Veils of Silk (20 page)

"No age is too young to die," Ian said. "What happened to him?"

Ignoring the question as if Ian hadn't spoken, Laura said, "I remember one winter when he took me riding in the country. He held me in front of his saddle and we flew over the snow, making wild jumps over ditches and fences. It was wonderful, like riding the north wind. I felt completely safe because I was with my father, but my mother was furious with him for risking my life, though she was just as reckless a rider herself. In fact, that's how she died—a fall when she tried to take a fence that any reasonable person would have refused."

"A great pity that she didn't take more care."

Laura signed. "Yes, but it was the way Tatyana would have chosen to go. She was still beautiful, still able to bewitch every man who looked at her. She would have hated being defeated by age. In fact, for her, riding carefully would have seemed like a small-spirited surrender to the inevitable."

"Like my sister, your mother sounds a bit overpowering."

"You would have adored her," Laura said with conviction. "Everyone did, even women who disapproved of her. Apart from the fact that my mother was not melancholic, my parents were very much alike—beautiful and headstrong and passionate. They had wild fights and equally wild reconciliations.

"Once, to apologize for some failing, my father filled the drawing room and bedroom with flowers, even though it was winter and must have cost a fortune. Another time my mother lost her temper and threw every cosmetic and bottle of perfume she owned at him. He just laughed and dodged the missiles. Said she had a terrible aim and that the bedroom was going to smell like a whorehouse. I was lurking in a corner and made the mistake of asking what a whorehouse was. Tatyana rang for my nurse to take me away, so I didn't learn what my father meant until years later." Laura's mouth hardened as she remembered the scarlet rouge splashed across the wall, for the memory immediately triggered one that was infinitely uglier.

Ian lightly touched her hand. "Such parents make for colorful stories, but it must have been a somewhat alarming existence for a child."

"It was." Laura gave a wry smile. "It's hard to believe, that two peacocks like my parents produced a wren like me."

"You're not a wren," Ian said affectionately. "More like a swan who has the wrongheaded notion that she's a goose."

His tone warmed Laura right down to her toes. "More like an owl than either. In fact, Kenneth called me his little owl sometimes. It's strange, but temperamentally I'm far more his child than that of my natural parents."

"Your first father sounds very different from your second."

Laura grinned. "That's because my mother had me choose her second husband."

Ian's brows lifted. "Really?"

Laura built up her own pillows so that she could lounge against them as Ian was doing. "Well, after Tatyana consulted me about my preference, she accepted Kenneth, who was my choice." She glanced at her husband and saw that the loose robe he wore had fallen open over his chest. She had a powerful desire to touch him, to brush her fingers across the dark auburn hair, to pull aside the robe so she could explore further…

Hastily she turned her gaze away. "After… when my first father was gone, my mother decided that she needed to get away from St. Petersburg, so she took me to a spa in Switzerland. I think she decided that it was the best way to find a new husband. Not only was she short of money, but she was the sort of woman who had to have a man in her life."

"From your tone, you don't quite approve of the haste with which she remarried," Ian said shrewdly. "Yet for most women, marriage is the preferred choice. Few have the courage to voluntarily face the world alone, as you were willing to do."

His comment made Laura wonder if some of her own stubborn determination to stay a spinster had been a result of distaste for the speed with which Tatyana had sought another husband. She filed the thought for later consideration. "There was no danger of her being alone for long. Men always surrounded her like bees around a jampot, and the Swiss spa was no exception. Some only wanted affairs and those she dismissed immediately. But it didn't take her long to acquire several serious suitors."

"How did Kenneth Stephenson manage to enter the race? He doesn't seem to have been the sort to spend his time lolling about a fashionable spa."

"It was pure chance that brought him there," Laura replied. "He was returning to England to teach at the Company training college at Haileybury. The friend he was traveling with had had health problems in India and wanted to visit the spa, so they did. Kenneth told me once that as soon as he saw Tatyana, he knew that he wanted to marry her. He was fifteen years older than she and not at all dashing, but he was very determined once he made up his mind."

"When did you mother solicit your opinion?"

"One day over ices she calmly asked if there were any of her suitors I would prefer for a father," Laura smiled reminiscently. "One was an enormously rich Italian count, another an equally wealthy Swiss banker. There was a French silk merchant and a Prussian general. Looking back, I realize that Kenneth had the least money of the whole crew."

She chuckled. "I did rather well out of the competition, because several of the suitors were clever enough to try to buy my favor. The Italian count gave me an exquisite doll, then suggested I play elsewhere with it.The banker always brought the most incredible sweets, the Frenchman supplied me with ribbons, the general arranged for me to ride a pony, and so forth. But Kenneth was the only one who really talked to me. When Tatyana introduced us, he went down on one knee so our eyes were level, then said that he was very pleased to meet me, Larissa Alexandrovna, as if he really
was
pleased. And he didn't only talk—he listened. When my mother asked for my preference, I didn't hesitate. The next day she told me that she was to marry Mr. Stephenson and we were going to live in England."

"Were they happy together, the peacock and the owl?"

Laura nodded. "Oddly enough, they were. I think my mother had had enough of high romance and melodrama. She told me once that a woman should marry for friendship and stability." Tatyana had gone on to say, with a twist of bitterness, that passion was as treacherous as shifting sand.

"It was wise of her to ask you for your choice," Ian said reflectively. "A
child was most likely to look beyond the exterior trappings to the essence of
the man. Kenneth Stephenson might not have been the best choice in worldly terms, but he was surely the best available stepfather for you."

Laura repressed a slight shiver. "The mere thought of having a different man as stepfather gives me the chills. But I wasn't the only one to benefit. Perhaps Tatyana didn't love Kenneth at first, but she did later. Much as she enjoyed flirting, she never looked seriously at another man."

She glanced at Ian. "Now you know everything interesting about me, Lord Falkirk."

"I doubt it, Larissa Alexandrovna Karelian Stephenson Cameron, Baroness Falkirk," he said with a smile. "But I think this is enough pillow talk for today. We need to get up, breakfast, and be on our way."

Laura nodded and climbed out of the bed, then languidly stretched her arms over her head, arching her back to loosen her muscles. She felt wonderful; the emotional highs and lows of the last day must have been good for her.

As she straightened, she saw that Ian was watching her with an odd, strained expression. As she gave him a puzzled glance, he drew her into his embrace. "Thank you for marrying me, Laura." Then he kissed her.

She loved the feeling of his lips on hers, and the warm, tingly sensation that spread through her. What marvelous, sensitive things mouths were. And the rest of him felt quite wonderful, too. When he lifted his head away, she said rather breathlessly, "Thank you for coming up with the idea, then talking me into it."

He smiled, then turned away. "I'll dress in the bathroom."

Her gaze followed him as he collected his clothing, then walked out of the bedroom. Thoughtful of Ian to leave. She had enjoyed sleeping with her new husband, but she still felt shy about disrobing in front of him. Perhaps in time she would feel less self-conscious.

As she summoned the young maid who had been assigned to her, Laura reflected on how well everything was working out. Though she had been frightened by Ian's despairing mood the night before, the aftermath had brought them closer. As Ian had said, it was not the typical wedding night—but it was not a bad beginning for a marriage based on friendship.

12th January 1840. We made the mistake of talking politics and ever since the atmosphere has been horribly strained. Ian and I are both killingly polite, when in truth each of us would give our immortal soul to be free of the other's company for even an hour. Bloody English warmonger.

Laura smiled wryly and rested the journal on her knees. Uncle Pyotr always referred to Ian as English on the occasions when the two men were at odds. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be confined day and night with another person, to never have an instant's privacy. Even she and her stepfather might have gotten occasionally tired of each other's company. It must have been far worse for two strong-minded military men who came from hostile nations.

She glanced up and saw that Ian had taken the three horses down to the stream to drink. It was their fourth day on the road, and they were taking a lunch break. At least, Laura had eaten. As usual, Ian had consumed scarcely enough to nourish one of the little striped palm
squirrels.

They had fallen into a comfortable travel routine, moving at a pace that covered a fair amount of ground without being too tiring. Laura knew that Ian would be going much faster if he were alone, but he was always considerate of her comfort. His quiet solicitude made her feel cherished; in return, she pampered him in small ways that he seemed to enjoy.

Every night so far they had stayed at government operated
dak
bungalows, which were austere but adequate. An odd sort of honeymoon, perhaps, but she was perfectly content. The pleasure of having Ian next to her more than compensated for the mild inconvenience of sleeping in a lamplit room. Unfortunately, he still wasn't sleeping a full night. Often he quietly rose and went for fresh air. But he always came back, and there had been no repetition of his wedding night breakdown.

While Ian stretched his legs and took care of the horses, Laura read more of Pyotr's journal.

15th January 1840. Ian and I almost came to blows this morning. The most ridiculous thing. I said he was giving me too much of the food, he said I was hallucinating, and we had the most tremendous row, with insults in at least five languages. Quite the wrong reason to fight—prisoners are supposed to accuse each other of taking too much of the food, not too little. But I know Ian has been giving me a larger share. I suppose he's afraid I'll die on him if he doesn't feed me up. Impertinent cub. But he's probably right.

th January 1840. We were arguing over breakfast—or rather, I was trying to argue and Ian was ignoring me— when the world went berserk. No solidity anywhere, dust and pebbles raining down from the walls. Holy Mother, if you can't trust the earth, what can you trust? I was sure the stones were about to fall and crush us—one of the worst moments of my misspent life.

Don't know quite how it happened, but when the quake ended, Ian and I were kneeling in the middle of the cell with our arms clutched around each other, me bellowing prayers in Russian and Ian swearing in English. Such great brave officers. I felt like an idiot, but Ian sat back on his heels and began to laugh, and then I had to do the same. After that it isn't possible to be angry with each other anymore.

Laura smiled a bit mistily. The self-deprecating humor in Pyotr's journal couldn't disguise the terror of the earthquake, or the complicated, ever-strengthening bonds between the two men.

She glanced up to see Ian approaching. "Time to go, Lady Falkirk." As she rose, he added, "What were you smiling about?"

"I just read about an earthquake, when you both thought the walls were collapsing," she explained as she packed
the Bible in her saddlebags. "Pyotr described how it resolved a period of strained relations between you."

"I don't recall that the incident did either Pyotr Andreyovich or me much credit," Ian said dryly, "but it's true that after that, we never again had problems getting along."

"Actually, I thought it was a rather sweet story." Accepting Ian's aid, she mounted her horse, then grinned down at him. "But do you know what most impressed Pyotr with the nobility of your character?"

Ian swung into his own saddle. "What was that?"

"The fact that you gave him the pouch of tobacco and clay pipe that you had on you when you were imprisoned. Pyotr was rapturous in his praises of your generosity."

Ian shrugged. "I seldom smoked and it was obvious that he would enjoy the tobacco more than I. He made it last for months. Of course, he could only use the pipe when there was a friendly guard who would light it for him."

"Giving it may have been a small thing for you, but it meant a great deal to him," she said as they set their horses in motion, the pack animal ambling along behind Ian.

Changing the subject, Ian said, "You need some practice shooting—this evening, if it's not too late when we stop. You probably won't be attacked by a tiger again, but you really ought to be better prepared than you were at Nanda."

Laura made a face. "I don't like guns."

"This has nothing to do with liking them—it's a simple safety precaution."

"But it really isn't necessary," she argued. "Within a few weeks we'll be on our way back to Britain."

"Which means that there are several more weeks here in India," he said patiently. "Granted, we're unlikely to run into trouble, but you never can tell when you'll need to use a weapon. If something happens and you have to defend yourself, you should do it competently."

She gave him an unenthusiastic glance. "If I had been more competent, your head might have ended up mounted on the wall above someone's fireplace."