Flight to Verechenko (9 page)

‘Of course we can. But it will have to be a very
big
fish if we are all to have some.'

‘Then I'll catch two. Two
giants!
'

The morning sun held a hint of warmth as they ran down across the lawns to the lake, Alexander pretending to be a Cossack and charging on ahead of them like a wild thing. Natasha chattering happily.

‘There is a big fish over there,' Natasha said, as they settled themselves on the bank of the lake. ‘It must be a carp. There it goes! Look!'

Alexander gazed goggle-eyed and would have fallen in the water if Catherine hadn't caught hold of him.

‘Sssh. We'll never catch fish if you make all that noise,' she remonstrated.

‘Caught one!' Alexander yelled. ‘I've caught one! Quick! Quick! Don't let it get away!'

He was so beside himself with excitement that Catherine hadn't the heart to suggest he throw it back and steeled herself to take the poor wriggling creature off the hook.

‘Two,' she said severely. ‘Only two. Any more must go back in the lake.' By the time they set off back to the house with Alexander's proud catch, Catherine had almost forgotten the unpleasant news of Amelia Cunningham's arrival. Laughing and singing they made their way back up the gentle slope, the children running eagerly on ahead to show their prize to the cook and to make quite sure it would grace the dinner table. None of them saw the watching figure on the balcony.

Dominic's face was inscrutable. Then, as Catherine raised her eyes and saw him he turned curtly on his heel and disappeared into the room behind him.

If she had any last lingering doubts as to the motive behind his kiss, they vanished abruptly.

The children disappeared with Olga and Dmitri, Alexander's chubby little arms clinging around Catherine's neck as if he would never see her again. For weeks she had longed for the opportunity to explore St Petersburg. Now she no longer had the heart for it. A footman hurried across to her.

‘The Barina requires your company, Barishma.'

From behind the closed salon doors came the sound of strange voices and laughter and then the unmistakable sound of Dominic's deep voice. Her stomach muscles tightened into an uncomfortable knot as the footman bowed slightly and flung open the carved doors.

A massive lady dressed in hideous purple sat on Catherine's customary chair beside the Countess. Steel grey hair showed beneath a broad-brimmed hat crowned with a mass of ostrich feathers. Pince-nez hung on a golden chain around her neck and she picked them up, peering at Catherine with a disapproving expression as she entered.

‘My governess, Eleanor Cartwright. Eleanor, Lady Cunningham.'

Lady Cunningham received Eleanor coldly. She had no very high opinion of governesses. She returned her attention to the Countess and enquired for news of the Tsarina's health.

Catherine sat down, avoiding Dominic's eyes, her pulse beating alarmingly. At the window a girl her own age stood admiring the gardens and the lake. She was smaller than Catherine, a mere five feet with a face like a kitten's. Cornflower blue eyes smiled seductively beneath delicate brows, her nose was short and straight, her chin finely moulded. Cherry-red lips pouted prettily, but Catherine thought she detected signs of sulkiness in the spoilt, pampered face. The Marquis seemed to have no such qualms. There was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes as he leaned nonchalantly against the mantel-piece, a small smile playing on his lips as their eyes met over Lady Cunningham's oblivious head.

‘Amelia is so looking forward to seeing Karsavina dance,' Lady Cunningham said, turning to face Dominic.

‘I shall be more than delighted to escort her, ma'am,' Dominic said, his eyes still holding Amelia's.

Amelia lowered her eyes modestly, but the satisfied smile on her lips did not escape Catherine's notice. She was growing more and more sure that Amelia Cunningham was not the shrinking violet she was trying to appear. She was out to ensnare Dominic and why he hadn't the sense to see that …

The footman swung open the door hastily as Alexis strode into the room. ‘My dear Lady Cunningham; my dear Amelia! Well, well, this is an honour. Sherry? Or is it too early? Perhaps some tea. Igor! Lemon tea at once!' He rubbed his large hands, as his valet relieved him of his cloak. ‘So, what news from England, eh? What rumour of war there?'

Lady Cunningham did not trouble with rumours of war, only fashion. ‘The King was in excellent spirits when I last saw him.' She didn't deem it necessary to explain that this had been at a considerable distance. Count Vishnetski was a close intimate of the Tsar and it pleased her to give the impression that she too enjoyed her sovereign's friendship.

War. It was the first Catherine had heard of it. She said, without thinking, ‘What war do you mean, sir?'

Lady Cunningham gave her a frozen stare. The Marquis scrutinised his gleaming toecaps and Alexis, seeing nothing untoward in Catherine taking part in the conversation said, ‘Trouble in the Balkans. The old Kaiser is getting mighty fidgety. Bestuzhev thinks that there will be war before the year is out.'

‘Bestuzhev?' Lady Cunningham didn't recognise the name, but then prime ministers were not her forte.

‘Captain of the crack Cossacks regiment,' Alexis said, disillusioning her. ‘He has bet me a thousand roubles the Russian and French armies will be meeting in Berlin this summer.'

Amelia, bored, tapped her foot impatiently and tried to win Dominic's attention again. She failed. It was centred entirely on Alexis.

‘I hope you win your bet, Alexis. I doubt Russia is equipped for war.'

‘Oh, stop talking about boring old war,' Amelia said pettishly. ‘Is it true that the Tsarina no longer attends public balls? I do
so
want to see her. I believe the balls in St Petersburg are much grander than those in London. I do
so
enjoy dancing, don't you Dominic?'

She spoke his name intimately, as if it was well-known to her. As well it might be, Catherine thought jealously, seeing the secret looks that passed between the two of them.

‘There is nothing I like better,' the Marquis agreed smoothly. ‘I am sure you will take St Petersburg by storm.'

She laughed prettily and Catherine had an overwhelming desire to kick him savagely on the leg. What on earth was he doing making a fool of himself over a simpering, scheming little minx like Amelia Cunningham? Dominic's reputation was that he was immune to female charms. He certainly wasn't acting as if he was immune to Amelia's. The conversation continued interminably, only Alexis throwing her a friendly smile now and then as she sat with hands folded demurely on her lap, eyes downcast, the picture of a perfect governess.

When at last the Cunninghams took their leave and Alexis and Dominic had left for the Count's club, Maria said to her, ‘Isn't Amelia a pretty child? Perhaps there's hope for Dominic yet.'

Catherine remained silent with difficulty.

‘I do hope you will forgive me if I sound rude, Eleanor, but there is something I should like to mention to you.'

Catherine stiffened, wondering what
faux pas
she had committed.

Maria laughed. ‘Don't look so worried my dear. You've done nothing wrong. I'm more than pleased with you. It's just that …' She hesitated awkwardly, then said with a rush, ‘It's your hair. It appears to be changing colour.'

‘It is,' Catherine said despairingly. ‘You see, I dyed it and now I don't know where to go for anymore hair dye …'

Maria threw her head back in a peal of laughter. ‘Good heavens, child, why on earth did you dye it? It's a glorious red. I can see quite clearly on the crown and every day the whole length of it takes on a more coppery colour. Why on earth cover it with a drab dark brown?'

‘I … I …' Catherine struggled vainly.

Comprehension dawned in Maria's eyes. She patted Catherine's hand. ‘I understand. Governesses are to be mouse-like and discreet. Not raging beauties who might catch the eye of the master of the house. Put your mind at rest. I would much rather have a raging beauty in Verechenko than a brown mouse. Not,' she added, ‘ that you could pass as a mouse, no matter
what
colour your hair was. I am conceited enough to believe that Aprodite herself could not steal my Alexis from me. So no more hair dye.'

‘Thank you, Barina.' Catherine's thanks were heartfelt. She was not a vain girl but to have deliberately concealed her main claim to beauty had been hard. Especially under the circumstances. Perhaps if she washed her hair repeatedly the dye would fade quickly.

When the Countess dismissed her she made straight for her room and surprised her little maid by demanding jugfuls of hot, soapy water.

The next morning Catherine surveyed the results critically. Rich red hair gleamed with its old health. She brushed it into a chignon, and left a few stray tendrils about her forehead and cheeks. It was fashionable to wear it short now, but nothing would have persuaded Catherine to cut her waist-length locks. They were her crowning glory and she knew it. Her eyes, too she thought, studying them impassively, were certainly not commonplace. Like her grandmother's, they were a brilliant green, tilting slightly at the corners, alight with laughter and a love of life. At least they usually were. This morning they gazed back at her from the mirror, troubled and confused.

What was she doing? Struggling to make the best of herself to gain the admiration of a man who thought her little more than a slut, a man who had behaved insultingly by any standards. Yet perhaps she was doing him a great disservice? What if he had left London after learning that she, Catherine, had fled? Wouldn't that put a different complexion on things? If so, he had acted honourably.

A close and loyal brother to Robert, he had offered to marry and take care of his bereaved fiancée. She forgot entirely her remarks to her step-mother when
she
had attributed such motives to him. Yes. Dominic had acted quite nobly and she had exposed him to public humiliation. Although no engagement had been officially announced Catherine knew her stepmother well enough to be sure that her coterie of friends would have been well aware of the drama being enacted between the Davencourt and Harland households and of Lady Davencourt's expectations of becoming mother-in-law to a future Duke. One, as she had so openly put it, who owned half of Southern England. If that was the case it put a whole new light on the matter.

Throughout the day Catherine saw Dominic intermittently, either deep in conversation with Alexis or striding athletically across the lawns to the lake. Once he entered the salon while she was sitting with the Countess and the children. She had felt as though her heart would burst within her as he passed so close that her skirt brushed against his leg. But he had given her only the slightest of nods, his eyes scarcely registering her presence.

All the while he was in the room she watched at close quarters the honey-coloured skin, the fascinating lines that deepened around the mouth as he laughed with the Countess, the ease and assurance of his stance, the broad shoulders beneath the scarlet silk Russian tunic. The clothes of the country suited him. The trousers tucked into glossy knee-high boots. The short fur-edged cape that swung jauntily from one shoulder. It was hard at times to remember that he was an Englishman so well did he fit into his present environment. She wondered if, in Paris, he would be indistinguishable from a Parisian and doubted it. There was something subtly Russian about Dominic Harland. A brooding restlessness mixed with sudden laughter and flashing, devastating smiles.

She tore her eyes from his uncaring figure. No wonder he had never fitted into London society. He must have been like a cuckoo in the Harland nest: Robert so quiet and responsible. Dominic so volatile and unpredictable.

Her throat felt tight and dry. What if she told him who she was? That she had fled to Verechenko rather than marry a man she did not know. Surely in this day and age her action had been reasonable enough? But then he would argue that at least she could have been courteous enough to meet him. He certainly wouldn't believe she was being
forced
to accept his marriage proposal. Her step-mother could be charm itself when necessary. Her behaviour in leaving in such melodramatic circumstances had been childish and had humiliated him. If he knew who she was any hope she entertained of gaining his affections would be at a complete end.

He continued to behave as if she were no longer in the room and Catherine's emotions were in a turmoil. It was like being on a giant see-saw. Why should she
want
his admiration? Had she suddenly become weak in the head? She remembered the burning pressure of his mouth against hers. Or a wanton? She should be avoiding his presence, not seeking it out. Her head ached with confusion.

‘And so Princess Dagmar will be in St Petersburg by noon,' Maria was saying happily.

‘Is she still the same?' Dominic asked.

Maria laughed. ‘Princess Dagmar
never
changes, Alexis says she's impossible, but then blood relations never have much tolerance with each other, do they? I must admit that she can make life difficult if she chooses. The trouble is, she has no suitable companion to accompany her to the theatre and concerts. She has no patience with her contemporaries and most of the young women who would be eligible to act as companion to a princess of her rank she regards as foolish idiots.
And
tells them so!'

Dominic laughed. ‘I know another lady of similar temperament in Paris. She solved the problem by dispensing with a female companion and enjoying the company of eligible young men who welcomed her wit.'

Catherine's eyes were still downcast and she did not see that he was looking at her as he spoke.

‘Princess Dagmar would eat half the young men in St Petersburg for breakfast,' Maria said with amusement. ‘They don't have enough backbone for her.'