Count Lavrenti Zhenechka was a big man, six and a half feet tall and over two hundred and fifty pounds. Like most good Russian nobles, he had been reared to a military career. He had been decorated in the Balkan War of 1877, then gone on to win laurels in the Far Eastern conflicts. But when the family vodka business passed to him upon his father’s death, he gave up his shining military career to enter the world of commerce. Under his stringent control—some called it tight-fisted—Zhenechka Vodka doubled its profits. He made more money than any Zhenechka could have dreamed possible, but he made no friends in doing so. He was feared and hated by many, and a good number of those adversaries were members of his own family.
He married at age thirty-six to a mere child of sixteen. Zinaida was a beauty, and her youth was appealing to a man like Zhenechka because she would be easy to control—or so he thought. But she proved to be too much of a free spirit for him. He worked hard to crush her will, and she fought back tenaciously. There was never any love in the marriage, and for most of its six-year span, contempt and hatred were the most prevalent emotions between the couple. Zhenechka wasn’t entirely at fault, either. Zinaida engaged in several romantic affairs, which she publicly flaunted in her husband’s face. To his knowledge, the affairs began after Katya was conceived, but he could never be completely certain the girl was really his daughter. He probably claimed her only because it would have been too humiliating to admit anything else. But on Katya’s fourth birthday, Zinaida ran away with a Cossack to live as a barefoot peasant.
Sometimes Katya wondered if the worst thing her mother did was not merely running away, but doing so and leaving Katya behind to live her life under the same domineering rule that had caused Zinaida so much misery. Ironically, Katya had responded to her father’s heavy hand in much the same way as her mother had—by constant rebellion.
In the spirit of that rebellious nature, when Katya reached her father’s study door, she didn’t bother to knock before entering. If he was going to insist upon spoiling her night, she would do what she could to defy him—short of refusing his summons altogether.
He growled at her brazen entry. “You are as ill-mannered as a peasant.”
“How would you know, Father?” she retorted. “When was the last time you’ve had personal contact with a peasant?”
“I forgot you are an expert—from your relationship with that filthy peasant Rasputin.”
“Careful what you say, Father. Rasputin has the respect of the Crown itself.”
“Never mind that. It’s late and, having waited up this late to see you, I am in no mood to spar with you. But it seems if I am to see you at all, it must be at this ungodly hour. Now, sit down and listen, for a change.”
Katya toyed with the idea of remaining on her feet, in further defiance. But she was wearing tight shoes and her feet were sore. Standing would accomplish nothing and just make her miserable. With a careless shrug she flopped in a chair and kicked off her shoes. She knew such unladylike behavior would irritate him.
He lifted a paper from his desktop. “I have here a marriage contract—”
“Oh, Father,” she groaned in disgust.
“Listen to me, young lady, you will marry, and you will do so soon. And since most decent families have tended to shun you because of your scandalous behavior, not to mention the stigma of your mother’s wantonness, you should be thankful I have done as well with a match as I have. The Prokunins are a good family—not rich, but at least they are titled nobility. I have managed to convince the elder Prokunin that three-fourths of the rumors about you are not true and the rest is but youthful zest. The young Count Pytor is actually enamored with your, as he calls it, ‘flamboyant behavior,’ and thus is also pressing his parents for a match. I have committed a large dowry to the count and the promise of a share in the vodka business.”
“No wonder he is willing to put up with my flamboyant behavior.” She rolled her eyes and slurred the final words disdainfully. “If he marries me, he won’t have to work another day in his life.”
“Not a bad price, considering what he is getting—I doubt you will bring the poor, unsuspecting man anything but grief.”
“I have suggested that since I am getting too old to care properly for the child, you and he adopt her.”
“They have no idea of the truth?”
“There is no need.”
“Sometimes, Father, I truly believe you live in a dreamworld. But regardless of that, you can just tear up that paper of yours. I have no intention of marrying the good count. I have already told you I have no interest in marriage at all.”
“And you talk about dreamworlds?” he sneered. “I could have kicked you out on the street after what you did to me, to this family. But I protected you and that fatherless whelp of yours. I made it possible for you to maintain your place in decent society. You owe me obedience in this matter, or—”
“Or what, Father? You don’t want the Zhenechka name smeared in the mud any more than I do. But I don’t see why I must marry for further respectability.”
“Because that is what proper, decent people do!”
“Well, I’ve already proven I am neither.”
Zhenechka rose suddenly and abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. In three strides, he was standing over Katya menacingly. Katya’s heart skipped a beat. It wouldn’t be the first time she had felt her father’s strong fist, but she glared up at him as if she didn’t care.
“I can destroy you—and your child,” he hissed, his tone as lethal as the hand clenched at his side. “Defy me and I will reveal to all that your precious daughter is nothing more than a misbegotten whelp of another misbegotten whelp. You will end up with not a penny to your name. Even your inheritance from your grandfather will be cut off, because I have final control over it.”
“Maybe we’d be better off! No wonder the prospect of living among Cossacks was so appealing to my mother—”
The count’s hand shot up, striking Katya’s cheek with such force it felt as if her neck had snapped. Despite her dogged determination not to reveal weakness to her father, the pain brought tears to her eyes. He stood glowering over her, his hand still raised as if he were looking for the smallest excuse to strike again. Katya bit her lip. She couldn’t give him that excuse. She had her daughter to think of.
“All right, Father, you’ve made your point.” Her tone wasn’t exactly contrite, but at least she managed to say the words. “But perhaps you would like to make a deal?”
“A deal?” He gave a dry, mocking laugh, but, nevertheless, nodded for her to continue. She knew he couldn’t resist a business proposition.
“What if I made my own match?” she went on confidently. “Your main concern is to bring a titled, respectable name into the family, right?” He nodded again. “Suppose I could bring a name far more weighty than Prokunin. How does the name Fedorcenko strike you?”
“The Fedorcenkos? I served under Prince Viktor Fedorcenko in the Balkans and fought beside his son, Prince Sergei. But they fell from Imperial favor and disappeared from the face of the earth.”
“Well, they are back. The tsar himself reinstated the family title to Prince Sergei when he was given a full Imperial pardon. They are no longer out of Imperial favor. Sergei’s son Prince Yuri Fedorcenko is an assistant physician to the royal family. He has personally treated the tsarevich.” Katya felt a surge of triumph as she saw an amazing transformation come over her father. His interest was visible even beneath his stoic, businesslike bearing.
“And you think you can make a match with this Prince Yuri?” He was blatantly challenging her.
“I know I can. All you have to do is tear up that agreement with the Prokunins and promise that my inheritance—and that of my daughter—is secure. That is a promise I will want in writing and properly witnessed.”
“At times like this I can almost believe you are my daughter.” He stepped away from Katya and leaned against his desk, folding his arms across his huge chest and gazing at her, if not exactly with pride, at least with respect.
“Well, what do you say?” she asked in the tone of a seasoned businesswoman.
“I agree. But I won’t tear up this paper. I will give you three months to secure a marriage proposal. If none is forthcoming, this paper will take effect. You will marry Prokunin.”
Katya agreed without hesitation. They shook hands on it like two businessmen. But somehow when she left his study, she felt dirty, as if she had made a deal with the devil. Only her father could have tainted what should have been a sweet, beautiful time in hers and Yuri’s lives.