Once Upon a December

Chapter 3

Violet had hardly slept a wink that night. She wasn't the kind of person that usually spent much time thinking about the past, as it was usually such a waste of time. How ever, at the moment she felt as if it was all she was doing. The issue with Princess Kuragin kept hanging over her head, as a sort of breaking point for what the future might bring. But why? That was the question she kept asking herself. What would it matter? How would the death or life of the Princess change her prospects? She was the Grantham widow in the Dower House, and had done everything in her power to live up to that title. Further more, she had always thrived in her position. She had worn the crown for so long now, that the thought of suddenly taking it off, seemed completely cracked. But what seemed even more absurd to her, was that she had those kinds of thoughts at all.

A part of her knew that the reason she was so eager to find out about the Princess' whereabouts, was because it was all a part of a larger plan. A plan she hadn't quite admitted to herself yet. All she kept telling herself was that the research Shrimpie was helping her with, was a perfectly good excuse for her to keep seeing the Prince. Violet had always been the mere image of strength and status, but as she sat in front of the mirror that morning, her new maid Denker adjusting her pearls, she caught a glimpse of something in her own eyes. Sadness? Distress? Or was it hope? She could hardly read herself anymore, and that certainly was unsettling. "Is there anything else you need milady?" Denker asked and when she left the room, she left Violet sitting at her dressing table, still deep in thought. A burning urge grew within her. She had to see him again, and with the letter from Shrimpie, she would have yet another excuse. Oh well, Isobel would come to tea this afternoon, so at least she had something to occupy her mind for a little while.

…

Igor's point of view

He felt a pang in his chest. She would be coming soon, and his room, if he could even call it that, was such a humiliating reality, which he so hated she was going to see. He couldn't shake the hatred to the fact, that he had lost all shred of profit or worth he had of her. He had nothing to offer, and yet he wanted to offer her everything. He thought of how she had looked at him, there in the Downton library. She stood so tall and moved with the same elegance as he remembered from all those years ago. Yes, she had changed, so had he, but her posture and elegance was the same. Her hair was no longer auburn as it had been, and her face showed signs of the years that had past, but her beauty had not faded. If anything it had expanded and changed into something far more magnificent and picturesque. The memory that stayed with him, were her eyes, and the way they bore themselves into his soul, as soon as he had uttered the first words to her and she had realised that it was indeed him in the room. They were still bluer than the deepest ocean, and he had been transferred back to St. Petersburg, and the last time he had dived into them and almost drowned. They were dangerously expressive and beautiful, then and now. Even more so now, he thought. His mind replayed that moment several times, as he tried his best to make his room just a bit more representable for her, and then suddenly there she stood. Alone in his room. At first he couldn't speak. He simply looked at her. She stood with her familiar strong posture despite the cane in her hand and her face was lifted towards him. Suddenly all thoughts of their horrid surroundings disappeared from his mind, and his focus was entirely on her. He gestured for her to sit down, but didn't dare move any closer to her just yet. He wasn't sure what he might do. She placed her cane behind her and sat at the old wooden chair in front of him, waiting for him to speak. The conversation was not exactly awkward, but not easy either. He felt that they both knew they were actually having two conversations, but the one that wasn't mouthed, was the one he most wanted. And then Violet mentioned Irina. He looked down at his rosary, hesitating to admit how little he cared these days. "She's alive then?" he asked. Violet nodded and seemed suddenly nervous to him "She was alive when she left Russia, that they know. You'll know more soon". His back was turned to her, and then suddenly his courage came flowing back over him. He turned and stopped for a second to take her in. All of her, as she sat there awaiting his reaction. "I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. More than mortal man ever wanted woman", "That is an historical event". He laughed. This was just the sort of answer he could expect from her. She still had the same way of sarcastically turning a sentence to retain her facade and he couldn't help but smile at that. "Nonsense - If Irina were dead, I would ask you to run away with me now" she shifted a bit in her seat, now that he had moved himself closer to her "We can't run away, when there's no one left to run away from" she said. Her words were camouflaged by humorous undertones, but his reply made her smile stiffen; "I loved you more than I loved her. Even today. Even this afternoon" All of a sudden none of them needed to laugh anymore. It wasn't funny. He meant it, with all of his heart. He hadn't said that out loud before, not since St. Petersburg, and maybe not even then. Not as clear anyway. He watched how she had to swallow before she answered "Please don't" For a moment he thought her eyes welled up "You make us sound as if we were both unhappy and I don't believe you were and I certainly was not" she said steadfast, yet he saw right through it "You wouldn't admit it, even if it were true. You think to be unhappy in a marriage is ill-bred". He looked at her, awaiting a reaction "You do know me Igor, that I must concede" his eyes were locked with hers at that moment. The sound of his name on her lips was almost too much for him. His eyes travelled down her body, and even there in the damp room with her overcoat still on, pictures of their last secret assignation flashed through his mind, and he nodded knowingly at her. Ah yes, he knew her. In every way a man could know a woman, and even if she pretended not to, she knew exactly what he was thinking. His hands were playing restlessly with his rosary, as he kept his glare on her. "We were victims of our time, Violet" He said while leaning in to take her hands in his own. "Did you ever think of how it could have been, had things gone differently? Because I did. All the time" She said nothing, her eyes were wider than ever, moist and her lips were trembling slightly. He took this chance to stroke the back of her hand with his thumb. In some sort of comfort perhaps. He wasn't sure. "Violet" he simply said, searching her eyes, which were now fixed upon the floor. This made her chest heave strongly and her eyes shot like lightning back to his. "I never think of the past. What is the use?" she was smiling slightly, but her eyes showed remorse more than anything, and then he let go of her hands and stood. He walked back to the bed, threw his rosary on it, and just as she was about to comment on her maid waiting outside, he walked back to her hastily, ran his hand over her cheek, around her ear and into the back of her neck, then he bent down and kissed her. Very softly but still firm enough for her to be caught off guard. To his surprise she didn't protest. She didn't move a muscle. His eyes were closed as he tried to make the moment last as long as possible. Her lips were still as soft as they had been all those years ago, and when he felt her relax a bit more in his embrace he tucked at her sleeves a bit to make her stand. His arms went from her arms, around her to the small of her back, as he pressed her slightly to him, deepening the kiss just a little bit, not wanting to put her off. She still showed no sign of objection, and so he grabbed her tighter, suddenly wanting to be as close as possible to the only woman he had ever really loved. The kiss was an echoing deja-vú for them both and as his lips left hers and started their own journey along her jawline, his voice murmured next to her ear "Violet". Then suddenly it got cold and they were apart again. She looked around, avoiding his eyes and searching for her cane. "I must go" she said and he wanted to kick himself. When she stood by the door, she finally turned to him one final time "It's been 50 years Igor, and I have done everything in my power to forget you. I have been happy most of the time and lived through many things, and I have kept up a brave face for everyone around me. Please don't make me regret coming here. Because the truth is, however hard I've tried, I've never been able to forget you. Never." and just like that she was out of the door. He was left standing in the room, that now seemed even colder and lonelier than before. He stared at the closed door, and even though he was left alone, he found he was smiling to himself. She had never forgotten him, he had kissed her and she had kissed him back and her taste still lingered on his lips. He might be forced to retain himself, but he was determent to convince her. He was not going to loose her again, whatever might come.