Chapter One: Alone in Paris

Countess Tatiana Nikolaevna Feodrova walked along the garden lamenting yet another missed opportunity to return home. She had hoped to visit her father; yet Vladimir had denied her permission, insisting her place was to remain at his side. He seemed particularly averse to traveling home; claiming all they needed was here in Paris. Paris was a city she had always enjoyed visiting as a child, yet the same sentiments could not be applied now that she resided in the city permanently. She felt very much a foreigner, despite knowing the language and customs of the land. Vladimir, however, thrived in the city. He adored the Parisian lifestyle and sought to enjoy the Parisian nights as much as possible, with or without her at his side.

Tatiana had long ago ceased to care about society and the luxuries her elevated social position afforded her. Her disinterest angered her perplexed husband who continuously showered her with gowns and jewelry, both items she did not desire nor need. She had come to realize her disinterest stemmed from her lack of enthusiasm when it came to duties relating to her role as wife. Despite everyone's persistent claims her marriage would flourish with time, it had become evident it was floundering. She was neither ignorant nor blind to the whispers and speculations surrounding her marriage. She merely chose to follow her husband's lead and ignore them.

She finished gathering her roses and began to walk back towards the house. Vladimir would be returning home shortly. He was adamant they attend an intimate dinner party. Although, a dinner party for fifty could hardly be called intimate, it was preferable to the usual boisterous acquaintances Vladimir favored. She stopped before the foyer, handling the basket to one of the servants.

"Please have these placed in my sitting room in the vase by the window." She instructed as she removed her hat and handed it to the servant before dismissing them with a wave of her hand. Catching a glimpse of her reflection she paused before the gilded the mirror that hung in the foyer. She was standing before a stranger, she realized.

"Where is the girl everyone hailed as the most attractive debutante of the year?" she whispered to herself.

She had married young, but it was not an uncommon occurrence in her family. Generations of girls married off before they reached adulthood in the name of family and duty. Her own father had married for duty, she was no different except she had been naive enough to believe she would have a say in electing her husband. She smirked as she thought back to various suitors her father had presented before her. She had been courted by many men from all over Europe. Many lured by the promise of a great fortune. She had been in no hurry to marry, at least not any of the men who had openly sought her hand. They had inspired suspicion in her, and as a result she had turned her nose at all offers, adamant she would marry someone of worth. Her poor exasperated father believed all the choices has been worthy, failing to understand she was not interested in their titles. The irony was not lost on her when at last she believed to have found the man worthy of her hand; he was both penniless and title-less.

Alexander Orloff. She smiled remembering the handsome officer who had captivated her heart. For six beautiful memorable months he had discreetly courted her through heartfelt letters. Often expressing his regret over his inability to articulate his feelings properly. He had failed to see, it was one of the many reason's she had adored him. It was not uncommon for her thoughts to seek comfort in the dreams of her youth; for it was a respite from her disenthralled existence.

"Where have you been?" A dispassionate voice asked as she entered the sitting room.

"I was gathering some flowers for my bedroom," she quietly replied as she met her husband's eyes.

"We have servants for such inconsequential tasks," He eyed her suspiciously before motioning her to approach. A knot formed in her stomach as she approached him. "You seem troubled," He said in a deceptively soft voice that caused the hairs on her neck to rise. His hand reached forward to lift her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes, "What is going behind those beautiful cornflower eyes of yours?"

"I was simply thinking of my father." She partially confessed as she stared into his unwavering hazel eyes.

"You're attachment to your father is becoming ridiculous."

"He is my only fam-"

"I'm your husband, and as such I am your family now." His gripped tightened around her jaw. "I'm beginning to wonder if you need a reminder as to where your sense of duty and loyalty should rest with."

"My loyalty is to you and you alone," she whispered with a slight tremor in her voice, "I know my place."

His hold loosed as his hand moved to rest against her cheek. "My beautiful and clever girl," his lips twitched, "I may yet be able to mold you into the dutiful wife I've always desired." Tatiana said nothing as her heart wildly beated against the confines of her chest. "You will be a sight to behold this evening," he removed his hand slowly from her face, "I expect us ready to depart at seven."

"I will be ready." She blandly promised as she watched him retreat from the room. She instantly dropped to the nearest chair, her hand moving over her heart as to will it to cease its frantic pace.

Despite the slight trembling of her lip, she did not cry. She refused to cry. She had discovered fairly early on in her marriage, tears resulted in nothing except yielding more tears. Vladimir did not care for dramatics as he so eloquently explained to her at the start of their marriage. He was very forthcoming with his desires of what an ideal wife should be. He wanted an admirable wife, and she sought to sustain an agreeable if albeit distant relationship between them by yielding to his wishes.

Two gentle hands came to rest on her shoulders. She turned to see Olga, her maid, at her side. Her eyes were filled with concern and pity.

"Are you well, Madame?"

"Yes," she lied quickly composing herself, "if you'd be so kind as to assist me in preparing for this evenings dinner." She stood from her seat with an amicable smile as she looked at Olga.

"The Count had already selected the gown for this evening."

"Of course he has." She mumbled under breath as she motioned for Olga to follow her upstairs.