A Magnificent Match (11 page)

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Megan and Mrs. Tyler left St. Petersburg three mornings later. It had been impossible, after all, to leave the city without first saying good-bye to all of their new friends and acquaintances. Countess Annensky was especially devastated that Megan’s visit was to be cut short. “You will not be here for my wedding,” she said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I had hoped that you would be one of my wedding party.”

“How I would like that!” said Megan. “But it is not to be. Princess Kirov frowns whenever she sees me now. I have become a pariah to her and so it is best that I go home.”

Countess Annensky sighed. “Yes, that is true. It is for the best. But how I shall miss you!” She threw her arms around Megan. “You must come back to visit us. And you will stay with Sergei and me this time.”

Megan returned the tight embrace, laughing but with tears pricking at her eyes. Never had she had such a friend as the countess. It was indeed difficult to leave her. “I shall, I promise! And perhaps one day you and Sergei will come to London and I can meet you there, too.”

The two friends parted with mutual promises to write to one another between visits. Megan found it hard to take leave of her other friends, as well. She was actually rather astonished at how well accepted she had become in Russian society during her short stay. It gave her a warm feeling to know that her absence would be regretted and missed.

On the crisp morning that Megan and Mrs. Tyler had chosen to leave, they were seated cozily in the packed sled, covered by fur rugs. A second sled held most of their baggage and Simpkins, their dresser. An armed escort of Cossack horsemen assigned to protect the travelers was already mounted. A gossamer curtain of snow was falling.

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.

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 slowed 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.