Marisha stood outside, looking decidedly apprehensive, her lower lip caught nervously between her teeth. "I'm sorry," she said, "but there is quite a number of visitors come, and Mamma says they won't go away until they know if . . . I mean, if . . ."
“If, indeed," Prince Nikolai said, "decidedly if. In fact, perfectly if. We haven't yet decided when, but I suppose that can wait a little longer.”
Marisha looked at him doubtfully, confused by his serious expression, and then craned her neck to see past him and caught sight of Tanya's radiant face. "Is it all right, then?" she asked.
Prince Nikolai relented. "Yes, my dear. Tanya will marry me, and, God willing, we'll all live happily ever after. Give me a kiss, and go tell your mother that we're coming.”
Marisha beamed with delight and kissed them both, then sped back up the stairs, schooling her features to a proper and non-committal gravity on the way, saying quietly to her mother, "They are just coming," when she arrived in the salon, and carefully not giving anything away to anyone.
Presently, Tanya and Prince Nikolai entered the salon and stood together just inside the door. Every one of the two dozen or more heads in the room turned towards them and there was a brief, questioning silence, then Prince Nikolai took Tanya's hand and said, "Countess Kirova has done me the honour to consent to become my wife.”
A babel of congratulations broke over them, and when it eventually subsided and most of the visitors had sped away to spread the news, leaving only the family, Vladimir, Boris and Olga, Prince Nikolai let out a long sigh and said, "That's the worst of it over, I think!”
Behind him, Nikita flung open the doors and announced, "Princess Dolgorova!”
Prince Nikolai's face was a study as he realised that he had spoken too soon, but he managed to turn towards his aunt with a welcoming smile as she sailed into the room, gave him one piercing look, and then went on to greet Countess Maria and the rest of the company, in exactly the correct order of precedence required by etiquette.
“Well, nephew?" she enquired briskly when she had leisure to turn to Prince Nikolai.
“Very well, I thank you," he replied.
“Don't be impertinent," she said mildly. "I take it you mean that Tanya has accepted you?"
“I am happy to say that she has.”
The Princess inclined her head graciously, turned to Tanya and held out her hands. "Come and kiss me, my dear!”
Tanya obeyed, and Princess Dolgorova looked at her with a suspicion of moisture in her eyes, and murmured, "I'm
very
glad for both of you!”
Nikita chose that moment to bring in tea, and by the time tables had been moved, the samovar set up, cups and dishes set out, lemon and cream and sugar arranged, little cakes handed, tea brewed and poured and delivered by the gentlemen to the ladies, and everyone was seated and served, the sentimental moment had passed.
Princess Dolgorova, bolt upright on a small gilt chair with cup and dish gracefully poised, enquired, "Have you yet set the date?"
“Not yet," Prince Nikolai replied. "It will have to be after Easter, of course, for Lent is almost upon us. A further complication arises in that Alex — the Emperor said he wished to attend.”
This caused quite a stir of excitement, and Prince Nikolai intercepted an anxious look between Countess Maria and her husband. "I shall bear the expense, of course," he said quickly.
“In fact the Emperor will pay," Boris announced
a
trifle smugly. "He asked me to tell you so this morning. He wants it to be in the Winter Palace.”
After
a
moment of reverent silence, Princess Dolgorova said briskly, "And I shall give Tanya her trousseau, as my wedding-gift."
“Thank you so much," Tanya said, going over to kiss her again. "Everyone is so kind!" and she had to search in her reticule for a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.
“I hope the Emperor isn't planning anything elaborate," Nikolai said thoughtfully. "However much
I
might wish it otherwise, the fact remains that it will be my second marriage, so we can't have the full service, I'm afraid."
“Alexander Pavlovich — er — the Emperor, I mean," Boris hastily amended with
a
sidelong glance at Princess Dolgorova, "says he means to do something about that as well." There was
a
distinct note of anxiety in his voice, and it found reflection in the expressions on several faces, for the fearful results of the Emperor's well-meaning meddling were only too well-known.
“Oh, dear!" said Prince Nikolai. "Perhaps we had better elope, Tanya!"
“You will do no such thing, nephew!" Princess Dolgorova said incisively. "The very idea! You will accept whatever His Imperial Majesty is pleased to do for you with suitable gratitude!"
“Yes, Aunt," the Prince replied meekly. "I was joking, of course.”
Princess Dolgorova inclined her head in acknowledgement of his implied apology, and added reflectively, "It may not be a
total
disaster, after all!" at which most of her audience looked quite startled.
“If you can't have a full service, will Tanya not be able to have any attendants?" Marisha asked wistfully.
Everyone looked at Princess Dolgorova, who was the most likely to know.
“I don't see why not," she said. "Three or four, perhaps, but not more. Had you considered the matter, Tanya?"
“I did think I would ask Marisha and Olga," Tanya replied, "if they would like, that is." It was quite obvious that they would like, very much, from the beaming smiles on their faces.
“Will you carry flowers, Tanya?" Fedor asked, trying to show a proper interest in the matter. "I read somewhere the other day that in some country or other — I forget where —they have a funny little custom — when the wedding is over, the bride throws her flowers to her attendants, and the one who catches them will be the next to be married.”
Olga and Marisha modestly lowered their eyes and blushed in unison. Boris ran a finger round his shirt-collar, as if it had suddenly become too tight, and looked across at the window to see if it was still snowing. Vladimir's left hand made a spasmodic clutch at the hilt of his sword, but failed to find it as he had, of course, left it downstairs in the hall, so he folded his arms across his chest and stared severely at Fedor's boots, which were not as clean as they might have been.
Tanya, Prince Nikolai, Maria, Alexei and Princess Dolgorova all exchanged amused and significant glances, and Fedor, quite oblivious of the effect of his anecdote, went on, "And somewhere else — Germany, I think — they invite
a
sweep to the wedding, for luck."
“A what?" asked his father.
“A chimney sweep."
“Oh," said Count Alexei. "What for?"
“Well, I don't know. Because they think it's lucky, I suppose." Fedor shrugged and subsided into silence.
“Just two attendants?" Countess Maria asked Tanya after a suitable pause.
“I — er— I wondered if perhaps Irina . . .?" Tanya said very quietly.
Everyone looked at Irina, who was changing the dress of one of her dolls over by the window, and apparently was too absorbed to hear anything of the conversation. She did up the last button, put the doll down, and said, "Yes, please, Cousin Tanya!”
Tanya looked at Countess Maria, who nodded and smiled, and Irina gave a little wriggle of pleasure and quietly moved nearer to the circle of adults around the fire, listening with great interest as Tanya went on, "I thought she might manage to carry my train, if I have one, that is."
“By herself?" Countess Maria asked doubtfully.
“No," replied Tanya, and then hesitated and looked at Prince Nikolai. She was extremely apprehensive that she might be about to do entirely the wrong thing, and her stomach gave a sickening lurch, remembering last night's wise decision that she should not act precipitately. Nikolai was watching and listening, and seemed to realise that her pause and look in his direction had some significance, for there was the beginning of a perplexed frown between his brows. She realised that, now he had lost his remote, melancholy expression, it was becoming possible for her to read his face to some extent. He had a very sensitive mouth. She proceeded cautiously, choosing her words with great care.
“I thought maybe a page-boy . . ." She paused again, prepared to go on, if necessary, to say that she did not know anyone of suitable age, but Nikolai's eyes suddenly opened wide, staring at her with a blaze of incredulity which turned to relief and pleasure before her pause became too obvious.
“Ilya?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, unable to speak for the great wave of relief that her impulse seemed to have been right. "I think he would like that very much!" Prince Nikolai said, a tender smile curving his lips.
The varying reactions of the other people in the room showed quite clearly who knew what they were talking about. Olga, Marisha and Fedor looked puzzled; Boris startled; Vladimir had no expression, but his moustache twitched quite hard; Maria and Alexei beamed and nodded approval. Princess Dolgorova closed her eyes momentarily, murmured
"Blagodario Christos!"
and crossed herself.
“Who is Ilya?" Irina's clear little voice enquired.
Everyone looked at her, some in consternation, but Tanya smiled at her quite naturally and calmly replied, "He is Cousin Nikolai's little boy."
“I didn't know Cousin Nikolai had a little boy!" Irina exclaimed. "Where is he? How old is he?"
“He lives with his tutor in Novgorod," Tanya replied, still sounding as if it was all perfectly simple and ordinary. "He is six years old."
“I'm seven," Irina informed her, not as inconsequentially as it appeared, as her year's superiority of age would obviously cancel out her inferiority of sex over the matter of seniority in the supervision of a bridal train. "Where is his mamma, then?"
“She died when he was born," Tanya said, "so he hasn't really ever had a mother, you see.”
Irina looked very concerned and sad for a moment, while she considered the unhappy idea of a little boy with no mother, and then her face cleared and she said brightly, "Oh, but when you marry Cousin Nikolai you will be his mamma, won't you, Cousin Tanya?"
“Yes," said Tanya, "that's right. We'll ask the Emperor to arrange it.”
Satisfied, Irina nodded and trotted back to her dolls, to tell them all about it.
Prince Nikolai's eyes shone as he gazed at Tanya, the last of his worries resolved, and he managed to look adoring without also looking fatuous, which, in Vladimir's opinion at least was quite an achievement.
“He's a bright little lad," the Colonel volunteered helpfully. "Should be able to manage a train all right, with young Irina to give him a hand."
“He's a handsome child, and they'll make a charming pair," Princess Dolgorova pronounced, to the consternation of Prince Nikolai, who had not been aware until then that his aunt knew of the boy's existence, let alone that she had seen him.
“Do you remember at the Tutaevs' wedding?" Count Alexei said with a grin. "They had two pages, and the little de – imps started jostling one another as they walked into church, and nearly pulled the poor bride's train off her shoulders!"
“I went to a wedding last year," Olga volunteered, flushing to find herself actually saying something to such a large audience, "and they had six pages, and at the reception afterwards they had some wine in mistake for lemonade, and were all dreadfully tipsy!”
Of course, someone else had to cap that with an even worse tale of the iniquities of small boys at weddings. Prince Nikolai caught Tanya's eye under cover of the chatter, and jerked his head slightly towards the door. Tanya rose unobtrusively from her chair, and he followed her. Everyone else pretended not to notice as they wandered casually towards the door, slipped out, and closed it behind them.
Outside in the gallery, Nikolai took Tanya's hand and they went together down the stairs and back to Count Alexei's study, without encountering anyone on the way; not that they would have noticed particularly if they had passed half the population of St. Petersburg.
After an interval filled with kisses and caresses, Prince Nikolai sat down in the big, comfortable old leather chair and pulled Tanya on to his lap. She wreathed her arms round his shoulders and rubbed her face against his hair, and they sat quietly in the firelight for
a
time.
“That was a very generous thought," he said presently. "I thought you to be kindhearted enough not to mind me visiting my son, but I did not dream that you might be willing to meet him yourself, let alone inviting him to our wedding. Did you suggest having him for your page on impulse, or had you thought about it before?"
“I had thought about him, but the actual suggestion was an impulse," Tanya admitted.
“I feel you should think about it rather carefully," he said soberly. "He's very like me. There'll probably be a large number of people at the wedding, if Alexander Pavlovich is to have a hand in the arrangements. When they see Ilya they'll know at once that he must be my son."
“Shall you mind that?" Tanya asked hesitantly, feeling her way carefully. "You've kept him a secret for so long . . . I wondered if you wished to go on doing so."
“No. I didn't have any deliberate intention of concealing his existence. I just couldn't bring myself to say anything about him to anyone, apart from the Emperor, because I was too ashamed and guilty about his begetting and birth. I'm not ashamed of Ilya himself. He's a fine boy, and I've grown very fond of him. You've shown me that I'd mistaken a great deal about . . . about his conception. I'm beginning to understand better now, and it's no longer such a bitter burden."
“You'd like to give him proper recognition?" Tanya prompted gently as he hesitated.
“Yes," he admitted, "but could you bear that?"
“Nikolai, if your first marriage had been different – better – and you'd had a son, you'd not have questioned my willingness to accept him, would you?"
“No, I suppose not."
“Ilya was given to you by someone who loved you, and died giving him life. How could I turn away from him, or do other than accept him gladly?" This discussion seemed to be progressing far more easily than Tanya had expected, and having once started Nikolai talking about the matter without any apparent distress, and despite her uncertainty about the facts behind what she wanted to suggest, she decided to go on, because this opportunity might never come so readily again.