A Priceless Gift: A Regency Romance (6 page)

A week later, one morning Amanda met Mattie at the stables before breakfast and walked back to the main building with her. “How was your ride?”

“Oh, wonderful. Whatever one might say about your husband, the earl, he keeps the best stable I could wish for. Every single one of the horses I have tried over the last week moves like a dream. They are extremely well-trained.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Amanda kicked at a straw on the ground. It rankled that she was precluded from those early morning rides Mattie loved, so as not to endanger that unwanted passenger in her body; but a promise was a promise. She had considered a sedate, slow ride, but that would be more frustrating than not riding at all.

Amanda had already picked out her future mount, a half-Arabian mare called Muffin, and visited her daily with bribes of apples and carrots. On her orders, the grooms were training Muffin to the side saddle, but it would be months yet till Amanda could experience her gallop.

“I already checked on Sigurd this morning,” Mattie went on, oblivious to Amanda’s envy. “He slept like an angel, Nurse assures me, and ate his breakfast very neatly. It is amazing how well he minds her, better than me.”

“That is normal. You are his mama, and he presumes on your natural affection while Nurse is all authority. Mine was like that, too.”
Was
it natural to feel affection towards one’s children in every case? Well, she would soon see for herself.

“I want to take Sigurd out into the gardens later in the day.”

Was that Mattie’s oblique way of asking permission? It was not as though she were Amanda’s slave. “By all means. Children need fresh air and sunshine.”

“I have found out who that doll belonged to,” Mattie said as they entered by the French door that gave onto the western terrace. “The one you ordered put away.”

“Oh?” Amanda had forgotten all about the toy.

“Yes, it seems she belonged to Lady Amaryllis, the earl’s older sister.”

“I was not aware of her existence.” Amanda frowned. “She would be my sister-in-law.”

“Except that she died long ago, before you were even born, when she was just sixteen. She drowned here on the estate in that little pond where the horses are bathed.”

Amanda stared at Mattie. “Are you sure of your facts?”

“Yes, I had it from the cook; she has worked here for over three decades. Amaryllis must be the young girl on that picture we could not identify in the gallery, the pretty one with the shepherdess costume and powdered hair.”

“I suppose that would be the right period,” Amanda agreed, putting the picture and name together in her mind. “How strange that Lucian never mentioned a sister to me.”

“Not all that strange; it was long ago and must be a sad memory. He was only fourteen when she died. And having seen that shallow pond, it does not strike me as likely that anyone would die there accidentally.”

“You mean she might have killed herself?” Amanda shook her head. “A pretty young earl’s daughter? Why on earth would she do that?”

“I don’t suppose anyone will ever know. It was twenty-four years ago, after all.”

“And, yet, her doll still sits in the nursery, almost like new,” Amanda murmured. “Tell Nurse to put it in the attic. I have a feeling it may bring bad luck.”

“Now that is arrant nonsense, mere superstition.”

“Probably, but humour me.”

Mattie nodded as she poured more tea. Amanda was surprised at her own vehemence. Was she worried only about Sigurd, or had she begun to care about the welfare of her own child? If she was to risk her life by giving birth in a few months’ time, it only made sense to want the resulting infant to live; otherwise, her effort would be wasted. Her daughter, if she had one—as she secretly preferred—should
not
drown in any minuscule ponds. It was the kind of thing girls in desperate circumstances did—if Amanda’s father had agreed with her mother and thrown her out, she, herself, might have ended like that, though she rather thought not. Suicide seemed so weak, so cowardly. Yet who knew how far anyone could be driven by desperation? She shivered.

Lucian had mentioned during their first meeting that, to his regret, he had been unable to save a girl in similar circumstances as hers. Her mind had immediately conjured some innocent he had debauched, but could he possibly have meant his
sister
? Hardly. Whatever tragedy had befallen Lady Amaryllis, nobody would expect a fourteen-year-old to save her. Lucian had probably been away at school when it happened.

Still, it was an intriguing story. If she ever achieved easy familiarity with Lucian, she might ask him for the particulars, unless the subject was still too painful.

“Have you considered redecorating your suite or the whole house?” Mattie asked. “I understood that was the normal pastime of bored young society wives.”

“I don’t think of myself as a society wife,” Amada objected. “Though we are to dine with the vicar tonight and play whist afterwards. Take care; Mrs. Dellham is very keen and will take your last penny. Fortunately, the stakes at their entertainments are very moderate.”

“Dining with the vicar is not unlike the society your parents keep in Northumberland,” Mattie said. “What of other noble families in the area?”

“The closest of those would be Viscount Mebberling, and the family is not in residence at present.” From the gossip she had gleaned, Amanda was not looking forward to making those particular neighbours’ acquaintance. Lady Mebberling was said to be as sour as a prune steeped in lemon juice, even on a good day, and her husband rarely deigned to speak to anyone below his own rank.

“Your private sitting room could do with new curtains at a minimum,” Mattie insisted. “If you find this sort of thing tedious, I would not mind undertaking it, always minding your taste and preferences. I feel guilty that I do nothing useful for my salary.”

“Just keeping me company is quite enough,” Amanda assured her. “When I cannot go out much during the last few months, it will be even more important to have someone sympathetic to talk to. How did you manage when you were expecting Sigurd?”

“It was hard,” Mattie admitted. “Luke was in Spain, and the worry over him made everything worse. At least he saw Sigurd during his last leave. I had to rely on the assistance of Luke’s mother, old Mrs. Smithson, more than I could like. She is a good woman in her way but narrow-minded and very religious. She brought me the bible to read, which did not distract me from the discomfort as a good novel might have done.”

Amanda stirred her tea. “Was there a great deal of discomfort?”

“The last few weeks were difficult. I had to use the chamber pot all the time, and yet, just getting up was difficult. I prayed for the child to be born, so I could go back to a more normal body. My feet were swollen. Afterwards, the skin on my belly retained permanent marks. My waist never reverted to what it was in my girlhood, though a good corset helps.”

“I see.” Amanda felt an impulse to break something, but the delicate bone china service was too pretty to be sacrificed to a childish whim.

The butler’s entrance saved her from temptation; he presented a letter on a silver salver.

“Thank you, Rinner,” she dismissed him and sliced the folded paper open with a clean knife. Mattie looked on curiously.

“From Eve,” she said with a broad smile, recognizing the familiar handwriting.

Quickly her eyes moved down the lines. It was private; she would tell Mattie later what she desired her to know.

My dear Amanda,

Words cannot express my relief at knowing you are safe, and married!

After those painful scenes at our home, that I hope we shall eventually be able to put behind us, you may still feel angry. I would in your place.

You know that I never wanted to abandon you. Our days with Aunt Mary were horrid. Mother would not even mention your name or permit any discussion of the matter. She told our aunt that you were ill, to explain why you were not with us. Ursula was told even less of the full particulars than I, but she understood that something was very wrong and was upset for several days, asking how you were and what had happened. I have no idea what Aunt Mary made of our sudden, unannounced visit and strange behaviour.

The astounding news that you were married and
a countess
arrived before I quite despaired of your fate. Strangely, Mother did not seem altogether pleased by this intelligence. Aunt Mary’s hearty congratulations on such a brilliant match only exacerbated her irritation. We stayed with our aunt two extra days afterwards.

I am disappointed, I admit—I always expected to be your bridesmaid, and here you married in my absence. But I understand the reasons and beg you to write back that you are well and happy. Until I see this assurance from you, in your own hand, I cannot be completely easy. And even if you should be the happiest of mortals, which would be surprising under the circumstances, I miss you all the time.

I shall give this letter to Father to send and suggest that you enclose your answer in a letter addressed to him, as I am not sure Mother would give it to me otherwise. If (or when) she relents, I shall not fail to inform you.

Please take care of my favourite sister for me.

Your worried and affectionate,

Eve

Amanda was silent for so long that Mattie said, “I hope it is not bad news?”

“No, not at all. Eve is well and merely anxious to hear from me. She is worried and misses me even as I miss her.”

“I can imagine. Why don’t you invite her for a visit?”

“Mother is not happy at my match. I doubt she would allow Eve to visit me here.”

“Understandable,” Mattie said, to Amanda’s irritation. “The earl’s reputation is hardly pristine, and Eve is an innocent young girl.”

“Lucian would never hurt my sister.” Amanda glared at Mattie. “Must I remind you that he is my husband? I will not hear him spoken of with disrespect.” Considering all the vicious gossip she had heard about him since her early childhood—‘Lord Rake’ indeed!—besides what Lucian and his aunt had told her, it felt strange to defend him like that. But he would never behave like her uncle had done. He was not the kind to prey on innocents, not the servants, and not her sister if she was ever allowed to visit.

“Oh,” Mattie said, “I beg your pardon, Amanda. I shall try not to speak ill of him; after all, I only have hearsay to go on. And who knows but that marriage to you will reform him, and he’ll be hailed as a model husband soon?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Amanda said more curtly than she intended. “I would prefer not to discuss my husband at all, if you don’t mind.”

“Very well,” Mattie agreed. “I’d rather talk of new curtains anyway. What would you say to a very light blue-green shade? And matching wallpaper? Shall we send to town for some patterns?”

There was no escape from her companion’s zeal for home improvement. Amanda supposed it was as good a way as any to pass the time until the child was born at long last.

Lucian had used his connections in the city to commandeer a two-masted schooner for his journey. Discretion seemed advisable on his delicate mission, and officially, the
Anna Lucia
was merely bent on commerce. Russia had reopened trade with England only the previous year, and the holds were loaded with printed cottons and porcelain. The cargo master expected a tidy profit.

For the return journey Lucian would have to find a different berth, as a trading vessel could not wait in one port for weeks or months.

As he sped across the shallow waves of the Baltic Sea, he imagined Napoleon’s great army assembling in Poland for an attack on Russia. A poorly advised undertaking, but then after two previous sojourns Lucian knew Russia rather better than Napoleon did. He even had a smattering of the language, enough to order a meal or scold a tardy waiter, though he had rarely had to use it; educated Russians were all fluent in French and German and, sometimes, English. Negotiations would be conducted in French as usual.

He reviewed his experience with Czar Alexander. Lucian had first been presented to the monarch in 1803, only two years after Alexander’s coronation. At the time, at least, he had not seemed as irrational as his late father, Czar Paul, whose morbid fear of assassination had proved all too justified. Yet Alexander, too, could be capricious and had to be handled with utmost tact. By all accounts, he had not become easier to treat with over the first decade of his rule.

The czar’s fickleness was only to be welcomed, of course, when it irritated Napoleon and ruined the precarious alliance between France and Russia concluded at Tilsit in 1807. Since then, diplomatic relations between Russia and England had been broken off. If Lucian’s mission prospered, they would be resumed sooner rather than later.

All signs were propitious: Alexander had already reopened trade with England, and Napoleon had not forgiven him. War between France and Russia was imminent, a fact of which Amanda was happily ignorant. Not that Lucian felt particular alarm for his own safety. He should be back in England before the hostilities got underway and thus escape the coming tide of blood. The Russians had every reason to welcome him, not least because he brought the latest fruits of British intelligence with him, detailed information that Alexander’s generals could compare to their own gleanings. In their aim of defeating Napoleon, their two countries had temporarily found common ground.

In St. Petersburg, Lucian would stay with his old friends, Prince and Princess Korosev, if they were in residence. There had not been time to inform them of his coming. If not, he could always hire a house of his own.

Irene Koroseva had been his mistress when he’d last seen the couple in Finland three years before. Her husband had no objection to her little pleasures; Nikolai even liked to watch her sport with partners who enjoyed that sort of thing. The princess would expect to take up where they had left off, though likely Irene would already have a couple of handsome officers in their early twenties on her string. If she offered her body to him, it might merely be for old times’ sake, and she would not mind too much when he declined.

When
he declined? Lucian pulled himself up short. Why on earth would he do so? In her late thirties, Irene was still a very beautiful woman as well as an experienced and sophisticated lover. He had not enjoyed intercourse since that rushed ceremony in Northumberland, for nearly eight weeks now; he should be more randy than he felt. Ships did not offer the refined female company he preferred, and he was too fastidious and wary of contagion to seek out courtesans—
whores
, as Amanda would say with that little crinkle of her nose—whenever the schooner called at a port. Normally, he would have taken care of the matter in London, discreetly, but what with the hurried preparations for the mission and making provisions for Amanda, he had not found the time.

Only a few more days until they reached St. Petersburg. The harbour had been founded by Czar Peter the Great, whose name the city commemorated. These days it was becoming a showplace, an impressive achievement that most of his compatriots back home would gawp at. Even his friends in the Foreign Office were unaware how quickly Russia was developing. New and ever more imposing buildings were shooting up at a surprising pace.

Since there was currently no British Embassy, he’d have to look after himself. Just as well, perhaps, since incumbent ambassadors hated that kind of special mission on their turf. Who would next be appointed to the post? He would include recommendations about the future ambassador’s qualifications in his confidential report. In these extremely dangerous times, it was essential that they pick someone level-headed and experienced who knew Russia and Alexander. They might try to persuade him to take the job, but that was not an option.
He never should have left Amanda alone.

It was ridiculous how his thoughts on any subject sooner or later circled back to his indifferent young wife. She would be happy to be free and hardly pining for him. Lucian must take care not to become too attached to the girl. There was nothing more pathetic than an older husband doting on a youthful wife.

Dammit, he was not yet forty, not an ‘older husband’ by any means. That line of thought was absurd. If he tried, with all of his experience to call upon, surely he could make Amanda fall in love with him. But was it wise? Love was a dangerously volatile emotion with unpredictable consequences, especially in the young. Far better not to attempt it. If he succeeded, he might feel obliged to live up to her naïve notions of a faithful husband. And if he failed—no, he would not even think of it. Much better to focus on Irene’s luscious way of playing with certain body parts, even if it seemed inexplicably sordid to dwell on his old lover’s tricks when he’d just been contemplating Amanda.

This near-obsession with his wife was too strange. Was absence making the heart fonder, as the saying went? And would his absence have a similar effect on Amanda, or would she forget all about the husband she had never wanted, who had merely been a convenient solution to her desperate situation?

He could not do anything about it just then and had an important mission before him.
That
was what he should concentrate on, exclusively, for the remainder of the tedious sea journey. The sooner he completed his assigned task, the earlier he could return to . . . um, return
home
.

***

It turned out the Korosevs were not in St. Petersburg. The prince had undertaken a mission to the Great Porte, and the princess was minding her husband’s vast estates in the Caucasus. Other notable families were also absent from court. Within a day, Lucian found and rented a house belonging to one of them, fully furnished and staffed. While that was convenient, since Lucian had only brought his trusted valet, he would need to be careful not to leave any sensitive papers lying around. His temporary staff were no doubt informing the Russian secret police of his every move, but he was more worried about French agents subverting them.

Having established a suitable base of operations, Lucian went to call upon a count of his acquaintance, who would discreetly let the proper authorities know of his arrival and whereabouts. To his annoyance, Count Terzeff had gone to the countryside to hunt boars. It hardly mattered, as his real target was the Russian general staff and the czar’s closest advisers and, ultimately, Alexander himself. If Terzeff was unable to serve as intermediary, he would soon find another.

This proved unnecessary in the event; he had underestimated the vigilance of the Russian secret police.

“A gentleman to see you, sir—an officer,” the major-domo of his miniature palace announced just as he was about to go out again.

“Bring him to the library.”

Presently, a hussar major in the splendid dress uniform of the Imperial Guard made his entrance. He stood three inches taller than Lucian, who was not short by any measure. The huge young warrior introduced himself as Major Kendorov in impeccable French.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance?” Lucian asked, though he had already guessed.

“You are expected, Lord Rackington,” the major replied, “and I have been placed at your disposal during your stay in our country, as native guide and liaison, on the order of General Prince Katanis.”

That name needed no further elucidation. Katanis was closely allied to Kutuzov, the most admired general of the Russian Army. Although, wasn’t Kutuzov temporarily out of favour, one more victim of Alexander’s capriciousness? It was not easy to keep up when you had to spend so many days aboard.

Kendorov was only in his late twenties, extremely good-looking, and with a puppy-like, jolly air that invited confidence, not unlike some of the best diplomats of Lucian’s acquaintance. Such a first impression tended to be extremely misleading. He suspected that the major, too, had depths not to be guessed at from superficial acquaintance.

“That is very thoughtful of the general, but I have been to your country before and know my way around. I only need an appointment or two with the right men, the sooner the better.”

“I know,” Major Kendorov said. “As for the military part and the information we are told you carry, I shall have the honour to conduct you to General Katanis tomorrow morning at ten.”

“That is fast, and I thank you.” Lucian tried not to show his surprise at such quick progress. Of course, they would be looking forward to receiving the papers he carried, which lost in value and freshness with every day that passed. Yet, was he being played by one of the various factions within the military establishment? “What about the minister of war, M. Barclay de Tolly? Is he aware of this meeting?”

“He will be fully informed at the earliest opportunity; you have my word of honour.”

“In that case, I shall gladly pass whatever information I brought with me to the general’s own hands,” he agreed. “But that is not the whole of my mission.”

“I am not informed about the rest of your brief, my lord. I understand that the other matters you want to discuss can only be decided by his Imperial Majesty?”

“That is so.” It had been Alexander himself who had asked for him, according to the Foreign Office. With Napoleon’s Grande Armée preparing to attack even now, and part of his offer concerning weapons deliveries, it was to be hoped the Czar would not keep him dangling overlong; but you never knew with Alexander. He would casually mention the weapons on offer to Katanis and Kutuzov; they had to be as interested as anyone in obtaining additional supplies for their country’s defence and would understand that time was of the essence.

“While we shall do everything in our power to make your stay in Russia pleasant and fruitful, there is an unfortunate hitch.” Kendorov’s face was the picture of innocent candour.

“Oh? Of what nature, may I ask?” Delays and obstacles were the normal course of such missions, he reminded himself.
Patience.

“His Imperial Majesty is not currently in residence. He is inspecting certain of our preparations. I tell you this in the strictest confidence; officially, he is here in his palace, but there are no public events scheduled. In reality, he has been travelling for weeks already. Monsieur Barclay de Tolly has gone with him.”

“I am glad to hear His Imperial Majesty is taking such a personal interest in your nation’s defence,” Lucian replied, cursing inwardly. “Is there no chance I may join him, perhaps meet him halfway when he turns back?”

“No, his route is secret for security reasons. Besides, I imagine the kind of negotiations you hope to undertake require the presence of his counsels and of a Foreign Office representative.”

“That is, in fact, the normal practice.” Lucian would not have minded doing without all the others, who tended to put forward unnecessary objections. The Czar was an absolute ruler and could negotiate all by himself if he wanted, but clearly he did not want to in this case. There was nothing to do but wait until his return, whenever that would be.

“Since the meeting with General Katanis is not scheduled until tomorrow, may I have the honour to invite you to dinner tonight, Lord Rackington? There is a club frequented by staff officers with a French cook I fancy you will not despise, and the vintages are excellent.”

“It sounds most inviting.” Lucian would sound out his young liaison, get to know him better, since he clearly could not get rid of him. “Is it not odd that however much we might fight Napoleon, we all welcome his country’s cuisine? And are even now speaking his language?”

“Not that odd,” Kendorov replied. “I imagine we shall still enjoy champagne and French dishes long after Bonaparte is defeated.”

Lucian could only hope that he would prove right.