From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal) Page 3

  He concentrated on pouring a small amount of zavarka into her cup, a larger, stronger amount into his own. The samovar hissed, reminding him that he had not completed the tea-making ceremony. ‘This is kipyatok,’ he said, ‘which is simply another word for boiling water. Would you like a slice of lemon, some sugar?’

  ‘Is that permitted?’

  ‘It is not traditional, but I have both available if you wish. Our tea is something of an acquired taste.’

  ‘I will take it as it is meant to be served. When in Russia, as they say.’ Miss Galbraith picked up her cup and took a tentative sip.

  She did not quite spit it out, but her screwed-up little nose and her watering eyes told their own tale. Biting back a smile, Aleksei held out the sugar bowl.

  Using the tongs, she dropped three cubes of sugar into the tiny cup. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being impertinent, but may I enquire why your wife is not here to greet me? I assume it is from her that I will take my instructions?’

  ‘Her absence is easily explained. I’m not, and never have been married.’

  ‘Oh.’ Miss Galbraith coloured. ‘I see,’ she said, looking like someone who did not see at all.

  ‘The children are not mine,’ Aleksei explained, ‘they are my brother’s.’

  She frowned. ‘Then may I ask why you are—why I am not having this discussion with your brother and his wife?’

  ‘Because they are both dead.’ Drinking his own, thick black tea, a soldier’s brew, from the ducal cup in one gulp, Aleksei registered the widening of her eyes, and realised belatedly how stark this statement sounded. ‘Michael and Elizaveta died in May this year, within a few days of each other.’

  Which attempt at tempering the shock made things worse. Miss Galbraith blanched. ‘How awful. I am so terribly sorry.’

  ‘Yes.’ Aleksei curbed his impatience. It was awful, but he’d had almost four months to accustom himself to it. ‘However, the formal mourning period is now over.’ Did that sound callous? ‘My brother and I were not particularly close.’ Even worse? Best to just get on with the matter in hand. ‘It is the consequences of his death which concern me, Miss Galbraith, and that is the reason you are here.’

  ‘Consequences?’

  Though he was relieved to be back on track, Aleksei found himself in a quandary. It was already clear that the distractingly luscious Miss Galbraith had been only partially briefed by The Procurer woman. Her reputation for complete discretion was well founded, thank the stars, which meant he had the luxury of not having to launch into a full exposition of what he euphemistically referred to as consequences to a complete stranger just off the boat. But precisely how much to tell her?

  Aleksei decided to proceed with caution. ‘Michael bequeathed me the guardianship of his offspring in his will—I have no idea why, for he did not consult me on the matter. I am, as my brother knew perfectly well, as unsuitable a guardian for his children as it’s possible to imagine, and have no intentions of continuing in the post once I can secure a more suitable candidate. At which point, Miss Galbraith, your duties will come to an end.’

  ‘Oh. Then my appointment as governess—you envisage it being of very short duration?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so. What I mean,’ Aleksei continued, noting her slightly startled expression, ‘is that I hope my appointment will be of short duration. Four months ago, when I received word of Michael’s death, I was preparing to do battle with Napoleon’s army. Having done my duty by my country and my men at Waterloo, I was obliged to return immediately to St Petersburg to take up my new, unasked-for duties. As you have no doubt surmised, I did not take kindly to having been bounced from battle to babysitting without a moment to catch my breath.’

  ‘Though Napoleon’s defeat has made it unlikely that you’ll have to fight any battles any time soon, has it not? Now that Europe is at peace you can surely be more easily spared to devote yourself to your new duties.’

  Aleksei blinked at this unexpected riposte. Miss Galbraith, it seemed, had recovered her composure, and inadvertently unsettled his by pointing out a truth which had not occurred to him and which he had absolutely no desire to contemplate. ‘I am a soldier, have always been a soldier, and have no wish to be anything other than a soldier. Peace has certainly granted me the freedom to fulfil the obligations my brother forced upon me, but that does not mean I wish to spend the rest of the foreseeable future acting in loco parentis.’

  ‘I see.’

  She did not. She thought him callous. Aleksei bristled. He did not need to justify himself to her. ‘The children will be far better off in the care of a guardian who understands the workings of the court, and how best to raise them to take their place in it.’

  ‘To be perfectly frank, I know nothing of royal courts and their etiquettes. I hope you were not expecting...’

  ‘You need not concern yourself about that. Apart from anything else, the children are too young, though Catiche...’

  ‘Catiche? I’m sorry, but I know only that there are two girls and a boy, I have no idea of their names and ages.’

  ‘That, I am pleased to tell you, I can easily remedy,’ Aleksei said. ‘Catiche—that is Catherine—is thirteen. Elena is ten. Nikki, my brother’s heir, is four. You will make their acquaintance the day after tomorrow. When I had word that your ship had docked this morning, I packed them off to stay with friends for a couple of nights, to allow you time to settle into your new surroundings.’

  ‘Thank you, that was thoughtful. May I ask how the little ones have coped with the loss of their parents? They must have been devastated.’

  ‘They seem perfectly well to me,’ Aleksei replied, frowning, ‘though my time is so taken up with my brother’s man of business that I see very little of them which, assuming they are being raised as my brother and I were, is no change to the status quo. They have a nanny, a peasant woman as is the tradition, who has cared for them since they were in the nursery. If they were devastated by anything, it’s more likely to have been the loss of Madame Orlova, their governess of some years’ standing.’

  ‘Loss? Good gracious, don’t tell me that she too perished? Was there some sort outbreak in the palace, a plague of some sort?’

  ‘No, no—you misunderstand. Madame Orlova left her post somewhat abruptly the day before my brother died.’

  Miss Galbraith said something under her breath in a language he did not recognise. ‘Those poor little mites. What appalling timing. What prompted her to leave?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea and nor have I been able to discover a single person in the army of servants here who does. I’ve tried to locate her, but if she’s in St Petersburg then she’s very well hidden, and I’ve been unable to widen my search since I am loath to leave the children for any sustained period without proper supervision. Now you are here, I intend to make tracking her down a priority.’

  ‘You intend to reunite her with her charges?’

  Aleksei hesitated, reluctant to blatantly lie. ‘I must establish why she left in such haste before deciding anything.’ That much was true enough.

  ‘I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before, but while I was assured that both English and French are widely spoken in polite society here, I didn’t ask specifically about the children. Obviously I speak no Russian.’

  ‘There will be no need for you to do so. The children will have picked up Russian from their nanny as we all did, but they have been taking French and English lessons from Madame Orlova from a very young age, so you need not fear you will be unable to make yourself understood.’ Indeed, Aleksei thought, Catiche’s fluency was such as to render any English tutoring virtually redundant. No matter, by the time Miss Galbraith discovered this for herself, he’d have explained the true reason for her presence here.

  Which he most decidedly did not wish to do just yet. It was time to conclude this most extraordinary conversation. Miss Galbraith had already demonstrated that she had a sharp mind. It would not be long before she asked him
why the devil he had not found someone closer to home to perform what must seem to be a fairly straightforward task, and he wasn’t ready to answer that question just yet. Not until he’d made sure that St Petersburg society, that hotbed of scandal and intrigue, took Miss Galbraith, English governess, at face value and did not question her presence in the palace.

  Aleksei had intended to introduce her at a soirée or a small party. There was, in the euphoric aftermath of victory at Waterloo, no shortage of social events to choose from. As it so happened, this very night a much grander affair was taking place. It would be a baptism of fire, but he was confident that she would emerge unscathed. It wasn’t only the guarantees he’d received from The Procurer—though they certainly helped. No, it was Miss Allison Galbraith herself. She was confident—once she had got the better of her quite understandable early nervousness. She was without question clever. And feisty, a woman whose fiery temperament matched her red hair. He reckoned she would fight her corner, so he’d better make sure they were in the same corner. And as for her other qualities? Irrelevant. Absolutely, completely, ravishingly irrelevant.

  But also, without question, an absolutely completely, delightful bonus. A most unwelcome distraction from the task in hand undoubtedly, but from a personal point of view a very welcome one. For the first time since he had read that life-changing letter from Michael’s man of business, he felt his spirits lift. ‘If you have finished your tea, I will have a servant show you to your quarters. You have...’ Aleksei consulted his watch. ‘...three hours to prepare.’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘To prepare for what?’

  ‘Your introduction to society,’ he informed her blithely. ‘I did not expect The Procurer to send me a sultry redhead, but your appearance could actually work in our favour. By tomorrow morning, all of St Petersburg will know that there is a new English governess at the Derevenko Palace.’

  Chapter Two

  Four hours later, Allison found herself standing in the foyer of the Winter Palace, the official home of the Russian royal family. Her hand was resting lightly on the arm of a disturbingly attractive man she had met for the first time today. And she was wearing a dead woman’s ball gown. Not, the maid Natalya had hastened to assure her, that the Duchess Elizaveta had ever worn the garment, it was one of many gowns the Duchess had owned but never worn. All the same, were it not for the fact that she possessed only one evening gown, and that not at all suitable for a ball at a royal palace, Allison would have refused to have worn it. It felt both inappropriate and slightly macabre.

  She had had no option, however, and though she selected the very plainest of those offered to her, the luxurious garment was outrageously glamorous and utterly unlike anything she would ever have chosen to purchase. White silk with an overdress of creamy net, the evening dress was embellished with tiny gold-thread flowers, a seed pearl at the centre of each. There was a demi-train, the puff sleeves and the surprisingly modest décolleté were trimmed with scalloped lace, and a narrow sash of gold ribbon was tied just under her bust, in the style made popular by the Empress Josephine. The layers of satin-and-lace petticoats made a faint rustling noise when she moved, like fronds swaying in the breeze. For long moments, staring at her reflection in the mirror earlier, Allison had been quite transported by the idea of gliding round a ballroom in such a very beautiful garment. Beautiful but absurdly complicated, mind you. She’d had to fight the urge to ask Natalya for donning instructions.

  Hooking the last of what seemed to be about a hundred tiny buttons, the maid had brought Allison firmly down to earth. ‘This is a very simple gown in which to attend the Winter Palace, but since the Emperor will not be in attendance, then it will suffice. Do you have no other jewels, madam, other than one locket?’

  A disapproving purse of the lips was the response to Allison’s shaking her head. She had looked similarly disapproving at the dullness of Allison’s wardrobe when she had unpacked her luggage. ‘Perhaps madam intends to shop in St Petersburg,’ she had said. And when Allison had answered that she doubted she’d have need to, Natalya had looked positively shocked. ‘With mourning over, the children will be expected to attend any number of functions,’ she had said. ‘Catiche is old enough to make her debut appearance at the children’s balls, and you will be expected to accompany her.’

  Children’s dances, for heaven’s sake! What other duties would she be expected to carry out? But with this very adult ball looming, Allison had decided it was better not to know, and to concentrate on surmounting each social hurdle as it arose.

  There was no doubt that this was a social hurdle where the bar had been set very high, she had thought as their carriage arrived at the vast edifice that was the Winter Palace. Light blazed from all four sides of the courtyard as their carriage passed through the imposing arched entranceway, light which became positively blinding as they entered the palace itself, where someone removed their cloaks, and they joined the throng waiting to ascend the most magnificent double staircase of marble and gold that Allison had ever seen.

  Which was where she was now standing, her eyes drawn upwards, past the double row of arched windows, the pilasters and statues, the profusion of gold-leaf laurel and acanthus leaves, to the ceiling, where cherubim and seraphim peeped down at her from puffy white clouds in a celestial blue sky.

  The crowd was moving very slowly. Allison clutched at Count Derevenko’s arm, willing herself not to succumb to nerves. She had travelled over a thousand miles to reach this cosmopolitan city armed with questions, questions which she had been unable to ask the woman who appointed her, in the rush to make her arrangements. Questions which should have been answered by the man standing beside her this afternoon. And they had, most of them. Save one question so fundamental she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her until today. But which she could no longer ignore. ‘Why did you send all the way to England for me?’

  The Count frowned down at her, raising his eyebrows at her peremptory tone. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  She would have missed it, were she not studying him so carefully, that tiny flicker in his eyes which told her he understood perfectly. ‘There must be any number of females right here in St Petersburg qualified to fulfil my role.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself, Miss Galbraith. I require a governess who is also a skilled herbalist. That is an elusive combination.’

  ‘But surely not unique in a city the size of St Petersburg. Was the previous governess also a herbalist? I presume the children are sickly, or perhaps suffering from some inherited malaise?’

  ‘You presume because The Procurer wasn’t specific?’

  Allison nodded, her brow furrowed. ‘Was I mistaken?’

  ‘Miss Galbraith, this is hardly the time or place for such a discussion.’

  ‘Which confirms that there is a discussion to be had.’

  He acknowledged this hit with a small smile. ‘You have a sharp mind.’

  ‘Yes, I do, so don’t attempt to pull the wool over my eyes.’ She treated him to her best Take your medicine or else, young man face. It didn’t work on this particular patient. He laughed. His eyes crinkled when he laughed. She bit her lip, determined not to soften her stance. ‘Well?’

  ‘Not here. No, please spare me another of your schoolmistress glares.’

  ‘The glare of a herbalist who wishes her patient to take his pill, actually.’

  ‘Does it work?’

  ‘Almost every time. And I should warn you, Count Derevenko, I’m an expert at detecting procrastination.’

  ‘I’m not procrastinating.’ They shuffled up two more steps. The Count pulled her closer, placing his lips disconcertingly close to her ear. ‘The truth is,’ he whispered, ‘that I cannot trust anyone in St Petersburg. 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.