The Ice Swan полностью

It was a thick, cream cardstock of the finest quality with a strip of gold embossed around the edges. The White Bear was printed in fine scroll on the front. On the back a name in matching font.

Svetlana inhaled. “Sheremetev?”

Leonid nodded. “Muscovy branch. You come, da? Both.”

Wynn hesitated. “I may be on shift—”

Svetlana grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “Da. We will be there.”

Before Wynn could decipher the cryptic vice around his hand, Leonid Sheremetev of the White Bear’s infamous vodka fell back on his pillow with a loud snore.

Chapter 6

“We will be there.”

Svetlana marched across the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral courtyard, her too-short beaded skirt whipping around her ankles. What had propelled her to say such a preposterous thing? If the good doctor couldn’t attend, all the better for her expressing her family’s need to the Sheremetevs for their influence. Hers was a matter of delicate and deadly proportions that must be handled with discreet care. Wynn was a complication she could ill afford. Yet the moment she had the opportunity to cut him loose, she had grabbed his hand in panic and assured his continued presence lest Leonid revoke the invitation.

No more. After tonight’s meeting, she would be well on her way to providing safety for her family, and the reoccurring brushes with Dr. MacCallan would be a thing of the past.

“If you hurry like that, we’ll arrive before the party begins,” Mama huffed behind her.

“It’s a bit late for that. The party started an hour ago.” A hairpin bounced off Svetlana’s exposed shoulder. With no ladies’ maids at hand, she’d found it exceedingly difficult to achieve a formal hairstyle based on her own talent. Or lack of.

“A lady does not arrive at the designated start of an event. It is within her best interest to be announced once all the other guests have arrived. That way all attention is given to her entrance.”

It had taken less than three seconds for Mama to discover the card from Leonid Sheremetev. The woman could sniff out a societal invitation a drawing room away. She had gasped and nearly fainted in a flutter of excitement. This was it. Their fortunes were about to change as they reentered the social circle they were entitled to, and she wasn’t allowing Svetlana to enter alone.

Mama had traded an emerald bracelet and two gold rings for two gowns from a countess who had managed to escape Russia with her trunks. A pearl choker was paid to a peasant seamstress to have one of the gowns fitted. Mama chose her own for the alteration, claiming Svetlana’s was passable and such cheap satin wasn’t worth the price of another necklace.

Rounding the front of the grand church, the fading blue of dusk settled on a carriage pulled by two white horses. A driver hopped down from his perch and opened the door.

“Compliments of Dr. MacCallan, who has been detained at the hospital and conveys his deepest regrets.”

What was that discomforting feeling of disappointment settling in Svetlana’s stomach?

Mama stepped into the carriage as if she were owed nothing less than a fine ride waiting for her. Like old times. Inside, she squealed at a single white rosebud on the seat.

The driver looked at her and then to Svetlana. “Apologizes, mademoiselle. I was told only one passenger, and the flower—”

“It’s quite all right, monsieur. The doctor was unaware of my guest.” As much as she was unaware of this tremulous expense. Carriages were not easy to come by in the city—much less horses—with all wheels and hooves needed for the war effort. Why must the man insist on surprising her? Even in his absence she could not find distance from him.

“But of course. S’il vous plait.” The driver offered her his hand and helped her inside. Climbing to his perch, he gave a command and the horses set off.

“The physician’s manners have improved in the treatment of nobility, even if he is bourgeois.” Mama anchored the rose to her gown with a pearl-tipped pin that had been secured to the shortened stem. “At least there’s more room. Carriages easily become overly populated.”