Natalya (7 page)

"Who can blame him?" Natalya remarked dryly, wrinkling her nose as she stared at herself. She was wearing the ugliest assortment of clothing she'd ever seen. A whalebone corset and rusty old side hoops reshaped her body, while Marie-Helene had added insult to injury by stuffing in padding to fill out strategic areas. "I certainly feel
disguised."

"No one will know you, mam'selle."

"Well, I should certainly
hope not!" She was almost afraid to touch the musty-smelling gray gown that covered her padded, boned undergarments. Like the corset and panniers, the rest of her costume was distinctly out of fashion. "Why in the world would the milkmaid's grandmother have kept these old things?"

Marie-Helene giggled. "She was still wearing them, I think. She prefers the fashions from her youth, when Louis the Fifteenth was king." The maid leaned forward and pulled two tattered cords hidden near the gown's waistline. Magically the skirt parted in the middle to reveal a discolored red silk petticoat.

"Dear God. How hideous!" Natalya grimaced. "I wonder when these last saw soap and water?"

Crossing the ends of a water-stained fichu over her mistress's bosom, Marie-Helene stepped behind her to tie them in back. "
Vraiment,
I think that is part of m'sieur's plan. If you should encounter the men who are searching for him, he intends that both of you will appear so authentically decrepit that they will not suspect for a moment."

"Exactly, my dear Marie-Helene."

Hearing St. James speaking from the doorway, Natalya turned, then squinted in surprise. The man standing before her bore no resemblance at all to the imposing, black-haired, bearded madman who had pressed a knife between her ribs upon their meeting less than a day ago. Gone were the stark black clothes, the appealingly virile good looks.

"How reassuring to see that someone in this chateau is uglier than I this morning," she said brightly.

Grey cocked an eyebrow. "But you haven't done your hair or painted your face yet, my dear Miss Beauvisage. The best is yet to come." With a flourish, he brought his hand out from behind his back to display a long, large white cone that Natalya vaguely remembered had once been used to protect the face while a person's hair was being powdered. She took a step backward, and Grey laughed. "You may as well submit without a struggle. Otherwise I'll have to restrain you while Marie-Helene applies the powder, and that wouldn't be pleasant for any of us, would it?"

She felt like crying with frustration. It was obvious, looking at him, just how horrid he intended her to be. His own appearance bordered on the grotesque. He wore a powdered bagwig under a huge tricorn hat, and his face was virtually unrecognizable. He had applied powder to heighten his pallor, and added dark smudges under his eyes and cheekbones to make himself appear even more gaunt. Moreover, he had chosen a costume that was just as antiquated and unflattering as hers: a flowing lace jabot that was torn and stained, a long pink brocade waistcoat, baggy green knee breeches, and a matching, ill-fitting green coat with wide soiled velvet cuffs and gold buttons, several of which were missing. His square-toed black shoes had large buckles, and his calves were covered by sagging grayish stockings. The entire effect was that of a loathsome old man who had not changed his clothes since the storming of the Bastille.

"How can you bear to appear in public looking like that?" she asked.

"My dear Natalya, you must hold fast to your sense of whimsy if we are to succeed with this little plan. Words cannot describe the fun I had unearthing these costumes, and of course the objective is to look as unlike
ourselves
as possible. Hence, these amusing new identities." Grey leaned on his long, amber-knobbed walking stick with one hand and reached into the deep pocket of his coat with the other, producing a tarnished silver snuffbox. He flicked it open, inhaled a pinch of imaginary snuff, and struck an attitude. "Madame, meet your husband, Maurice Galabru. What name would you like?"

"Do you mean to suggest that I have a
choice
in the matter?"

He favored her with an imperturbable smile. "
Mais oui, ma chere marie!"

"You're too kind." Natalya stared at herself in the mirror, watching as Marie-Helene pinned her long hair up in an elaborate style. "I believe I'll be Antoinette, in honor of our late queen."

"Very good," Grey said approvingly. "I'm pleased to see that you're beginning to enjoy yourself."

Marie-Helene placed the cone over her face, covered her dress with a sheet, and began to squirt powder at her head from a cloth bag fitted with a special nozzle. Her victim made outraged choking noises all the while. When she was finished, the sheet and cone were set aside, and the little maid produced a voluminous mobcap, which she drew over Natalya's coiffure until it was nearly covered.

"Voila!" Marie-Helene cried proudly.

Grey nodded. "Well done."

"I look like an old witch," wailed Natalya.

"But I am not yet finished," Marie-Helene protested, reaching for a tray of cosmetics. Quickly she covered her mistress's beautiful face with white powder, then painted her cheeks dark pink and her mouth red, adding a black patch near her lower lip. At last she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Natalya was so repelled by her own garish reflection that she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Slowly her crimson lips turned upward. "At least no one will guess who I really am."

"That's the spirit!" Brandishing the walking stick, Grey crossed the dressing room in his buckled shoes and extended his hand. "Come to your husband, my beautiful Antoinette."

When Natalya placed her hand in his, he bent to kiss it, smiling into her eyes.

"I was afraid of this." Lisette stood in the doorway, her expression one of bemusement. Shaking her head, she remarked, "Either there are two very bizarre strangers in my niece's dressing groom, or Natalya has decided to travel to England after all...."

Chapter 5

March
28, 1814

The rains had passed, leaving the Loire Valley washed clean and glowing with the innocent luster of early spring. Out in the courtyard of Chateau du Soleil, Nicholai, Lisette, Grey, and Natalya stood together near a large wagon that looked as if it had been in use since the Middle Ages.

"Why do we have to travel in
that
broken-down old thing? Haven't you a decent closed carriage that you could loan us, Uncle Nicky?" As she spoke, Natalya tugged at her padded corset, struggling to arrange it more comfortably.

Nicholai tried not to look at his niece, for each time he did he was nearly overcome with laughter. She reminded him of one of the old crones who had knitted at the guillotines during the Reign of Terror. "I offered Grey a perfectly nice phaeton, but he insisted upon this ancient vehicle."

"But, what if it
rains?"
She turned on Grey. "Not to mention the likelihood that we'll lose a wheel or the entire thing will simply collapse. And look at that
horse!
It's half-dead."

"Shh." He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes alight with mischief. "She'll hear you!"

While two stable boys loaded a large cask of wine into the back of the wagon and filled the rest of the empty bed with straw, Grey turned to his host. "I must thank you, sir, for your many kindnesses to me. I shall guard your niece with my own life."

Nicholai sighed. "I don't like this at all, but I suppose there's nothing to be done. Can I count on you to find a maid for Natalya when you reach London? I don't have to tell you that it's unheard of for a gentlewoman to be traveling alone... particularly alone with a man."

"I was planning on it, I assure you."

Lisette leaned toward her husband. "Darling, there's a war on. Only fathers—and uncles—bother with propriety at times like these."

"Why don't you go and give Natalya some sound, motherly advice regarding the maintenance of her virtue?" Nicholai's stern words were belied by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Speaking of the war," Grey said, "What news can you give me? Is there any possibility that we might encounter fighting on our way to St. Malo?"

"No. The battles, if they continue even now, are being fought in the east. If that jackass Napoleon weren't so proud and stubborn, the bloodshed would have ended long ago. As it is, the Allies offered him an armistice last month, but he refused unless they left France its newly enlarged boundaries. Naturally that ended the negotiations."

"And now?"

"Yesterday, in Saumur, I heard that all the armies left alive in France are en route to Paris, where one hopes Napoleon will surrender before any more blood is shed." Nicholai shrugged. "It is a tragedy that a land as beautiful as France must struggle continually with turmoil, is it not? When I first came here thirty years ago, I fell in love with my new home, but soon it was torn apart by that barbaric revolution. Now, Napoleon has seen to it that the beautiful villages are ravaged and most of the fine young men are dead. To that madman, no one's blood has any value but his own."

"I know that anyone will be an improvement over Napoleon, and that the restoration of a king would mean peace for France," Grey remarked, "but I have to tell you that Louis the Eighteenth is hardly the savior so desperately needed. I knew him in London."

"I have met him myself and found him to be slow and genial," Nicholai agreed. "However, France is weary of dynamic leaders, and I feel certain that a great deal will change within the government. Louis the Eighteenth will never have the power his brother did."

Across the courtyard, Lisette embraced Natalya as tears sprang to her eyes. "You know that I shall miss you desperately, my dear, but it is important to have grand adventures. This certainly qualifies!"

"Auntie," whispered Natalya, glancing around to make certain she would not be overheard, "I'm
scared."

"I know you are, sweetheart, but that is only fear of the unknown. Let go of your fear and trust God to guide you. And soon you'll be back in Philadelphia, beginning an entirely new chapter in your life!"

The men were walking over to join them, and James had just burst from the chateau, running toward Natalya to bid her good-bye.

"I overslept," he apologized.

She began to weep as she hugged him, reaching up to brush back his tousled curls. "I'm going to miss you terribly. When sea travel is safe again, you must come to America, James."

"I wish I could go with you now."

"The next time I see you, you'll be a terribly handsome grown man, and all the girls in Philadelphia will be fighting for your attention."

He stood up a little straighter. "Do you suppose?"

She giggled. "Absolutely!"

His eyes wandered over her costume. "You certainly look different, Talya. I would never know it was you."

"That's just what I like to hear," said Grey.

"Is that
you,
Mr. St. James?" the boy exclaimed.

Amid the laughter that followed, Lisette tucked a basket of food and wine under the wagon seat, and Nicholai turned to his niece, opening his arms. She stepped into them and pressed her face against his shirt.

"I love you, Uncle Nicky," she murmured, her voice thick with tears.

"Watch that you don't spoil your artfully painted face," he teased. "I love you, too, Talya, with all my heart."

"I can still remember when you came to visit us in Philadelphia, during the revolution here. I was very little, and you were so handsome. You told me stories, and you used to give me part of your dessert."

"You have always been enchanting. I'm very grateful that you spent these years at Chateau du Soleil with us."

"I became a writer here!" She drew back to look up at him. "But it is time to move on. And I promise to visit Adrienne when I arrive in London."

Nicholai gave her one more hug and then released her. "Remember, if you change your mind, you need only send word and I will come immediately to bring you back."

Grey helped her into the wagon, where she perched uneasily on the narrow, splintered seat. Then, after bidding a final farewell to his hosts and their son, the Englishman climbed up beside her, picked up the reins, and they began to roll forward down the chateau's long drive. Natalya turned back once to wave, seeing her relatives through a blur of tears.

As the wagon with its two eccentric-looking occupants turned onto the road and disappeared into the chestnut trees, Lisette took out her lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "I truly think that this was the right thing for Talya to do. It's time she emerged into the world and discovered love for herself."

Nicholai gave his wife a sidelong glance. "Hmm. I hope you don't have Grey St. James in mind when you say that. As a woman, you are probably blinded by his looks and breeding, and I admit that he seems to be a nice enough man, but he's hiding something. I can't quite remember what it is, but I'm certain there's something in his past that disqualifies him as the husband you've dreamed of for Talya...."