13

 

Charie knew her actions were brazen and forward, but having spent such pleasurable time with Domitri the night before, she wanted to at least see him off on the train. So rising long before dawn, she dressed on her own, choosing a wool gown of cinnamon edged in bands of copper velvet.

Slipping on her new, pearl gray cloak lined and trimmed in white fox, a gift from Olar, she couldn’t resist a quick pirouette before the cheval mirror, and then picked up the matching muff. Noiselessly, she left her chamber, hoping not to arouse her mother who was installed in the suite of rooms just on the other side of hers.

Swiftly descending the stairs, she made her way to the enormous kitchen, finding Domitri breakfasting alone as the head cook, a plump, cheery woman by the name of Freya, fussed over him. She was pouring him another cup of steaming coffee.

Upon sighting her, Domitri stood quickly, his smile warm and inviting.

“Good morning, gospoja Charice,” Freya greeted. “Where are you bound so early in the morning?”

Charie had no trouble understanding the woman’s Russian. “I am going with Monsieur Auberchon to the train station, if he doesn’t mind?” Charie looked hopefully at him and his smile widened.

“‘He doesn’t mind. But I fear I must leave immediately, and you’ve not had anything to eat,” Domitri said.

“I will pack you muffins, cheese, and goat’s milk. You can eat and drink on the way,” Freya suggested.

“That’s perfect. Please tell my mother and the count I’ll return as soon as the train leaves for St. Petersburg.”

The woman nodded as she pulled a basket off a shelf in preparation of filling it with the promised items.

Within minutes, Charie was seated in the impressive Stanislov coach, a huge gold crest painted on both doors. Charie felt like a princess as she ran her hand over the purple velvet seat.

Domitri placed his small valise on the floor as he took the seat opposite hers.

They were soon on the road to the village, the freshly fallen snow coating cottages and churches with a lovely layer of pristine white.

Charie marveled at how crisp and clear the air was in the country, so different from the large cities in which she’d spent most of her life.

“I have to admit I’m surprised, but pleasantly. What made you rise so early to join me?”

“I thought you might like the company.” Charie placed the basket Freya had packed on her lap, eager to sample the contents. “Have a muffin?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t eat another bite. I am appreciative of your company. Olar and I said our goodbyes last night. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell you goodbye.”

“Rehearsals begin for The Pearls of Esther in just a few weeks. Rubenevski is in his usual state because the principal male danseur’s role is unfilled. I know things went badly the last time we partnered, but Monsieur Phillipe thought we danced well together.”

Domitri’s brows furrowed as though something she’d said bothered him.

“I wondered if we could try again.”

“Olar put you up to this.”

Charie was startled by his vehemence.

“He tried to convince me of the same before dinner last night. I should have known there was some reason for your unexpected cordiality.”

“My presence has nothing to do with that.” Appalled by his assumption, she was no longer hungry and placed the basket beside her. “Your arrogance is exceeded only by your faulty logic. Do you really think I woke up before dawn, dressed in the dark, and ventured out in freezing temperatures just to ask you to take the role of Ahasuerus? You, sir, are sadly mistaken.”

“Am I?” Domitri’s voice was rough with anger. “I know how badly you and Olar want this ballet to be the most successful of the season.”

“I am not Sophia. I am not seeking fame and glory. I do not need to be lauded or honored. I want to dance a role that holds special meaning for me. I’ve always admired Esther’s courage when the odds were against her. I truly believe you and I could do this.”

“That’s an opinion we’ll never share.” Domitri’s voice was harsh. “When I return to Paris, I’ll be teaching just as I planned. I have no desire to perform on the stage. With you, or anyone else.”

“Which is just as well, for apparently, you are better suited to instructing inattentive boys how to plié and relevé while you selfishly hide yourself away in your studio.”

“That’s a fine thing to say given the fact you’ve spent your entire life coddled and cosseted. Now, you are a princess, and you believe a man should kiss your hand and be eternally grateful that you have graced him with your presence. Maybe you’re more like Sophia than I realized.”

“If we continue this discussion, we will say something regretful,” Charie said, burning with indignation. The nerve of him to suggest she was manipulating him. She’d rather perform with one of those preening jackanapes who erroneously considered themselves danseurs.

“You’re right. If we were not so far along, I would take you back to your palace. As it is, I’m not about to miss my train, so you’re coming along.”

It was a tense, silent drive into the village.

Charie was relieved to see the train was already there, belching smoke and steam as it neared departure.

Once the coach stopped, Petrov came around to open the door.

Domitri didn’t so much as glance at her as he took up his small bag. He swung down easily, but once his booted feet were planted on the snowy ground, he retained his hold on the edge of the door. His eyes focused on something or someone in the distance.

“Well, are you going?”

He remained silent, and then to her surprise, he climbed back into the coach.

“What are you doing?”

“Was your mother expecting Fitz at the estate?”

“No. Why do you ask?” His question and manner were puzzling, and she didn’t have the patience for whatever game he was playing.

“Because he just disembarked from the train. And his companion is none other than Anapol Chervenkof.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” Her impatience was mounting by the minute. “If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss the train.”

“I can’t leave you alone with only Petrov for protection. You’ll have to come with me.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. I’m returning to the count’s home as soon as you leave.”

“That’s not possible. There’s no plausible reason for Chervenkof to be here. And it is less than reassuring to know your mother’s agent is in his company. I’m taking you to St. Petersburg.”

Before she could utter a protest, he’d reopened the door and was dragging her with him. He quickly explained to a startled Petrov that the count’s daughter had decided to accompany him on his trip and that he should tell the count she was well and in no harm.

The dumbfounded man simply shook his head in bewildered agreement while Charie ineffectually attempted to pull away.

She immediately ceased her struggles when she saw Fitz and Chervenkof speaking with several men, Chervenkof’s man, Altby, among them. Fear shook Charie as she met Domitri’s steely gaze.

“What if they intend my mother harm? We should return with all haste.”

“You and I will be in much greater danger if we try to outrace them to Olar’s. Besides, there’s no way to know their destination. The count has enough servants and guards to dissuade Chervenkof from intruding where he’s not wanted. Don’t forget the palace was actually once a fortress. Come along. The train is about to leave.”

“Domitri, I have to go back. Chervenkof and his men haven’t seen me.”

Something in his face made her look over her shoulder, and to her horror, she saw that Chervenkof was walking towards them. “Hurry,” she cried, panic quickly changing her mind as she clasped Domitri’s hand and rushed forward, slipping and sliding on the snow and ice.

When they reached the train, Domitri lifted her and placed her on the top step, leaping up behind her just as the wheels of the train began to move.

Chervenkof began to run, and with a small leap, grasped the handrail in an attempt to pull himself up.

Domitri shoved him back with his booted foot and losing his balance, Chervenkof fell into the snow.

Charie clasped Domitri’s arm as they watched the man recede to a small blur. Yet, there was no doubt in Charie’s mind that they would encounter him again.

And the next time they might not be as fortunate.

 

****

 

St. Petersburg was a hive of noise and activity when Domitri helped Charie from the train, giving her a first look at the centuries’ old city, home of the Russian Tsars. It was nearly impossible to take it all in as Domitri led her forward at a rapid pace.

An older man with salt and pepper hair and beard approached, waving energetically at Domitri.

Domitri’s hold on her relaxed somewhat—apparently, this man was a friend. Domitri had been grim, tense, and uncommunicative during the entire train ride.

Charie had succumbed to her weariness, falling asleep and awaking to find her head on Domitri’s shoulder. Concern for her mother’s safety dulled the edges of her embarrassment.

“Monsieur Domitri,” the robust man called out in French. “You are here at last.”

“I apologize if you came to the station last night,” Domitri said. “I told Maman I might stay overnight.”

“She remembered, but still she sent me. I managed not to freeze.”

Charie could tell the man was teasing.

“And who is your companion?” he asked with pleasant curiosity.

“This is Sophia’s sister. She, too, is a ballerina. Rukov, please meet Mademoiselle Charice Marin.”

“It is indeed a pleasure,” Rukov said as he bowed. “I hope that you will enjoy your stay in St. Petersburg.”

“Thank you.” Charie didn’t plan on making her stay very long for she needed to return to her mother and Olar as soon as possible. Domitri couldn’t keep her against her wishes. “I’m certain that I will.”

Rukov assisted Charie into the wagon, seating her on the plank, which formed a second seat, then tucked several blankets about her legs.

Domitri rode beside Rukov, the two conversing easily in a mix of Russian and French.

The ride was short, and the wagon and horses were halted before a towering residence of some four stories, the exterior of off-white stone with rows of long, wavy-paned windows stretching across each floor. A high, wrought iron gate encircled the home and snowy lawn, which sparkled beneath the light of the sun.

Domitri helped her down and followed her gaze as she leaned her head back to see the roof of the residence. “The first two floors are the dance studio and kitchen. The top two are living quarters. Don’t be misled—the Auberchons are not wealthy. We have Rukov who maintains our stable, livestock, and our wagon. Inside you will find only Olga, who serves as cook and housekeeper. Without the pupils, we would have none of this.”

“It’s beautiful,” Charie said and smiled. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“It in no way compares to Olar’s home, or that of the Baron Bauerhausen’s Paris residence. I wanted you to be forewarned.”

“I’ve been duly warned,” she returned dryly.

Domitri arched a brow, as though mildly amused.

It disappeared so quickly, Charie wondered if she’d imagined it. Taking hold of her arm, he led her forward, opening the gate and propelling her towards the massive front door. It opened before he ever grasped the latch and a plump, silver-streaked, raven-haired woman took hold of his arm and pulled him in, chattering rapidly in Russian.

Charie didn’t so much as attempt to keep up with the conversation as she tried to take in all that she saw—a large parlor that apparently was now a reception and waiting area where several tutu clad girls gathered in a group giggling.

On the other side were doors, some open, some closed, those open filled with children practicing a variety of ballet steps. As they started up the main staircase, a dozen boys ranging in age from six to early adolescence bounded down, some leaping as though they were still in dance class.

Upon reaching the second floor, the woman, who’d never stopped talking, led Domitri to another door and threw it wide.

Charie peered around his broad back in order to see. There in the middle of the floor, in an enormous room that had perhaps been a ballroom in another time, and lined with floor to ceiling mirrors, was a woman of rare beauty. From her ebony hair to her flawless complexion to her intricate execution of a series of pas de ciseaux, Charie was amazed.

Six girls, perhaps ten and five or six in age, stood in a corner watching, just as spellbound as Charie.

When the woman was done, she started to address the girls until she noticed those standing at the door. With a happy cry, she flew over to where they stood, the woman enveloping Domitri in a motherly hug and bestowing a kiss on his cheek. Undoubtedly, this was Domitri’s mother, and at that precise moment eyes just a bit greener than Domitri’s focused on her.

She spoke in French. “Domitri! How naughty of you not to let me know you planned to bring a guest. Who is this lovely young woman?”

“You may have heard of her, Maman,” Domitri said, and smiled indulgently at his mother. “This is Charice Marin, the prima danseuse of the Ballet Eleganté in Paris. Charie, this is my mother, Ekaterina Auberchon.”

“I suspected as much.” Charie held out her hand. Madame Auberchon took it and squeezed warmly. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

“And a pleasure to meet you. I have heard of you and read of your successes. I know that you are under the protective wing of the Count Stanislov, a very good man. What a joy that Domitri has brought you here.”

“You are in the middle of practice, Maman, so we will be in the kitchen sampling some of Olga’s stew and honey bread. I just wanted to let you know I’d returned.”

“And a good thing. We are having your favorite tonight; kotmis satsivi, pickled mushrooms, and kapusta z pomidoramy. Olga said dessert is to be a surprise. Please have Olga take Mademoiselle Marin to the guest chamber so that she can settle in. Has Rukov brought up her trunk?”

“She doesn’t have one,” Domitri said, and his mother gave him a puzzled look.

“You might say I came with Domitri on the spur of the moment,” Charie said and laughed nervously. “I may need to shop for a few things.”

Now Ekaterina regarded them suspiciously.

“Maman, I will explain everything,” Domitri said quickly. “It’s a long story, and you must finish your practice. We will talk later.”

“Domitri, do not be part of something that is not good. We will talk sooner than later. Now see that our guest is made welcome.” With that, they were dismissed, Madame Auberchon turning her back upon them with a wave of her graceful hand, to rejoin the girls who were openly staring at Domitri.

Charie looked troubled. “What does she think we’ve done?”

“Eloped,” he answered, and then guided her away from the door before she could set his mother straight.

 

****

 

“So you and Mademoiselle Marin haven’t eloped,” his mother repeated.

Domitri glanced over at his father who sat in his favorite, battered leather chair smoking his pipe. His dark head liberally sprinkled with gray, Dominic Auberchon still possessed the lithe grace of a danseur. Now, however, he wore the look and manner of a concerned father, and Domitri felt as though he’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar. His uneasiness increased as both parents focused their gazes upon him, and he squirmed a bit in his chair.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Domitri affirmed. “I brought Charie with me—otherwise she might have been in serious danger. Her mother has made an enemy of Anapol Chervenkof—you both may remember him as Nap Rheyev.”

“The last we heard he was in America,” Dominic said as he sat up straighter in his armchair. “How is he connected to Charice Marin’s mother?”

“Chervenkof courted Matilda Marin, and when she discovered the nature of his ‘business,’ she ended the relationship. Chervenkof has never taken no for an answer and recently began to make threats against Matilda and Charie. Charie suffered an accident in October that could have killed her. I’m certain it wasn’t happenstance. Someone caused the incident, and I should have tried to discover the culprit. Nothing has been linked to Chervenkof. This morning at the station, when I saw Chervenkof with Matilda’s agent, I knew something was very wrong. That’s why Charie is here.”

“So it has nothing to do with the fact you are in love with her?” his mother asked.

“It has everything to do with the fact I’m in love with her.” He was terrible at hiding anything from the woman. “I would never have left her at Chervenkof’s mercy.” He’d already shared the entire story with his parents—how he’d fallen in love with Charice Marin only to learn she was Olar’s daughter and Sophia’s half-sister; how he’d behaved unprofessionally and ignored all of Christ’s teachings.

“Then we will take very good care of her,” his mother said in that no nonsense way of hers.”

There was a timid knock on the open parlor door, and they all looked around to see Charie standing there.

Domitri and his father came quickly to their feet, Domitri taking note of the lovely frock she wore—a cinnamon colored gown with bands of copper velvet at the collar and cuffs. Gone were any traces of train soot and her hair had been carefully tended.

He walked over to her and took her hand. “Come join us. Maman, Papa, may I formally introduce to you Charice Marin, premier ballerina of the Ballet Eleganté, daughter of Matilda Marin and Count Olar Stanislov. And Sophia’s half-sister,” he added softly.

Charie looked up at him, and then just as quickly looked away as she withdrew her hand and approached his parents, dropping into a small curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur and Madame Auberchon,” Charie said graciously. “My former ballet teacher, Madame Erlaine spoke often of you both, though at the time I never dreamed I would meet you, nor make the acquaintance of your son.”

“Dear, dear Erlaine,” Ekaterina murmured. “We both trained together at the Imperial Ballet, which is where I met my husband.” She looked over at Dominic affectionately. “I hope she is well.”

“She was teaching at le Théâtre de l’Académie Royale de Musique until she passed away about a year ago.”

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Ekaterina said sadly. “She was such a good woman.”

“I know that my arrival has taken you by surprise, but I thank you for allowing me to stay here.”

“You are a friend of Domitri’s, which makes you a most welcome guest. Sit here by the fire, and we will chat while we await dinner. Olga is determined that Domitri shall not leave her table in any way other than full.”

“She needn’t worry,” Domitri said and laughed. “I never leave her table any other way. Have a seat here, Charie.” He pointed to a low couch on the other side of his father, and she did as he instructed, carefully spreading her skirts, and then clasping her hands in her lap. The fire glinted off the gossamer strands of her hair, picking out the reddish highlights and casting a warm, golden glow over her features. It was with great effort he took a seat some distance from her.

Talk naturally drifted to ballet, Ekaterina very eager to hear the latest gossip on the reigning queens of the ballet—Taglioni, Elssler, Grissi, and Cerrito. As he listened and watched Charie and his parents interact, he was amazed at how easily Charie warmed to them.

Sophia had always been aloof when in the company of his parents, retaining her imagined superiority even when not performing.

But not Charie. She was eager to glean as much as possible from these two as she posed questions on theory and technique. She shared her trials and tribulations experienced during Giselle and Long Ago In Bethlehem and how she was looking forward to rehearsals for The Pearls of Esther.

Domitri remained silent, wrestling with his own guilt and praying God would help him control his tendency to be stubborn and hardheaded.

It wasn’t long before Olga summoned them to the meal.

Domitri escorted his mother, and his father led Charie into the dining room.

Olga had outdone herself, Domitri noted as they took their seats. From the kotmis satsivi—roasted chicken with walnut sauce—to the kapusta z pomidoramy—cabbage with tomatoes, the table was filled with all of Domitri’s Russian favorites.

The four of them held hands as Dominic said grace, and then the small group erupted into animated conversation.

His parents’ expressions told him they were captivated by Charie, and when his mother asked her to join her on the morrow to assist her with classes, he knew she’d stolen their hearts as surely as she’d stolen his. And all she’d done was be herself—sweet, and open, intelligent and curious.

After dessert, a Russian fruitcake, Ekaterina offered to take Charie downstairs to see the practice studios, leaving Domitri and his father alone.

His father lit his pipe and settled in his favored chair.

“Go ahead and say it,” Domitri said, breaking the silence. “I’m a dolt.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. I was only going to say that if you let her slip away, you would live the rest of your life without the greatest treasure God can give to a man. The love of a good woman.”

“She doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.”

“You won’t know unless you ask. Would it not be prudent to find an opportunity to do so?”

“I can’t keep her here forever. I know she’s eager to return to her mother and Olar.”

“Then you should make the most of the time you do have.” His father took a long puff, and then blew a ring up into the air, the aroma of the tobacco reminding Domitri of his boyhood and nights spent with his father by the fire.

Even with their demanding schedule, his mother and father had always found time to be his parents. And should he ever be blessed with a child, he would do the same.

Hearing laughter, Domitri’s attention focused on the door, his heart singing with gladness when Charie entered with his mother. His father was right. He should make the most of this God-given opportunity.