Carola Dunn (11 page)

Chapter 9

“You would not believe, John, the trouble I had persuading Rebecca to come tonight,” said Teresa, laughing. “She would have it that it was not her place as a governess to be dancing the night away. I managed to persuade her not to leave me to face a ballroom full of strangers without her support.”

Rebecca blushed. She had not only allowed herself to be persuaded to attend the ball, she had accepted as a gift the delightful confection of white satin and silver net she was wearing. Her hair, freed from its severe plaits, was dressed in careless-seeming ringlets.

“Of course you came,” John murmured.

Shyly she raised her eyes to his face. He was smiling at her in manifest approval. She smiled back, glad she had given in.

“Will madam deign grant me the first waltz?” He performed an elaborately fanciful bow, to her, not to Teresa as she had expected. “Andrew, there will be a waltz, will there not?”

“Oh yes, I believe so. The starchier Russians still disapprove but the foreign colony would not turn out for less, I collect. You’ll save a waltz for me, won’t you, darling?”

“Of course,” agreed Teresa promptly. “And I expect John to do his duty by standing up with me too. You will not find any English country dances here of course, John, though there may be a quadrille and a cotillion. I made enquiries so as to be prepared. The popular dances are mazurkas, which are Polish, and what they call
anglaises
and
écossaises,
neither of which I believe would be recognized by the English or the Scottish. Rebecca and I have been practising all week.”

“As have I not, so I must be excused from sporting a toe with any but you and Rebecca, which suits me well enough.”

They moved on into the ballroom. Andrew went about his duties but John stayed with them, chatting about their impressions of St Petersburg. Teresa voiced her approval of the shops on the Nevski Prospekt, admitting ruefully that they had seen little else.

The orchestra began to play, and several couples took to the floor.

“John, you must introduce me to your
feya
.” A tall, thin Russian had materialized at John’s elbow.

“Fairy, or sprite,” Rebecca interpreted, involuntarily relapsing into her rôle of tutor before she realized the stranger was referring to her. She felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

“Allow me to present Prince Nikolai Mikhailovich Volkov, A.D.C. to his Imperial Majesty. Dash it, Kolya, I don’t even know your present rank.”

“Polkovnik.
This is colonel,
mesdames.”
The prince kissed Rebecca’s hand, to her confusion, and bowed gallantly to Teresa.

“My cousin, Lady Graylin,” John completed the introductions with Teresa first in formal order of precedence. “And this is Miss Rebecca Nuthall, who is cousin to my sister-in-law. Beware of Kolya, Rebecca. He is used to sweeping the ladies off their feet.”

“You understand
feya
, Miss Nuthall. You speak Russian?”

“My grandmother was Russian,” Rebecca confessed shyly. She liked the look of his merry face and the twinkle in his slanted eyes.

Asking about her grandmother, he quickly put her at her ease. He wrote his name down on her dance card for an
écossaise,
then proposed introducing her to his family.

“They will welcome any relative of Lord John,” he assured her.

“I am only a very distant relation, and a connexion by marriage besides.” Rebecca wanted to tell him that she was a governess and hired companion, but she was afraid he would think her presumptuous for coming to the ball. She looked to Teresa for advice, but she was deep in conversation with the First Secretary and his wife, who had visited them soon after their arrival. John was busy charming a large elderly Russian dowager as he found her a seat.

Prince Nikolai laughingly insisted that a Russian grandmother amply compensated for any distance in her connexion to John. She allowed him to lead her around the side of the room, though she cast a nervous backward glance at Teresa, who nodded encouragement.

Of course he was a friend of John’s, and surely nothing could happen to her in a ballroom, but she hoped he would not be excessively angry when he discovered her station in life.

The Volkovs greeted her with open friendliness. The princess enquired into her family tree and managed to discover a remote relationship. One of Kolya’s younger brothers requested a mazurka. Rebecca stood chatting with two sisters who, when they found that she knew nothing of London fashions, favoured her with their own opinions of the latest St Petersburg modes.

The first dance ended, and John came looking for her. He brought with him
a young man he introduced as the Honourable Sebastian Crane. Mr. Crane seemed to be an obliging gentleman. Besides putting down his name on Rebecca’s card, he begged both Kolya’s sisters to stand up with him, and even approached the elderly princess. She rapped his knuckles coquettishly with her fan and sighed.

“Ah,
monsieur,
but I danced till dawn in my time.”

Mr. Crane was listening politely to her reminiscences when John bore Rebecca off.

“I never realized before,” he said, “that one of the chief duties of a minor diplomat is to keep the ambassador’s guests happy. Come, the music is beginning.”

Rebecca had practised the waltz with Teresa. She had thought it would be alarming to be held so close by a man, and it had been an act of bravado to accept John’s invitation. Yet when he took her in his arms she felt safe, protected, though suddenly there was something wrong with her breathing.

He swung her onto the floor. She concentrated on her steps at first, till her breathing settled, then ventured to look up. He was smiling down at her and she smiled back, suddenly exhilarated.

“How pretty you are tonight! I’m sorry I have not had time to visit you since we arrived. Are you enjoying life in St Petersburg?”

“Oh yes. I thought there would be nothing for me to do, but I have been very busy. Now that we are settled, Annie is much occupied with her duties as abigail, so I have been taking care of Esperanza.”

“Surely Teresa does not confine you to the nursery?”

“Hardly. Am I not here tonight? She has been a deal too good to me. Indeed, I feel more like a younger sister than a governess, or even a companion. I ought not to accept so much, but it is excessively difficult to refuse her.”

“Don’t I know it! My cousin is irresistible, in more ways than one. I hope you do not regret being persuaded to come tonight?”

“I have never been to a ball before, and I was afraid such a crowd of strangers would be overwhelming. At first it was, with the bright lights and the jewels sparkling, and everyone talking at once. But you are here...and your friend is very kind and charming. I am prodigious glad I came.”

“You have never been to a ball before? What a shocking confession! I could not have guessed it from your dancing; you are light as a feather. I trust you mean to attend many more? I shall do my best to be present at every one so that you are not overwhelmed.”

The ready colour mounted to Rebecca’s cheeks. “I ought not. But if Teresa invites me, I shall!”

The music came to an end with a swirl. John stopped a waiter and presented Rebecca with a glass of Champagne. She sipped it, and sneezed as the bubbles rose to her nose.

“Oh dear, is that another first?” John asked, amused. “It will probably give you hiccups too. I’d best find you some lemonade.”

“No, I shall drink it very slowly and learn to like it. Will you take me back to Teresa now? I am sure you ought to be about your duty, taking care of the ambassador’s guests.”

“You are one of them, my dear. I shall therefore now make polite conversation. Have you seen the Winter Palace yet, Miss Nuthall?”

“I have not had the opportunity, my lord. I have several times visited the Nevski Prospekt, however. It is a splendid thoroughfare, is it not, and the several bridges greatly enhance its attractiveness.”

“The chief attraction is the shops, I understand,” John teased. “I should like to drive you and Teresa about the city one day. Kolya has been teaching me to drive a
troika.”

“Is that how you have been spending your time? Oh, I beg your pardon, it is none of my business.”

He seemed to be about to speak, then a shadow crossed his face and he shook his head, almost angrily, she thought.

“Like you, I keep busy,” he said lightly. “in fact, you are right, I ought to be doing my duty. Now where has Teresa disappeared to?”

Prince Nikolai overheard these last words. “If you are seeking Lady Graylin in capacity as chaperon,” he said, “allow me to relieve you of necessity, my friend. Miss Nuthall is promised to me for next dance, I believe.
Mademoiselle?”
He bowed and held out his arm.

The lively figures of the
écossaise
made Rebecca hot and a little tired. She was glad to sit out the dance after it with the prince, who amused and shocked her with tales of the Imperial Court in the reign of Tsar Pavel Petrovich.

Among other instances of insanity, he told her, the Tsar had been obsessed with uniforms, down to such details as the cut of a collar and the number of buttons.

“Is that why almost all the Russian gentlemen are wearing uniforms?” she asked.

“No, it was
Pyotr Veliki
—Peter the Great—who did that, as means of controlling nobility. Not only military, but every rank of our civil service has its own. You see my revered papa over there beside my mother? That is uniform of highest rank, and stars he is wearing are especial honours.”

Prince Nikolai sounded proud of his father’s elaborate coat with its flashing diamonds and vast quantity of gold braid. Rebecca murmured admiringly, but privately thought the plain elegance of the English gentlemen’s black and white much to be preferred. John in particular looked splendid in his evening dress.

Her next dance was with Sebastian Crane. At first the figures of the quadrille gave them no leisure for conversation, until it was their turn to stand and watch the other couples in their set.

“Your cousin’s up to every rig and row,” said Mr. Crane admiring.

“My cousin?”

“Danville.” He brushed aside her attempt to explain that John was not really her cousin. “Comes in to the embassy at noon, stays half an hour, an hour at most, then off he goes to play with the natives. Wish I knew how he gets away with it, even if his father is a duke.”

“He’s not really a diplomat,” she offered hesitantly.

“I’ll say he’s not! Cathcart keeps our noses pretty much to the grindstone, though I will say this for the old boy, he puts on a good show. What do you think of the decorations?” He waved his hand in a comprehensive gesture.

Amid the general glitter, noise and movement, Rebecca had not even noticed the decorations. She was too concerned about what she had heard of John to take any interest in them now, but a certain anxiety in the young man’s tone warned her that she must make some comment.

From the centre of the ceiling hung what looked like a flying worm made of green silk. Rearing over it was a strange four-legged brown creature somewhat resembling a bear, with a suit of armour balanced on its back. Rebecca glanced around the room. The walls were hung with banners, a red cross on a white ground. It dawned on her that it was the twenty-third of April, St George’s Day, and doubtless the ball was in honour of the patron saint of England.

Before she could think of something complimentary to say, he went on, “I was in charge of it, you know. Had the deuce of a time making that armour stick together, and I’m afraid the horse isn’t quite right.”

“I think it’s a very clever idea, and the dragon is splendid,” Rebecca reassured him.

He beamed in gratitude as they reentered the pattern of the dance.

Her effort was repaid. Mr. Crane not only put his name down for an
écossaise,
he subsequently brought several gentleman of various nationalities to be introduced to her. Since John and Teresa were also determined to provide her with partners, she was soon engaged for every dance.

Faces and names merged in her mind. When supper was announced at one o’clock in the morning, she was relieved to see John’s scrawl on her card, not another stranger’s. Then she remembered what Mr. Crane had told her, and worry began to gnaw at her again.

John came to fetch her. “What’s wrong, Rebecca?” he asked. “Has some young puppy been annoying you?”

“No, everyone has been very kind.” She wanted to ask him about his position, about the way he spent his time, but he had very firmly turned the subject last time it arose. Perhaps he regretting ever having confided his doubts and ambitions. He seemed to have distanced himself from her and returned to a life little different from that he had led in London.

“You must not let anything spoil your first ball. Save your troubles for the morrow, or rather later today. Another glass of Champagne will help.”

He seated her at a small table and brought her a selection of delicacies from the buffet, then set himself to cheer her up. She found him irresistible. Admittedly she did not try very hard to resist. He soon had her laughing at his diplomatic efforts to prevent the wife of the French ambassador from coming face to face with the wife of the Russian Foreign Minister.

“It seems madame once made some comment about Russian fashions which was taken as a personal affront. It’s a wonder their husbands did not call each other out.”

“One of my partners—I cannot remember his name, but he was Russian—would talk of nothing but duels and insults and avenging his honour.”

“They seem to be quick to take affront. I step carefully, I assure you. I have had enough of duels.”

“He boasted of having fought a dozen, but perhaps it was nothing but talk. Russians seem to love display.” She confided her distaste for the gaudy uniforms.

“None of them can hold a candle to our own Prince Regent’s taste in dress,” he assured her. “George IV, I mean. Of course, Prinny is one of a kind, and he does not attempt to force the rest of us into his mould.”