June 1914, Kazan
Newly promoted Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt stood on the terrace of the Roskov summerhouse holding his crystal glass and watching yellow, blue, and purple painted boats ply up and down the waterway of Kazan. The sight offended his disciplined nature. Whoever heard of a purple boat? Who would want one? He supposed the same citizens of Kazan who painted their houses red with green roofs.
Alex smiled to himself and looked toward the slopes of the high western bank and saw the twilight veil of indigo shadow. All in all, his holiday in Kazan with the Roskovs was pleasant enough, but if the truth were known, he’d much rather be in St. Petersburg with his regiment. He’d captained one of the most elite Imperial Cavalry groups in the czar’s special military forces. And now …
He frowned and drummed his fingers on the terrace rail.
The summer night was clear, the stars like diamonds, as bright and glittering as the diamonds in Tatiana’s blue-black hair—diamonds he could not afford, even if he was the adopted son of the renowned Countess Olga Shashenka, who had married his father. He looked across the terrace toward Tatiana, General Roskov’s daughter. He and many others considered her a beautiful woman, and tonight, seeing her with her hair pinned up, diamonds glimmering, and gowned in cream satin tulle for the grand musical to be presented later, he should be content. In all likelihood, she would become his wife. He refused a frown that tested his brow. He raised his glass and tasted the drink. Like everything in the Roskov household, it was exceptional. He ought to be content. He watched Tatiana. She stood across from him, chatting and smiling with several of her guests, yet one more thing in his life that contradicted who he really was.
His restless gaze swept the river. Everything about Kazan, including his two-week stay with the Roskovs, seemed a gaudy display that threatened to overwhelm him as surely as the mist would soon engulf the misfit boats when it settled over the waterway.
Alex was not especially troubled about Tatiana, although it seemed to him that she had changed recently. Or had he? The change in Tatiana that irritated him most happened to be a religious one—but he wouldn’t think about that now. He did not care to grow angry.
Issues other than the general’s daughter hounded him. He had received a letter that morning from his Kronstadt cousin in New York. Mikhail, or rather Michael, since his cousin had chosen the American spelling, had left the Russian Orthodox Church to enroll in an independent Bible seminary. Independent—an interesting word. Alex repeated it to himself. The letters Michael wrote to him—more like journals, Alex thought—discussed Christ and biblical doctrines and declared how pleased Michael was to be an independent American, free to study the Bible as never before.
Alex was surprised to find himself somewhat envious of his cousin’s confidence in his relationship with God, as well as his new citizenship. Michael had tried to talk him into leaving Russia with him three years ago, but Alex had refused, feeling responsible for his twin Sokolov cousins and the countess, to whom he owed much. She had asked him to remain loyal to Imperial Russia, and he had. Even so, there were times, such as tonight, when he felt smothered by expectations not his own and wished he could transport himself into Michael’s New York flat.
Independent. Yes, a very intriguing word.
Just an hour ago, he’d learned from his future father-in-law, General Viktor Roskov, that he had been promoted, forced from his prized elite command in order to serve in a special unit of the czar’s secret police, the Okhrana. All against his will.
He blamed Tatiana and her mother, Madame Zofia, for meddling to further his career. Instead of joining his regiment at the front, he would be stationed in St. Petersburg at the Winter Palace. With war certain to erupt any day, leaving his cavalry regiment for dull police activity felt like a betrayal. Despite his feelings on the matter, there seemed little he could do to change the general’s mind, unless he could convince the countess to exert her influence. The countess, however, remained at her summer retreat in the Crimea. He planned to see her later in the year at her winter residence in St. Petersburg, but by then, his regiment would already have ridden into Poland with a new commander.
“Well, Colonel Kronstadt, congratulations.”
Alex turned from his view of the misty, moonlit river to find Captain Karl Yevgenyev standing a few feet away. He wore a dress uniform much like Alex’s, the white uniform coat ablaze with shiny buttons, the trousers black with a thin white stripe down each leg.
Yevgenyev was tall, slim, and dangerous. His blond hair was wavy, closely clipped on the sides, and he carried himself with strict military bearing. Tonight, Yevgenyev looked as if he was on a hunt for trouble and smelled blood.
This is all I need. Alex’s irritation made him tense. He disliked the ambitious officer, the spoiled son of an Okhrana official, and the feeling was mutual. They had been competitors since cadet school. Unfortunately, Yevgenyev’s father commanded Major-General Durnov, to whom Alex would now report.
Yevgenyev’s gaze burned. He was undoubtedly jealous of Alex’s promotion, as well as the news of his impending engagement to Tatiana.
Alex felt Tatiana appear at his side, looping her arm through his. She, too, must have recognized Yevgenyev’s bitter mood.
The sight of Tatiana holding possessively to Alex’s arm only heightened Yevgenyev’s anger. Alex could easily read the cold rage in his light eyes.
“A mere landowner’s son is unworthy of the honor given you, Kronstadt.” Yevgenyev’s voice was thick with his favorite drink, vodka.
Tatiana gasped.
Alex smiled and challenged his gaze. “You use the term ‘landowner’s son’ as if you consider it an insult. I consider it an honor, for it is the middle-class merchant growers of Russia who feed the czar’s soldiers while the titled feed their egos by dueling and having their fathers safeguard them from justified courts-martial.”
Yevgenyev flushed. He had fought many duels in St. Petersburg and been protected from reprimand by his father. He took a step toward Alex, arm raised, and Alex swiftly grabbed his wrist.
“You’ve been drinking, Karl. And your foolish behavior in front of Miss Roskova is quite boring. If you were as smart as you think you are, you’d go home to bed.”
Yevgenyev jerked his arm free, his eyes coldly furious as he confronted Tatiana. “What you see in this merchant-planter’s son is beyond understanding. My father will speak to yours, and you will come to see that Kronstadt does not deserve you.”
“You are making a spectacle of us both, Karl,” she hissed. “Do as Alex says and go home.”
“I demand a duel, Kronstadt. We shall see which of us is man enough for military honors.”
“Don’t be a fool, Karl,” Alex said.
“You’re a coward. You see, Tatiana? He fears me. He will not duel as a gentleman must when insulted.”
General Viktor Roskov’s bulk appeared in the ballroom entryway. “What is the difficulty?” he called.
“I think this man is an imposter,” Captain Yevgenyev replied distinctly, his eyes on Alex. “He is not a military man of courage and honor, for he will not duel me. He is a coward.”
General Roskov turned sharply. “Captain Yevgenyev, this is despicable and outrageous behavior—”
A servant passed with a tray of wine glasses. Yevgenyev snatched a glass of purple wine and threw it in Alex’s face.
Liquid ran down the collar of Alex’s uniform. He heard Tatiana’s cry and the general’s shocked intake of breath. A murmur of voices gained volume as guests came out on the terrace to see what was happening. Alex’s pristine white jacket was stained as though from a sword thrust.
Remain calm, he told himself. His fist itched to connect with Karl’s front teeth. Remember whose house you’re in. A man can bear an insult to safeguard others. He saw Madame Zofia take her daughter’s arm and pull her behind General Roskov as though fearing a brawl.
Alex calmly removed a white linen napkin from the nearby refreshment table and wiped his face. He folded it neatly and placed it back on the table, aware that all eyes were upon him. Beneath his calm reserve, he could have killed Karl at that moment.
“You see?” Captain Yevgenyev said in a firm voice. “The new Colonel Kronstadt is a coward.”
“This is contemptible, Captain Yevgenyev. You’re drunk,” the general said angrily. “Leave my premises at once. You can be assured I will speak to your father first thing in the morning.”
Yevgenyev appeared not to hear the general. “Well, Colonel?”
“I accept your challenge to a duel,” Alex said, “but not here and now. General Roskov speaks well; you are drunk. I will not have your father accuse me before court of taking advantage of an intoxicated man.”
Yevgenyev gritted his teeth. “Name the day and hour.”
“One month from this day at twelve noon in St. Petersburg.”
Yevgenyev’s hard mouth turned into a cruel smile. He picked up another glass of wine from the tray of the astounded servant, toasted Alex with mockery, then tossed it down in a gulp. He set the glass aside, clicked his heels in a short bow, and strode from the terrace.
A murmur of voices followed.
Alex smothered his frustration in silence.
General Roskov walked up to him, his face grave. “Count Yevgenyev is the one at fault. His temperament has been fully passed on to his son. I’m sorry it’s come to this. Karl is an expert dueler. I’ll speak to his father. Maybe we can stop it.”
Alex knew nothing could stop it. “I’d better go up to my room and change.”
General Roskov shook his head with disgust, then went into the ballroom.
As Alex was about to leave the terrace, Tatiana came to his side and put her hand on his arm.
“Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have invited him. I almost didn’t, but he and his family are in a high social stratum, and both Mother and I agreed we couldn’t ignore him. Oh, good—Mother’s gone to the orchestra leader and asked him to start the music early. A waltz should get everyone’s mind off what happened, at least for a short time.
“Oh, that’s a splendid waltz, isn’t it?” Tatiana continued. “So beautiful. It comes from London. I forget the name of it.” She looked at the stain on Alex’s jacket. “Oh dear, I really can’t expect you to accompany me now, can I? That jacket looks as if you’re wounded—” Her hand went to her mouth, and her dark eyes widened. “Oh, that sounded awful.”
They were alone on the terrace. The night had deepened, and the moon gleamed above the river. Boat lights shone in colors of blue, green, and red all along the waterway.
Alex heard the music, the symphonic sounds meant for love, for grand themes, and for virtue. He looked at Tatiana and considered his emotions. She was beautiful, but her inability to appreciate the shame and depth of what had just occurred turned his heart as cold as the steel pistols he and Karl would aim at each other in St. Petersburg.
Alex lifted Tatiana’s hand from his arm and held it. “I’ll be back down as soon as I’ve changed. Then we can waltz.”
Tatiana smiled, squeezed his hand, and disappeared into the glittering ballroom.
Alex climbed the staircase to his room, his steps heavy with his thoughts.
As the steamer moved up the Volga River, Karena Peshkova decided that Kazan was as exotic as Cousin Tatiana had written. In Karena’s vivid imagination, the river ran like a silvery ribbon, stretching between their big steamer and the western banks. She gazed at rows of colorfully painted ships and houseboats with black hulls and yellow roofs.
With the promise of many entertainments ringing in her ears, Karena and her sister Natalia had left Kiev for a two-week holiday at the Roskov family summer residence in the prosperous port town of Kazan. Tatiana had written that her mother planned a lavish “water ball” aboard a large ship, boasting a thousand colored lanterns and an orchestra. Karena and Natalia had brought their best gowns, dancing slippers, and jewelry, though they feared they would appear simple and plain in comparison to Aunt Zofia and Tatiana, who were accustomed to entertaining nobility. Aunt Zofia even knew the Czarina Alexandra Romanova.
Natalia joined Karena on deck as the steamer neared port. Karena noticed with satisfaction that her sister’s mood had improved since their departure from Kiev.
Natalia was worried about Boris, her young man in Kiev. She had expected to marry him in the coming spring, but the growing certainty of war with Germany had put an end to their dreams. The Peshkov and Gusinsky families would not hear of their daughter and son marrying before Boris went off to the front.
“This will be a delightful interlude,” Karena had told her sister. “For two weeks, we’re going to put aside our personal worries and enjoy ourselves.” For Karena, it was not worries over the coming war, but whether she would again be denied entry to the Imperial College of Medicine and Midwifery at St. Petersburg this September. This was her third try. If she was turned down, it could mean the end of the dream she’d nourished since she was a small girl.
Karena was already over twenty, well past the usual age of marriage, and it would be impossible to hold off the wishes of her family any longer, should she be turned down again.
“The coming war hasn’t dampened Tatiana’s love affair,” Natalia said, obviously comparing their cousin’s situation to her own. “She wishes to become engaged to the dashing Captain Aleksandr Kronstadt before the war begins.”
“That doesn’t mean Aunt Zofia and Uncle Viktor will allow it,” Karena said. She remembered a photograph Tatiana had sent of herself and her beau at a winter’s skating party in St. Petersburg. Kronstadt was one of those rugged Imperial officers who looked dashing in either dress uniform or war-stained battle gear. He was in Kazan, visiting the Roskovs, so Karena and Natalia would be able to meet him.
“Tatiana seems to think her father approves.” Natalia sighed. “Tatiana is always the lucky one. She wears diamonds, owns wardrobes created in Paris, and no doubt will have her love match with Captain Kronstadt, and his mother will give them a honeymoon in the Crimea.”
Karena wondered if Countess Shashenka would also be in Kazan. She was a friend of Madame Zofia and known as a world traveler. Since Tatiana hadn’t mentioned the countess as a guest, it was likely she was spending the summer and fall at her residence in the Crimea until she returned to St. Petersburg for the Christmas and New Year’s celebrations.
I, too, will be in St. Petersburg to attend Aunt Zofia and Tatiana’s winter entertainments, Karena thought, if I’m accepted into the medical college. I should like to attend a skating party and afterward return to Tatiana’s house for refreshments by the fire.
Natalia shaded her brown eyes with a cupped hand, squinting at the colorful houses that came into view as they neared the dock. June breezes, still chilly, tossed her light brown hair.
She laughed. “Oh look! A chocolate brown house with yellow window shutters and a green roof! I’ll tell Boris those are the colors I want on the guest bungalow in the wheat fields. We’ll live there when we marry, until Papa builds us a bigger house.”
“Uncle Matvey’s coming to stay the summer. If he hears the bungalow’s been painted brown, yellow, and green, he’ll disappoint us and remain in St. Petersburg,” Karena said with a laugh.
“Dear Uncle Matvey. It must be his dull research books that have sobered his mood. He used to be such fun, telling us stories about his childhood in Poland. He seems worried lately. Perhaps it’s the looming war.”
The looming war. Everything from poor crops to poor health was blamed on the rising war clouds over Europe. Karena’s brother Sergei joked about the tired phrase. When Aunt Marta had a crick in her joints or Papa Josef had to stay up late grading school papers, Sergei would blame on the looming war.
As for Uncle Matvey’s dull research books, Karena didn’t agree.
“We ought to know history, Natalia. I’ve volunteered to help Uncle Matvey this summer with his new book.”
“Oh? What’s it about this time?”
“The Jewish Messiah.”
Natalia’s eyes widened. “Does Uncle actually believe a future Messiah is coming?”
“I don’t know. He has a dozen books that he ordered from London and America. He had to go into Finland to pick them up from an associate’s house because he was uneasy about having them sent to his apartment. I’m going to find my research intriguing, if nothing else.”
“He’ll have arrived by the time we get back to Kiev,” Natalia said. “Sergei’s traveling back with him on the train from St. Petersburg.”
“At least Papa will be there to greet them both.”
Karena felt a gust of cool wind, but the sun was bright and hot on her fair skin. That morning, she’d wound her golden hair into braids and coiled them at the back of her neck. Now, as the steamer came into port, she put on her red sun hat, hoping it looked fashionably perky against her common blue traveling skirt and white blouse. She held her hat in place with one hand, irritated with herself for failing to sew on new ribbon ties as she’d intended.
A tugboat chugged down the river, towing a string of black barges, followed by a massive timber raft that looked to be at least five hundred feet long. It carried a cargo of ready-made wooden bungalows with fancy carved gables to be sold in the regions along the lower Volga, which had no forest.
Another massive barge floated by, carrying people—a floating settlement of peasants. The men all wore cherry-red shirts and the women, long blue skirts and dark tuniclike blouses with colorful embroidery. As the steamer slipped past, Karena saw the peasants gathered around a large campfire built near one end of the raft, drinking hot tea or perhaps coffee.
The steamship was slowly secured to the dock at Kazan. An hour inched by while Karena and Natalia waited on the crowded deck, until at last they were permitted to depart. Karena arranged to have their trunks sent to the Roskov residence, and with only their portmanteaus to carry, she and Natalia descended the gangway. Her footsteps echoed on weathered wooden planks, and Karena heard the ringing of bells, a shrill ship’s whistle, and a cacophony of voices in strange dialects and languages. She smelled stale fish and oil mingled with the scent of the river.
Beyond the riverbank sat a row of wooden shops and loading-houses, all painted bright colors like the houses Natalia had seen earlier. There was a lavender house with a gleaming tin roof, a crimson one with an emerald roof, one sky blue and red, and even an orange house with an olive green roof. One very large building seemed to display every color available on its three stories.
They made their way through the crowded dock toward the horse-drawn taxis and carriages lining the street, awaiting passengers.
“Aunt Zofia and Tatiana should be waiting for us by now,” Natalia said. “I wonder if the ball is tonight or tomorrow?”
“I hope tomorrow. Our gowns will be terribly wrinkled.”
“You forget we have maids here,” Natalia said cheerfully. “They’ll wait on us hand and foot. Even steam the creases out of our clothes. You heard Mother. She’ll never be able to live with us again, we’ll be so spoiled.”
Karena smiled. “Just like Tatiana.”
“Hah! No one could be as spoiled as she.”
“Don’t be an old cat,” Karena scolded lightly. She scanned the carriages. “I don’t see the Roskov coach. Suppose they forgot we were arriving?”
“Tatiana might forget, but not Aunt Zofia. Ah! Here comes the coach now.”
Karena followed her sister’s gaze. Two soldiers on horseback rode ahead of a large, black coach, an R on the red- and gold-fringed flag, being pulled by two white horses.
Karena let her gaze slide past the coach to one of the soldiers, who wore the uniform of an officer in the elite Imperial Cavalry. She admired the effortless and disciplined way in which he sat on the horse and guided its movements, her interest sparked by his masculine manner. As he rode nearer, she realized who he was.
Natalia, too, recognized him from the photograph Tatiana had sent last New Year’s. “Isn’t that Captain Aleksandr Kronstadt?” she asked.
“I couldn’t say …” Karena kept her voice indifferent. “Yes, perhaps he’s the one in the skating photograph. We know he’s staying with her family.”
“I’m surprised she’d have us here now.”
Karena glanced at her sister. “Why do you say that?”
Natalia pursed her lips. “She seems self-absorbed.”
“Don’t be unfair. She and Aunt Zofia both have asked us here, and they are expending themselves for our benefit. We should show gratitude. She’s beautiful, and she’d be naive not to realize it. And she has nothing to fear from us.”
“Not from me anyway. I love Boris and always will.” She looked at Karena.
Karena fussed with her hat and looked away from her sister’s sympathetic gaze. She was not in love with Ilya Jilinsky, the young man her family hoped she would marry. Natalia understood that she did not wish to marry for some years in order to pursue medicine.
“Tatiana mentioned another officer she’s been entertaining in St. Petersburg,” Natalia said, changing the subject. “I believe his name is Captain Yevgenyev.”
“Well, it looks as though Captain Kronstadt has won. Do you wonder that he did?” Karena tucked the corners of her mouth into a smile.
“No, but I wonder if that other soldier is Yevgenyev. He looks rather put out about things, don’t you think?”
“Well, if it is Captain Yevgenyev,” Karena said wryly, “Tatiana is either very brave in having them here together, or most unwise. I wouldn’t think there’d be a moment of peace in such a triangle.”
“Why would she have them both here unless she enjoys perpetual competition? It may be exciting, but it’s also dangerous.”
“It all seems rather silly.” Karena took hold of her sister’s arm, pulling her forward. “Come along, there she is now. Do be nice.”
“Karena! Natalia! Over here!” Tatiana called as she opened the coach door. She was smiling and waving her white-gloved hand. Beneath the glove there would be diamonds; Tatiana was fixated on the glittering gems from South Africa.
Karena smiled and returned her wave, hurrying forward. The wind played with the hem of her skirt, and she had to hold her hat in place.
Captain Kronstadt lifted Tatiana down from the coach step onto the planks lining the street, and for a moment she looked up at him, laughing. Karena thought it an endearing scene. The only thing missing was snow or perhaps the statue of Peter the Great on his horse in the background.
“Cousin Karena, Natalia,” Tatiana said with a laugh, hugging first one, then the other. “How delightful to see you both again.”
“It’s been much too long,” Karena said. She held Tatiana’s hands in hers and looked her over, still smiling. “And how lovely you are.”
“And you! I can hardly believe you’ve not been snatched up by some country gent in Kiev.”
Some country gent. “You know me, Cousin. My first love waits in St. Petersburg,” Karena teased, referring to her well-known passion for the medical college. She became aware of Captain Kronstadt standing nearby, but she didn’t look at him. “Where’s Aunt Zofia?”
“Mother stayed at the house. She’s in turmoil. We just learned an hour ago that we’ve a very special but very unexpected guest coming tonight. Mother is trying to rearrange the seating order for dinner from thirteen to fourteen.”
A gust of wind whipped Karena’s red hat off her head. It skipped along the wooden planks, rolling as if bent on escape. She could imagine the wind laughing mischievously in her ears.
Tatiana gave a feminine squeak and held to her own fashionable, periwinkle blue hat, though it was firmly tied beneath her chin and could not have come off. “I’d better hold on to mine. It’s from Paris, designed by Macquinet-Dushane-Hudson and well worth its fashion in gold.”
Natalia turned to Karena. “I’ll see if I can find it.”
“I think it’s too late. It may have gone off the edge into the water.”
“It is just as well it did.” Tatiana laughed and tugged at Karena’s coil of golden braids. “How quaintly stylish. I must have my maid do mine like that sometime. You do so well, and without a maid too. Now don’t frown over your lost hat. I’ve the perfect one for you. A black one that will be stunning with your fair hair and blue eyes. Oh, I envy you … just like your mother. How you and Madame Yeva can be so fair when she’s Jewish—”
Tatiana’s voice trailed away. She stared at something behind Karena. Her expression made Karena strangely uneasy. She turned to see Captain Aleksandr Kronstadt approaching with her red hat.
“Your hat, Miss Peshkova.” He smiled and bowed lightly.
There was no way to avoid eye contact with him.
The photograph did not do him justice. She fought against her reaction to his handsome features—the strong jaw line, the nicely shaped mouth, the dark wavy hair, the intense green-gray eyes under straight brows. She sensed powerful shoulders beneath his uniform. He affected her in a far different way than Ilya Jilinsky.
From his extended hand, she took her hat. “Yes … thank you very much, Captain.”
Captain Kronstadt studied her face with no apparent embarrassment and smiled. “My pleasure,” he assured her.
Karena blushed. She saw him look at Tatiana but could read nothing in his eyes. Perhaps they were deliberately incomprehensible.
Karena turned toward her cousin, relieved to break the heated gaze, only to meet the calculating eyes of Tatiana, which moved from her to Captain Kronstadt. Then the moment passed; Tatiana smiled, and she slipped an arm around Karena’s waist.
“This is Alex,” she said. “Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt. He’s on my father’s private staff. Alex, meet my cousins from Kiev, Karena and Natalia Peshkova. My mother, Zofia, is their aunt.”
He bowed. “Ladies.”
“My apologies for calling you a captain,” Karena said, chagrined.
“Officially, I remain a captain until the end of June. Then much agonizing pomp and ceremony await me in St. Petersburg.”
Karena smiled. “Then perhaps I should offer my sympathies.”
“That might be more in keeping with my feelings just now.”
Whatever his feelings, they did not appear to coincide with Tatiana’s as she looped her arm through his.
“I’m relieved you’ll be in St. Petersburg where I’ll see you often,” Tatiana said to Kronstadt. “The countess will be pleased too. She must come back to St. Petersburg for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays when we announce our engagement.” She released his arm and turned to Karena and Natalia. “The wind is dreadful today. Let’s get inside the coach before we’re blown into the Volga.”
With another small bow, Kronstadt walked back to his waiting horse. Karena’s eyes followed him.
Tatiana grabbed her hand. “Come along, Karena, Natalia. Alex has business elsewhere for the day. We won’t see him until the ball tonight. I wonder if you and Natalia have everything you need in your wardrobe …”
As Tatiana and Natalia discussed what they would wear to the ball, Karena wondered if she had imagined tension between her cousin and Kronstadt. Why did Kronstadt’s face harden when Tatiana mentioned how delighted she was that he would be stationed in St. Petersburg?
When they reached the coach, Natalia noticed a flower cart down the street and impulsively dug into her coin case. “Gardenias! Aren’t they wonderful? I shall buy some for Aunt Zofia. Maybe they’ll soothe her spirits. I won’t be long.”
Natalia hurried off as the Roskov driver settled their portmanteaus in the back of the coach. Karena was left alone for a moment with Tatiana.
“You’ll be elated to know who else will be here tonight,” Tatiana said. “Arranged by the good fortune of fate, of course.”
Karena looked at her animated face.
“Dr. Dmitri Zinnovy,” Tatiana announced.
“Dr. Zinnovy!” Karena was unable to keep the excitement from her voice. She stared at her cousin. Dr. Zinnovy had been one of the chief physicians at the Imperial Medical College and held a great deal of sway over the admissions department. Karena had written to him on several occasions, seeking his assistance on her quest to enter the school, but she had received not so much as an impersonal response from his secretarial assistants.
“I knew you’d be thrilled when I told you of my accomplishment,” Tatiana said. “Tonight you shall meet him!”
Karena laughed. “To think I’ve spent months writing letters to no avail, and you, within my very reach, knew him all along.”
Tatiana smiled. “There’s hardly anything I can’t get for you, Cousin.”
Then her eyes hardened, or perhaps it was a shadow as they walked nearer the coach that made them seem to darken. Karena followed the direction of her gaze to Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt mounting his horse.
“Alex, however, is forbidden,” Tatiana warned. “He belongs to me. Remember that.”
Karena felt as though she’d been slapped. “That’s preposterous, Tatiana,” she said. “You’re beautiful and socially powerful. What man wouldn’t choose you above all others?”
Tatiana continued to smile. “That’s exactly what I intend, so we must not want the same thing. I’m afraid if we did, we would become enemies.”
“Enemies? Why, we’re family.”
“Yes, and families must not undermine one another. We must keep it that way.”
Karena’s clasped hands tightened. “Of course.”
“Good. Now let’s forget that. Are you wondering how I arranged for fate to bring Dr. Zinnovy here this evening?”
Karena nodded, shaken by the confrontation. Tatiana’s ability to jump emotionally into a new mood and topic of conversation was disturbing. This was a facet of her cousin that she’d not seen until now. She listened in strained silence as Tatiana explained how she’d wrangled Dr. Zinnovy’s son Fyodor into bringing his father to the ball and all she’d had to go through to flatter Fyodor and gain his help.
“Fyodor still doesn’t know why I wanted his father to come tonight,” she said. “I never mentioned your name, so don’t worry about that. When Fyodor and Dr. Zinnovy meet you, they will only think of your family relationship to me. Then I shall arrange for you to waltz with Dr. Zinnovy, and the rest will be in your hands.”
Karena made the correct response of gratitude and surprise over how it had all come about, but the excitement she’d felt earlier was dampened. She was all the more troubled as her beautiful cousin, whom she’d often admired, continued talking and smiling at her. If anyone had been watching them, they might appear to be discussing nothing more serious than what gown they’d wear to the ball.
Everything appeared normal, but things were not as they seemed.