Marguerite Kaye - From Governess To Countess

‘He took me for your mistress!’ Now that the encounter was over, Allison was furious. The slander was a horrible reminder of the scurrilous slurs that had been published in the London gutter press. ‘He assumed that I—that you and I—you must put him straight.’

‘And give him the satisfaction of knowing his barbs had hit home? The Count eyed her flushed countenance. ‘You must not take what he says to heart. Arakcheev is a man who thrives on insults, and as taunts go, that was pretty mild. This is St Petersburg. The fact that we are not having an affaire would raise more eyebrows.’

Allison mustered a smile. She had overreacted. It wasn’t as if it mattered what people thought of her here, far from home. ‘You make the city sound like a den of iniquity.’

‘You think I’m exaggerating? You see that woman over there?’ the Count said, with a sneer. ‘The famous—or should I say, infamous—Princess Katya Bagration. I thought she was settled in Paris. I am surprised to see her here.’

Princess Katya, surrounded by a swarm of officers, was very beautiful, with dusky curls, cupid lips and skin like milk. ‘Her gown is quite translucent,’ Allison whispered, for the Princess’s shapely legs could clearly be seen under the filmy gauze of her attire. ‘Under the light of these chandeliers—I wonder if she is aware...’

The Count snorted. ‘She is perfectly aware. In Vienna she is known as the Naked Angel or sometimes the White Pussycat.’

‘The White Pussycat?’

To Allison’s surprise, he looked abashed. ‘Something to do with her particular talents. Forgive me, I have been too long in the company of soldiers.’

‘Particular talents?’ As realisation dawned, Allison gazed over at the beauty in astonishment. ‘Do you mean she is a courtesan?’

‘Not of the type you mean. She demands secrets rather than gold in return for her favours, I am told. Pillow talk of the most dangerous sort,’ the Count clarified, his tone making his feelings very clear. ‘During the Congress, she had both our Emperor and Metternich in tow, amongst others.’

‘She was Tsar Alexander’s mistress? Yet she is received here in the Winter Palace?’

‘That is nothing.’ Taking a glass of champagne for each of them from a passing waiter, Count Derevenko proceeded to give her a sardonic résumé of who, in the ballroom, was involved in clandestine liaisons with whom. ‘As to our Emperor, I would need more than two hands to count the number of women here who have warmed his bed. His Highness is notorious for behaving as if he has more than two hands. If his mistresses were excluded from court on grounds of propriety, this ballroom would be empty. But it is the same in England, is it not? Save that the court there pretends to ignore your Prince George’s indiscretions, including, I am told, his flirtation with our Emperor’s favourite sister, Catherine. In the Court of St Petersburg, indiscretions are part of the fabric of life.’

‘I don’t move in such exalted circles,’ Allison said, feeling like a prude, ‘though my work has taken me to the heart of many high-born families. Is fidelity truly so outmoded?’

‘Once again, the Emperor leads by example. He and Madame Maria Naryshkhina over there have had several children, much to the chagrin of the Empress who remains childless.’

‘There are many women among the poor who would envy her barren state. Mother Nature is often over-generous to those who can least afford it.’

‘But that state of affairs is something which a herbalist could easily remedy, is it not?’

Allison stiffened. ‘What you are implying is not, and has never been a service I provide. Though there are some who do, and some very desperate women who turn to them. I do not judge.’

‘Despite what you think, no more do I. I may be a mere man, but I am aware, Miss Galbraith, that it is women who are forced to bear, most unfairly, the consequences of our masculine desires—whether they want to or not.’

‘Then you are a very singular man to have considered the problem at all,’ Allison replied, mollified. ‘I confess, there have been occasions when I have advised—not after the fact, but before—there are ways to prevent—but really! I do not know how we came to be discussing such an intimate topic.’

‘It is my fault for drawing your attention to Madame Maria Naryshkhina. My apologies.’

She was forced to smile. ‘You seem to be very well informed considering that you have not lived in St Petersburg for some years.’

‘The Romanovs are related to every other royal family in Europe. One does not have to reside in St Petersburg to remain au fait with their machinations,’ the Count replied, not bothering to hide his contempt for the Imperial family. ‘And my brother kept me informed with the latest court gossip in his occasional letters. Actually, if one were looking for a rare example of a faithful and devoted husband and father, Michael was your man.’

‘You were not—not overly fond of your older brother?’

The Count shrugged, a habit he exhibited, when he did not care to answer, but after a few moments staring down at his champagne flute, he surprised her. ‘Of course I cared for him, as one naturally cares for one’s family—he was my only sibling, after all. But we were never close, had little in common and as adults spent very little time in one another’s company. Which is why I find it so utterly confounding that he nominated me—’ He broke off, draining his champagne in one draught. ‘But it is done now, no point in lamenting over what cannot be changed. Come, it is time for the great and the good of St Petersburg to meet the new Derevenko governess.’

The Count set his empty champagne glass down on a window ledge. Allison, surprised to find her own flute also empty, followed suit. ‘I will never remember all these names and faces.’

‘It doesn’t matter, the objective is to ensure that they know yours.’ He covered her hand with his, angling his back to the room to obscure her from view. ‘You need not be so nervous, you are performing admirably.’

His smile was meant to be reassuring, she told herself, as was the clasp of his fingers. They were both wearing gloves, but her skin was tingling in response to his touch all the same. And his smile—no, it wasn’t at all reassuring, it was—she wished he wouldn’t smile like that, because she couldn’t resist smiling back, and if her smile was anything like his, he’d get the wrong idea entirely. ‘Thank you.’

She smiled. He inhaled sharply. Their eyes locked. ‘Under different circumstances,’ the Count said, ‘I would have been delighted if Arakcheev’s assumptions had foundation.’

There was no mistaking his meaning. No mistaking the unexpected, delightful frisson of her response. An inappropriate response which needed to be quelled. ‘You cannot mean you would like to marry one of your nieces!’

‘You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant.’ His fingers tightened on hers as he leaned towards her. For a dizzying moment, she thought he was going to kiss her in full public view. And she wanted him to, for that dizzying moment.

Then he snapped his head back, dropping her hand. ‘Unfortunately the circumstances are not different. We must make a circuit of the room. I would recommend another glass of champagne to fortify you for the circus you are about to experience.’

* * *

It had indeed been a circus, and under the scrutiny of St Petersburg society, Allison would have felt as stripped bare and vulnerable as an acrobat on a tightrope were it not for the Count’s reassuring presence by her side. By the time they left the ball it was late—or early, she could no longer tell which—and her head was pounding. But though she had fallen into a brief, shallow sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, her churning mind did not permit her to rest for long.