From Governess To Countess. Marguerite Kaye
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I need an outsider...someone I can be sure has no connections to the court.’
They mounted another step. ‘Well, I certainly fit the bill on that score, but...’
Two more steps. ‘This really is not the time. Look, I promise that I’ll explain everything in due course. Trust me.’
‘Trust has to operate in both directions.’
He smiled enigmatically. ‘You can have no idea of the amount of trust I am about to invest in you, but for now, let us concentrate on making a success of your introduction into polite society.’ Count Derevenko ushered her up the final two shallow steps. ‘Your audience awaits, Miss Galbraith.’
* * *
She had enjoyed their verbal sparring, even if the Count had once again avoided answering her questions, but as they approached the wide-open double doors at the entrance to the ballroom, Allison’s confidence faltered, her stomach became queasy with nerves. She had never had cause to attend any ball, let alone a royal ball, but she was damned if she would fail at this, the very first challenge. A deep breath, a straightening of her shoulders and her nausea subsided.
As they stepped across the threshold, she realised how large a gathering she was about to face, and just how awe-inspiring the setting. The formal staircase was but an amuse-bouche, a mere taster for the magnificence of this ballroom, so elongated that Allison struggled to see where it ended. Two tiers of windows, one tall and arched, one square, faced each other across the expanse of dance floor, with massive marble Corinthian pillars spaced between each set. The walls themselves were plain, but the ornate, gilded and corniced ceiling was reflected in the intricate pattern of the parquet flooring. Light flooded the chamber from innumerable glittering chandeliers, and from the branches of candles which stood at each window. Aside from a few flimsy-looking gilded chairs upon which no one sat, the room was empty of furnishings and filled to the rafters with milling people.
People who glittered with diamonds and jewels in many forms and incarnations—ornate tiaras, necklaces, opulent rings, bracelets and bangles, military and ceremonial orders and medals. It was no wonder, she thought, resisting the urge to touch her grandmother’s simple gold locket, that Natalya had been horrified at her lack of baubles. She need not have worried about being overdressed. The gown, which she had thought so fussy, was almost puritan compared to most here, encrusted as they were with pearls and embellished with gold thread. And the men! Most were garbed in magnificent dress uniforms, tassels and sashes, boots so polished they reflected the light. ‘Is the entire Russian army present?’
She spoke flippantly, but Count Derevenko’s smile tightened. ‘The real soldiers, the ones who did the fighting, would be lucky to be given bread at the kitchen door, if General Arakcheev has his way. That’s him over there.’ He nodded at a tall, gaunt man with heavy brows and even heavier gold epaulettes. ‘The Emperor’s second in command. They refer to him as the Vampire for his bloodlust, though in the field, we nicknamed him the Ape in Uniform. A man who punishes every slight, real or intended, with ever more inventive barbarity. Come, we may as well get the ordeal over with.’
* * *
‘Aleksei. Out of mourning at last, I see. And cementing our entente with the English with an alliance of your own, too. Or should that be dalliance?’
Allison repressed a shudder as a claw-like hand brushed hers, and a pair of soulless brown eyes under hooded lids glanced indifferently over her. The Vampire was aptly named. A man who would take pleasure in sucking the lifeblood from his enemies.
‘Miss Galbraith is the new governess,’ the Count answered haughtily, ‘here to help my wards perfect their English.’
‘And to give you French lessons, no doubt,’ General Arakcheev responded, making his double entendre clear with a lascivious look in Allison’s direction, noting her shocked countenance with a small, satisfied smile before returning his attention to the Count. ‘You will find many of your comrades are present tonight, anxious to celebrate the end of your emergence from mourning. It seems you were quite the hero at Waterloo. I grow weary of hearing your exploits recounted.’
‘Perhaps if you had deigned to make an appearance on the front line you would have spared yourself that tedium.’
‘Very droll. As you well know I had the honour of being asked to deputise for the Tsar here in St Petersburg. A more important task than killing a few Frenchmen, I’m sure you’ll agree. Our Emperor is anxious to bestow several medals on you in recognition of your contribution to our victory.’
‘It was an honour to serve my country,’ Aleksei replied. ‘That is reward enough.’
‘Any other man, I would disbelieve, but I think you actually mean it. I will inform him of your wishes. Besides, you will have no need of any token of his gratitude, will you, Aleksei? Not now that you have the choice of two such pretty little nieces to marry. There’s nothing like keeping it in the family, is there? Oh,’ Arakcheev said, feigning surprise when the Count took an impetuous step forward, ‘come now, if it’s good enough for the Romanovs it’s surely good enough for you? Now, if you will excuse me?’
With a smug smile, the general turned away, leaving Count Derevenko rooted to the spot. ‘People are staring,’ Allison said, tugging at his sleeve.
He cursed viciously in what she assumed must be Russian under his breath. One hand was clenched into a fist. The other dug painfully into her arm. ‘He deliberately set out to rile me.’
‘He succeeded,’ she told him tartly, drawing him aside to the shelter of a small alcove, ‘and you are ensuring that he and everyone else knows it.’
The Count cursed again. ‘If Arakcheev were not in our Emperor’s pocket, that man would long ago have been at the bottom of the Neva River.’
‘He took me for your mistress!’ Now that the encounter was over, Allison was furious. The slander was a horrible reminder of the scurrilous slurs that had been published in the London gutter press. ‘He assumed that I—that you and I—you must put him straight.’
‘And give him the satisfaction of knowing his barbs had hit home? The Count eyed her flushed countenance. ‘You must not take what he says to heart. Arakcheev is a man who thrives on insults, and as taunts go, that was pretty mild. This is St Petersburg. The fact that we are not having an affaire would raise more eyebrows.’
Allison mustered a smile. She had overreacted. It wasn’t as if it mattered what people thought of her here, far from home. ‘You make the city sound like a den of iniquity.’
‘You think I’m exaggerating? You see that woman over there?’ the Count said, with a sneer. ‘The famous—or should I say, infamous—Princess Katya Bagration. I thought she was settled in Paris. I am surprised to see her here.’
Princess Katya, surrounded by a swarm of officers, was very beautiful, with dusky curls, cupid lips and skin like milk. ‘Her gown is quite translucent,’ Allison whispered, for the Princess’s shapely legs could clearly be seen under the filmy gauze of her attire. ‘Under the light of these chandeliers—I wonder if she is aware...’
The Count snorted. ‘She is perfectly aware. In Vienna she is known as the Naked Angel or sometimes the White Pussycat.’
‘The White Pussycat?’
To Allison’s surprise, he looked abashed. ‘Something to do with her particular talents. Forgive me, I have been too long in the company of soldiers.’
‘Particular talents?’ As realisation dawned, Allison gazed over at the beauty in astonishment. ‘Do you mean she is a courtesan?’
‘Not of the type you mean. She demands secrets rather than gold in return for her favours, I am told. Pillow talk of the most dangerous sort,’ the Count clarified, his tone making his feelings very clear. ‘During the Congress, she had both our Emperor and Metternich in tow, amongst others.’
‘She was Tsar Alexander’s mistress? Yet she is received here in the Winter Palace?’
‘That