that, Alison’s thoughts went on, the protruding astonished eyes added to the overall impression of a codfish.

  London’s most feared scandalmonger was at a complete loss for words. She had spent her entire life snooping and prying, trying to sniff out whatever morsels of gossip she could, and now, quite out of the blue, she was handed on a platter the most startling tidbit imaginable. The match between Lord Buckingham and Lady Pamela Linsey had been set to be the highlight of the 1802 London Season. Everyone who was anyone was to be invited to the nuptials, and now here was his lordship, calming announcing that he was on the point of rushing into marriage with an unknown. Why all the secrecy? Why the haste? Mr Clearwell quite obviously hadn’t known about the match before Lord Buckingham and Miss Clearwell had arrived, so it all smacked of an elopement. Why elope? Had the handsome bridegroom been a little remiss? Had vows been anticipated, with unfortunate results? Oh, what a cat to set among the London pigeons. This was going to be the cause célèbre of the year. There wouldn’t be a drawing room in England that didn’t ring with the story.

  But first, a few pertinent questions had to be asked. Recovering apace from her shock, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn leaned forward, turning to look directly into Francis’s blue eyes. ‘Tell me, my lord, before I left England I heard no announcement that your betrothal to Lady Pamela was no longer to take place. I take it that such an announcement has now been made?’

  ‘One is usually made under such circumstances,’ he replied noncommittally.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Aren’t you going to offer us your congratulations, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn?’ he interrupted politely.

  ‘Congratulations? Why, er, yes, yes of course.’ The bright brown eyes moved to Alison. ‘I’m truly delighted for you, my dear, for it isn’t every day that one comes across what is quite obviously a love match of the highest order. Earlier today I guessed that there was something going on, when his lordship let slip your first name. Tell me, my dear, did you and he travel alone together all the way from England?’

  ‘No, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn, and we would not have been alone together at all if it hadn’t been for my chaperone’s disgraceful conduct. She deserted me at Stockholm in order to go off with a new suitor, and so I’m afraid my reputation has been gravely compromised. That is why Lord Buckingham and I wish to be married as quickly as possible, for it would hardly do for the new Lady Buckingham to be subjected to spiteful gossip, would it?’ Alison was astonished at the cool composure that was enabling her to carry this moment off so successfully.

  The woman looked suspiciously at her, for these were not the words of an innocent green girl. ‘Spiteful gossip? Why, my dear, I’m quite sure no one would wish to spread untruths about you.’

  ‘I’m so glad that you agree, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn, for to be sure I’ve been brought quite low at the thought of being the center of scandal. I’ve been anxious that people might wonder if I’d been less than virtuous and that Lord Buckingham has been less than a gentleman. He has been all that’s honorable and loving, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn, and I would be most upset if unkind talk spoiled our happiness. So would Prince Nikolai—’

  ‘Prince Nikolai?’ The woman sat up. ‘What has he to do with it?’

  ‘He has expressed a wish to attend the wedding. Oh, he’s been so kind and gallant—’

  ‘The prince is to attend?’

  Alison nodded. ‘I’d be so happy if you would come too, Mrs Fairfax-Gunn.’

  The brown eyes shone with eager delight. ‘Oh, my dear, nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

  Alison smiled. ‘I’m so glad.’

  Natalia had been seated quietly throughout the exchange, her fan moving gently before her face. When Alison described the prince as kind and gallant, the fan hesitated for a moment and Natalia looked at Alison, wondering again why Golitsin had asked so specifically about Thomas’s niece and her lordly suitor. Observing Alison now, so delightful in her silver silk gown, amethysts, and posy of violets, her pale silver-blonde hair piled up so sweetly on her head, perhaps it was not so strange that Prince Naryshky’s creature should be inquiring about the movements of the two new arrivals at the house on English Quay. The prince was a womanizer of the worst kind, and a young woman like Alison would be bound to catch his eye.

  At that moment there was a fanfare, and everyone in the opera house rose to their feet. Silence fell expectantly over the auditorium and all eyes were upon the imperial box. Several ladies and gentlemen in court dress appeared there, standing respectfully aside in readiness for the arrival of the czar. Throats were cleared and someone in the orchestra dropped his violin, but then quite suddenly Alexander stepped into view and the whole opera house began to applaud.

  Czar Alexander I, the fourteenth Romanov emperor of Russia, was twenty-four years old, with a round face, delicate features, dreamy blue eyes, and a fine head of sandy-gold curls. He was dressed in the uniform of the Preobrazensky Regiment, of which he was commander-in-chief, and he made a very impressive figure as he stood acknowledging the applause of the glittering gathering.

  As he took his seat at last and the audience began to follow suit, Alison moved discreetly aside from the place next to Mrs Fairfax-Gunn, whose attention was momentarily diverted by something that Mr Clearwell was saying. Having parried the scandalmonger’s first foray, Alison had no wish to be further exposed, and her eye was therefore upon a chair slightly behind the others, close to the curtained entrance of the box. If she could sit there, she would be safe from everything.

  Francis observed her movement and interpreted it correctly. He drew out the second chair for her. ‘So swift a retreat?’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s cooler by the entrance, and besides, I consider I did very well,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh, you did excellently, but then you do have a talent for telling the sincere fib or two, don’t you?’

  ‘Coming from you, I think that that is a little rich, sir,’ she said acidly, taking her new seat.

  He didn’t respond, but went to the place she had just vacated. Mrs Fairfax-Gunn was so engrossed in observing every detail of Czar Alexander’s appearance that she didn’t even notice that an exchange had taken place next to her.

  The orchestra began to play the overture, the sweet notes rippling out over the auditorium. The audience still chattered, although not quite so loudly, and there was a great deal of shuffling as everyone made themselves as comfortable as possible for the raising of the curtain. Then, as the final notes of the overture died away and everyone waited for the first act of the opera itself, Alison glanced across at the imperial box and was in time to see an aide whispering something to the czar. Alexander looked quickly up at him and nodded, then he left the box. A stir passed through the audience, but was extinguished almost immediately as the curtain was raised and the first scene of Don Giovanni commenced.

  Alison sat quietly in her seat at the back of the box. She wanted to enjoy the opera, but all she could think of was the rancor of her brief exchanges with Francis since they had arrived. Suddenly she knew that she couldn’t go ahead with the marriage, for to do that with circumstances as they now were would be a terrible mistake. How she was going to get out of it she didn’t know, and all she could do was hope that the czar sent for Francis swiftly, so that the documents were delivered and she, Alison, could leave St Petersburg. Leave? Yes, for what other choice did she have? She couldn’t stay here now and she needed to escape from Francis. Where she would go on her return she didn’t know, for it was out of the question that she would now be welcome at Marchington House. Mrs Fairfax-Gunn’s knowledge of events on the way to St Petersburg, and here in St Petersburg itself, meant that Pamela
would never again show any sign of friendship to her former school friend, and there was bound to be a scandal.

  Alison felt close to tears. She didn’t have anywhere to go in England until her father returned, unless … There was always Miss Wright, who would surely not turn her away if she were in desperate need of assistance.

  The confusion of thoughts milled bewilderingly around in Alison’s head, and suddenly the box seemed almost claustrophobic. Getting up, she slipped quietly outside into the bright candlelit passage. Her reflection moved sadly beside her as she walked past the mirrors toward the inner vestibule, which was deserted now that the performance had commenced. She paused as she reached the wide area that had been such a press only minutes before.

  As she stood there, she suddenly heard voices coming up the grand staircase from the outer vestibule below. One of the voices belonged to Nikolai. Her breath caught and she looked tentatively over the marble balustrade. He was slowly ascending the staircase with a number of the czar’s aides. His blond hair was bright in the light from all the chandeliers, and the gold braiding on his uniform gleamed. He was laughing at something and looked supremely relaxed and confident.

  Panic seized her and she turned to hurry back to the box, not wishing to run the risk of an encounter with him, but in her haste she took the wrong passage and found herself fleeing to an unknown part of the building. As she realized that there were no box curtains to her left and paused in dismay, she knew that it was too late, for Nikolai and his companions had halted in the inner vestibule to talk. She glanced around, still panic-stricken, and then heard a door open somewhere in the other direction, away from the vestibule. If someone should walk this way now she’d be seen.

  Casting desperately around, she saw a slightly open door nearby, and without a second thought she hurried through it. She found herself in an unlit anteroom, small and without windows. A heavy green velvet curtain hung against the wall immediately to her right and there was a couch and a console table beneath a large gilt-framed mirror. As the passage door swung slowly to behind her, she became aware of low voices and a crack of light from another doorway leading to a second room beyond.