Royal Renegade (7 page)

Buntin couldn't repress another moan. “His lordship was not piqued for that reason, Tatiana. Think. He is a military man. He is calm, quiet, used to command. And doubtlessly he expected that a princess would be, well, a bit more contained—in fact, a great deal more contained. I don't doubt he thought you were a bit—fast. And imagine what he must have thought, to hear you spin adventure tales and rhapsodize about your visit with Napoleon!"

"I didn't rhapsodize," Tatiana retorted, sitting up again and crossing her arms over her chest. “And Lord Devlyn did not seem shocked by my mistake. I like to think we can trust him to be tolerant of a little slip of the tongue."

"You must not expect tolerance, Tatiana, if you behave as you did in the confines of our little school, teasing our little charges with your silly stories. You have been too isolated, my dear, but now you must learn to converse with adults." The older woman took a deep breath, for she too had been isolated these many years, and the prospect of controlling the princess must seem less and less likely.

Tatiana worried at her full lower lip, annoyed and a little hurt. She had hoped—oh, that this new acquaintance would in fact be more tolerant of her many failings—and they must be many, for everyone was always enumerating them. She was flighty and frivolous and stubborn and unmanageable and all sorts of disastrous things. But she wasn't evil or cruel or anything really bad, so surely not every person she met would always disapprove of her. She'd hoped that her escort would regard her as Count Korsakov had, as lively and amusing and charming. Since her parents died, Tatiana mused sadly, only her undemanding schoolchildren and her ebullient cousin had liked her just as she was. But she realized now she couldn't expect anyone else to accept her as Peter had, for he had wanted to marry her, and besides, he had been even more frivolous than Tatiana herself. Lord Devlyn, she supposed, could be forgiven if he regarded her less appreciatively, for he, of course, was not a suitor for her hand and was not in the least bit frivolous.

As usual, she came too late to the realization that Buntin was right. She had already lost what little credit she might have had with her escort. She had so little experience with society, at least the society of adults. And Lord Devlyn was, indisputably, an adult. "I promise to try to be more sensible around him."

Unfortunately, she feared that around Lord Devlyn what little sense she had would fly out the window, and she would be left with her own nonsensical self. And that, she knew, would not serve.

Satisfied that her lecture had taken effect, Buntin rose and said, "Let's go back to our suite, dear, and go over the names and titles of the royal family and the terms of address of the nobility. I believe the colonel said Lord Devlyn was a viscount, which is above—"

"Above a baron and below a count. I mean an earl," Tatiana recited. With renewed enthusiasm, she tugged Buntin toward the door. "And do let's read that scandal sheet your sister sent, so I can converse with the viscount about society doings. Imagine, I shall soon be meeting the infamous Lady Coopland and her identical twin.cicisbeos, and the dangerous duellist Sir Winston Margolies, and—"

Once again, Buntin hastened to dampen her expectations. "We will be staying with the Countess of Sherbourne, a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and I'm sure she will not be introducing you to that sort at all. And Tatiana—Lord Devlyn does not look to be a man entranced with gossip."

Tatiana stopped with her hand on the door to their suite and nodded slowly. "He does seem to be of a more serious cast. He almost smiled when he spoke of our uncle's body, but then recalled his heavy duty and did not. Poor man! He is evidently so burdened by the weight of the war and politics that he has forgotten how to laugh." She stood there in the hallway, oblivious to her companion, and imagined that hard mouth curving into a delightful smile. He would look much happier with his cloudy eyes lightening with laughter, his arrogant face more boyish and carefree. It had been a very long time, she realized suddenly, since Major Devlyn had been carefree. And if there was one talent she had, it was making people forget their cares, if only by distracting them with her teasing. Perhaps her project for this voyage should be to wrest a smile from the cool major. "I shall have to make a point of amusing him—in the most mature way, of course!—else we shall all have quite a grim voyage."

"Tatiana, it is not your place to amuse the major, or his to be amused. I'm certain his lordship knows that private conversation with you will be most improper," Buntin cried, her hands flying in circles again.

" 'Proper,'" Tatiana mimicked, a militant light in her green eyes. "How I hate that word!"

"Well, you must make it fast in your mind, Tatiana," Buntin replied with unusual firmness, dislodging the princess's hand from the knob and opening the door herself. She shooed the girl into the room and when she was sure they would not be overheard, added, "You will be representing your country in England, and later you will be a royal duchess. All eyes will be upon you, and if you are not careful, I fear you will find yourself in.. disgrace."

Tatiana was hurt by this rebuke, but more than that she was suddenly, irrevocably angry. "Why is it that the farther we get from Petersburg the more critical you are of me? You have done nothing but find fault with me since we left that prison called Russia behind!"

Buntin had the grace to look ashamed, but she pursed her lips and said pointedly, "I was so eager to leave that I did not consider what hazards awaited you. But now I see that your conduct is not truly suited for the sort of company you will be keeping in London. Your behavior with Lord Devlyn merely underscores that. You hadn't the slightest notion how to address him, or what sort of subjects were appropriate. I see now that I have been remiss in not teaching you how to go about. Of course, I have never been in society either, but—"

"But you do know how to be proper, don't you?" Tatiana's eyes blazed, but she fought to keep her voice level, for she had never shouted at her dear Buntin before. "And being proper is far more important than being honest."

"That is not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean? I was too bold with Lord Devlyn, too silly, too imaginative. I should not try to make him smile, although that is perhaps the only talent I have—to amuse people. Instead I should be an entirely different person, a pale shadow of myself, with nothing to say and no reason to say it."

Tatiana moved agitatedly to the window and looked out at the harbor, but even the beauty of the tall ships bold against the evening sky could not distract her. She put her hands against the cool glass, breathing deeply, striving to regain some composure. Finally, in a low, hurried voice, she said, "Just once, just once, I would like to be myself and be liked for that. Even you, my dearest friend, tell me I must be someone else or I shall be disgraced. Why is it so disgraceful to be me? I know you are not lying to me, for all my relatives at the palace disliked me, except for Peter Korsakov, and he was even sillier than I. But no one else liked me, except the children, and I know you will say that is because they knew no better."

"Oh, Tatiana, don't ever think I don't like you," Buntin cried, her pale eyes brimming with tears. "It's only because of my affection for you that I want to instruct you, so that you can avoid social ruin."

Social ruin. Such an ugly term, like disgrace and humiliation and ignominy, all those things visited upon her parents. Was that what awaited her in England, if she weren't the pattern card of propriety Buntin wanted? Suddenly she had to get away, away from her companion's disapproving affection and dire predictions and inevitable disappointment. If she stayed here with Buntin, she would surely say something she would regret later, and perhaps destroy a decade-long friendship.

Of course there was nowhere to go, except into her bedroom, and so Tatiana went there and sat down again on the window seat, drawing her knees close to her chest and rocking herself tenderly as no one else ever wanted to do. She didn't cry—she didn't do that anymore, not since the day after she learned of her parents' deaths. But she rocked back and forth until her breathing slowed and her sorrow was superseded by an intense anger.

Then Tatiana rose and stood there in the twilight, suddenly resolute. This had been almost the happiest day of her life, the most exciting at any rate since her surreptitious trip to Versailles. And she refused to let the disapproval of either Lord Devlyn or Buntin depress her spirits. Today her new experiences—watching the colorful merchants of all nationalities mingle, meeting the very commanding Lord Devlyn, planning her escape to freedom—had given her new courage and a thrilling sense of possibility. This was her own independence day, her Bastille Day, and she was determined to make the most of it. No matter what anyone else thought, Tatiana knew she deserved her freedom, deserved her happiness, and deserved them even if she didn't fit a pattern cut for some other girl.

She retied the ribbon on the high waist of her gown and walked majestically into the sitting room. Buntin was lighting the lamp, sniffling a little, and Tatiana almost relented. But her native stubbornness forced her on, and she looked squarely at her friend. In a kindly but firm voice, only a tremble betraying the import of her declaration, Tatiana said, "I know you have my best interests at heart. But you are still telling me that I will be ruined if I am myself, that no one will like me. I don't care, though, for I like myself. I think I am charming, and generous, and yes, amusing. And I am widely read, and I ride a horse well, and I am very accomplished at playing dramatic roles—any of the children will tell you that. Perhaps I speak too quickly and too frankly, and perhaps I should be a little more careful. But I won't transform myself into some other girl, just to please you and your society."

Then, with an imperious toss of her short curls, she added, “But I think you are wrong, Buntin, that I will ruin myself. From what I read, the English appreciate eccentricity, at least when combined with a high station in life. So perhaps they will appreciate me also. In the palace I was nothing special, just another princess and not a favored one at that. But I will be the only young Russian princess in London, and so I shall be judged by my own standard now. My royal birth has meant nothing but grief to me so far, but I mean to take my advantage from it now."

Regal now, as she imagined Catherine the Great had been when she wrested control of the kingdom from her impotent husband, Tatiana declared, "I am a royal princess, with the blood of kings and queens flowing in my veins. No one, not even you, will order me about or limit my actions or words. And no one will tell me whom I am to wed, either. I will do just as I think right, no matter what anyone else might say."

Buntin shook her head uncomprehendingly. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and whispered, “But if you don't wed, they will send you back to Petersburg in disgrace!"

Tatiana raised her shoulders in an unconcerned shrug, feeling gloriously liberated. "I shan't go! You and I will simply stay in London. There will be twenty thousand pounds in an account in my name at the Bank of England, and that must be an enormous sum of money. If the money runs out, we shall sell my jewels. But I shall be free of the tyranny I have suffered under all these years, and that is worth any price."

Buntin looked so miserable that Tatiana took pity on her. "Don't despair, Buntin dear. Perhaps I shall like Cumberland and wed him anyway. But whatever comes, I shall no longer be anyone's pawn. No, I shall be myself, the Princess Tatiana, and I will choose my own life, and choose my own destiny."

And the Princess Tatiana turned her back on her frightened companion and went to ready herself for the voyage into her new life.

Chapter Five

At sea

Tatiana sat up suddenly in a narrow bed, disoriented. She had been dreaming that she was trapped in a cave with a bear—but no, the cave was a ship cabin and the bear only Buntin, who was ill with the grippe. Tatiana listened to the stertorous breaths forced through her companion's congested nose and knew she would never get back to sleep now. She rose and quietly felt about for her wool traveling gown, sparing a sympathetic glance at her cabin mate.

The pale moonlight through the porthole glistened on Buntin's perspiring face. She lay like the dead under a half dozen blankets and Tatiana's heavy velvet cloak. Tatiana carefully removed the cloak from the pile and made her escape from the suffocatingly hot cabin.

She'd been so busy nursing Buntin for the past week that she'd hardly seen the rest of the sailing vessel. So she found her way by instinct through a dark passageway and up the steep steps into the icy night air.

The sloop Coronale was as dazzling as the moonlight itself. The snapping sails soared above the deck like angel wings, Tatiana thought poetically as she stood gazing up at the two masts. The Coronale was a small vessel with a crew of only twenty-two, but her average speed so far, Captain Dryden had boasted, approached seven knots. That seemed an impossible velocity, but as the lovely sloop skated through the night, Tatiana could almost see England and freedom rushing toward her.

In the cool light of a nearly full moon, she glimpsed a sailor at the wheel. But he resolutely ignored her, as blind to her presence as if he were wearing blinkers. She suspected Devlyn had warned the crew to give her wide berth. In fact, expect for returning Captain Dryden's greeting each day, and the necessary exchanges with the boy assigned to be her cabin steward, she had not spoken to any of the sailors. As for Lord Devlyn—well, he inquired after Buntin's health the other day, and once asked her if she needed anything. But his cabin was in another area of the vessel, and they seldom encountered each other. So her project of coaxing a smile out of the cool viscount was stalled in its earliest stage, and her maiden voyage a tedious and lonely excursion.

But tonight promised to be full of magic, with the crystalline spray of the sea, the mesmerizing rush of the wind, the enchanting dance of the moonlight on the water. And the wickedness of her foray into the darkness thrilled Tatiana. She let go of the rail and walked up the tilted deck, holding out her arms for balance, and made her reckless way to the stern, where a man leaned against the rail.