“Forgive you?" Tanya looked very seriously and searchingly into his face. "What was there to forgive? I was thankful that you had been able to tell me, for I guessed there was something tormenting you, but it doesn't require forgiveness, only a little understanding! In any case, I've heard of far worse than that! My Great-Uncle's neighbour always celebrates the fourteenth birthday of each of his female serfs by taking her to his bed for the night — he thinks it his right, and expects them to be grateful! Even my Great-Uncle offered some of his male guests a bed-warmer! What happened to you was far easier to understand and accept than that. In any case, your steward told you it was meant!”
Prince Nikolai was looking at her with such amazement and dawning relief that she realised that she had underestimated the depth of his feelings of guilt and shame. If only she could find the right words now, here was a heavensent chance to do something to help him lose some of his burden. She braced herself, took a deep, steadying breath, sent a mental
"Please,
St. Nikolai!" to his patron saint, and went on as steadily as she could.
“Your people wanted you to have a child — someone to love, someone to live for. They must have been afraid for you, because they know that a man who has no reason to live very easily dies. A child would be a responsibility which you couldn't leave to someone else — they knew that a man like you couldn't disregard it. You would have to take some interest in it, at least, and you might grow to love it — him. I dare say that if that particular girl hadn't succeeded, another would have tried. Your people must love you very much."
“I . . ." Prince Nikolai croaked, cleared his throat and tried again. "But I didn't feel anything for her."
“You couldn't feel anything then. She wanted to help you, and she did, by giving you a son to care for. What would have become of you without him? I'm sorry she died, but I expect she probably thought it worthwhile."
“How can you think that?" he asked, almost knowing the answer but not yet daring to believe it.
Tanya looked up at him, deliberately turning her face a little
so
that the full light of the chandelier above their heads fell across it, and tried to let all her defences fall and her love for him show in her eyes. "Because I would feel the same.”
He was silent for several seconds, staring at her, and she could see in his face that there was struggle going on inside him between his fears and doubts and his longing to accept what she said. She prayed for him wordlessly, harder than she had ever prayed for anything in all her life, and was at last rewarded by seeing his doubts give way to the beginnings of acceptance.
Some people entered the anteroom, chattering and laughing. Tanya turned away from them, feeling selfconscious and vulnerable. She had freely revealed her feelings to Nikolai, but shrank from the curious glances of these strangers. Prince Nikolai seemed to know, and perhaps felt the same, for he said rapidly and a trifle too loudly, "Mr. Dawes and his assistants have been working on the portraits for nearly a year now, but of course it will take a long time, for there are over three hundred to be done.”
As he drew her towards the door of the new gallery, Tanya managed to reply in a reasonably bright and interested voice, "And they will show all the Russian generals who commanded in 1812? How interesting.”
There was, in fact, little to see in the 1812 gallery, for it was hardly begun and was only lit by one wall-sconce, leaving most of it in semi-darkness. As it was not on the usual route from the Winter Palace to the Hermitage, and did not lead to any of the State Apartments, there were not even any guards stationed in it. Prince Nikolai drew Tanya into the darkest and most remote corner and said, "I'm only just beginning to realise what a treasure I've found! You've done more for my peace of mind in the last few minutes than I can ever tell you!”
Tanya, feeling a little dizzy and limp with relief, rested her head against his shoulder and slid her arms round his waist, remembering just in time not to press against his damaged ribs. Prince Nikolai held her and rested his cheek against her hair, receiving a painful jab from one of the barleycorns in her tiara, which he manfully ignored.
“You do realise that I have to see Ilya quite often?" he asked softly. "He — he counts on me, you see, and his tutor says he mopes a little if I let too much time pass between visits."
“Even a week seems a long time to a child," Tanya replied, not paying enough attention to the unspoken thoughts behind his words, for she had never before shared a peaceful, loving embrace like this, and was quite lost in the delight of it. Nikolai hesitated, decided that this was not the time to pursue the matter, and kissed her instead.
Eventually Tanya became hazily aware that they must have been here for quite a long time, and there was still an important matter to be mentioned.
“I haven't thanked you for the brooch," she said.
“Brooch?" Prince Nikolai murmured vaguely. "Oh,
that
brooch. I wonder if any man's future ever hung on the wearing of a brooch before. Do you like it?"
“It's the most beautiful thing I've ever had," Tanya assured him. "Because of what it means to both of us, and because it's your gift. It's beautiful in itself as well.”
He kissed her again, and Tanya, drowning most happily in the wonder and exultation of it all, broke surface long enough to utter a dazed, inconsequential, "No, I was wrong! It isn't the most beautiful . . .
This
is more beautiful than anything!”
Normally, Prince Nikolai was so used to the motionless figures of the guards stationed here and there about the Palace that he hardly noticed them, but they were relieved at intervals, and this entailed a certain amount of muted military activity in the way of marching feet and quiet commands. It was this which finally roused him to the fact that he and Tanya had been absent from the ballroom for a length of time totally beyond the bounds of propriety. He reluctantly took her back there and they danced a promenade together. Vladimir appeared beside them as the music ended and said, "You both look remarkably pleased with yourselves! Does that mean we can stop worrying now?”
Prince Nikolai looked at him severely and said, "Everything in the proper order, Colonel! I haven't spoken to Maria Nikolaevna yet, so continue to worry until sometime tomorrow, there's a good fellow!"
“Oh, very well," Vladimir replied obligingly. "In that case, I'll have a dance with Tanya Ivanovna myself." And with that, he whisked her off into a polonaise.
“I see that Olga Mikhailovna is here this evening," Tanya remarked.
“Er — yes," Vladimir replied. "Do you think — urn — would you say that I'm — er — too old for her?”
Tanya considered. "She's what? Nineteen? And you?" "Thirty-two."
“No, not at all! I hope you won't let that discourage you?"
“Well, I thought I might try my luck," Vladimir admitted sheepishly, and Tanya wished him every good fortune in the enterprise.
Olga was, of course, not short of partners, for hardly any young lady present could claim to be prettier, but presently Vladimir approached her and found two personable young men vying for the honour of dancing with her. She looked shyly from one to the other, and then said in her quiet, pleasant way, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'm already promised for this dance," and held out her hand to Vladimir, giving him one quick, appealing glance with her great dark eyes.
With admirable self-control Vladimir stopped his eyebrows in the middle of an upward jerk, went a trifle red in the face, and took her out on the floor for a mazurka, which she danced very well. At the end of it she ventured a slightly mischievous smile as she thanked him, and he summoned up his courage and engaged her for the supper dance, then pressed home the attack by asking for the next waltz as well, which was as much as propriety would allow.
During the course of the evening, Boris danced a polonaise with Marisha, and at the end of it he said, "Are you engaged for the next dance?" in rather too casual a manner.
“No," she replied, "I believe not."
“It's – er – hot in here," Boris remarked, looking vaguely up at the chandeliers. "Would you care to take a turn in the corridor?" He gestured towards the door in the side wall which led into a corridor between the ballroom and the central courtyard. "It's quite in order to do so," he added reassuringly.
Marisha was feeling a little too warm, so she took the arm Boris offered and accompanied him into the corridor, which was almost wide enough to be called a gallery. It was hung with pictures, and troopers of the Chevalier Guard stood at either end of it. In between, a dozen or so couples were strolling up and down, talking and cooling off.
Boris and Marisha moved slowly along in silence for a few moments, and then Boris said, "Do you remember how you used to write to me when I was in the Army?"
“Yes," replied Marisha. "Of course, I was only a child then."
“And now you're grown up," Boris said musingly. "I still have all your letters."
“Have you? I still have yours.”
They looked at one another consideringly, and then Marisha said a trifle breathlessly, "Perhaps we might read them all through again together some time – if you would like to, that is."
“I'd like to very much," Boris replied. "Vladimir's brother used to tease me about them, and pretend he thought they were love-letters. He was always a very far-sighted fellow.”
Marisha looked up at him questioningly.
“It was just as if he knew that I would end up by falling in love with you," he went on, watching her face. "As I did."
“D – did you?"
“I thought you probably knew by now."
“It's not very easy to be sure if one really knows a thing, or is being deluded by one's own hopes," she said softly.
“If I tell you my hopes, will you tell me yours, and then we can see if it's all delusion or truth?"
“Yes," she whispered.
“I hope that you love me as much as I love you, and as soon as you're seventeen, I hope you will give me leave to speak to your mother, and I hope she will then give me leave to speak to you."
“That is just exactly what I hope!" she said, smiling.
“Dear Boris! Vladimir's brother was quite right, of course!" "You knew as long ago as that?" he asked blankly., "Yes, but you didn't. But then, you had a great many other things to think about. There is one difficulty, though." "What is it?"
“You know Papa is not at all wealthy? My grandfather gambled, unfortunately, and there was not very much left when he died. I'm afraid I shall have a very small dowry.”
Boris put his free hand over hers as it lay on his other arm and gave it a squeeze. "That doesn't concern me," he said. "If I wanted a fat dowry I'd take a fat wife, like that spotty Kornilova creature – her father is offering a fortune to anyone who'll take her!"
“That is unkind!" Marisha said severely, and Boris apologised at once.
“There's something else I should apologise for," he added. "I didn't realise until a few days ago that you might have been a little upset by my bad habit. I'm trying to cure myself of it." "What habit?" Marisha asked.
“Flirting."
“Oh." Marisha looked a little selfconscious. "Well, yes, I was rather anxious. I didn't know if it meant anything to you, you see. I wasn't sure as I said just now, I hoped you might care for me, but I didn't
know."
“
And now?”
“Oh, now I
know,
and I don't mind if you flirt a little bit—not too much, though.”
By now they had walked to the end of the corridor and returned again to the door, and Boris took her back into the ballroom, smiling down at her and saying, "I'll try not to do it at all, but if I can't resist, I'll be sure to tell you that's all it is," as he reluctantly surrendered her to a new dancing partner.
Later Boris observed his sister going out to supper with Vladimir, and when he saw that gentleman, about half an hour after, standing alone by the edge of the floor, he went up behind him and said sharply, "May I ask your intentions, sir?”
Vladimir jumped and turned towards him, and replied quite seriously, "Well, I'll tell you if you like, but it's a bit early yet, isn't it? Shouldn't I see her mother about it?"
“Are you serious?" Boris asked, and when Vladimir replied "We've always been quite good friends. Would you mind a closer relationship?", he could not resist seizing the rare opportunity to score in
a
discussion with his former superior officer, and drawled, "Don't ask me, old fellow! I assume it ain't
me
you're thinking of marrying!”
Meanwhile, Prince Nikolai was behaving scandalously. Having danced with Tanya quite half a dozen times, and taken her out to supper as well, he found himself suddenly ravenously hungry and demolished two full plates of food. Tanya watched him, the gold flecks in her hazel eyes glowing with happiness as she recalled with amazement that this man had once seemed intimidating to her, with his cold, detached manner and his air of settled melancholy. Now he was smiling and laughing, his eyes sparkling and his voice animated, and he looked years younger.
“No one would take you for the Ice King now," she observed.
“The thaw set in early this year," he replied. "I think
it
began when we went mouse-hunting together. Tanya, may I call on Maria Nikolaevna tomorrow? I know you're of age, and she and Alexei are not your guardians, but I think I should speak to her first, as a courtesy. May I?”
“If – if you wish," Tanya murmured breathlessly, her colour rising.
“Only if
you
wish it."
“Oh – I do!" she assured him.
The ball ended at three in the morning. Prince Nikolai bade Tanya "Goodnight" at the door of the Kirovs' carriage and then went home, where he astonished the footman who opened, the door to him by perching his beaver hat at a rakish angle on the head of a bust of the Empress Catherine II and running upstairs whistling. When he reached his dressing-room, Pyotr looked at him with dour satisfaction and said, "The green coat was better, wasn't it?" and it was only then that the Prince realised that it had matched Tanya's dress.