Winter Rose
"Not all who make love, make marriages."
- Russian proverb
The Princess Nashtya sat back against the fur-lined seats with a sigh. It was a similar sound to that of a gourmande after a particularly fine meal.
"Ah! It is an inestimable pleasure to speak with you, Lady Violette." She smiled at the younger woman opposite from under the furred brim of her kubanka hat. "There are so few in Petersburg acquainted with the work of Monsieur Dickens or Monsieur Elliott. The French, you understand, have such a cultural…" She made a hard wringing motion.
Violet smoothed down the warm blankets the Princess's coach driver set about their legs. Unlike the majority of her contemporaries, the Princess disdained the protection of a closed carriage. Winter or summer, when the weather was fine, she drove about the Field of Mars in an open-topped coach. The eccentricity confirmed her position as one of the foremost hostesses in the royal city.
"I had noticed that many people speak French here." She observed, glancing about at the other carriages gliding sedately along the cleared paths.
"But of course. French is the language of culture and sophistication. All aristo children have a French governess. Russian is for the servants." The Princess made a dismissive gesture, typical of the Russian nobility when discussing their servants. "Some, like myself, speak English. Others prefer Italian or German. We are multi-lingual in Petersburg, Lady Violette."
"Indeed. I observed last night…" Violet set her lips abruptly at the shrewd look thrown her way by the Princess.
"Ah, last night. Yes." A sly look stole into the laughing blue eyes. "I noticed you spoke quite much with Igor Sergeyevich." She gave a theatrical little sigh. "Such a handsome boy! And such excellent English!"
Violet felt the heat mount in her cheeks. A surge of annoyance made her fingers bite into the warm furs over her lap. She did not need the Princess to assume that her guess was correct!
"Prince Kuragin is… Persistent."
The Princess smiled wider.
"Poor Igor! He has never met an Englishwoman before. I do not think he was prepared for it."
"Neither was I." The words slipped out unguarded. Violet coloured up again. "I mean, in England, a gentleman does not-"
"Seek to seduce?"
"Monopolise the conversation." Violet kept her voice firm. The last thing she needed to mar her time in St Petersburg was a host of scurrilous rumours.
The Princess covered her smiling mouth with her glove. "Yes, Igor is very good at that. I have heard much."
"But I have not heard much about this park, Princess." Violet made a deliberate effort to steer the conversation away from the smiling Prince. He had lingered in her mind long enough the night before, like the tang of his dark Russian tea. "It is very popular in Petersburg?"
The Princess shrugged. "The Pavlovsky Guards have their barracks here. Sometimes they perform drill and other military parades. Of course, then it is quite crowded. Young girls, you understand. Me, I enjoy the prospect more than Alexander Park and it is less crowded than Alexander Gardens."
Violet laughed. "Russians enjoy the name Alexander, I think!"
Her strategy worked. The Princess gave a surprisingly girlish giggle and clapped her hands. "Oui, it is true! Even today, our Little Father, he is Alexander. But- Kuzmich! Ostanovite karetu!"
The Princess snapped up in her seat. Her eyes fixed on an approaching carriage rolling sedately down the wide path. She gripped hold of the carriage strap, heedless of the expensive furs falling about her feet to the carriage floor. "Katya! Chérie!"
"Nashtya! Bonjour!" A slim woman, trimmed in mink and yellow velvet waved in return. As she drew closer, Violet could see she was astonishingly beautiful. Around Violet's own age, Katya's chestnut curls were caught up in an elegant knot. The simple chignon drew the eye to her heavy, sulky mouth and the fine arches of her cheeks and eyebrows. Although she was several years Princess Nashtya's junior, the two women clasped hands across the carriage path with the confidence of old friends.
"Katya, this is Lady Violette Crawley, an English Countess. Violette is here for the wedding."
"Then this is your first time in Russia, Lady Violet?" Inquisitive eyes opened wide.
"Yes, ah…"
"Ah, forgive me, Violette! Please, allow me to present Princess Katharina Mikhailovna Dolgorukov."
The Princess kept silent on Katherina Dolgorukov's scandalous relationship with the Tsar. While admirable, it was unnecessary. Violet had already been told of the outrageous Dolgorukov princess by four different people, not least her own husband.
The other woman inclined her head. "But, of course, as a friend of Nashtya, I shall hope you will call me Katya."
"But why are you in this other carriage, chérie?" Princess Nashtya hustled over to the opposite end of her seat, patting the leather expectantly. "Come, come, come! We will talk, yes? Violette must learn all there is to know about our Petersburg."
"You have chosen the perfect conduit, Lady Violet." Katya unleashed her parasol in a jaunty twirl. "Nashtya knows everybody in Petersburg, even if they do not want to be known."
"Oh really, Katya."
"It is true! Why, do you remember when Tonya Pavelovna came here to escape her husband with that Guards captain? What was his name?"
"Maximilian Majewski." Nashtya shrugged at Violet. "Polish."
"Ah, so understandable. Poles have the souls of poets, I always think."
"Katya, myshka, you are being ridiculous. And poor Tonya looked ridiculous when her husband appeared at the door of their apartments. With a pistol!"
"And who knew this first?" The brunette countered. "Larissa Zykov was green with envy!"
"You should know, Violette." Nashtya leaned forward and clasped her hands around Violet's gloves. "That we Russians adore nothing more than to discuss each other until every secret is out in the open."
Violet laughed. "I don't think this is a uniquely Russian trait, Princess! In London, the aristocracy have nothing to do all day but discuss bloodlines."
"Vraiment? In the home of Monsieur Dickens?" Nashtya shook her head. "This, I cannot believe."
"Nashtya adores Monsieur Dickens. All English authors." Katya rolled her liquid eyes. "You must come to her infamous literary discussions, Violet. You, at least, will understand the topic at hand."
"I look forward to it. If my husband agrees."
"It is done! And I will speak to Sasha who will speak to your so-amiable Prince who will speak to your husband, I have no doubt. Then we can be certain you will attend." Katya gave a shrug. "Such complicated rounds we poor creatures must go."
To hear the Tsar Alexander II, Emperor of All the Russias addressed simply as Sasha still sounded faintly bizarre. But Katya was so warm and friendly, Violet could not hide her own laughter.
"Then I will be look forward to the occasion."
"And I," Princess Nashtya gave a significant wink to the English Countess. "Will be certain to invite Igor Kuragin again."
"What is this? What has Igor done now?"
"Absolutely nothing." Violet cut in quickly. Katya raised her eyebrows at the vehement tone. She turned to Nashtya in mute question.
Her lips twitching with amusement, Nashtya released Violet's hands to lay her grip along Katya's skirts. "Your Igor has done nothing but be himself, myshka."
"Hah!" In an echo of the Prince Kuragin, Katya tossed back her luxurious skein of hair. "So little says so much. Ah, forgive me, Violet." She caught Violet's frozen expression. "Igor and I, we know each other well. He is my big cousin. It is through his father, Sergei Ivanovitch Kuragin, that I was able to go to the Smolny Institute for Noble Maidens. Even after… Well. Igor and I, we are good friends still."
"It is unfortunate Igor's wife is not blessed with the same generosity of spirit." Nashtya's voice grew tart. She jerked her chin upwards. The two younger women turned to follow the direction of her gaze.
Turning down the riding path, perched on an enormous black stallion, the Princess Irina Kuragin was unmistakable. She was dressed to befit the military ethos of the park, in a severely-cut riding habit sprigged with gold epaulets at the shoulders. A vivacious little hat was perched on her sable hair. The stallion was restive, snatching at the bit and tossing his head. Still, Violet had to admire the skill with which the Princess controlled the beast.
Nashtya grunted under her breath. "If she were not Igor's wife, I swear on the bones of Saint Andrew the holy Apostle, I would not let that woman over my threshold."
"Nashtya, please. Irina means no harm."
"Does she not? Do you think I do not know where those rumours about you and those bankers began? Mordieu!"
"Hush! She comes this way."
Princess Nashtya folded her lips into a tight line. There was a general flurry in the carriage as bonnets and hats were set straight and wrinkles smoothed from gowns. Violet felt her stomach contract under the iron ribs of her corset. Irritably, she brushed the sensation aside. She was not a soldier on the eve of battle. She had no reason to feel that way.
Nevertheless, she straightened in her seat as the Princess minced her stallion up alongside the waiting carriage.
The petite brunette nodded without a smile. "Nashtya Fillipovna. Katharina Mikhailovna. And the English… Countess. Bonjour."
"Bonjour, Irina Petrovna." Katya's voice was dry as gravel. "You are well?"
"Of course. I am always well." The Princess did not return the courtesy of asking after Katya's health. She reached forward to pat the trembling black neck. Her eyes scanned Violet with bored disdain. "I am surprised to see you here, Countess. But I suppose you find Russian company indispensable."
Violet blinked. She knew that the Princess Irina had taken a dislike to her last night. But she had not expected such naked hostility so soon. And hostility it was. The full, sulky mouth was turned down in a scowl. Her gaze raked Violet's sable furs as one would a stray dog who had wandered into the parlour. It was ridiculous. It was unreasonable.
Well. There was only one answer to that. Violet's father had rarely played a part in his daughters' lives but he had left Violet with one important piece of advice: When reason fails, use force.
Violet bared her teeth in a battle-ready smile.
"Your highness was good enough to enlighten some of my ignorance of Russian life last night. I consider this as continuing my education. The Princesses," She gave Katya and Nashtya a warm smile. "Showed true Russian hospitality when they obliged me."
"I am only sorry we could not bring your so-charming little children." Nashtya put in. Somehow, Violet did not think it was a throwaway remark.
Nashtya reached across the carriage to take Violet's hand in a show of solidarity. "Violette has two children. A daughter and a lovely little boy." Her eyes lingered for a second on the nipped in splendour of the Princess's tiny waistline.
"How matronly, Countess." Irina's voice was tight. "Truly, I do not know how you can bear it. I would hate to risk my figure. I would not fit any of my gowns or my jewels."
With deliberate carelessness, she brushed her fingers across a filigree brooch in the shape of a bouquet of flowers. The petals were picked out in rubies, the centre in diamonds. It was glorious and expensive. Just the present a doting husband might bestow on his wife.
None of the three women in the carriage could ignore the obvious invitation.
"What a beautiful piece, Irina Petrovna." Katya remarked in a polite tone. "Was it a gift?"
"Yes." A small smile danced on the Princess's lips. "Igor gave it to me this morning."
The same morning that he sent Violet the silver samovar. It was as clear as a slap in the face.
"My cousin has you spoilt." Katya's voice did not suggest that it was a compliment.
"It is true. Igor is very good to me." Irina nodded. A soft smile settled on her face. "But you must excuse me. I am to lunch with my aunt and cannot be late."
"Of course." Nashtya's voice skimmed politeness. "Please, do not let us detain you."
"Good day, Nashtya. Katharina Mikhailovna. Lady Violet Crawley." The last name dripped from the pink lips like water from an icicle.
"Princess."
"Little cat." Nashtya muttered as the petite beauty kicked her stallion into a canter and moved away. Neither Katya nor Violet disagreed.
Not prepared to relinquish her ire, Princess Nashtya glanced about the empty carriage path. Seeing it empty, with nobody nearby, she spat out her disgust. "Do you hear her? 'I do not want to risk my figure'. Calling us cows for being able to do what she can not!"
"You baited her, Nashtya. You know…"
"All I know is there has been six years of marriage with nothing to show for it." Nashtya's voice was hard.
"Prince Kuragin does not seem worried." Violet kept her comments light. Nashtya's crude view of the marriage was nothing unusual, even if it was harsh. In a world where everything depended on a son to continue the noble line, the failure to produce an heir was a cause of concern to everyone connected to the title. "It was a beautiful gift."
"Pah. Irina leads Igor about by the nose. She cuts with those little claws and he laughs."
"He enjoys it. What man would not?" Katya shrugged. "She is jealous for him but she knows he is not serious in any of his amours. So she bides her time because he will return. I know my cousin. It will take too much to change him."
"True love!" Nashtya gave a laugh. "Ah, I would give much to see Igor Sergeyevich in love!"
"Is he incapable of it?" Violet laughed.
"You should ask, would he be permitted!" Katya quipped.
"No." In one of her mercurial changes of mood, Nashtya swooped from giggling to stoney seriousness. Her fingers made a hard sign of the cross across her stomach and shoulders. She gave a quick bob of the head. Violet was reminded of the soulful icons decorating the walls of the Princess's palace. "I pray every day to St Andrew for intercession. It is not right. Igor is a good boy. He flits from distraction to pleasure like a child and he does not hurt anyone. But he finds it difficult to be a good man."
She bowed her head for a moment as though lost in thought. When she raised her head again, her voice was steadier even thought her round chin trembled.
"But I forget myself. You, Violette, did not join me to witness an old woman's fears. Come. You must relate to me the dress you will wear to the Winter Palace for your presentation. Now we have Katya here, we can be certain not to mistake ourselves in the fashions!"