Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books.
Historical, no powers, Georgian/Regency AU. For context, the setting of this fic is similar to the location of Jane Austen's Emma but this is not an Emma AU.
Heavy, constant rain brings with it plenty of issues to concern him – worry about the fields, fear that some of the tenant cottage roofs may leak, having to keep the animals sheltered, difficulty in getting deliveries, inability to get much fresh air or exercise, and countless other little irritations.
Still, Aleksander can't help but enjoy the chance to sit in an armchair in his study, next to a roaring fire, and spend the afternoon reading – agricultural reports, the newspaper, and even some Shakespeare.
It is just past three, already quite dark thanks to the miserable weather, when he sees her.
At first, he thinks her an unfortunate servant caught out in the rain, but then he recognises the bonnet she's wearing – a particularly distinctive red one that he has only ever seen on Alina Starkova, Ana Kuya's orphan niece.
He hasn't a clue what she's doing out in such atrocious weather, especially when her health is so delicate, but he can't abide the idea of her attempting to walk the two and a half miles she would need to go in order to return to her own home.
"Ivan," he calls out, and the man appears in an instant, efficient as always, "Miss Starkova – the half-drowned young lady outside – appears to be making a decent attempt at obtaining a medal for most foolish time to go for a walk. Please bring her inside and ask Genya to fetch some blankets and hot tea."
"Oh, and Ivan," he adds as the man begins to turn, "you have my permission to use a small degree of force should our unexpected guest prove difficult. We are not well acquainted, but I have observed that Miss Starkova can be …"
He trails off, not quite sure of the word to use. He does not know the girl well, but what he has seen when their paths cross suggests that she hates to be a bother, stubbornly refusing help for herself and generally only relenting if the offer of assistance might benefit her aunt.
"I understand, sir," Ivan says with a nod, vanishing from the doorway.
He really is the most excellent servant a man could ask for.
Five minutes later and Genya Kostyk, his housekeeper, pushes what appears at first glance to be a large pile of blankets into the room. It is, on a second glance, tiny little Alina Starkova, wrapped in what must be half a dozen of their thickest blankets, Genya fussing at her side.
"Miss Starkova," he greets her with a small smile, "please, sit down."
She pauses, unsure, for a moment, "I wouldn't want to disturb you, Mr Morozov. I'm sure I can wait in the hall until the rain dies down."
At that very moment a loud rumble of thunder is heard, lightning illuminating the sky, the rain beating heavily against the windows.
Aleksander lets out a loud bark of laughter, "I cannot imagine the weather will improve any time soon, Miss Starkova, and I find it rather insulting that you believe I would send a young lady such as yourself out into a storm."
She flushes a rather delightful pink and mumbles an apology – both for any rudeness and for causing him so much inconvenience.
"You needn't concern yourself on my behalf, Miss Starkova, I find I'm glad of the company."
It is a polite statement but as he speaks it becomes clear to him that he is being honest. Aleksander has always enjoyed his own company – helpful, really, since he is practically an only child (his sister is eighteen years his senior and was married before he was even walking) and his parents, while alive, were cold and distant – but lately he's been feeling as if it might be pleasant to have someone to speak to at dinner, to add a little merriment to the evenings … to curl up next to him at night.
Now, he cannot help but notice that, drenched and far too thin as she is, Alina Starkova really is a very pretty young woman.
She is well born enough, in spite of her and her aunt's genteel poverty, and she certainly lacks the simpering and irritating affectations that he so despises, and which can be found in most of the wealthier young women of his acquaintance. He does not need any dowry from her, his finances and property all in good order, nor does he think her likely to spend money frivolously. And though he is, at forty, two decades her senior, Aleksander does not consider this to be an obstacle – really, it could be seen as a blessing, since he believes he would make a far steadier husband than many of the young men in the area, who spend money as quickly as they receive it, shirk honest work and spend all their time drinking and playing cards.
He looks at her, dripping on the carpet, and gestures once more to a chair by the fire, "please, Miss Starkova. I would not have you catch a cold."
It is, of course, entirely possible that she will fall ill anyway. He doesn't know how long she has been out walking, but it has been drizzling most of the day (what constitutes a reprieve with the awful weather they've had lately) and the rain has been pouring down for almost an hour.
Really, it's madness for her to have been out in such a fierce storm. He thinks that he'll scold her thoroughly for it, once she's warm and dry. Clearly, the girl needs someone to look after her.
That brings him to the topic of her aunt. Mrs Kuya is thankfully not prone to hysterics, but she will certainly be concerned by her niece's absence in this weather.
"When does your aunt expect you to return, Miss Starkova?"
He can't quite believe that Mrs Kuya allowed her niece to walk so far from home, especially since signs of the upcoming storm have been clear to Aleksander since the early hours of the day, but perhaps she did not realise how bad the weather would be.
"She left this morning to visit a friend and planned to stay overnight there," she says as she settles into an armchair.
His expression darkens, "you mean to tell me that you ventured so far from home, unaccompanied and with no one at home to raise the alarm if you did not return at a reasonable hour?"
He knows he sounds harsh, possibly even a little frightening if Miss Starkova's wide-eyed gaze is anything to judge by, but it really is abominably foolish behaviour on her part. Theirs might be a close-knit, decent community, but one could never be sure what kind of vagrants or undesirable men might be passing through.
"I … I did not expect to be out for so long," she admits, "I thought to pick up a few items my aunt had ordered and save her a journey, but there was a delay at the shop."
"You did not think to shelter there until the worst had passed?" he asks.
"The shop was closing. I did not wish to cause any inconvenience and I had no friends in that village to stay with."
He rubs a hand across his face in frustration, "of all the ridiculous things …" he mutters under his breath.
Insane for her to have set off in the rain. Absurd that no one tried to stop her.
What, he wonders, is the world coming to when a young lady can end up in such a situation? It is a blessing he spotted her walking by, for he has no doubt she would have met with some kind of accident, illness or, God forbid, attack had she continued on.
Aleksander is distracted when he hears Miss Starkova's stomach rumble loudly.
Her cheeks are painted red with mortification, "I apologise, sir," she stammers out.
"No apologies are needed, Miss Starkova. Everyone must eat, after all."
He pauses and then looks at her through narrowed eyes, "when was your last meal?"
"I had a buttered roll before I left the house this morning."
"And …?" he asks, for surely she must have eaten something else, especially with all the walking she has been doing.
She ducks her head, "that is all, sir."
He might accuse her of self-sabotage if he did not suspect she simply didn't think of her own needs, likely the sort to push aside hunger and exhaustion and pain simply to ensure she didn't inconvenience anyone else.
Yes, she certainly needs a husband, one who will keep a close eye on her and make certain she isn't neglecting her health.
In a moment of excellent timing, Genya reappears with a steaming pot of tea. He tips his head in Miss Starkova's direction and Genya nods, pouring out a cup for the young lady (a dash of milk and only a little sugar, he observes).
"Some food as well, Mrs Kostyk," he says, "as quickly as possible," murmured quietly.
It isn't their usual meal time but the cook always has a number of items on hand and he is sure she will rise to the occasion – he rarely entertains and she tends to take every possible opportunity to try something different than his usual one-person meals.
The food will take a little while and so Aleksander takes a seat opposite Miss Starkova, deciding it is the perfect time for a gentle interrogation. He knows a little of her situation, and can guess a great deal more, but it never hurts to hear things directly and to see what she chooses to share.
"How is your aunt?" he asks, "I had heard she was ill last winter."
"She is well, thank you, sir. The doctor was a little concerned for a week or so, but he was kind enough to come every day to see her without extra expense and she soon recovered."
Aleksander knows this already, although he wouldn't dream of revealing that he was the one who had paid the doctor to visit. Mrs Kuya had lived in the area her whole life, and he had always admired her for the grace with which she had dealt with a drunken, incompetent husband and then straitened finances following Mr Kuya's death, all the while caring for her orphaned niece. He is even gladder now for what he did, for he does not imagine poor Miss Starkova would have fared well if her aunt had died and left her alone in the world.
He asks her then about the pastimes she enjoys. She is shy at first, as if she believes he will consider them to be useless things in the face of his own business and agricultural endeavours. He likes to hear her talk, though, to see her face light up when she speaks of finding blue irises (her favourite flowers, he notes) in a meadow in the spring or how much she enjoys sketching or the satisfaction of learning a new piece on the ancient piano in her home (he thinks of his own magnificent piano, standing dusty and unused, and hopes it will soon have regular use).
Alina has simple pleasures, finds beauty in every corner of her life. He envies her that, really, for he always finds himself preoccupied by the cares of his position and his responsibilities. He knows many of the locals find him intimidating and gruff, but he rarely has time for anything other than polite greetings and brief enquiries. Still, he's found himself wanting more recently …
Two of the maids bring in heaped trays, the cook having outdone herself with the speedy production of a hot meal for Miss Starkova.
Society dictates that a lady's appetite should be light. Many of the women of Aleksander's acquaintance eat scarcely half the food on their plates during dinner parties, even though he's sure they must need more. He thinks it's rather ridiculous, for how can a man delight in the idea of a half-starved wife – it surely does not assist with the bearing of healthy heirs, it suggests the husband is stingy, and it makes for pale and languid women.
It is true that Miss Starkova is tiny, almost frail, shivering even with all the blankets carefully wrapped around her, but he doubts that is through choice. He imagines she simply does not have enough good, hearty food, and lacks some of the luxuries that would help her be comfortable.
She tries to eat neatly, once she has asked three times if he's sure all this food is just for her, but he can see how hungry she is, how eagerly she makes her way through the soup and chicken pie and biscuits that have been prepared. It pleases him, to see her exhibit a robust and healthy appetite. Her little sighs of delight when she tastes the food (the cook's chicken pie is admired by everyone who tastes it) give him not only a sense of pride in his household, but also cause images to flash through his mind of what it might be like to hear such sighs in rather different circumstances.
Now is not the time for those thoughts, however, and he busies himself with making a cup of tea, taking advantage of Miss Starkova's distraction with her meal to mix four heaped teaspoons of sugar into his drink.
"I wonder if the rain has stopped," she muses a little later, as she finishes the last crumbs on her plate, licking her lips in a way that is extremely distracting.
Aleksander wonders if Miss Starkova has any idea how tempting she is. He rather thinks not.
He glances out of the window. There is less lightning now, but the downpour is as heavy as it was earlier. He imagines many of the roads are sodden and dangerous right now.
He must admit that he is rather glad of the continuing bad weather, despite the trouble it may cause in the next few days. It is obviously a sign of sorts that Miss Starkova has wandered into his path at such a time, just when he is very much craving the companionship and warmth she can provide.
"I could not permit you to leave this evening," he says, "it would be entirely remiss of me to put you in the sort of danger that comes from poor roads and bad storms. I have plenty of guest rooms and will have the maids make one up for you."
"Oh, sir, I couldn't impose in such a way. I am sure it would be most improper and –"
He puts up a hand to stop her, "Miss Starkova, no one of sense would approve of my sending you out to attempt to return home in this weather. Even my own carriage would struggle to make the journey."
"But the gossip, sir. I would not wish to tarnish your reputation."
She makes no mention, he notices, of her own reputation, which would suffer far more severely if there were a scandal. He thinks that perhaps he should reassure her that his household are all loyal and discrete and, besides, he has very much fixed on marrying her as soon as she accepts his suit and the banns have been read. It might be a little overwhelming for her, though, especially after the trying day she has had.
"I must insist that you stay the night," he tells her sternly in a tone that brooks no dissent, "I assure you, there will be no impropriety."
Well, perhaps a little, if she is so inclined, but that hardly matters since they will be wed.
A knock on the door and Ivan enters, "apologies, sir, but a small matter has arisen. Not complicated but requiring immediate consideration."
He stands, nodding to his guest, "apologies, but I shan't be long, Miss Starkova. Please stay close to the fire – I do not think you are quite warm enough yet – and feel free to read any of my books if you wish."
He follows Ivan out as the man explains that a few of the tenants with homes nearby have come seeking his advice and assurances regarding the storm.
On his way down to speak with them, he asks Genya to look in on Miss Starkova and check if she needs anything, and to have one of the maids prepare their best guest room for an overnight stay.
As Ivan had said, the matters his tenants have come about are not complicated and take barely twenty minutes to resolve. He assures them all that the damage from the storm will be dealt with, and promises to visit them all over the next few days.
And then, business matters over with, he returns upstairs to a far fairer guest.
When he returns to his study, he finds Miss Starkova with a pencil and sheet of paper in her hand, intently focused on whatever it is she is sketching.
She looks up at the sound of the door opening, "I hope you don't mind, sir. Mrs Kostyk insisted it would be alright."
The fact that she thinks she might be in trouble for borrowing a pencil and using a few sheets of paper is rather sad, although he supposes she and her aunt are used to watching every penny.
"I don't mind at all," he reassures her, "may I see what you've been drawing?"
She hesitates for a moment. He wonders whether to push her, for he wishes to discover everything he can about her, but then she hands over the paper with a slightly shaking hand and a nervous look on her face.
His own face stares back at him, half-finished but expertly drawn and certainly an excellent likeness.
He smiles widely, his face aching slightly with the unfamiliar movement, "you are very talented, Miss Starkova."
"Thank you, Mr Morozov. I had lessons, for a few years, right until …"
She flushes and ducks her head, embarrassed.
Aleksander needs no explanation. All the locals know how Mr Kuya made a number of unwise investments right before his death, leaving his widow and her niece in very reduced circumstances.
"You clearly have a great deal of natural talent," he hands the paper back to her and pats her hand gently, lingering just long enough to see her look down and bite her lip before returning to his own chair.
Miss Starkova seems unwilling to continue her sketching now that he has returned, but he encourages her to go on, perfectly content to enjoy a glass of wine and watch the furrowing of her brow as she concentrates, enjoying when her head lifts and she glances briefly at him for reference before continuing her work.
He is a man who dislikes idleness. Even in the comfort of his own study he rarely simply sits there, always looking at papers or reading a book or going through his accounts. Now, though, he thinks he could quite happily stay there all night and just watch Miss Starkova.
Is this infatuation? Attraction? Love? Truth be told, he's rather forgotten what it feels like. There was Luda, almost two decades ago, tragically lost due to consumption, but no one else who has ever touched his heart. There is something about Alina Starkova, though, that draws him in. She brings out his protective instincts, but also his desires. He wants, wants her more than he has wanted anything or anyone in a very long time.
The girl herself likely has no clue, for she appears entirely innocent in such matters. It's probably for the best, really, since she would probably try to flee back out into the darkness and rain in embarrassment if she realised how badly he wants to touch her.
Half an hour passes before she puts down her pencil and, with less hesitation than before, hands him the sheet of paper with the completed drawing, even more remarkable now that it is finished.
"May I keep this, Miss Starkova?"
"Of course, sir, although I'm sure it is a fairly poor effort."
He reaches out, clasps her hands in his own, "do not dismiss your own talents, Miss Starkova. Now, if I were to ask what your opinion of this sketch is, what would you say?"
"I … I would say … it is a … well-done likeness?"
She says the last part a little too much like a question, but he can see that she is making an effort.
"Good girl," he praises her softly, "it is always important to recognise your strengths."
He doesn't release her hands just yet, taking the time to revel in their closeness.
For a few moments they are frozen, the sort of tableau one might see in a painting.
And then he lets her go, since she is trembling slightly and the last thing that he wishes to do is scare her off.
The time passes. Sometimes they talk, other times there is a pleasant quiet between them as he continues on with Shakespeare and she selects a volume of poetry from one of his bookshelves.
It is the kind of evening he had earlier been dreaming of, pleasanter by far than his usual lonely hours.
The clock strikes ten and he can see Miss Starkova glancing at it, shifting a little in her seat. He rarely goes to bed before midnight, but his guest may be used to retiring earlier, especially after all the walking she has done.
He stands, "shall I find Mrs Kostyk to show you to your room, Miss Starkova? I'm sure you must be weary after such a long day."
"Yes," he can sense her relief, "I would be most grateful, Mr Morozov."
He finds one of the maids walking past the room and charges her with summoning Genya, before returning back to the study.
Miss Starkova is stood up now, her book carefully replaced on the shelf.
"Mrs Kostyk will be here shortly, so I will bid you goodnight, Miss Starkova."
She takes a step forward, "I must thank you again for your hospitality, sir. It was very generous of you and I am sure I must have been such a nuisance, intruding upon you in this way."
"You were very pleasant company, Miss Starkova," he chides her, "not a nuisance in any way."
Aleksander doesn't realise he has stepped even closer until he looks down and she is right there, close enough for him to …
He moves slowly, deliberately, determined that she should have a chance to move away if she wishes.
She stays where she is, though, as he cups the back of her head and presses his lips against hers.
It is a brief thing, just a taste, but she sighs so sweetly and melts under his touch. He wishes for more, but he has self-control, damnit, and he should not act rashly.
One part of him argues that much can be smoothed over and made respectable by the rendering of a marriage proposal. If he had her in his own bedchamber tonight, pliant and willing beneath him, then it would not much signify since he would likely be able to acquire a special licence for their immediate marriage.
But no. She deserves better than that, and he vows to himself that they will be married before he shows her the pleasure that she can find in his bed.
Much to his consternation, tears fill her eyes as they break apart, "I should not … I do apologise, sir."
He shakes his head, "no apologies, sweet girl. I will admit that I took a liberty, but I can assure you my intentions are honourable."
"Sir?" she asks, adorably confused.
"I would like to ask for your hand," he tells her.
She still seems baffled, "but sir, I am quite unworthy of such an honour. There must be countless other young ladies more suited to –"
He puts one finger over her lips and she falls quiet.
"I am quite sure of my choice, Miss Starkova. I believe you to be exactly what I am looking for and am sure you will make me a most exemplary wife. If you do not wish to marry me, then you are of course free to refuse, but I ask that you do not do so due to any misguided belief that you are not worthy."
Miss Starkova appears quite stupefied. He is about to suggest that she thinks on his question and they talk more in the morning when she blurts out one word.
"Yes."
She seems almost surprised at what she has said, but she does not take it back. In fact, her eyes seem bright and her mouth curves upwards into a small smile.
"Yes?"
"Yes, Mr Morozov. I … I will marry you."
A genuine, delighted smile stretches across his face, one he hasn't worn in many years.
"I am truly glad, Miss Starkova," he takes her hands once more, holds back from kissing her again simply because Genya will be arriving any moment.
She gives him a tremulous smile in return, looking him straight in the eyes and then blushing furiously.
He feels hopeful for the future, rather than simply apathetic. It is a delightful feeling.
There is a knock on the door and he lifts Miss Starkova's hands quickly to brush his lips over her knuckles, "until tomorrow morning, sweet girl."
"Goodnight, Mr Morozov."
"Aleksander," he murmurs as he lets go of her hands, "but it would please me if you would call me Sasha."
"Goodnight, Sasha," she says.
He is almost undone at the sound of his name from her lips, but she moves towards the door, where Genya waits to take her to her room, unconscious of the rush of desire he has just felt.
He hears the two of them walking away, talking quietly.
Genya will ensure she is comfortable, he knows, and he need not be concerned that she will find his household's hospitality lacking.
He returns to his armchair and his book, although some of the warmth seems to have left the room with Miss Starkova.
Try as he might, however, he cannot focus on Shakespeare's work. He can only think of Miss Starkova readying herself for bed, and imagine the day she will share his own room and he will be able to help her out of her dress or brush her hair out.
In the end, he goes to bed early.
He tosses and turns. Thinks about what to say to Mrs Kuya to ensure her approval (he cannot see what objections she might have but he wishes to be prepared to counter any argument she might make against the marriage), imagines how beautiful Miss Starkova will look in the wedding finery he will provide for her, remembers her smile and the feel of her lips against his own.
When he dreams, it is not only about the wedding night they will have, but also of the many scenes of domestic bliss that he finds just as alluring as the thought of having Miss Starkova in his bed.
Aleksander wakes early, as is his custom, and goes to his study to look through his papers.
Best, he thinks, to ensure everything is in the best possible order so that he has ample time to deal with wedding business.
He has asked Ivan to call him when Miss Starkova comes down for breakfast, and is pleasantly surprised when he is notified of her arrival in the breakfast room when he has only been up an hour or so.
She too is clearly used to earlier hours, which he thinks is yet another sign of their compatibility.
When he arrives, he finds her with two kittens squirming in her arms, their mother curled up on one of the chairs next to her.
For a few moments he stands in the doorway, just watching. She handles the kittens gently, ever so tender and careful. He can't help but imagine her with a baby in her arms, feels a pang of longing for children that he's never experienced before.
"Good morning," he tells her, taking a seat next to her and reaching for a honey cake, noting with satisfaction that she appears well-rested and does not seem to have caught a cold.
"Good morning," she replies.
He gives her a brief nod, "may I call you Alina, Miss Starkova?"
She nods, "oh, yes, of course. I am sorry, I did not think to say –"
He waves off her apology, sure she has simply been over-anxious not to offend.
"What time will your aunt be back today?" he asks.
"Around noon, I believe. I can walk back, if that would be more convenient, for it is quite bright this morning."
"Do not be absurd, Alina. I would not dream of allowing my betrothed to walk two and a half miles in these conditions – it has stopped raining, that is true, but the after-effects of the storm will be felt for at least the next few days. We shall take my carriage, and of course I must speak to your aunt."
He glances at her, looking to see if there is any hesitation on her face, any change of heart after their conversation the night before. She is watching him with a hesitant, hopeful look, and it suddenly occurs to him that she may have the same worries that he does.
"I should like to be married as soon as possible, if you are amenable," he tells her, pleased when her face brightens at his words, "I thought to speak with your aunt and then visit the priest about having the banns read."
"Yes," she says quickly, going pink at her own delightful eagerness, "I mean … I believe that would be a good idea, Sasha."
Alina says his name carefully, as if she isn't quite used to it yet and wants to ensure that she gets it right, and a little like she expects to be scolded for her informality. She really is a precious little thing and he feels a rush of affection for her, the young woman who has inclined him towards immediate matrimony.
It is a far pleasanter meal than his usual solitary breakfast, Alina more animated now that the first awkwardness is over with, playing with the kittens and asking him about the paintings she has seen in her guest room and the corridors.
He has to leave her again for about an hour after they have finished eating so that he can survey some of the nearby storm damage, but he gives her over to Genya's capable hands and is pleased to find that his housekeeper seems to have taken a shine to his betrothed.
Soon enough it is time for them to leave, to return Alina to the home he hopes to remove her from in a matter of months.
Alina becomes quieter the closer they get to her home, falling silent entirely as they come to a stop outside of the building where she and her aunt rent apartments.
"It will be fine, sweet girl," he tells her, "I promise."
He anticipates no difficulties but, if any arise, he is determined to overcome them. Once Aleksander makes his mind up it is nearly impossible to dissuade him and he is quite determined to have Alina Starkova as his bride.
The driver opens the carriage door and he turns to face Alina, "are you ready?"
She looks up at the window he assumes is her own, then back at his face, and then she nods almost imperceptibly, "I'm ready, Sasha."
He steps out of the carriage and offers his hand to assist her getting down.
Then, together, they take the next step towards securing their future.
They are wed in August, on a gloriously sunny day.
A good omen, an overjoyed Ana Kuya says, to have such beautiful weather.
And, indeed, as the years pass by and both their love and their family grow, Aleksander truly believes that his is the happiest of marriages.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.