To Dream of Snow (25 page)

Although he had taken her by surprise she looked searchingly at him before she spoke. ‘I think we could,' she answered reflectively, ‘but we both need more time before any decision can be made.'

‘Not in my case. If you wished to marry me tomorrow I'd be off to the church to wait for you now!'

She could see that he was desperate to marry her. For herself, he was all she liked in a man: intelligent, good company, serious when it mattered and yet able to enjoy life to the full. By the very nature of the career he had chosen, he was courageous too. She had become immensely fond of him in a very short time. Was that the most sensible form of love? Friendship and affection and laughter without any of the heart-tearing turmoil of highly charged love? She would have to wait and see.

Isabelle left for St Petersburg in the French Ambassador's entourage. Not that he knew that Marguerite had managed to secure a seat for her with three of the French maidservants. Isabelle would have enjoyed their friendly chatter more if she had not been weighed down by the dreadful conviction that Mikail had forgotten her, for in all the many weeks she had been away she had not received one letter from him.

When back again at the Winter Palace she sent word to him by Igor that she had returned, but feared the worst. Yet he came the same evening and as she appeared in the doorway, looking timorous and uncertain, he was overjoyed to see her and ran to snatch her up in his arms and twirl her around, making her petticoats flutter like flags.

‘You're here again, my love!' he exclaimed exuberantly. ‘I've missed you so much!' Then he realized she was weeping and set her feet on the ground again, one arm still around her as he tilted her face to his. ‘What is it? What's wrong?'

Then it all came out. His lack of letters, her fear that he no longer loved her and had found someone else. It took many loving kisses and much reassurance on his part to finally convince her that nothing had changed between them. It never occurred to him that Rose had had anything to do with the disappearance of his letters, supposing that carelessness or wrong delivery, both of which were not uncommon, had been responsible. Yet when he mentioned having become acquainted with Rose and how helpful she had been there was no doubt in Isabelle's mind as to what had become of the letters.

Isabelle decided to say nothing to her erstwhile friend. It would only create an unpleasant atmosphere at work and, on a surge of regained self-confidence, she was buoyantly triumphant in knowing that all Rose's wiles had failed to take Mikail from her. She longed to believe that Mikail loved her enough now to understand with compassion whenever she should choose to tell him the dark secrets of her past, but at least for a while she could still put aside that terrible test of his devotion.

In Moscow Marguerite began attending formal court functions with Konstantin. She wore the Empress's miniature each time and, far from having it taken from her, she received an imperial nod of approval at its display. It became noticeable that even the Court was warming to her, partly because it was unwise to snub anyone whom the Empress favoured and it had not escaped notice that the Grand Duchess always acknowledged her.

She was soon in demand as a partner in the dancing, Konstantin being unable to monopolize her. He knew himself to be envied by many men, but as yet she would not accept a betrothal ring from him. He wanted to give her other jewellery, but she would not allow it. Her stubbornness exasperated him, but at the same time he admired her for it, having known too many avaricious women in his time.

When the announcement came that the Empress would soon be returning to St Petersburg Marguerite faced the fact that Tom would be there. Recalling how wild with love for her he had been, she thought there was no telling what risks he would take with his marriage while trying to make her reconsider all he wanted from her. She would not let poor Sarah endure the misery and despair of knowing that the husband she adored longed to be free of her. There was only one solution.

That evening Marguerite finally agreed to marry Konstantin after he had proposed yet again. It was in the troika taking them to a party being given by one of his fellow officers. He gave a great shout of joy that she had finally agreed, making her laugh, and he bundled her into his arms to kiss her heartily.

‘Darling Marguerite! You've made me the happiest man alive!' Eagerly he took from his pocket the diamond-and-pearl betrothal ring, which he had optimistically carried with him on every recent occasion they had been together. Pulling off her glove, he slid it on to her finger. Triumphantly, he kissed her hand and then her mouth. Out of the fondness she felt for him she responded warmly, certain they would have a good life together. She had peace of mind. After all, she had known one great love in her life, which was more than many people experienced, and could not expect anything like it to come again. And yet? What was it that seemed to echo faintly in her mind from a far distance? She dismissed it as irrelevant.

‘We'll be married before we leave Moscow,' Konstantin declared, passionately eager for her.

‘Yes!' It was what she wanted. When she arrived as a married woman in St Petersburg it would mean that Sarah would retain her happiness and Tom would soon become resigned to her marriage. ‘Let us have a quiet wedding.'

‘No chance of that! The Empress will want to be there! She has honoured you and I've served her well as her bodyguard.'

They had arrived at the house where the party was being held and he threw back the fur coverings to jump out and help her alight, not noticing in his jubilant mood how subdued she had become. Inevitably through the Empress's presence the marriage would be a grand occasion, and she had a sudden feeling of being swept out of her depth.

Konstantin burst out with the news of their betrothal as soon as they entered the crowded room that was golden with candlelight, pastel-hued gowns mingling with bright uniforms and the crystal gleam of raised glasses. Many toasts were proposed to the betrothed couple during the supper with the smashing of glasses in the traditional way. Marguerite was not aware that some of the women giggled and whispered maliciously behind their fans until she caught a particular glance from one and then another of them. In both women it was a curiously mocking glance as if they were amused by something unknown to her. Momentarily she was puzzled, but promptly forgot the incident in her enjoyment of the party. All the officers wanted to dance with the bride-to-be, but as the proceedings became more riotous Konstantin, more than a little drunk himself, took her away.

‘I'll make you happy, Marguerite,' he declared fervently, holding her close to him before they parted for the night. ‘No matter what happens you'll always be the one I love. Promise me you will remember that.'

‘I promise,' she answered, soothing away the anxious frown from his forehead with her fingertips.

He caught her hand and held it in his own as he looked into her eyes again. ‘Within a week you'll be my wife. We'll never be parted again.'

It suited the Empress that there should be no delay with the wedding, for she was restless now to return to St Petersburg. She showed her approval by promoting Konstantin to the rank of colonel. The resident seamstresses began sewing the bridal gown of cream silk trimmed with gold lace and preparations for a marriage banquet at the Palace were made.

On the wedding morning Marguerite wished so much that Jeanne and Sophie could have been there to help her dress instead of two of the Empress's own ladies. She thought how much she would have welcomed the presence of Violette, Isabelle and even Rose too. Konstantin had no family, except an uncle in Moscow, who would attend the ceremony, and two cousins who lived too far away to be there.

Konstantin's marriage gift was a parure of emeralds and diamonds, consisting of a necklace, bracelets and earrings, all of which Marguerite had to wear. On her head she wore a traditional Russian fan-shaped headdress, a gift from the Empress, which was similar to Sophie's on her wedding day, except that this one sparkled with diamonds. With a sable cape around her shoulders against the cold, Marguerite left the Palace, accompanied by the two ladies.

A great number of people were present in the gilded magnificence of the cathedral and thousands of candles were burning. Konstantin was waiting in dress uniform and gave her a wide, reassuring grin as he took her hand to lead her to the splendidly robed priest, who stood among others equally richly clothed. It was long service with much ceremony and chanting. She and Konstantin made their vows, the symbolic crowns held above their heads, and wedding rings were exchanged. They were married. As they turned to leave Konstantin bowed low to the Empress and Marguerite gave a deep curtsey before they advanced on their way, her hand resting on his wrist.

It was then that one of the great doors of the cathedral burst open and Jan stood there with snowflakes flying about him.

‘No, Marguerite!' he shouted hoarsely as if refusing to believe he had come too late, his voice seeming to echo endlessly in that vast interior.

Instantly guards rushed at him and he, struggling and fighting, was hauled away through the door and out of sight.

Both Konstantin and Marguerite had halted, he in surprise and she in shock.

‘What will happen to him?' she asked, white-lipped.

Gently Konstantin propelled her forward with his hand over hers on his arm. ‘Prison. Maybe a flogging first.'

She stopped again, looking at him in dismay. ‘No! You must see that he is released.'

He was beginning to lose patience, aware of the stares and whispers all around them, a smothered laugh here and there. ‘Yes, yes. Now let's get out of here.'

Outside there was no sign of Jan. She refused to get into the bridal sledge until Konstantin had instructed a captain of the guard to see that the Dutchman was released without charge. Only then was she reassured enough to take her seat.

‘Who the devil is he?' Konstantin demanded as they were driven away from the cathedral. ‘How do you know him?'

She explained, adding that Jan had been kind in letting her spend time in his apartment while he was away. Konstantin glowered.

‘You're never to go there again!'

She caught her breath at his words, taken aback at being given such a sharp order, but then she supposed that he was racked by jealousy. It was the first time she had seen another side of his character beyond his normal good humour.

‘You don't have to be concerned,' she said reassuringly. ‘Perhaps he thought I hadn't known you long enough to be marrying you and was just anxious for me.'

Her calm words had their effect and he looked at her with recovered cheerfulness. ‘From now on I'll be the one watching over your well-being.'

Although he kissed her as if sealing his purpose he was resolved to give orders at the Palace that the Dutchman was to be barred from visiting Marguerite at any time.

The Empress attended the wedding banquet, but left before ladies escorted the bride to the bedchamber. Konstantin's roistering fellow officers had plied him with plenty of vodka and he was very drunk when he staggered naked beneath his dressing robe from the adjoining bedroom to the marriage bed.

‘You look beautiful, Marguerite,' he slurred, throwing off the robe to fall into the bed beside her. Then he pulled her under him and took her forcefully before rolling away to snore immediately.

In the morning he was full of remorse. He awoke to an aching head and the sight of Marguerite brushing her hair before a mirror. Sitting up, he met her reflected gaze with an apologetic downturn of his mouth.

‘I drank too much last night in my joy at winning you for my wife,' he said.

She thought how skilfully he had made his apology. ‘I think you did,' she remarked dryly, not considering him wholly to blame, for she believed that several times his glass had been spiked.

He forgot his headache when he saw with relief that she was not angry with him. His eagerness for her returned and he held out a hand persuasively. ‘Come back to bed, my beautiful wife. Let me make amends.'

She hesitated only momentarily. Jan had given their marriage a precarious start and their wedding night had been disastrous. It was time to begin again. She moved towards him and held out her hand to meet his. He drew her down beside him and gathered her close to kiss and fondle her, re-awaking her long suppressed desires with his skilful touch. He was an experienced lover and found her responsive to him in every way. Yet during a pause in their love-making when he leaned on an elbow looking down into her quiet, sleeping face, her hair spread like a coppery aura about her head on the pillow, he felt that in some inexplicable way she had yet to be truly discovered.

He recalled their first meeting. Although she had been frightened of the Grand Duke she had still retained that elusive air that had made him hope he might see her again. It was what made her so tantalizingly attractive, whether she realized it or not. Had there been a sweetheart or lover in Paris? A relationship she had chosen to end by coming to Russia? He found it hard to believe that Frenchmen would not have noticed her sexual allure in their midst. The thought made him wonder if she had been a virgin when he had taken her, but his memory remained hazy and he knew from other times of drinking too much that he would never be able to recollect one way or the other. All that mattered was that she was his now and he had won the Empress's approval again by this marriage.

‘Marguerite,' he said softly, disturbing her sleep. Even as she opened her eyes he began caressing her again. He did not know that already she had discovered that fondness was no substitute for love when it came to intimacy. It was as if her heart had detached itself and vanished.

M
arguerite was glad to leave Moscow. She had not liked the city, probably because it had become associated in her mind with the upsetting scene she had endured with Tom as well as Jan's alarming interruption at her marriage. There had also been two terrible fires and on both occasions she had seen the red glow and smoke from her window, reminding her agonizingly of the past. But now she and Konstantin were on their way to his country home in the vicinity of St Petersburg where they would stay until the end of his marriage leave. Afterwards they would be back once more in the most beautiful of cities and spring would have arrived.