“No trouble at all.” Wynn strolled to stand near the end of the settee. His expression freed itself from the darkened shadows, but what was revealed was nothing resembling lightness.
Svetlana dug her nails into her palms to keep from twisting the silk fabric of her skirt. The charity event had been a great success, but this night was going down as the most chaotic she’d ever experienced.
“Of course it’s no trouble when Sergey is a dear old friend of our family.” Mama beamed as if Sergey had hung the sun and stars. A belief she’d always attributed to him despite having her own son to dote upon. Then again, Nikolai always had more heart than polish. “If not for him, we never could have escaped Petrograd. We owe him everything.”
“As we do Wynn for all he’s done. If I had a glass, I would toast you both.” Svetlana smiled up at Wynn. “Sergey was telling us of his imprisonment and eventual escape from the Bolsheviks. It was him I saw that day in the crowd.” Armistice Day. The day of worldwide rejoicing. The day their lives had changed forever when that telegram arrived announcing Hugh’s death.
From the look on Wynn’s face, he remembered it all too well. Shifting his weight, he smoothed his expression to pleasant blandness once more.
“I’m amazed you were able to find the princesses in Paris. The war turned it from one of the most vibrant cities in the world to a pot of mass chaos.”
“It wasn’t easy, I grant you,” Sergey said.
“How did you find us?” Svetlana asked.
“I knew you probably wouldn’t be using your titles, so I made discreet inquiries that led me to the Russian part of Paris. Who knew such a thing existed? Seems I barely missed the influenza epidemic, which decimated our people, forced as they were to live like rats in basements.”
“The entire world has been affected. They’re saying the number of deceased victims may be greater than those lost during the war.” Svetlana’s throat constricted as she looked at Marina. “We had our own scare.”
Sergey’s hand flattened to his heart. “Dear sister. How glad I am that you survived. A true miracle.”
“Another blessing Wynn gave us,” Svetlana added.
Wynn’s lips cracked into a soft smile. “It was the attention her doting nurse gave her that saved her life.”
There it was again. That subtle look that passed between him and her like an exhale of breath. Soft, undetectable, yet laced with possibilities. What might have happened if they’d been able to continue their dance earlier? Would they finally have known what it was like to share a breath?
Sergey cleared his throat, drawing attention back to him, and resumed his recounting. “From a few of the survivors who remembered your descriptions, I was able to trace you to an Alexander Nevsky Cathedral where the priest said he’d married you in November. Imagine my surprise.”
His lips pinched beneath his black mustache. Longing and sadness mingled in his eyes as they lingered on Svetlana, hundreds of hours of memories spent together lost in them.
“I would be a liar to say I was not shocked and saddened at the news that your precious hand had slipped from mine, much as it did that day on the train platform, but I forced myself to overcome my own feelings and rejoice that you were alive. That is all that truly matters to me.”
The past held too many what-ifs and Sergey’s sudden appearance brought them all rushing back to the surface. A future she had once been destined to. She could no longer afford to mourn. Life had moved on.
With this new life came suspicion of the old one trailing her. “Do you recall the names of the people you spoke to?”
“Peasants mostly. I didn’t bother asking their names. Why do you ask?”
“I only wonder if it was some of the same people we lived with at the church.” Or a crooked club owner who sheltered the evilness of communism to his own advantage. “We left rather in a hurry.”
“So the priest informed me when he gave me your address.”
Wynn stepped closer, the dancing flames shadowing havoc across his impassible expression.
“We didn’t give the priest our address. Considering the name Dalsky is being hunted by the Bolsheviks, it was best to keep such information hidden.”
Sergey dipped a finger behind the folds of his necktie to his scratch at his neck. “Pardon me for misspeaking. What I meant was, the priest told me you were a physician at the hospital, so naturally I went there. One of your colleagues was able to send me in the correct direction, but as I was telling the ladies, my timing proved to be a stroke of bad luck, and I was forced to continue my journey to Britain. Once here, there was little difficulty in finding the Duke of Kilbride’s estate. I’m only sorry to have disturbed what appeared to be a remarkable evening.”