A/N: I'm sure that you have been waiting for a few certain someones to show up, and I've very happy to say that they are finally here. We're taking a brief break from the Bennets to check in on the boys at school.
Another trigger warning for this chapter for violence against women, as well as the death of a parent. There is some violence in this chapter, but I tried very hard to be vague about it so as to meet guidelines here at ffn.
Chapter 7: Septum
13 October, 1804
Cambridge
Nikolai let out a long breath as he and his companions walked out of the grand stone building into the chill of the fall air, brightened by unusually strong sunshine. "You know," he said almost conversationally, "in Russia, we have this marvelous thing we like to call winter. You English should look into it."
All three of his friends turned to look at him, mouths open in shock. By that point, his friends really should have known Nikolai's sense of humor and preference for cold weather, or rather, his preference for Siberian weather.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, not to be confused with his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam (a Captain in the Army), raised a dark, sardonic brow. "You cannot be serious."
Charles Bingley, who had been brought into their merry band of friends the day he'd taken a beating meant for Darcy at Eton, shivered as a particularly strong breeze that crossed their path. "I cannot imagine weather colder than a Scottish winter, I have to agree with Darce."
A wolf-like smile spread over Nikolai's face. "Soft, all of you. One has not seen the true beauty of winter until they have seen Moscow in December, the entire city hushed with a blanket of snow two feet deep."
"Two feet?!" Henry Hurst, the last of their group and the oldest among them, scoffed. "No thank you. Winter is miserable enough in England, Ephrussi. I would not wish such misfortune on anyone."
Darcy lifted a brow at Hurst's dark tone, so unlike the man's usual teasing cheer. Looks were exchanged among the friends, out of sight of Hurst's glare.
School life at Eton was often nightmarish, to be frank. Nikolai, having grown up in the manner he did, was more prepared than most of the other students at school, but he was shocked to see that such a reportedly proper and 'important' institution of learning was rife with bribery, cheating, and abuse of the worst sorts. Even though Nikolai had only been at Eton for a year, he'd split his time between looking out for Noah and looking out for John.
Most boys at Eton survived by fading into the background, or through having important connections to the nobility.
Noah had never faded into a background his entire life, and Nikolai, being his best friend and feeling strangely protective of all of his friends, made sure that Noah's occasionally hotheaded attitude never got his friend a more serious repercussion than a scolding. John helped Nikolai hold Noah back from most fights, but one (or two) could only do so much. The three of them had, quite literally, stumbled over a fight sometime before Christmas break last year. Noah had jumped in to defend the two lads being ganged up on by seven much rougher, larger, and older scoundrels; and where Noah went, Nikolai and John had followed.
That was how they had met Darcy, who had been mistaken for his father's godson (a reprobate accused of theft by the attackers, and other worse crimes against others since, by the name of Wickham), as well as Bingley and eventually, Bingley's friend Hurst and Darcy's cousin Fitz when the man visited them while on leave. As the Meryton boys had learned after the fight was done, Darcy had been alone when the older men jumped him, and Bingley, who hadn't known him from Adam, immediately jumped in to help.
Still, they were neither of them great pugilists, which was where Nikolai's training came in handy when he and his friends had found the two of them minutes later.
The boys had been great friends their remaining days at Eton, friendships that remained even when the majority of them moved on to Cambridge. Darcy had even introduced Noah and John to Benjamin Fielding, the oldest son of the Duke of Beaufort, as a means of protecting Noah and John from afar.
According to John's latest note, the two of them were getting along splendidly, and Nikolai admired Darcy's efforts to care for his friends.
Regardless, they were all close enough to know when something was bothering one another, and while most of the time they would let the matter be, Hurst's black mood had been present since the term had started.
Finally, Bingley cleared his throat. "Anything bothering you, Hurst?"
Hurst twisted to glare at Bingley. "No, nosy. What business is it of yours?"
"You have been acting like an arse, as you English like to say," Nikolai said dryly, expression serious.
Scowling, Hurst turned away and fell silent. Their group walked on, letting him stew in his own thoughts.
"My father," Hurst bit out, "has been encouraging me to get married."
That sent up raised eyebrows all around, once again. It was not common for men in society, particularly gentry or nobility, to marry until they were at least one and twenty, though usually not until their late twenties. Nikolai had doubts about the eventuality of him marrying at all, but that was not something he liked thinking about.
"Is that so?" Darcy asked slowly.
"Apparently," and here Hurst rolled his eyes bitterly, "there are a great many ladies of fortune in Kent."
Again, silence reigned for a moment while the young men debated how to respond, talking behind Hurst's back with their expressions and subtle gestures. The idea of teasing Hurst into a better mood was brought up and rejected, before Nikolai's suggestion of a direct approach was approved unanimously.
"Is there any reason, in particular, he wants you to marry so early?" Nikolai asked.
The four young men paused under a broad oak tree in full autumn bloom, its leaves a riot of orange, red, and yellow. Hurst ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. "Nothing more particular than the usual."
Nikolai raised a brow, silently asking for more detail.
"Greed," Hurst supplied quietly.
Bingley put a hand on Hurst's shoulder. "You are not your father."
"No," Hurst agreed, "but I am his heir. He cannot force me to marry, but his letters have become..." Hurst trailed off, thinking about the unbearable, overbearing words in his father's last letter.
"Then do not read them," Nikolai said firmly. "If he asks when you go home for breaks, tell him you are busy at school, he cannot object to that in a manner in which to make you read or answer his letters. You are the heir. He cannot disinherit you, and socially speaking he will not risk a public attack on your character. His own standing in society now relies on your acceptance into the first circles, and he cannot risk that. As soon as you are of age, you will hold the real power in your family. It is likely your father knows this, and seeks a way to keep you under his control through marriage."
All three other boys blinked at him.
Hurst was the first one to break the silence. "Very occasionally," he said, almost conversationally, "you remind me that I do not know much about Russian politics and early education."
Again, Nikolai's smile was slightly wolf-like. "Who said anything about Russian politics?"
Darcy snorted. "My friend, you and Richard treat everything like a battle campaign. If Russian politics was not your educator for learning how to avoid the manipulation of others, I shudder to think what was."
With an exaggerated shiver, Bingley grinned. "Frightening. I think I much prefer it here in England, where it is warm in the winter."
They all laughed.
Clapping a hand on Nikolai's shoulder, Hurst smiled. "Thank you, Ephrussi. I forget sometimes that I am no longer a boy in the nursery, and that I am free to make my own decisions now."
Smiling a slightly softer smile, Nikolai dipped his head in a miniature bow. "I live to be of service to my friends."
Bingley snapped his fingers. "Speaking of being of service, may we be on our way to a meal? I have not eaten since yesterday evening."
"That is because you still try to keep town hours when you well know you have morning classes, Bingley," Darcy chided.
Looking between his friends as they immediately struck up the well-worn argument of town versus country hours, Nikolai chuckled to himself. He missed Sophie dearly while at school, but he did enjoy his friends as well.
Thinking of his sister must have put a particular smile on his face, because Hurst called him out on it almost immediately. "Not that Ephrussi has anything to add, seeing as how he is too busy celebrating the imminent arrival of his sister for a visit."
"Your sister is visiting Cambridge?" Darcy asked.
"She will be visiting next month for a few weeks whenever I might have time to see her," Nikolai shrugged, though he didn't bother to deny Hurst's accusation of celebrating her visit. He was. "Though as I understand it, Bingley's sisters will be visiting as well during that time."
Bingley groaned, long and loud. "I greatly enjoy seeing Louisa, but I dread seeing Caroline. Ever since Father died, she has had all these ideas about 'rising in station'. She sounds like Mother."
The young men chuckled.
Hurst shook his head. "Then come, let us talk about something more pleasant."
Darcy brightened. "As long as we are talking about sisters..."
Immediately, the others smiled indulgently. Darcy was often taciturn and untrusting, sometimes coming off as snobbish or even downright rude due to being painfully shy. However, there was no denying that the man adored his younger sister Georgiana, and talked at length about her talents and blossoming intellect, which admittedly was impressive for an eight-year-old. But for the most part, his friends let him wax poetic about his sister because they enjoyed seeing their friend smiling instead of scowling.
And so, walking through the cool October afternoon amongst the falling leaves of red and gold and burnished orange towards the afternoon meal awaiting them, they let Darcy do just that.
03 November, 1804
Cambridge
The little bookshop just off of the Cambridge campus was truly a delightful treasure trove. Sophie was eternally grateful her brother had suggested it.
As he had warned her, Kolya did not often have free time to spend with her, but she was grateful for the time they had spent together. She had met his new friends and made polite conversation with them. In particular, Mr. Darcy had been frosty at first, but had strangely thawed after she returned his frosty behavior. Kolya had warned her that Mr. Darcy was reserved and wary of matchmakers due to his wealth and his family's golden standing in society, but she hadn't minded. She had been more amused than insulted, and regardless, it wasn't as if she was interested.
If she was to marry, which was not likely to be soon given that her responsibilities for the family's...political maneuverings grew by the day, it would not be to Mr. Darcy. Not that he was a bad sort, not at all. She liked him very well, just not in any shade of a romantic manner. Sophie was old enough now that her first crush had come and gone, and though she was six and ten, which was a very young (if marriageable) age, she felt far too grown up to be swooning over her brother's friends.
Distracted by her thoughts, Sophie didn't notice the woman perusing the same shelf of books she was until they reached for the same volume at the same time. Startling, Sophie turned to face the other woman. "Oh, I apologize. I should be more aware of my surroundings." Inwardly, she sternly scolded herself for being so lax when she was normally so vigilant when out in public.
The other woman was taller than her, and appeared to be a year or two older than Sophie, with rounded features, gray eyes, and neat black hair. "No, no, it is my fault," the other woman smiled, laughing slightly awkwardly. "I have a tendency to sneak up on people. My sister calls me a mouse."
Sophie caught the momentary strain in the stranger's smile at the mention of the word 'mouse' and silently mused that it must not have been a fond pet name as much as an insult. For politeness' sake, she set that aside. "I hope that you may forgive me, and allow an introduction."
Her smile brightening pleasantly, the other woman nodded and curtsied, saying, "Of course. I am Miss Louisa Bingley."
"Princess Sophronia Ephrussi of Moscow," Sophie curtsied, picking up on the formality of her new acquaintance, but softening the blow of her title by smirking and adding, "Though I implore you to simply call me Miss Sophie."
To her credit, Miss Bingley's eyes had widened upon hearing the title, but she did not react more than that and agreed very quickly to Sophie's request. The two of them spent the rest of a very lovely afternoon together while shopping around Cambridge, and were delighted to discover that they had each met the other's brother while there visiting their own.
"I must say I found Mr. Bingley to be very kind," Sophie said while smiling at Miss Bingley, arm in arm as they walked down the street to their next destination, a tea shop. "It makes complete sense that the two of you would be siblings."
Miss Bingley's smile faded slightly. "I would not say that kindness is a...family trait." Miss Bingley paled and said, stricken, "Oh, I should not have said that, how awful."
Looking back over her shoulder, Sophie checked that Maurice, her bodyguard of four years, was momentarily distracted, and then gently tugged Miss Bingley into a small space between shops where they were slightly hidden from the street. "Come now, Miss Bingley," she said gently, bringing a soothing hand up to brush away a tear on Miss Bingley's cheek. "There is no need for tears, I am sure of it. You are not responsible for any family member's behavior, only your own, and you are wonderful!"
Miss Bingley just shook her head, distraught. "You are only being so kind because you have not met Caroline. Our eldest sister." Miss Bingley looked up at Sophie, the support and understanding in her gaze, and took a deep breath. "Please, you must understand, she used to be such a dear girl. Always looked out for Charles and me, taught us about being genteel and well mannered. Our father was...he was a tradesman, you see."
She waited for the disgust, the typical reaction of her companion to be appalled, but all the princess did was nod in that understanding way, and wait patiently for her to continue. Unable to believe the casual acceptance, Miss Bingley tried to forge on ahead. "Well, you see, it was always his and mother's dream for our family to rise into the gentry. When mother passed Caroline...she changed." Sorrow threatened to swallow Louisa as she remembered the girl with the sunny smile that her sister used to be. "I am not sure I understand it completely, but I believe Caroline thinks it is her duty to make sure Charles and I marry into the gentry, so that she may rise as well, or even-"
Louisa stopped herself before she could finish that thought of '...rise above us'. It was too unkind, even if in her heart she knew that was her sister's intention.
Sophie took her companion's hands. "Now, now, my dear friend," her voice, in its concentration to be comforting, had taken on a thick rolling accent of the musical burr that came with her native language. "I promise you this. Should I ever meet your sister, Miss Louisa, I will never blame you or your brother for her thoughts and actions."
A swell of relief nearly felled Louisa as she looked deep into the night-sky eyes of her new friend and realized the girl actually meant it. "You would be one of the first," she whispered, her mind now turning to her brother, and disappointed hopes. "My sister has burned so many bridges, especially when she and I were at school. I have very few friends left after her interferences, and despite how she tries, she is not..." Louisa tried to rephrase what she wanted to say into something kinder. "She is too eager to join the first circles, and they have spurned her every attempt to join them. She still tries, however, growing bolder and more shocking each time, and each time the consequences ripple out farther and farther. It has even begun to affect Charles. Caroline has tried to ingratiate herself to his friends as a potential wife, and has done nothing but embarrass and humiliate all three of us in the process. Henry cannot stand her, he-"
Louisa's eyes blew open wide as she realized what she had done, the sheer impropriety of her slip in language. Henry Hurst had been the most secret, quiet hope of Louisa's well-hidden heart. He was not the most handsome of young men, no, but he was smart, and he laughed well and often, and when he looked at Louisa he looked at her as if he was really speaking to her. Not as if he was simply following propriety and social convention. And no, in the eyes of society he was no Mr. Darcy in terms of wealth or handsomeness, but Louisa personally thought him more handsome than ten Mr. Darcy's, and she would not have cared one whit if he was poor (even though he was not actually poor), she simply liked the way he looked at her and talked to her like she was a real person. With respect, dignity, and honest interest.
That had all been ruined once Caroline had intervened, as she always did. Henry had taken one look at Caroline's brash and mercenary nature and completely closed off. There was no trace of the laughing gentle humor, the curiosity, the humble and respectful man she'd been introduced to. Louisa had always known Caroline to bring out the worst in people, but this one had hurt in ways she never thought she could explain.
Now, to be standing in front of a new friend, whom she had only met three hours ago for goodness sakes, and to have spilled all of her heartaches out so unprompted? And to, on top of that, let slip something she'd held so quiet and private she had barely thought about it even inside the privacy of her own mind?
The two girls stood there in silence, staring at each other.
Finally, Sophie shook her head, smiling softly. "There is no reason to panic. I can see the question in your eyes of how I will react. My dear Louisa, you have nothing to fear." Sophie gently enfolded the taller girl into a hug, and murmured into her ear, "Your secrets are safe with me."
Louisa's eyes fluttered shut, and she let her head dip down into Miss- no, Sophie's shoulder as she hugged her friend back tightly. How long had it been since she had hugged a friend? Caroline's embraces had stopped feeling sincere long ago. Her other friends were more acquaintances than anything, people who she used to be closer to before Caroline had driven a wedge between them. And Charles was an affectionate brother, but he was away so often now...
"How sweet," A dark voice spoke from far too close, and both girls startled.
Looking around, Sophie counted three men about her father's age circling them, all broad and thick with muscle, smiling at them in a way that made her stomach crawl as she realized what danger she had put herself and Louisa in by wandering off of the road and away from Maurice.
From behind one of the strange men, another man appeared, though much younger, not as tall or as muscular, and dressed like a gentleman rather than the laborers clothing the other men wore. He was handsome, in a golden, Icarus sort of way that was completely shattered by the sickening smile he was sporting. "And here," the younger man said, that same dark voice from before, "I thought I was lucky enough to grab one heiress, only to find myself in possession of an heiress," he jerked a hand towards Louisa before his dark, calculating eyes turned towards Sophie as he sneered, "and a princess."
"Don' furgit, Wickham," one of the hulking men said, staring down at Louisa as if he could see through her clothes, "Ya owe us least as much's this one's worth."
Another of the men took a step forward, and Sophie tensed, her fingers finding the small blade sheathed in her right sleeve.
The second man, unaware, laughed. "Aw, gents. Canna we 'ave jus a lil' taste a these here birds?"
Sophie smoothly stepped in front of Louisa and pressed them both back against the wall behind them. "Whatever happens," she told Louisa calmly, calculating how best to defend herself and her friend from four attackers coming from the front and sides, "stay behind me."
The men laughed, and the golden one, Wickham, scoffed. "There's nowhere for either of you to go from here. Even if you scream, the two of you are ruined. Why not just make this easy on yourselves, and come with us."
Louisa was shaking behind her in fear, Sophie could hear how fast she was breathing, the chatter and noise of the Cambridge streets so near and yet all too out of their reach.
Discretely rising onto the balls of her feet, Sophie waited for the first man to breach over into striking distance. Then, looking Wickham dead in the eye, she said, "I am not in the habit of obeying anyone."
Like a lightning strike, she swept out her arm, holding a dagger that cut into the man that lunged for her, making him scream and stumble back, cursing. She pulled out another hidden dagger from her spencer and stood her ground.
She was an experienced fighter, but she was outnumbered three to one, and vastly outmatched in strength and height. While that would not have mattered if she had been able to move around as much as she usually did while sparring with Boris and Maurice and her other guards, she had to stay in one place to keep any of them from reaching Louisa, and she found herself losing ground too quickly.
One of the men landed a lucky strike to her temple. Dazed, she paused long enough for them to knock her bloodied daggers from her hands and put her into a chokehold. Confused, she slipped into panic, and the escapes her father had taught her all vanished from her mind.
Louisa shrank back against the wall with a soft cry of Sophie's name, tears streaming down her cheeks as Sophie scrabbled uselessly against her captor's thick arms.
Wickham leaned in close, smirking lasciviously. "You are a spirited one, but I think you will break soon enough at the whore house. Yes, I will be paid quite a price for you alone."
Sophie spat at him.
Cursing, he ducked his head to wipe his face, just in time for Sophie to see two huge shapes appear from the shadows and strike from behind.
The shop the ladies had hidden behind, away from the bustle and noise of the streets, was a small jewelry store owned by the elderly Mr. Jeffries. Mr. Jeffries was a peculiar man with a very particular way of running his store. So, unfortunately, many employees he hired were soon let go when they did not follow his directions exactly. It had been considered a miracle among the Cambridge tradesmen community when he had finally kept two employees for longer than a fortnight.
The two employees were brothers from the highlands of Scotland, Andrew and Seamus from the Ross clan. No one knew why the brothers had relocated to England, and the brothers counted themselves lucky that none appeared to be curious. Some secrets were meant to stay buried, and while Andrew neither judged nor condemned his brother Seamus for his preference of men over women, he knew that others would, and he was desperate for a way to give them both an occupation and income without the unbearable and dangerous social climate he had helped Seamus flee in Scotland.
Regardless, both brothers were true Highlanders. Fiery red hair, quick to anger and equally quick to calm, roguish yet handsome features, and all of the breadth and brawn of their ancestors. Above all, the Ross brothers had what their mother had long defined as 'true nobility'. They had never been able to stand back when someone was being wronged.
So when Andrew, going out the back of the store to run an errand for Mr. Jeffries, noticed the petite lioness wielding daggers be struck, he had dropped everything, grabbed Seamus, and went to join her in the fray.
Using her captor's distraction at the two burly Scots now intruding in the fight, Sophie took a deep breath, and let her father's words wash over her.
"In the end, the only person you can trust with your life is yourself. I want you to be strong, so that I will always know you are safe."
With sharp, brutal movements Sophie freed herself from her captor, easily picked up her daggers, and resumed the fight.
In a matter of seconds, all four men were beating a hasty retreat, cursing and promising retribution and violence of all horrible kinds as they went.
She was left panting, exhausted, and bleeding from her temple and her cheek. In silence, she and the two large men who had come to their rescue waited for the next shoe to drop.
When it didn't, she sheathed her daggers and nodded shortly at the redheaded men. "Thank you," she said quietly, before turning to comfort the thankfully unmarked but sobbing Louisa just as Maurice, Nikolai, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Hurst rounded the corner.
As Louisa cried into her shoulder, Sophie caught her brother's eye and smirked, telling him over the rise of panicked and accusing voices from the other men, "You should see what the attackers look like."
Introductions of the two men with red hair and an explanation of what had occurred happened slowly, while the entire party crowded into the Ephrussi carriage. Louisa was reluctant to let go of Sophie at first, but Mr. Hurst kneeling beside her and asking her if she was well proved distracting enough.
Nikolai and Maurice were beyond furious with Sophie. There were many angry things said back and forth in Russian so as to spare their companion's prudish English ears. Though she defended herself, Sophie was furious at her own actions as well. She knew better than to hide from her bodyguards. She knew better than to let herself lose a fight, no matter how cornered or outnumbered. Worst of all, she knew better than to put someone else in danger.
"Kolya," she finally said softly, cutting off her brother's rant mid-curse. She couldn't look at him. "I know."
The carriage was silent.
A warm hand tilted her face up, and Nikolai's appraising eyes traced the drying blood on her cheek. "I know you do."
Silence reigned for a moment longer, before Mr. Bingley leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage, sighing deeply. "I do not care what it costs, but I swear I am going to reward you for saving my sister from that scoundrel. Wickham has been a scourge on England for far too long if you ask me."
Mr. Hust, not looking away from Louisa's teary eyes, growled, "Agreed."
The Ross brothers, looking more uncomfortable than Sophie had seen anyone look in such a finely appointed carriage, again shook their heads. The elder brother, Andrew Ross, said again, "A reward is not needed, we only did what anyone should have done."
Nikolai let go of Sophie and turned to raise a brow at the brothers. "It was not anyone who did it. It was you."
The brothers had no reply for this.
Mr. Bingley frowned in thought. "If you will not take money, what can we do for you?"
The younger brother snorted and attempted to joke, "A job would be nice. I doubt Mr. Jeffries will forgive an infraction such as abandoning our post."
Nikolai straightened. "A job is certainly something we can do."
Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley straightened as well, agreeing with him.
The elder Ross shook his head, pleading, "We did not do what we did to seek a reward," as his brother sobered and nodded.
Mr. Hurst laughed. "You do not know my friend Nikolai very well. Whenever he sets his mind to something-"
"He gets it done," Mr. Bingley and Sophie finished for him, laughing.
And though the Ross brothers protested, their concerns were batted away. By the end of the day, Mr. Jeffries had indeed fired them, surprising no one in the tradesmen community of Cambridge, but neither brother was worried about it. Seamus was already appointed as Nikolai's new valet, and Andrew was bound for a commission as a Lieutenant on the HMS Camilla courtesy of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst, whose cousin was the Captain.
The only flaw of such an advantageous result of what could have been such a disaster was that the Ephrussi children had to inform their family of what had occurred. Little did they see even more doom threatening on the horizon. How could they, when they were in England, and the danger was in St. Petersburg?
21 November, 1804
Ephrussi Palace, St. Petersburg
The once gleaming and pristine office was utterly destroyed. Ripped papers, shattered glass, and splintered wood covered the floor. Where many paintings, bookshelves, and rich fabrics had once decorated the walls, only scuffs, rips, and blank spaces remained, except for one.
One portrait remained utterly untouched.
Surrounded by ruin, broken furniture, glass, and the complete destruction brought about by his own hands, Sergei Ephrussi sat against the wall and started at the portrait of his beautiful wife.
He was still wearing the clothes he had been last night. The front of his jacket was still stained with her blood. He could see it on his hands, even though Ivan had washed them clean while he had been in his dazed state. Then had come the rage, and now, the silence.
What was he supposed to do, without his Maggie?
Sergei knew that his occupation was dangerous. Maggie had known, he tried to comfort himself, feeling nothing but rage and guilt and loss rip through him.
He closed his eyes and turned away from the portrait.
She'd looked so beautiful, his Maggie, wearing a new dress to the party last night. He often had to cajole her into wearing the Ephrussi Emeralds, for his smart and practical wife thought them too flashy. And she had been so charming, teasing him and laughing as he'd fastened them around her neck, promising she would not have to wear them for another full year if she wore them that night.
Then, not even four hours later, a hand had struck from the shadows while they were leaving the ball, and he was left holding her while the life drained from her, his cries and pleas useless to stop it while she smiled at him, and whispered, "אני אוהב אותך".
The door to the office opened.
Knowing who it was, since no other but Ivan would have dared to interrupt his grieving, Sergei didn't move. Maybe it would be better if it wasn't Ivan, if it was the enemies he had made coming to reunite him with his Maggie...
"There is nothing," Sergei said slowly, his voice raw and broken. "that you can say that will move me from here."
He opened his eyes, looking back at Maggie's portrait. Tears spilled down over his cheeks again, pain rippling from where the ruin of his heart was. "This is all I have left of her. No other portrait of her captures who she is...was."
The portrait that hung in his office was one that only the family and trusted conspirators had seen. Maggie was wearing a simple dress and sitting in her much-loved solarium, a sword balanced over her lap while she held a book, smiling at him over the pages.
No, there was nothing that could tear Sergei away from looking at that portrait.
"Sergei..." Ivan forwent propriety as his voice trembled, hardly able to stomach the idea of something happening to both his beloved mistress and the little miss all at once, let alone informing his utterly heartbroken master and friend of it. "It is about Sophie."
A/N: ...I'm sorry.
Bullying at Eton and other English Schools in the Regency: Bullying and abuse were absolutely rampant in schools in England at this time. Families didn't visit often, for some they never visited, there was no one regulating how the school was run, and if any of the children tried to write to their parents about it it was likely those letters were seized by the school and never read by their families. If you had important enough connections, however, it was unlikely that you were targeted to the extent of those who did not share your good fortune.
HMS Camilla: So this was a real ship in the Royal Navy, a 20-gun Sphinx-class post ship built in Chatham Dockyard, launched in 1776. She served in the American Revolution, the French Revolutionary Wars, and the Napoleonic Wars, before being sold in 1831.
אני אוהב אותך: I apologize to any Hebrew readers if the phrasing is off/spacing/placement in the paragraph is off, nothing looked quite right. I did my best! This means 'I love you' in Hebrew. I wanted Sophie's last words to Sergei to be an assurance of her love, that her love for him was also an acceptance of who he is, of everything he is, as well as a rejection of the social norms of the antisemitic time and place they existed in.