It was to be their last official social event before leaving London, and Ginny took great care with her toilette. Berthilde, looking distracted and harried, scurried from the dressing room to the bedchamber with another gown, finding at last the one that they both liked, while Steve waited impatiently.
“If we are to get there before the late supper tonight, you’d best choose a gown, Ginny.”
From amidst the bouquet of crimson-and-yellow silks scattered on the wide tapestried bed like wilted flowers, Ginny’s voice sang out, “I chose the one I’m wearing. I’ll be ready in just a moment!”
By the time she emerged, Steve considered the results well worth the wait. Standing in the entrance hall, he heard her coming down the sweep of stairs and turned to comment on her tardiness.
A shimmering copper skirt floated around her legs, reflecting lamplight, and the snug bodice clung to her breasts and small waist with cunning efficiency. A filmy wrap seemed to drift around her bare shoulders.
She wore a necklace of gleaming topaz, stones of a rich amber set in gold filigree, with matching earrings so long they brushed against her shoulders.
Berthilde was still fussing around her, following and straightening folds of the skirt, rearranging one of the ribbons that streamed down the back, tucking another flower into the mass of curls atop Ginny’s head, clucking under her breath when she was finally told to stop.
“Enough,” Ginny said, tugging at an elbow-length glove, “the ribbons will only be crushed in the carriage. You may have the rest of the night off, Berthilde. We’ll no doubt be quite late returning.”
“Oui, madame.” Berthilde looked pleased, and pursed her mouth primly.
Ginny seemed to sparkle. When they reached the sprawling mansion that was brilliantly lit, even in the gardens where Chinese lanterns dangled like fireflies above neatly clipped yew hedges and overflowing urns of fragrant flowers, she stood out vividly in the sea of more sedate gowns. As usual, Ginny received admiring glances from the men as they entered the house and were announced in dulcet tones. They made their way down the receiving line, where the Prince of Wales greeted them with gruff good humor.
“Ah, Ambassador Morgan, it is pleasant to see you again, as always. Will you be visiting the racecourse tomorrow? I hear Lord Hartsfield has a prime bit of horseflesh entered.”
Bowing slightly from the waist, Steve reminded the prince that he was leaving for Mexico in two days.
“But I am certain you will be back, Ambassador Morgan! You cannot deprive us of your beautiful wife’s company for too long. Or is she remaining here, perhaps?”
The profligate prince regarded Ginny with an avid admiration; it was no secret that he conducted many affairs, not bothering to be discreet despite his wife’s chagrin. It did not matter to Prince Edward if the object of his desires was married, as long as the husband had the good sense to look in the other direction.
Steve Morgan gave no indication of being that kind of husband, and Ginny had no intention of being another Alice Kepple. She tactfully rejected the prince’s suggestion that she accept English hospitality while her husband was away on business, and moved gracefully along as those behind her moved forward.
Then Steve felt her falter, heard the strained note in her voice as she greeted the man standing next to the prince in the line.
“General Ignatiev, I see you did not return to Russia after all.”
“Not yet.” Tall and spare, with vigorous mustaches that swept out to the sides, the Russian general who had helped arrange Ginny’s flight from Stamboul regarded her with icy eyes that held no hint of welcome. “And I see that you did not go to Saint Petersburg though you professed such eagerness to see the tsar again.”
“Plans change, or are changed by fate.”
“And did you find Colonel Shevchenko…efficient?”
“I am here, so I would say that he was most efficient, General.”
Ignatiev’s gaze moved to Steve. He nodded in recognition and then shifted away as they moved along.
“I got the distinct impression that the general wasn’t very happy to see you, my love,” he said when they reached the crowded ballroom. Strains of a waltz were playing, barely discernible over the noise of the crowd. Ginny’s face was pale, her mouth stretched into a taut line as he moved her toward the windows that opened onto a wide verandah.
Her shoulders lifted in a light shrug. “He wasn’t very pleasant when I last saw him, so I don’t think his opinion of me has changed greatly.”
Steve studied her for a moment. Incongruous color that had nothing to do with cosmetics brightened her cheeks. It wasn’t like Ginny to get upset because of rudeness. Damn, he had seen her face an entire room full of hostile men with a composure he wouldn’t have been able to manage under similar circumstances.
“Ignatiev often travels with Tsar Alexander, but he’s here as an envoy to assist in making travel arrangements for the prince to visit Saint Petersburg.” He paused, then added, “Lord Tynedale will be in the entourage traveling with Prince Edward.”
“Will he?” She turned luminous eyes to him, a faint smile lifting the corners of her lush mouth. “Russia is lovely in the summer months.”
It was a noncommittal reply, but what had he expected? Ginny had always been adept at hiding herself from him, as he had always been just as proficient in concealing his own thoughts from her. It was a vicious cycle at times, neither of them quite ready to relinquish old habits, to fully trust the other’s intentions. It would take time to ease the habit of licking old wounds, he thought wryly, and he was as guilty as she of harboring mistrust.
He snagged Ginny a glass of champagne punch from a passing footman’s silver tray, pushed it into her hands and said casually, “Lord Tynedale approaches.”
Ginny’s eyes widened slightly, dark pupils expanding as she lifted her champagne glass. If not for the slight quiver of her hand, he would have thought her completely unaffected by Tynedale’s presence.
It was hard-earned composure that kept the smile on her face as Ginny turned to greet Richard Avery.
“Richard, you’re looking quite well,” she said lightly when he took her free hand and bowed over it in a courtly, old-fashioned manner that was so indicative of his nature.
He straightened, dark-blue eyes so similar to Steve’s holding her gaze.
“You are more lovely than ever, though I once thought that impossible. I see that life with Esteban agrees with you most heartily.”
“Yes. It does.”
“I am so glad, Ginny.”
The sincerity in his tone was unmistakable, and she drew in a soft breath of relief. There would be no constraint or silent reproaches between them now, for after all, each had chosen the path more suitable for their lives.
“Will you dance this waltz with me, Ginny, with Esteban’s permission, of course?”
Steve took Ginny’s empty champagne glass from her hand as Richard escorted her onto the crowded floor. The music was loud, but not deafening, so that they did not have to speak loudly to be heard.
“Ginny, are you as content as you seem?”
“I am very happy, Richard. I have my children with me at last, and Steve and I are trying to work out all the problems of our past. It’s not easy, of course, but I knew it wouldn’t be. So much has happened between us, and to us, that it will take time to sort out our feelings, to come to terms with everything.”
“Ah.” His hand on the small of her back flexed as he guided her in a sweep across the floor. “You may not recall, but when I used to ask you if you were happy, you always said you were content. Now I ask if you are content, and you tell me you are happy. Oh, do not look distressed, Ginny, for I always knew I didn’t have your heart, not the way I wanted it. And I suppose it’s just as well, after all that happened.”
She thought of Gulbehar, the wife Richard had taken at the sultan’s wishes, and the vindictiveness of her attempt to kill Ginny and her unborn child so that she would be the first wife, and her child, his heir.
“I do not see your wife with you tonight. I presume she is still in Persia?”
“Steve didn’t tell you—Gulbehar and our son died of a fever.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” It was a reflexive sympathy, murmured automatically, but she was sorry, for Richard’s loss if not for the woman who had tried to kill her.
She should have known Richard would perceive her true thoughts, for he squeezed her hand, smiling sadly.
“You are not sorry she cannot hurt you anymore, I’m sure, Ginny, for what she did to you was truly terrible. There are no pardons for it, no penances to atone for her actions. You lost our child, and nearly died as well. Now she has died, and so did our child.”
She looked up at him, saw in his eyes the sorrow he felt, the loss, and said, “Yes, but I have forgiven her. If she had not poisoned me, perhaps I would not have regained my sight, and perhaps I would not now be here, but still in Stamboul instead of—”
When she halted, he smiled. “Instead of with the man you love. Yes, I know. I always knew.”
He sounded so sad. Ginny searched his face, the fine features that were so like Steve’s yet so different; his skin was paler, slightly pockmarked with old scars from a bout of the pox as a child, and his eyes, so dark a blue like Steve’s, but that held none of the ruthlessness, only compassion.
“It’s true, Richard. I do love Steve. I’ve always loved him even when I didn’t want to. I’m not sure why, except that he and I have been through so much together now.”
“There are ancient beliefs that say a man and a woman must find the one true love, that when they do, that love will last for all time, through strife and even death. I think that is the sum of your relationship with Esteban. No matter how many others you might think you love, he is your only true love. You were fortunate that you found one another while you were so young. Now you have the rest of your lives to be together.”
“Oh, Richard, I knew you would understand. How I wish you would find your true love.”
“Perhaps I will. One day. Perhaps I will even find her in Russia, a woman with green eyes and copper hair.”
His smile was teasing, his hand on her comforting, and Ginny felt at ease in his arms as the waltz took them around the floor. Another barrier had been hurdled, another avenue chosen, another chance offered on the path to happiness. It was as if pieces of a puzzle were falling into place.
Steve, standing beside a pilastered column and talking with a man she recognized as Lord Beaconsfield, the prime minister of England, was her fate. She had always known it, even in the darkest of times.
I just pray that whatever happens in the future, we can face it together….