From Governess to Countess Page 5

  Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was overthinking the situation. Honestly, Allison chastised herself, how hard could it be, really? Her life had been dedicated to caring for sufferers. Sympathy and understanding were as much a part of her armoury as her precious herb chest. What’s more, she had been selected, interviewed and judged capable. She had passed muster last night, she knew that, for if she had failed, she would have been ushered out of that hot, glittering ballroom tout de suite. The Count was not a man to tolerate failure. He hadn’t exactly relaxed by the end of the evening, in fact he’d been watching her like a hawk, but several times, when she had found the confidence to riposte some of the sly remarks, he had pressed her hand in approval or given her the most fleeting of nods.

  Everyone to whom he introduced her had been informed that she was the new English governess. Everyone assumed she was also her employer’s mistress. ‘You are the envy of every unmarried lady in St Petersburg, Miss Galbraith,’ one of the courtiers had confided sotto voce. ‘As next in line to the dukedom, Aleksei is now one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. How unfair of you to force us to wait until he is done with you. You will understand why I hope that your liaison is short-lived. Though I cannot blame you for wanting to keep him to yourself. There is something about an officer in uniform, is there not? It makes one almost indifferent to the possibility that a ducal coronet may follow. Almost.’

  That the Count was sought after did not surprise Allison. That she herself was drawn to him however, surprised her very much. That the attraction was mutual—now that was the biggest surprise of all.

  Time and again, she had been propositioned, by husbands and fathers and brothers of her patients, by apothecaries and physicians. Not once had she been tempted, knowing full well that her reputation must be above reproach. All very well for a man in her profession to take a lover, but as a woman, she must be either an angel or a whore, to paraphrase The Procurer. Save for that one secret, salutary entanglement, Allison had never had any difficulty in opting to be the former. Which made it all the more infuriating that the gutter press had branded her a Jezebel with no more evidence than her hair and her figure and the vengeful mud-slinging of a few medical men intent upon protecting their own interests. It was so unfair it made her blood boil. At least, she thought sardonically, if it had been true she would have had some pleasurable memories to bolster her. Instead, ironically, she was a fallen woman with a past that was only one step removed from the virginal. Though as far as London society was concerned, she was irrecoverably ruined.

  Which was, if one turned the idea on its head, rather a liberating thought, for the worst that could be said of her had already been said. Allison smiled slowly. What’s more, what was damned in London was positively encouraged in St Petersburg. Why should she make a virtue of resistance?

  She enjoyed sparring with the Count. He brought out a teasing, playful side of her that she didn’t recognise. Another sign that she was emerging from the fog of the last six months? Smiling to herself, Allison sat down at the dressing table and took a brush to her hair. Perhaps so, but it wasn’t only that. It was him. Count Aleksei Derevenko. If she was being skittish—and she did feel rather skittish—then she’d have said that he had been fashioned to her precise design. She’d responded to his body on a basic, visceral level that was unknown to her, and she had flirted—yes, unbelievably, that is what she had done, she’d flirted with him. What’s more, she’d enjoyed it.

  And so had he. He’d wanted to kiss her last night. Had they not been in the ballroom of the Winter Palace—Allison paused mid-brushstroke. She couldn’t believe they had nearly kissed in the middle of a ball in the Winter Palace.

  She resumed her brushing and rolled her eyes at her reflection. She had far too much to lose to make a fool of herself over a man who was her employer, but provided she kept that salient fact in her head, where was the harm in indulging in a light flirtation, if he too was so inclined? She had nothing to lose. She was in St Petersburg, after all. It was pretty much expected of her. What the hell, why not!

  Chapter Three

  The Square Room, where Aleksei had first encountered Allison Galbraith, was a suitably private and soberly oppressive venue for their next, crucial meeting. A room which epitomised the suffocating world of the Imperial court. A world which he had rejected and in which his brother had flourished, strangely enough, for though Michael had been a pompous prig, he’d had integrity and he had been scrupulously honest, both qualities in short supply in the court of the Tsars.

  The aristocrats he had mingled with last night at the Winter Palace ball seemed like strangers to Aleksei. It was not on their behalf that he had fought for his homeland. Last night had confirmed what his gut had told him from the moment he arrived: he did not belong here in this chaotic city so singularly lacking the rules, discipline, the sense of order to which he was accustomed. The sooner he could escape it the better. Which meant getting to the bottom of the conundrum he faced.

  He checked his watch. Five minutes before Miss Galbraith was due. He got to his feet. One thing to be said for the sprawling Derevenko Palace, it provided abundant opportunities for anxious pacing. He hadn’t expected to enjoy the company of the woman who would assist him in his search for the truth, but he had, very much. She had resolve, she had a ready wit and a great deal of poise. Her early encounter with Arakcheev had unsettled her, the general’s salacious remarks had made her furious, but she had quickly regained her composure, deftly handling the gossip and speculation which had followed them around the ballroom for the rest of the evening.

  Gossip and speculation which, given her appearance, he ought to have anticipated. Allison Galbraith had a lush sensuality that was all the more enticing because she seemed blissfully unaware of it. No doubt she received more than her fair share of unwelcome propositions. And last night, he’d actually suggested that if circumstances were different...

  Aleksei winced. He hadn’t actually propositioned her, but the implication had been there. To be fair to himself, he was pretty certain that the attraction was astonishingly, delightfully—and extremely inconveniently, mutual. Though by all that was precious, wasn’t the situation complicated enough without that!

  It had been too long since he’d been able to enjoy the company of any woman. Frustration, that was all it was, he told himself. Though if that was true, why hadn’t he been attracted to one of the many other beautiful women he had been introduced to last night?

  Because he couldn’t trust any of them, of course. And because none of them had that—that certain something which Allison Galbraith possessed. Something which made him sure, absolutely certain, that together they would be...

  Dammit! She was here for a very specific purpose, and if he wanted to take advantage of her skills, he could not risk being distracted by her body. He was a rational man, he was a man who had forged a very successful military career by putting discipline above all else. Now was not the moment to change the habit of a lifetime.

  But on the other hand, must a desire to conclude his business here as quickly as possible preclude enjoying the company of the woman who would help him do just that? How long had it been since he’d been able to indulge in even the lightest of dalliances? Months? It felt more like years. He would not go so far as to say he deserved the tempting Miss Galbraith, but didn’t he deserve some sort of mild flirtation?

  But what if he was mistaken? What if he was imagining the attraction to be mutual simply because he wanted it to be? And really, wasn’t he getting his priorities all wrong?

  As if in agreement with this very point, the double doors were flung open, the servant announced her, and Allison made a curtsy. ‘Good morning, your Illustrious Highness.’

  * * *

  He looked just as striking as he had at the ball, Allison thought to herself. Last night had not been a dream, then.

  ‘Good morning,’ the Count said, ‘and it is Ale
ksei while we are alone, if you please. In company, Count Derevenko will suffice. Hearing Your Illustrious Highness makes me want to glance over my shoulder to see my brother enter the room. Though actually he preferred Your Serene Highness. Michael was a stickler for etiquette, with a predilection for pomp and ceremony. As you’ll have gathered from our surroundings,’ he added, waving vaguely at the huge reception room in which they were ensconced.

  ‘What I gather, is that it is decidedly not to your taste,’ Allison said, crossing the room to join him.

  ‘I’ve been away on active service for so long, I have no idea what my taste in interiors is,’ the Count—Aleksei—replied with a faint smile. ‘It mostly revolves around canvas tents and wooden trunks. Last night at the Winter Palace, I felt even more of a foreigner than you.’

  She took the seat opposite him, the same one she had occupied yesterday. He handed her a cup of black tea into which, to her relief, he had already added three sugars. Allison took a tentative sip from her cup. The taste of the tea was odd, the contrast of the sweet and bitter one that she could, despite her reservations, grow to like. Opposite her, the Count—no, Aleksei! She tried his name out for herself, mouthing it silently as she studied him. It suited him. Strong. Forthright. He was not wearing his uniform today, for which she was—shamefully—grateful, for it was true, what the courtier had whispered salaciously last night, there was something about a man in uniform. Or at least, something about this man in uniform. Though if she was being scrupulous about it, his attraction was in no way diminished by the austerity of his breeches and short boots, the long black coat and pristine white shirt with its starched collar. There was a rebellious and endearing kink in his hair, almost silver compared to the dark blond, which stood up on his brow like a comma. The slight frown which seemed to be permanently etched into his face was bisected by a faint scar which she hadn’t noticed yesterday. He sat awkwardly in the little chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his shoulders hunched, grasping the delicate teacup with both hands.

  ‘What is it that you find amusing?’

  She hadn’t realised she was smiling. ‘You look like a giant squatting on a child’s seat.’

  He grinned. ‘The furniture in this room is designed to discourage use.’

  ‘Similar to the chairs in the ballroom last night.’

  ‘No one would dare sit in the presence of the Emperor—or his deputy.’

  ‘Arakcheev.’ Allison couldn’t repress a shudder. ‘I most sincerely hope that was my first and only encounter with that odious man, if you don’t mind me being so blunt.’

  ‘I don’t, it’s what I much prefer, and you’re the only person in this city who’s likely to indulge me.’ Aleksei drained his tea in one gulp, a soldier’s habit, Allison assumed, and set the cup on the tray before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘So! I promised you last night that I’d come clean with you, and I’m a man of my word. But before I do, I must stress that everything I’m about to tell you is in the strictest confidence.’

  ‘As I said last night, you can trust me, Count—Aleksei.’

  ‘And as I said last night, you can have no idea how much trust I’m about to place in you. The Derevenko name is a venerable one. My brother was one of the wealthiest men in Russia. He was also the figurehead of one of the most powerful dynasties in the country, with the ear and the protection of the Tsar himself. If anyone in this city got wind of my suspicions, all hell would break loose, whether I’m right or wrong.’

  Allison stared at him, quite confounded. ‘I am not sure—what is it you suspect?’

  ‘Assassination.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘I think perhaps I misheard you. Or perhaps your English—though it is most excellent. But you can’t have meant...’

  ‘I suspect my brother Michael was murdered,’ Aleksei informed her matter of factly, ‘and I need you to help me to discover whether or not I am correct.’

  Utterly thrown, Allison ran her fingers through her hair, forgetting that it was not tied simply back but in a tight chignon, disrupting several pins in the process. ‘How on earth can I help? I am no Bow Street Runner, I’m a herbalist.’

  ‘Precisely! As far as the world is concerned, my brother died of natural causes, and that is what the world must continue to think until we can prove otherwise. I suspect he was poisoned, which is where you come in.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have consulted a local expert? Why send halfway around the world for me.’

  ‘I thought I’d made that clear,’ Aleksei replied with a hint of impatience. ‘You had a glimpse of what St Petersburg is like last night. Gossip is a way of life here, everyone’s life is an open book. I need an outsider with no ties here. No one knows you. Though the reality is that my wards require neither English lessons nor nursing, no one will question your notional title of governess.’

  And all would assume that her duties extended from the schoolroom to Aleksei’s bed. Allison rubbed at her temples, distractedly pulling out several more hairpins. ‘Did The Procurer know your real requirements?’

  ‘She did. I heard of her from a fellow officer. He did not tell me the particulars of his own case, only that he had been obliged to be scrupulously honest in his dealings with her. He’d tried to pull the wool over her eyes, and she almost refused the commission. I decided I couldn’t take that risk, and so I was brutally honest.’

  ‘She was not quite so truthful with me.’

  ‘Clearly.’ Aleksei eyed her quizzically. ‘Would you be here, if she had been?’

  Her hand instinctively clutched her locket, concealed beneath the neckline of her day gown. The Procurer had given her the opportunity, but it had been her grandmother’s belief in her which had given her the strength to take it. Now it was up to Allison to make the most of it. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that I did.’

  Aleksei smiled at her, and she could have sworn that his smile tugged at something, an almost tangible connection between them. ‘I’ve no idea if I can help you,’ Allison said, ‘but I can promise, hand on heart, that I will do my utmost to do so. Tell me, in plain and simple terms exactly what it is that you suspect and why.’

  * * *

  ‘Plain talking.’ Aleksei automatically made for the samovar, in need of another cup of tea, that panacea for all ills and aid to clear thinking. ‘What I have always preferred, though it is anathema here in Machiavellian St Petersburg. The starting point,’ he said, resuming his seat, ‘was when I received a letter from Michael’s man of business informing me that my brother and his wife had died within a few days of each other. I was shocked of course, and deeply saddened, but our imminent encounter with Napoleon at Waterloo was my priority, and so I gave little thought to the circumstances beyond assuming there must have been some sort of carriage accident. The matter of my guardianship was, as I’ve already told you, a most unwelcome surprise, but not one that I had much time to consider in the bloody aftermath of Waterloo, and the urgent need to look after the welfare my troops. It was only when I finally arrived here in St Petersburg that I began to worry that all was not what it seemed.’

  Allison was listening intently, her teacup clutched, still full, in her lap. Aleksei set his own aside. ‘The first thing I discovered was that there had been no accident. Michael appeared to have died of an apoplexy, a violent heart seizure which killed him before the doctor could be summoned. Elizaveta then fell ill shortly thereafter, but her symptoms were quite different. A flux, breathlessness followed by palpitations, caused by a severe intolerance, the doctor confirmed. Here is a copy of his report.’

  He handed over several pages of notes, which Allison quickly scanned. ‘The cause of the Duchess’s death is very clear. What is a coulibiac?’

  ‘A sort of fish pie, peasant food which my sister-in-law consumed on impulse at the market. She had been advised to avoid eating fish following previous adverse reactions as a child, as i
t says in the notes. It’s clear her death was nothing more than a tragic coincidence. Her reaction, as the doctor states, was severe, but not in the least bit suspicious.’

  Allison frowned over the report. ‘But there is no suggestion that your brother’s death was attributable to any sort of poison. The doctor is quite clear, as you said, that he thinks it was due to an apoplexy.’

  ‘Thinks. But he is not certain,’ Aleksei said. ‘In fact, he told me that he was most surprised, because not only was my brother in rude health, Michael had just turned forty, a notoriously abstemious man and most unfashionably fond of taking exercise. What do you make of it?’

  She spread her hands helplessly. ‘In my experience, apoplexies are more common in older men, or those who indulge in excessive consumption of food or wine, but it could simply be that your brother had a weak heart. Isn’t the more obvious conclusion what the doctor has described in his notes—a seizure of the heart?’

  ‘An obvious conclusion in London perhaps, but not in St Petersburg where poison and power are often bedfellows. And if it was not an apoplexy, it must have been poison, don’t you think?’

  Allison scanned the report again. ‘No lesions or rashes. No signs of blunt force or trauma. Clear signs of stress of the heart but none to any other vital organs. I would have to study it more carefully, but—’

  ‘I know, it is not much to go on,’ Aleksei interrupted her, ‘but the manner of Michael’s death is not the only factor which aroused my suspicions. There is also the sudden disappearance of Anna Orlova, the children’s governess, which I mentioned yesterday.’

  ‘You can’t mean that you suspect the governess capable of murder?’

  ‘I know, it sounds far-fetched, but it is even more far-fetched, when you take account of the circumstances, to conclude she was not complicit in some way. Why else would she abandon her charges, whom she is purported to be devoted to, so suddenly and the day before Michael died? And if she has nothing to hide, why is she, paradoxically, in hiding?’