Splendor (40 page)

Alexi stared at her, looked down, and smiled. "You have forgotten your shoes," he said in an oddly tender tone.

Carolyn froze. His voice had sounded just like Nicholas's in an unguarded moment. "Yes. I have." She clutched her shawl more tightly.

"I will wait if you wish to go and put them on," he said, smiling.

She shook her head and blurted, "You don't have a message for me, do you?"

He hesitated. "I did not see Nicholas before I left. He is in the interior. I never left St. Petersburg. I doubt he even knew I was there, as we did not leave London together."

"I see." She was only partially relieved. She needed courage if she were really going to do this.

"Miss Browne?"

She met his gaze.

"Do you need help with the back of your dress?" His eyes sparkled.

Carolyn realized that she was in such a state that she had pulled her shawl around her neck. "I am not usually so absentminded," she whispered, pulling the shawl back down over her shoulders. "Katya sounded so sad and so lonely."

He nodded somberly. "She is not happy. The house has become a mausoleum. Taichili does her best, but she is a cold fish."

Carolyn wet her lips. "Take me with you."

Alexi stared.

Carolyn stared back.

And slowly, he smiled. "Can you be ready in two hours?"

"I am ready now," Carolyn said.

Alexi left. Carolyn slipped back into the bookshop, and heard George in the kitchen, slamming a pot on the stove. She walked slowly through the store, dreading their encounter.

She paused on the threshold. George did not face her. She watched him for a moment as he searched through the canisters on the counter for the tea he was so especially fond of. "Papa."

He whirled. "What are you hiding from me?"

"When I took up employment with Sverayov, he asked me to return to Russia with Katya," Carolyn began.

George turned white. "No."

"It is my decision to make. And I have decided to leave with Alexi. This morning."

George stared at her, blanching impossibly more. "You have lost your mind!" he finally cried. "Carolyn, I forbid it!"

"You cannot forbid it, because I am not asking your permission," she said, dismay beginning to overwhelm her. "Papa. I have to go. The child needs me."

"This is not about the child. This is about that rogue. He is married, Carolyn. Or have you forgotten?"

She flushed, and felt like screaming, how can I forget? When it is his wife who is keeping me from my dreams? But that wasn't fair, it wasn't just Marie-Elena who stood in their way, it was the difference in their stations, and it was also him. Because surely if he loved her, he would find a way—a legitimate way for them to be together, properly.

And Carolyn was aghast for daring to wish for the impossible—a marriage between them.

Carolyn felt tears burning her eyes. "I have to go."

"Go? Go?" he asked, but it was a roar. "Go and do what?"

"I am going to be Katya's companion," Carolyn cried.

"Her companion—or his?" George cried back.

Carolyn was so taken aback that she froze. And then she was hurt—and she was angry. "You should know me better than that."

"I do know you. And every time I saw you with him, I saw the stars in your eyes. He is married. And Russian princes do not divorce their wives—and they only carry on with commoners—and for him, it will merely be a passing fancy, but for you? You will never recover, Carolyn."

Oh, God, he was right. He was right, but she could not turn back from what she intended to do. From what she had to do. "I am going to St. Petersburg with Alexi. And I do not intend to warm his bed. I intend to care for his child, Papa. He is with the army, near Moscow. Katya is in St. Petersburg, hundreds of miles away."

"And if Napoleon changes course? And marches on St. Petersburg instead? Then what? You shall be trapped in a city under invasion, by God!"

"If Napoleon decides to march on St. Petersburg instead, than I shall be glad to be there to take care of one small, lonely child. Katya will need me more than ever," Carolyn

said evenly. But inside, she felt as if she were breaking into millions of tiny, shardlike pieces. "Don't do this, Papa. I must go. I need your blessing."

"You are not going to get it," George said harshly.

Carolyn was stunned and mute. Silence fell between them, hot and hard, bitter and angry. "I am going. Papa," Carolyn said. "With or without your blessing." She turned away to go upstairs to pack a small valise.

"He is using you," George cried. "And he will destroy you, mark.my words!"

Carolyn left the kitchen, aching.

"Has he slept with you?" George cried, following her. "He has, hasn't he!"

She faltered, reaching for the banister. And she bit down hard on a reply, starting up the stairs, her shoulders ramrod straight.

"Carolyn!" her father cried. "Please, do not go. I beg you!"

She paused but did not turn. "Perhaps I am making a mistake. But that is my right. I love you. Papa. I will write." Her voice broke. Carolyn broke into a run, dashing upstairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

Behind her, George sat down and started to cry.

^ Twenty-six ^

September 1, 1812, St. Petersburg

IT was cold. Carolyn huddled in her wool winter coat, thankful she had had the common sense to bring it with her. The carriage Alexi had hired at the docks just a few moments ago hurled down a wide commercial street that in no way resembled any London thoroughfare. For one, there were many trees lining the street, mostly birches and firs. It was impossible for Carolyn not to be aware of just how far north she was. And the sky overhead was gray, but not a London gray, which was dense with fog. It was crisp and clear, suggesting rain or even snow, the same iron color as the water she could periodically glimpse through the clustered, mostly two-story stone buildings on the streets. Alexi had already told her that St. Petersburg was Russia's gateway to Europe, that it was built around the Neva River, on a gulf of the Baltic Sea, and that numerous rivers and canals ran through it. Their ship had docked on Vasilevsky Island, which lay in two arms of the Neva, and explained why, no matter where she looked, she could see water.

Her heart felt lodged in her throat.

Now they were passing numerous low buildings which seemed to be warehouses, and behind them, docks. Some of the buildings had once been painted in gay, bright rainbow colors, and patches of those colors clung to the stones and bricks like forgotten quilting rags—testimony to the fact that the city had once been Swedish. There was little

pedestrian activity. Most of the other vehicles on the streets were drays loaded with various merchandise, bound for the city markets. But here and there a sohd woman heavily clad would attempt to navigate through the traffic, laden with baskets or satchels.

Their carriage took a comer so abruptly that Carolyn slarrmied into Alexi, who shouted at the driver in his native language. The carriage tilted precariously to one side, almost overturning, or so it seemed to Carolyn. It was an open vehicle, and they were lucky they were not flung into the damp street. However, it was quickly righted as they flew over a narrow stone bridge.

Carolyn sat up straighter. Ahead of her, on the opposite side of the bridge, through a cloud of fir trees, was a series of incredible buildings.

"Dvortsovaya ploschad," Alexi said with a bemused smile. "The Palace Square. The long building with all the columns and the gold spire is the Admiralty. It is still in the process of reconstruction."

There was a huge garden in front of it, still colorful and blooming in spite of the autumn chill, and several limestone water fountains. But Carolyn's gaze moved to the left, where a violent rococo profusion of colurrms and windows, painted in brilhant shades of green, white, and gold, faced her. Huge statues, far larger than life-sized, graced the top of the sprawling palace. And it had to be the palace for which the square was named.

"The Winter Palace, a favorite retreat of the tsars," Alexi said, having followed her glance. ' 'Beside it is the Hermitage, built for Catherine the Great as a retreat." He smiled wryly. "She also used it to house her art collection, one begun by Peter. It is still there."

Carolyn inhaled. "It is magnificent." But the words were barely out of her mouth when the carriage suddenly hit a huge rut and Carolyn was thrown out of her seat, as was Alexi. Carolyn crashed into the back of the driver's box. Alexi shouted at the driver again. This time, Carolyn gripped the cracked leather seat. ' 'We have made it this far.

without incident," she said, thinking of the two-legged voyage from London. They had changed ships at Riga.

"Only to die because of one mad Russian driver?" Alexi chuckled. "He is eager to get home. He is expecting a big tip for having taken us out of his way when his supper is waiting."

The carriage careened off the bridge. Carolyn's heart stopped and started again as they veered past another oncoming coach, also containing passengers. How had they managed to avoid a head-on collision?

"We are not noted for our careful driving," Alexi said.

"That I believe." She swallowed, her mind filling with Sverayov. She shoved his image aside, forcing herself to focus on Katya instead, the reason she had come all the way across Europe. "I cannot believe I am here," she said, more to herself than to Alexi.

Alexi shot her a glance. "You are not the only one who will be surprised."

Carolyn's heart raced. "He will not know." Then she flushed, feeling that she was far too transparent. She had just spent eleven days in his company, and she found him every bit as astute as his brother. He was not a man to miss a trick.

Alexi eyed her. "He will, because I intend to make a short trip to Smolensk—or wherever the First Army is now."

Carolyn swallowed. Their carriage was now hurling down a wide, fir-lined boulevard, having left the Winter Palace and the Hermitage behind. Elegant stone mansions, most of which were square and three- or four-story, bordered it. Many had been built in a beautiful crimson stone. A canal loomed ahead of them, and there were numerous gardens and parks on both sides of the street. A cathedral with a gilded dome and steeple appeared on her left, soaring into the clear, chilly sky.

Alexi patted her knee. "He will be pleased. I know my brother, and he is very concerned with Katya's welfare, especially now, with his responsibilities keeping him so far

away, and with Marie-Elena at Tver. Do not fear."

Carolyn remained silent. Oddly enough, she felt terrified. What if Nicholas thought she had chased him to Russia? For that was not the case, and she was adamant about that. She had not come to St. Petersburg to renew her relationship with him, she had not. No matter the yearning that remained in her heart.

*'We are on the Nevsky Prospekt," Alexi murmured. "That is the Kazan Cathedral we have just passed. The house is but a few minutes from here." .

Carolyn's heart pounded harder and faster than before. But he would not be at the house. He was with the army, guarding the road to Moscow, or so she had inferred from her many conversations with Alexi. Carolyn lapsed into silence, regarding the city now as they turned up a street filled with shops and stores no different from the ones at home, aware of being filled with a combination of exhilaration and dread.

And then she realized why St. Petersburg seemed so different from London. It was not the fir trees, the crisp cold, the odd yet beautiful red stone that abounded, or the Neva which snaked all around them. "The city is so quiet," Carolyn said, watching a single noblewoman and her maid exiting a shop that appeared to be filled with ladies' toiletries. Theirs was the only vehicle on the road except for one parked carriage which they had just passed. Far in the distance, she saw a horse-drawn trolley crossing an intersection. Where were the coaches and carriages, the hansoms, the riders? "Where is everyone?"

Alexi faced her. "It is odd, is it not? The city used to be so busy, and so gay. Normally, at this time of the day, the traffic is impossible—and we might sit here at a standstill for a quarter hour or more. We are at war, Carolyn. Napoleon continues to push deep into our countryside, and thus far, he has not been decisively stopped. In fact, there has not yet been a major encounter between the two countries. Most nobles have not fled the city, but it is not a time

to shop, stroll, dine, attend parties, give balls. And there is a shortage of goods."

The city appeared deserted. Carolyn was now acutely aware of how depressing it felt. And the silence, when one was used to the shouts of hansom drivers, the clang of trolley bells, the hoofbeats of horses, and the sound of human voices, was unnerving. She glanced past a deep puddle at rusted iron gates in front of a silent stone church. The only thing moving in the courtyard were pigeons.

' Tt has also been expensive maintaining a huge army in a time of war." Alexi was grim. "Taxes have been very high. We are all feeling the pinch." He shot her a rueful smile and held up one arm. Carolyn saw how threadbare the wool on the elbow of his jacket was. He shrugged. "Eventually, this will pass."

They turned another comer. And Carolyn sat up, eyes wide.

They had just left a retail neighborhood filled with stores, some fancy and exclusive, others as simple as bakeries and butcher shops. But there it was, directly ahead of them, sitting on a huge rise which was undoubtedly man-made. "That's it, isn't it? The . . . er . . . house?"

Alexi nodded. "Our family home."

It was not a house. Hardly a family home. It was, Carolyn decided, swiftly counting the sections, the equivalent of five mansions put together, at least. Carolyn stared.

The palace marked the end of the street, and sat crosswise to it. An iron fence that was probably waist high on the average person ran the length of the street in front of the palace. The railing was decorated with gold figurines. Carolyn had no doubt that it was solid, real gold. The posts holding up the railing were painted black and white. Two sets of wide, sweeping staircases, extravagantly adorned with more gilded figurines and colorful railings, and black and white posts, were parallel to one another and led up to the house. In between them was a stone courtyard and a huge water fountain. The statue atop the fountain was also gold—a man stood victorious atop a hill, two of his victims

fallen at his feet. Five stone arches at the far end of the courtyard indicated that there was more to be seen on the other side of it.

The house was huge, long, vast, and built of stone, painted a pink-beige, in the classical style. White moldings surrounded the many oversized, arched windows. It was six or seven stories high. There were wrought-iron balconies over one central section, and Carolyn could imagine Sver-ayov and his wife standing there to greet guests or to preside over a gathering of the hoi polloi on the grounds below. Temple pediments adorned the final floor. The roof was pale slate, gently sloping and rounded, and atop the very central portion was another gold statue, which Carolyn could not make out. But she thought it might be a motif from the coat of arms.

"It is spectacular," Carolyn said hoarsely.

Alexi shrugged as the carriage paused before a gate Carolyn had not thus far noticed. It was flung open by two liveried guards. The carriage moved into the courtyard, past the fountain, and through a vaulted stone arch. Carolyn found herself on a graveled drive in front of the palace, green lawns spreading out from either side of them. Superbly cut hedges bordered the house.

Alexi jumped down and helped Carolyn out. The driver was hauling out their two small bags when servants appeared, bowing before Alexi. As they spoke, Carolyn continued to study the house and grounds, for she did not understand a word being said, of course.