“I should very much like to see Russia again. I miss the comforts of familiarity there and the white summer nights. There is nothing in all the world like her, but life has moved on without my permission. Decisions had to be made, and I cannot allow myself the remorse of looking back. My home is here now with a life I’m looking forward to with Wynn.”
His black eyebrows spiked. “In this barbaric country? It does not suit the entitlements of a princess.” He gestured sharply to the land beyond the frosted windows as if to point out the error in her assessment before frowning at the dead leaves curled in her palm. “Neither do dirty hands.”
She tried not to allow his words to bristle her. Things were different now. She was different. No longer did she live in Petrograd with its confining rules.
“Dirty hands suit me in Scotland. The land is none so harsh after a time. I’ve learned to find a beauty in its wildness.” She looked through the window to the rolling hills beyond. Come summer they would be covered in purple heather. Wynn claimed they could stroll across the tops, so thick was it. “The Revolution taught me much, and I will not take for granted my position again. If I can use it toward good, I will.”
“You did good in St. Peters—gah, Petrograd. Will we ever grow accustomed to that new name? I heard talk of the Bolsheviks wanting to change it again to honor their leader, Lenin.”
“The only good I did was self-serving or what reflected well in the social parlors so the Dalsky name glittered even brighter. What good did that do when the Revolution struck? It made me an outcast, a thing to be hated, starved, and flung out into the cold. I will never be that again, nor allow anyone in my care to be so.”
On the back of the bench behind her, Sergey’s fingers tapped an erratic rhythm as if his thoughts proved too restless for containment.
“That is a peasant’s way of thinking. Share in the misery and all that. One must look out for themselves.”
“A decent person does not look out only for themselves.”
His fingers stopped as he considered her for a long moment.
“It seems the Revolution has changed us both. Me to hardness and you to tenderness. I think, perhaps, you are the victor in this metamorphosis, and I should heed your lead. I am your humble student, my lady.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head in courtly manner.
A half smile curled the edge of Svetlana’s mouth. His gesture erased the years of terror, and they were once more sitting in her family’s parlor at the Blue Palace jesting without a care. She’d missed his familiar friendship, a link stabilizing her through time when so much had been stripped away.
As he straightened, the light caught on a thistle stickpin with an amethyst for the purple flower nestled into the folds of his necktie.
“This is unusual for you to wear,” she said. “The symbol of Scotland.”
“Your mother-in-law was kind enough to offer me suitable clothes for my stay.”
Consumed by her own sadness and keeping Mama from hysterics, she had barely given thought to others in need.
“I apologize for not thinking to offer them myself. I have been remiss in my duties as hostess and as your friend.”
“Nonsense. Your grief is priority, and your mother-in-law has been most gracious. These belonged to a son named Hugh, I believe. She said he needed them no longer.”
The dead leaves rested lightly in her palm, their musty scent of decay a pungent reminder of fallen life.
“He died in November. The war. He was Duke of Kilbride, but his death passed the title to Wynn, and now Wynn has a hole in his heart that can never be repaired.”
“Then you have both lost someone dear to you. Would that I could give Nicky back to you. I shall take the greatest care of this for your husband in honor of his brother.” Looking down, he fiddled with the folds of his necktie. The amethyst winked in and out of the silky material. “I cannot deny that such a piece would have proven beneficial on my travels.”
Svetlana thought back to those nights racing through the woods, her corset weighted with valuables she had sewn in for safekeeping.
“We had to sell so many of our precious gems along the way for food and clothing. What we had left was stolen in Paris.” She cast an eye over his fine clothes. At complete odds to the rags he had arrived in. “How ever did you afford passage from Paris?”
Eyes kept on the stickpin, he twisted it back and forth. “I managed a few odd jobs before I saved enough to buy a steerage ticket. The poor souls in the Russian quarters of the city were more than happy to help their fellow countryman in his time of need.”