To Dream of Snow (24 page)

Then the ceremony was over and the orchestra struck up for dancing. There were congratulatory gatherings flowing around Countess Mikalova, but nobody came to Marguerite, except Konstantin. He was suddenly in front of her, smiling widely.

‘My felicitations! Well done!' He took her hand ready to draw her into the dance as soon as the Empress took the floor. ‘But,' he added in a low voice only for her ears, ‘although you've gained court status with the honour, don't be disappointed if you're not allowed to keep the miniature.'

‘Why should that be?'

Couples were lining up behind the Empress and her partner, their hands linked high. Konstantin drew Marguerite into the line and the dance began.

‘We can't talk about it here! Nor should we leave before the Empress, but there are about three thousand people present tonight and we'll not be missed for a little while. We can come back in time to welcome the New Year.'

In the throng it was easy to slip through a door unnoticed and they went along the passage to the Malachite Room.

‘Now tell me,' she said when they stood facing each other. The thought of surrendering the miniature did not trouble her in the least. She had no wish to be involved with the Court, who in any case had shown clearly enough they did not want her in their midst.

He turned from tugging at the bell-pull. ‘Sit down, for God's sake, Marguerite. We want a drink before we talk.'

A footman came at once and a few minutes later brought cognac, wine and vodka on a silver tray. Konstantin dismissed him and poured the drinks himself. By then she was seated on a sofa and he gave her a glass of wine before returning to the tray, where he downed three vodkas before pulling up a chair to sit opposite her, a fourth in his hand.

‘That's better,' he said with satisfaction.

‘So what do you think will be the outcome of tonight?' she queried.

‘The Empress made a tool of you this evening to settle in the cruellest way possible some real or imagined slight inflicted on her by the Baroness,' he said bluntly, keeping to himself how he alone had known of it beforehand. ‘I've no doubt at all that whatever gowns you've made the Empress will be stored with the rest of her discarded garments, but whether they will ever see the light of day again is questionable. She is a devious woman. You've served your purpose this evening. Don't pin any high hopes on the outcome.'

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. ‘That thought never entered my head.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. But there is a credit side to all this.'

‘Oh? And what may that be?'

‘It's because the Empress acknowledged you before the whole Court that your new status cannot be eradicated. It means that socially you are equal now to anyone in that stateroom.' His voice took on a teasing note. ‘You and I could marry tomorrow without a single objection being raised.'

She flung back her head and laughed. ‘What a ridiculous situation! I'm certain the Empress expects me to return to my sewing rooms in St Petersburg as soon as possible now to carry on as if this evening had never happened.'

He frowned. ‘Maybe, but at least for the time being make the most of the new privileges to which you are now entitled. We can avoid the boring court functions and attend the rest. So let us enjoy some time together.' A smile spread across his mouth again. ‘You'll be able to unmask freely at the end of a ball without being afraid of being sent back to France as you were before. It will be fun!'

Fun. Yes, she believed it would be. Nothing else he might have said could have been more persuasive. His words had made her realize that work, laden with responsibilities, had dominated her time since the day she had arrived in St Petersburg. There had been traumatic happenings, as with Tom, and some happy occasions linked with Jan as well as with her fellow countrywomen, but unbounded fun coinciding with no work on her hands was something not to be missed. A burst of excited anticipation rang in her voice. ‘Very well! And I shall make my own mask!'

His face shone with triumph. ‘Tomorrow evening I shall dance you off your feet!'

They returned to the stateroom where couples were twirling in a gavotte and they were soon lost amid the other dancers, not knowing they had been observed. Elisabeth's sharp eyes missed nothing.

When Tom arrived three weeks later he tried in vain to see Marguerite, for she was always out having riding lessons or at a party or some other social function. Isabelle, who had not met him before, even though she had been in the same taproom when he had come for his wife in Riga, was glad when he called. She thought him a pleasant man and was thankful for the diversion of his company whenever he stayed for an hour or two while hoping for Marguerite's return. By now she had been looking daily for a letter from Mikail, but nothing had come and she was beginning to be anxious. Her self-confidence, which had been built up by both his love and her success at work, began to crumble and self-doubts assailed her more and more as Mikail's letters failed to come.

As for Tom, she had supposed at first that he was simply calling on Marguerite as a friend, but now she had her doubts. There had been a glint of anger in his eyes when she had mentioned that Captain Dashiski was giving Marguerite a wonderful time in a round of banquets and balls, gaming parties and masquerades. Nor did he seem appeased when she added that she herself had been with them sometimes to plays and concerts. His face always clouded with disappointment when he found that Marguerite was absent yet again and she began to feel quite sorry for him. She tried talking to Marguerite on his behalf.

‘He always tells me when he's coming again. Why won't you make time to see him?'

Marguerite sighed. ‘If I happened to be here I would see him, of course.'

‘He's in love with you, isn't he?'

‘Yes.' The answer had come without expression.

‘But he's a married man!' Isabelle flushed and bit her lip. ‘How foolish of me to say that! It's just that he has such a sweet wife.'

‘Yes, he has. She is my friend and my loyalty is to her.'

‘If he's not taking no for an answer tell him something! Say you're going to marry Konstantin Dashiski!'

Marguerite jerked towards her. ‘What made you say that?'

Isabelle stared at her. ‘He's asked you, hasn't he?' Then she was overwhelmed by her own outspokenness. ‘Forgive me, please. I didn't mean to pry. Nor have I any right to tell you what to do.'

‘It's all right, Isabelle. I will see Tom. You said he'd be coming tomorrow morning? I'll postpone my riding lesson with Konstantin.'

When Tom arrived Isabelle showed him into the room where Marguerite waited and then left. He had discarded his greatcoat and fur hat before entering and stood, well dressed in a crimson coat and knee breeches with high-booted feet set apart as he and Marguerite faced each other across the short distance between them.

‘How are you, Tom?' she asked, thinking with anguish that nothing had dispersed the charm he still held for her, even though now she knew it for what it was, a nostalgic illusion that the man she loved was still to be found in this passionate Englishman.

He ignored her query. ‘Why wouldn't you see me until now?'

‘You know that I've been very busy. Mostly enjoying myself. As I'm sure Isabelle has told you, I continue to design and she makes each one up for the fashion dolls, but otherwise we have nothing to do. I'm negotiating her return in a courier's sledge to St Petersburg, even if I have to stay. She is eager to get back there. Do sit down, Tom.'

Although she took a seat herself he continued to stand. Again he ignored what she had said. ‘I came to Moscow specially to see you.'

She shook her head wearily. ‘I hoped you were not going to say that. Don't let us get into some pointless discussion about something that can never be.'

‘Listen to me! It's you I want with me for the rest of my life! Nobody else!'

She regarded him incredulously, rising slowly to her feet again. ‘You're out of your mind! Sarah loves you! She lives for you!'

‘She thinks she does, but she's never been a wife to me as I would have wished. She lives in some airy-fairy dream of love and will go on cherishing some idealized image of me wherever she is. She shuts out of her mind anything that threatens to bring her down to earth and that includes the marriage bed!'

‘Don't you care anything for her?' Marguerite demanded angrily.

‘Of course I do. Who wouldn't respond to her gentle charm and her vulnerability, just as one would to a helpless child or a dependent kitten? I was captivated by her when we married, but it was not long before I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. That's why I sought work abroad, wanting to get her away from her dominating mother and hoping that we could build up a good relationship, but it was not to be.' He flung out his hands despairingly. ‘Sarah suffocates me with her cloying, unrealistic devotion! Even if you had not come into my life I could not have gone on much longer in these circumstances.'

In her own mind Marguerite felt intense pity for him and for Sarah that they were such a mismatched couple, but there was nothing she could do to solve the matter for either of them.

‘How you settle the crisis in your marriage is entirely between you and Sarah,' she said, managing to keep an even tone in her voice, ‘but my life is my own and you can have no part in it. I was attracted to you, because you reminded me so much – and still do! – of someone I loved and lost before I left Paris. In you I was seeking the past, refusing to see that it had gone for ever.'

‘But I can be your future instead!'

She shook her head firmly, tortured by the decision she had made. ‘No, Tom.'

‘No matter what you say I'll not be turned away! There is nothing in this world that can stop me making you my own. You and I belong together for the rest of our lives!' He was moving towards her, wholly confident that he had only to take her into his arms and all her resistance would melt away. ‘My dearest love!'

‘But I'm going to marry Konstantin Dashiski!'

The words were out almost before she realized it. He halted, rooted by shock, total disbelief in his eyes. She saw his face drain white before his colour flooded back, rising up from his crisp cravat to flood up his cheeks in crimson-hued rage. He swung up his hand as if to strike her, but almost at once he let it fall again to his side. Then, to her sorrow, she saw a terrible sadness sweep over his whole face and he sank into a nearby chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down limply, his head bowed in abject misery.

‘I don't know how to bear this,' he said very quietly.

She had never seen a man so devastated. This breakdown into such terrible despair was dreadful to see. He looked utterly broken.

‘Don't, Tom,' she pleaded, dropping to one knee beside him. ‘I've never wanted to hurt you, but it has to be.'

After a few moments he raised his head abruptly and looked at her with a rallying fierceness she had not expected to see. ‘I'll not give up! I'll have to see you wed before I'll ever accept losing you!' Then he seized her face between his hands and devoured her mouth passionately in a long kiss that she could not escape. She remained kneeling, shocked and distressed, as he stood up abruptly and went from the room.

When Isabelle came looking for her she had not moved.

T
he Empress was in a dressing robe having her fingernails manicured and buffed when Marguerite was able to see her.

‘Your Imperial Majesty,' Marguerite began, ‘I'm at a loss to know what is expected of me. I'm still designing your gowns and sending my drawings to my seamstresses at the Winter Palace, but I wish to be there to supervise. When may I return?'

‘Have you no desire to be a lady of my court, Frenchwoman?'

‘It is a great honour, but I came to Russia in order to use my skills to create for you.'

‘I see no obstacle there. You have excellent needlewomen carrying out your dictates and you continue to serve me as my designer. It would please me if that state of affairs could continue after you have married Major Dashiski.'

Marguerite gasped. ‘I've not . . .'

‘Not accepted him yet? I'm aware of that. As a member of my bodyguard he had to ask my permission to marry you and I granted it. There's another matter. You have not attended any of the formal court functions since the evening I granted you my portrait, although I've seen you at every ball. I hope you will soon amend that absence in Major Dashiski's company. Now you may go.'

Marguerite was furious as she left. She was not a Russian subject to have her personal affairs settled for her. She was French-born with the right to make up her own mind about anything and always would be! If she had not become drawn to Russia and enjoyed her work here so much she would have left with the next convoy for France!

Yet would she have wanted to leave Konstantin? He had made her happier than at any time since she had come to this country, except perhaps for some of the times she had spent with Jan and that special evening when he had given her the painting. She had brought it with her to Moscow and it was hanging in her present room. Although she had tried so many times to discover what hidden meaning was there it still evaded her.

On the evening of her investiture as a portrait lady, Konstantin had joked about her new status enabling them to marry without question, but he was quite different when he seriously asked her to marry him. They were at a private party given by friends of his when he drew her away from the dancing into an alcove draped in silk that partly concealed them from the sight of others.

‘I have something to ask you,' he said quite solemnly as they sat down together. ‘Will you marry me, Marguerite? I realize we haven't known each other for any length of time, but it's long enough for me to have fallen in love with you and to believe that we could enjoy being together for the rest of our lives.'