Microsoft Word - jw (38 page)

"I feel battered."

"Me, I feel very, very happy." He pulled the shirt over his shoulders and adjusted the hang. "This afternoon we leave for St. Petersburg. As soon as we get there I make all the arrangements."

"Arrangements?" I was puzzled.

"For our wedding," he informed me.

Stunned, I stared at him: He tucked the tail of the shirt loosely into the waistband of his breeches. Oh Lord, I thought. Oh Lord. What on earth have I gotten myself into?

I SLOWED NATASHA TO A WALK, IN NO HURRY

at all to get back to the Marble Palace, and Vanya caught up, slowing his horse, too, riding along beside me, fierce and savage-looking in his fur cap and cloak. He was heavily armed, as were the two other cossacks who followed. It was a gorgeous, sun-spangled day, much too gorgeous to stay inside, and Vanya had agreed to go for a ride with me, ordering two of his friends to come along for added protection.

There was no danger in St. Petersburg, but Vanya insisted on this precaution.

We had ridden to the great harbor at Kronstadt, west of the city, where the powerful Russian navy was headquartered.

The river Neva provided a natural outlet to the Baltic Sea, and ships from all over the world sailed into the harbor, bringing exotic goods. I had been amazed at the size and splendor of the place. One of the largest and busiest ports in the world, Kronstadt was like a gigantic doorway giving Russia an opening to Europe and the rest of the world. Peter the Great had planned it that way. In St. Petersburg one did not feel closed in and landlocked.

One had the feeling that ... that escape was possible.

We were on our way back now. It had been a long ride, and I felt pleasantly tired. The ride had done me good. We had arrived in St. Petersburg ten days ago, and they had been ten days of intense emotional strain. It was glorious to be out in the open, bathed in sunlight, breathing fresh, crisp air, with magnificent vistas everywhere. We were passing through Peterhof, and on our left, beyond terraced gardens and amazing fountains, rose the immense white and gold palace of Peter the Great, an incredibly beautiful sight with its long wings and gleaming white marble steps. I sighed as we rode on, still amazed by the splendor.

To our right, behind the graceful white marble balustrade, snowy slopes led down to the Neva, an awesome river that flowed like a gigantic blue-gray-green ribbon unfurling in the sunlight. In the distance ahead St. Petersburg spread out like a fairy-tale city, a wondrous place indeed.

It was surely one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I thought, and certainly one of the most fascinating.

Built along the riverbank, it was stunning to behold with its majestic buildings and breathtaking white marble palaces, its spacious gardens and squares. The many canals and bridges brought Amsterdam to mind, while the magnificent Nevsky Prospekt with its glittering, elegant shops put any street in Paris to shame. The center of culture and commerce, St. Petersburg far outshone the less-favored Moscow. Moscow was for the masses, St. Petersburg the swank playground of pampered aristocrats who thronged to its theaters and opera houses, danced in its marble halls. The Admiralty dominated the city, along with the Winter Palace, and the hundreds of handsome naval officers were the delight of pretty shopgirls and worldly countesses who were bored with the blue-blooded fare at court.

Awash with delicious scandal and political intrigue, the city exuded an aura of robust sophistication.

"I still can't believe that seventy some odd years ago this was all just a swamp," I said.

"It was desolate marshland," Vanya told me. "Peter the Great decides to build a city here on the banks of the Neva.

He wants
a window to Europe,
he says. People tell him it is impossible to build a city over a swamp, but nothing is impossible

to Peter."

Vanya scowled. I could tell that he had no fondness for that great ruler. He drew his horse closer to Natasha, staring at the city we approached.

"He has thousands of peasants sink a forest of piles, has them fill it in with dirt they have carried in bags and inside their blouses. They work under incredible hardships.

Many, many of them die, and their bodies are tossed into the swamp along with the piles and the dirt. There are those who will tell you St. Petersburg is built upon the bones of the workers."

"How-how dreadful," I said.

Vanya shrugged his shoulders as though to imply that this huge loss of human life was totally insignificant, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. I was reminded of the fact that, although he wore Orlov's colors and devoted his life to the service of the aristocracy, Vanya was from the people, as were most ofthe other cossacks. His grandfather might well have been one of the peasants who died filling in the swamp.

"But Peter has his city," he continued. "Once the swamp is filled he brings his architects and more workers and his dream city materializes. He orders a thousand of the nobility to leave Moscow and build houses here on the banks of the Neva. They have no choice in the matter.

They obey. A like number of merchants and shopkeepers are ordered to set up business in the city, and workers skilled in various arts and crafts are shipped here to join them. He names the city St. Petersburg after his patron saint, and the world marvels over the miracle he has wrought."

This was a long speech
for
Vanya, and I was surprised at his bitterness. He lapsed into moody silence as we rode into the city. I saw it with new eyes now, and as I gazed at the magnificent splendor I couldn't help thinking of those peasants who had died bringing the place into being. The sun continued to splash radiant light over waterways and parks, gilding marble columns, but the depression I had been fighting for days took hold now and turned everything gray.

"You enjoy seeing the harbor?" Vanya asked as we crossed the Nevsky Prospekt.

"It was very impressive."

"Your eyes are sad as you gaze at the ships," he said. "I feel you wish to be on one of them. You are not happy in Russia."

"I –I don't belong here, Vanya."

"Vanya understands. It is not your land, your people.

You wish to be in this place you tell me about, this Texas."

"It seems so far away."

"Soon you will be leaving. Vanya will miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," I told him.

We rode on in silence, Natasha prancing restlessly, wanting to race again and not at all happy at the slow canter I imposed upon her. We crossed another bridge, nearing the Marble Palace now, and I felt myselftightening up as I thought about Orlov and the strain between us. I had no idea how I would resolve the situation or, indeed, if it could be resolved, but I firmly refused to marry him. He was as firmly determined that I would and chose to believe _.

I was merely being coy. What woman would turn down the honor of becoming the wife of Count Gregory Orlov? He believed

he could wear me down with gifts and calm reasoning.

I returned the gifts. I refused to listen to reason. The situation had grown steadily worse since our arrival, and Orlov's patience was wearing dangerously thin.

I tried to relax as we turned into the drive. The Marble Palace stood in its own private park, the trees bare now, silvered with ice, the gardens white with snow, but the palace itself was still one of the wonders of the city. It was large and dignified, a handsome structure, not nearly as ornate as some of the other palaces. The source of wonderment was the exterior walls, which consisted of alternate bands of pink marble from Finland and blue marble from Siberia, the colors soft and harmonious, creating a luxurious, elegant effect of great beauty. Catherine had built it for her lover in 1772, and it was considered a masterpiece of architectural style and grace.

We stopped in front of the majestic portico and Vanya dismounted, helping me alight as the other two cossacks rode on around to the stables. He told me he would tend to

Natasha, see that she was properly rubbed down. I asked him to give her an extra portion of oats. I thanked Vanya again and stood on the marble steps for a few moments, watching him lead the horses away. A liveried servant opened the door. I stepped inside, trying to throw off the dread that gripped me.

I removed my fur cloak and handed it to the servant. I was wearing a topaz velvet gown with long, tight sleeves and a low bodice edged with soft brown fur. In one of the

. hall mirrors I saw a tall woman with windblown copperyred hair and unhappy sapphire eyes. The lids were shadowed with pale gray. The face looked thinner, high cheekbones more pronounced. Shoving the unruly waves back, I sighed and moved on down the hall, praying I wouldn't run into Gregory.

Even in my present mood I couldn't help but marvel anew at the incredible beauty of the place. A gift of love from a still-devoted and appreciative Empress, the Marble Palace was filled with the richest, most beautiful furnishings money could buy, subdued elegance the theme. The near-garish splendor of Rostopchin's mansion was missing here, the spacious rooms exquisitely appointed in tasteful harmony that dazzled the eye. Precious
objets d'art
stood out all the more for lack of clutter, each one superbly displayed.

One had the impression of warm, pale marble, satiny woods, creamy velvets and delicate gilt, jeweled and enameled objects gleaming..

There seemed to be an unusual amount of bustle this afternoon.

Although the hall was empty and I had seen no servants besides the one who had carried my cloak away, the palace seemed to hum with activity, sensed, not seen.

From the distant ballroom came a curious noise, like hammering,

I thought, and as I paused, puzzled, I heard scurrying footsteps and caught a glimpse of four servants moving past an open door in back of the hall, their arms laden with huge baskets of flowers. I sensedactivity in the kitchen, too. Although it was a long way from the hall, I seemed to hear the clatter of pans and, softly muted by distance, the shrill cries of the chef, but perhaps I was imagining it. I moved on, idly wondering what was afoot.

"You are back, I see," he said.

I had just reached the staircase as he strolled slowly out of one of the reception rooms. He was wearing dark brown velvet breeches and frock coat and a splendid golden brocade vest embroidered in brown. He had gone out visiting earlier, I knew, and his tawny golden brown hair was pulled away from his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a brown velvet ribbon as current fashion decreed. He had rarely looked as handsome as he did now, gazing at me with an idle speculation in those hooded eyes.

"I have been out myself. I come back and ask for you..

The servant tells me you have gone for a ride. This I did not know about."

"I wasn't aware I had to ask your permission," I said.

"I assume you have gone shopping with Lucie."

I gazed at him coolly, on the defensive. I had refused to marry him, and, after that night at Count Rostopchin's, had refused to sleep with him again as well, but I had reluctantly agreed to remain in St. Petersburg as Lucie's paid companion for three months as we had originally agreed. Was he accusing me of neglecting my duties?

"Lucie and I have been shopping almost every afternoon.

I didn't feel I could take another afternoon in the shops on the Nevsky Prospekt, so I decided to go riding instead.

As Vladimir and three of the other guards went with her I didn't feel I was being remiss."

"You misunderstand me," he said.

"Do I?"

"You are cold. There is a snap in your voice."

"I'm sorry. I-I suppose I'm a little tired."

He smiled fondly, and I forced myself to relax. He was going to be congenial, then. There would be no sullen looks, no angry silences. Orlov was accustomed to having his own way and, thwarted, was beginning to show a side of his nature I had only glimpsed before. It was as though we were playing a subtle cat-and-mouse game, and I never knew what he was going to do or say.

"Come," he said. "We will have a glass of wine. It will make you feel better."

"I think not," I said.

"You find me so repulsive you won't even have a glass of Nine with me?"

"You know that's not true."

"You avoid me. You are tense when I am near."

"I –I just don't feel like fencing with you today.l'v.e told you over and over again that-that I'm honored by your desire to marry me but that I can't possibly become your wife. You keep-"

"We do not fence today," he told me. "We call a truce, yes? We have a glass of wine and be friends."

I couldn't refuse, not without insulting him, and I reluctantly followed him into the cream and tan drawing room with its delicate gold gilt and light orange velvet upholstery.

Gregory poured our wine, and I gazed at the smooth marble walls that should have been cold but, instead, gave the room a surprising warmth. Catherine must have loved him very much to have given him a palace like this, I thought, and I wondered if she would ever acknowledge his presence in the city. Orlov had expected a royal summons from her as soon as we arrived, and after ten days his failure to receive one had darkened his mood even more.

She knew he was here. There was no way she could help knowing. Gregory had gone visiting almost every day, using the spectacular silver and blue carriage pulled by six white horses that was even more elaborate than the one he had used in England, and we had gone to the theater and opera five times, sitting in jewellike boxes that left us exposed to the stares of the rest of the audience, and stare they did. Orlov had insisted I come along with him and Lucie.

I had agreed in order to avoid any more unpleasantness, and he had been deliberately attentive to me in public, displaying me as he might display some prized possession.

The city, I knew, must already be full of delicious speculation about our relationship, and instinct told me that this was exactly what he wanted.

Gregory handed me a glass of wine. I took it, still a bit stiff and defensive. He smiled again, and' again' I felt myself the mouse. He had something in mind. He had not asked me in here simply to have a glass of wine.