Natalya (34 page)

Natalya hitched her rush stool closer to the worktable, sitting in the middle of a warm sunbeam. Her curls, caught back in a wide aqua ribbon, were burnished with gold dust. Hyla stood for a moment, knife and potato in hand, looking at the middle Beauvisage child. Dressed in a soft, simple gown of white muslin trimmed with aqua ribbons and inserts of Belgian lace, she was truly exquisite. Her skin was creamy, her mouth full and sensual, her eyes alert and curious.

Feeling the older woman's stare, Natalya looked up. "Is anything wrong?"

"Mercy, no! I was just thinking how
beautiful
you are, sweetheart. You're all soft and curvy and golden, like a ripe peach. Why haven't you gotten married?"

"Well," Natalya replied candidly, "the main reason is that I want to be independent, and now that I've had success with my writing, I can be. I'd prefer not to answer to a husband. I know that Papa doesn't order Maman about, but most men do." She gave a philosophical shrug. "I know myself well enough to know that such an arrangement would never do for me. I couldn't tolerate being dominated...."

Hyla pondered these revelations, smiling. "I know exactly what you mean, love. Do you know, I was fifty years old before I married Pierre. I always wanted to be on my own, too, but I came to realize that a lady has to make compromises. I never wanted to admit that I liked having a man take care of me, and yet it's true. And, I take care of him, too. The trick is to find a man who can dominate without seeming to, so's you'll find yourself enjoying it." She smiled broadly. "There's no shame in admitting you need what a good man can offer. In feet, there's a sort of joy you feel deep inside; it has to do with accepting womanhood, I think. I finally learned that, and I'll wager that you will, too."

When Natalya left the keeping room and wandered through the gardens to her great-grandmother's cottage, she found herself remembering the thrill she'd known when Grey had taken charge. She reflected on the night they'd escaped from the inn in St. Malo... the way he'd all but physically removed her from the cyprians' ball in London... his commanding resolution of the situation with Adrienne—even their most recent confrontation at the Spruce Street house, when she had intended to bully him into leaving Philadelphia and had ended up in his bed, eagerly returning his kisses. Natalya had to admit that Hyla might be right—an instinctive part of her did enjoy Grey's confident assurance, even when it meant yielding to his strength. The notion that this might be normal was almost revolutionary to her.

Shallow flagstone steps marked the entrance to the cottage, which seemed adrift in narcissus of every variety. Danielle Beauvisage had lived nearly seventy-five years in France before retiring to Philadelphia after the death of her husband and taking up residence here on the grounds of Belle Maison. Natalya had been only four when her great-grandmother died, but she felt as if she knew her intimately, for her spirit was everywhere in and around the cottage. All her favorite flowers and herbs were planted in the tiny garden, which Alec maintained in her memory. The snug cottage was filled with Great-Grandmere's needlework on chairs, cushions, tablecloths, and bed linens, and her paintings of the garden and her loved ones lined the walls. It was a place where Natalya felt at home. Certainly she would be able to create here, she told herself each day.

The morning after her encounter with Grey in the Spruce Street house, Natalya had risen at dawn and come out to the cottage. She'd hated to disturb the familiar furnishings but had moved one drop-leaf table in front of the sitting room window and chosen a curved bow-back chair to go with it. Then, during the next two days, she had found herself occupied with many tasks that had little to do with writing. She'd spent hours poring over the French books that had belonged to her great-grandmother, telling herself that one might provide needed inspiration. She'd written a letter to Nicholai, Lisette, and James, then one to Adrienne. She'd cut yellow, peach, and white narcissus and placed them in vases throughout the cottage. And she'd stared out the windows, searching for diversions.

Natalya had sworn that today would be different, but when she sat down at the table and took quill in hand, Eloise and Charles eluded her again. Hyla's words kept intruding in her mind, followed by scattered memories of Grey St. James. She'd half expected him to turn up these past three days, if only to taunt her, but there was no sign of him. Was he occupying himself with the woman Fedbusk had sighted on the street?

Voices drifted from the garden through the open window, and Natalya looked up to see Kristin and Hollis Gladstone strolling among the beds of tulips. Kristin was a vision in a green-sprigged morning gown, while Hollis looked slightly ill at ease in a dark blue coat and buff trousers. Watching them, Natalya wondered why he persisted in courting Kristin when she clearly wasn't interested. And then she wondered why, if Krissie wasn't interested, she didn't simply say so.

Hollis's bearlike shape and tousled hair appealed to Natalya's tender heart. He was speaking earnestly to Kristin, gesturing with his large hands, apparently to no avail. Kristin smiled, touched his arm, and then walked away toward the house, pausing once to look back and wave good-bye. Hollis continued to stand amid the bright beds of tulips, looking lost.

"Mr. Gladstone?" Natalya called impulsively through the window. "Will you join me for tea?"

She went out to meet him, guiding him back to the cottage, and busied herself for several minutes preparing tea while he wandered around the parlor and sitting room. His expression was both puzzled and bereft. When they were settled at last on the walnut settee, Natalya came straight to the point.

"Mr. Gladstone, I do not mean to pry, but I cannot help noticing that you do not appear to be pleased with the progress of your association with my sister. If there is anything I can do to help, I assure you that I would be happy to do so."

He gazed at her through his spectacles with bewildered green eyes. "I confess that I am in love with your sister, Miss Beauvisage, and haven't even enough pride remaining to hide that fact. I have tried everything, including getting myself up in these fashionable clothes, which she seems to admire on other men."

"They look very nice," Natalya said politely.

He grimaced and shook his head. "I may not be skilled at tying a cravat, but my regard for your sister is sincere, and I feel that we would balance each other's temperaments well. Kristin can be a trifle impractical, even hotheaded, which I say with great fondness. I cannot help but think that marriage to a stable sort of man, like me, would suit her better than a passionate love match—which would doubtless prove far too... incendiary. Furthermore, I do not consider myself to be boring. In ordinary circumstances, I am a cheerful sort who enjoys life to the fullest. I like to laugh, to read, to learn, and to explore the world beyond the confines of Philadelphia." Hollis paused for breath and ran a hand through his sandy hair.

"All traits to be desired!"

"I know that I am not handsome like some of Kristin's other suitors, but I have an open heart. I would take care of her, work hard to provide for her, and show her that I cherish her each and every day."

"An open heart is the most valuable asset any man can claim," Natalya said, with feeling, liking him more and more. "Mr. Gladstone, I think that you should alter your approach in courting my sister. I sense that you
are
passionate, and you must show her that. Don't follow her like a puppy, begging for her time. Stand up for yourself! Let Kristin see that you are a confident man who has pride. I believe that she longs to be swept off her feet. Show her that you have taken a firm hold on the reins of your involvement with her, and then woo her with strength and tenderness." She gave him a glowing smile. "I agree with you, Mr. Gladstone. I think that you may be the perfect mate for Krissie, and I've a notion she'll come around to the same conclusion if you follow my advice."

Hollis sat up straighter as a gleam of hope crept into his eyes. "You're a writer of novels, aren't you? I suppose that makes you something of an expert on the subject of romance."

"I don't know about that," Natalya replied, blushing as she thought of her own tangled private life." Perhaps I'm learning. And, I
am
Kristin's sister, which qualifies me as something of an expert on her, I suppose."

Finishing his tea, he put the cup and saucer aside and stood up. "I believe I'll keep my distance from Kristin for a while. Who knows? Perhaps she'll miss me just a little. And then, when we meet again, I shall do my best to put your advice into practice." He walked with Natalya to the cottage door. Standing on the flagstone step, he took her hand and smiled in a way that she found surprisingly winning. "You have given me hope, Miss Beauvisage. I am more grateful for your time than you will ever know."

"It was a pleasure, Mr. Gladstone," she said sincerely. "May I add that you should smile like that more often? I think that you are handsomer than you realize."

Natalya watched him stride purposefully toward the stables, then wandered back inside and sat down to finish her tea. All the things she had said to Hollis Gladstone came back to her, and she realized how closely they resembled Hyla's advice to
her.
Again, Natalya wondered what had become of Grey. What was he doing at that moment; whom was he with? The fleeting thought that he might have suddenly decided to return to England after all sent an unexpected chill through her body. Realizing that Grey had, almost against her will, become a stimulating, vital part of her life, Natalya decided that the time had come for her to examine her feelings honestly. Running from them only heightened the ache in her heart....

Chapter 22

May 6
,
1814

Madame Henricot, a French émigré who had parlayed her skills as a seamstress into a highly successful career catering to Philadelphia's elite, had just delivered Natalya's new wardrobe. Alone in her bedchamber, Natalya gazed upon the delightful array of gowns for morning and evening and walking, the cashmere shawls, spencers, riding habits, and undergarments of fine soft muslin that were spread over her bed and chairs. Tomorrow her mother was taking her into the city to purchase new bonnets, shoes, parasols, and reticules to match Madame Henricot's creations, but Natalya felt little enthusiasm for the project.

Wandering down the corridor, she discovered Caro curled on her favorite window seat in the library. A fine rain misted the glass panes behind her, and
My Lady's Heart
was open on her lap. Natalya paused in the doorway, smiling. How young her mother looked today—like a girl, really, in her gown of white muslin delicately trimmed in gold. Her curls were pinned loosely atop her head, and stray tendrils accentuated her lovely profile and the line of her neck. At her feet lay a long-stemmed pink tulip, resting innocently against the dove gray cushion that lined the window seat.

"Hello, Maman," Natalya greeted her softly.

"Darling!" Immediately Caro closed the book and got to her feet. "Have you been trying on your new gowns?"

"A few," she lied. They sat down together on the chairs facing the fireplace.

"I must tell you that, in my completely unbiased opinion,
My Lady's Heart
is sheer delight," Caro pronounced, beaming at her daughter. "I find it every bit as well written as
Pride and Prejudice,
and not nearly as slow. What a talent you have for dialogue! I'm sure you inherited it from me."

Natalya laughed, glad to be cajoled out of her bleak mood. "Oh, Maman, how silly you are!"

"On the contrary, I'm completely serious," she replied, trying not to smile. "And if anyone is qualified to judge, it is I. The scene that I am reading now is so exciting! Katherine is just about to walk into Justin's study and find him with that schemer Yvette. Will she faint at the sight of them together?"

Horrified, Natalya replied, "Maman, my heroines
never
faint!"

Alec's voice drifted to them from the hallway, followed momentarily by his appearance on the library's threshold. Next to him stood a petite, winsomely beautiful woman with black curls caught up under a straw Victoria hat, its crown turned up in front. She wore a long-sleeved gown of thin jaconet muslin over a lavender slip, the color of which accented her large violet eyes. Natalya thought that their guest looked familiar but could not place her until Caroline exclaimed:

"Meagan Hampshire! I didn't know that you and Lion were still in Philadelphia." She hurried across the library to embrace her smiling friend. "If I had known, I would have brought Natalya round to see you at Hampshire House. Is it possible that only a month has passed since we all dined together and I told you and Devon Raveneau that Talya was far away in France? Even then she was on her way home to us! How long has it been since you've seen her?"

"Years," Meagan replied as Caro caught her hand and led her toward Natalya. "I encountered James Stringfellow in town, and he told me the happy news. I couldn't be more delighted for you all!"