Part 29 (1/2)
”What?” Alexsey looked startled.
”Now, before Sir Henry can act. Find a s.h.i.+p and go home.”
”I will not run like a coward.”
”You must. This woman is no good for us. She-”
”Enough!” Alexsey stood, his eyes ablaze. ”I will hear no more of your bitter words. Bronwyn is to be respected. I demand that.”
His anger was so hot that Natasha took a step back. But only for a moment. She pulled out the chain holding the kaltso and shook it. ”This will never be yours if you marry that woman.”
”Then it will not be mine. But no one can stop me from helping the Romany. Just as no one can stop me from marrying Bronwyn Murdoch.” He turned and walked away.
”Don't be foolis.h.!.+ What are you going to do?”
”I'm going to send a letter to Bronwyn. Tonight, at Sir Henry's dinner, I will ask her if I may announce our marriage.”
”She won't have you. She is proud, that one. It is her one good trait.”
”I will win her over.” He hesitated. ”But you're right; she is very proud. But if I'm very lucky, and the fates are kind, then she'll realize we have no choice and must marry.”
”You are being n.o.ble and wish to save the girl from embarra.s.sment. That is good. But there are other ways. If you will give me time, I will find a way out of this-”
”It is my mistake. I must fix it.” He went to the small writing desk beside the window. He pulled out some paper and ink and sat down, writing furiously. He reread what he'd written twice, making small changes, then he sanded the missive, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket.
Then he headed for the door. ”Until dinner.”
”Where you will destroy your life-I cannot wait to witness that debacle.”
He left, the door slamming behind him.
Tata's scowl disappeared, and for a long time she merely stood and stared. Then she gave a sharp nod and hurried to the bellpull by the fire. She tugged it once, then went to the desk and scribbled a hasty note. She'd just sealed it when the footman appeared.
He brightened when he saw the letter. ”Another missive fer Lady Malvinea?”
Natasha nodded. ”This time, bring her back with you. I have invited her to tea, so tell the butler on your way out to have a tray sent here to my room.”
”Yes, Yer Grace. And if I bring her within thirty minutes, will I get another gold coin?”
”Two, if she arrives in less than that time. But if she arrives later, then you will become a goat.”
”Och, Yer Grace, I'll ha' her here in under twenty minutes, see if I dinna.” He s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter, made a half bow, and bolted from the room.
Shortly afterward, she heard a carriage racing down the drive. Nodding to herself, she settled by the fire and waited.
Lucinda stared at the stars twinkling in the sky above. There were so many. Was Roland looking at them, too? In the loneliness of the moment, a star twinkled and she felt his soul touch hers.
-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth Bronwyn read the note for the fourteenth time, even though she was fairly sure she had it memorized.
My dear Roza, We must speak. I will meet you at Sir Henry's tonight, and we will resolve our difficulties without the interference of others.
Sincerely, Alexsey Romanovin Bronwyn refolded the note, feeling the same flicker of disappointment. What did he mean, ”resolve our difficulties”? The words were so cold . . . so unfeeling.
But perhaps she was expecting too much from a mere note. Or perhaps that was all he had to offer-an uncaring offer made only to appease society.
For that is what they were doing-appeasing society. Blast it, why oh why had he appeared in the hallway without proper covering? Not that it mattered, she supposed, for she'd have been ruined either way. Still, it wouldn't have made such a sensational story.
She thought of his demeanor when he'd brought her the letter earlier today. Of course Mama had been present, determined not to let things get ”further out of hand.”
But Alexsey had been all that was polite. He'd been so unlike himself, so stiff and formal, that she'd felt awkward and had barely said two words to him.
There'd only been one moment when he'd seemed more himself. It had been when he'd said his good-byes, and he'd held her hand longer than was necessary, and stared into her eyes as if searching for something.
The whole thing had been odd and she was at a loss to know what anything meant.
As soon as he'd left, Bronwyn had read the letter, aware of Mama's gaze over her shoulder. Naturally, Mama had asked to read the letter. Oddly, it had seemed to incense her. She'd declared that Bronwyn would not attend the dinner, and at the time Bronwyn had agreed.
She wouldn't-couldn't-be tied to a man who would never look at her without wis.h.i.+ng for his freedom. She wanted to be a wonderful memory, not a dark one.
Perhaps Mama was right-the best thing Bronwyn could do was write him back and refuse to listen to his offer, release him from this painful situation. She would never marry for anything less than love, and all Alexsey had to offer was duty. She would free him from that duty. It was the least she could do.
Rubbing her chest where it had tightened, she turned to hear voices outside her bedchamber door, breathless and giggling. What on earth? She opened the door to find Mrs. Pitcairn, Sorcha, and Mairi, their arms overflowing with petticoats, ribbons, and shoes.
They pushed past a gaping Bronwyn.
”I thought I'd never make it up the stairs,” Mairi exclaimed, puffing.
”Where shall we pu' these?” Mrs. Pitcairn asked, peering over a stack of petticoats.
”On the bed,” Sorcha directed. ”Scott, off!”
The big dog went to join Walter by the fire.
”I don't understand,” Bronwyn said. ”What are you doing here? I'm not going to dinner this evening. Mama said-”
”Forget what Mama said,” Sorcha replied. ”You are going to dinner tonight, and that's that.”
”I don't know. Alexsey doesn't seem very . . . warm, and everyone will be talking.” She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. ”I don't want to face them. Or him.”
”You must, and you'll do it dressed properly.”
”But Mama said-”
”Mama isn't always right.” Sorcha's mouth thinned. ”In fact, there are times when she's simply wrong.” She dusted the coverlet fastidiously, then placed a long, sheet-wrapped bundle on it. The stack of petticoats joined it.
Sorcha turned to Bronwyn. ”We've come to make certain you go to dinner dressed like someone expecting a very proper and romantic proposal.”
”Which you should get, if the prince is half the man we think he is,” Mairi added.
Bronwyn shook her head. ”I'm not going to accept. Mama says-”