She and her family would have the protection of his name and wealth with no obligations on Svetlana’s part except to say I do. A marriage in name only if that was her wish. In the end, when thinking had exhausted her, she asked him why he would go to such trouble for her. He’d merely smiled in that way of his and said he could no longer stand by and watch her suffer when there was something he could do to alleviate her pain.
Mama fussed with the veil that had been borrowed from one of their neighbors in the church basement. It was one of the few treasures the woman had escaped Russia with, and she’d only agreed to loan it when Svetlana offered her daily ration of food.
“To think, a daughter of mine and princess of Russia married to a tradesman. In a borrowed dress with no proper tiara to signify her rank.”
Svetlana stepped away before her mother could jab another hairpin into her scalp. If only Marina were here to bring a sense of calm, but under doctor’s orders she was to remain on bed rest at his family’s townhouse until her strength fully recovered. Wynn had extended his kindness by offering his mother’s closet for Svetlana’s perusal. She was grateful, but a wedding dress and tiara were nothing compared to the absence of her beloved sister, and more than anything Svetlana needed her soothing strength this day.
“Wynn may be a physician, but he is also a marquis, a high noble rank in Britain.”
“It is a sin when you are bound to another man. Sergey will be heartbroken. He’s been so good to you over the years.”
“Sergey and I were never officially betrothed. I cannot wait for him to find us, if indeed he ever does.” Sergey had been good to her. His parting act had been to see her to safety while sacrificing himself to the enemy. She could never forget that, but the promises made in Russia were best left to the past. She had a future to secure. “Wynn is a good man. He would not take on our troubles otherwise.”
“May the saints preserve us from those black deeds.” Mama crossed herself before one of the many gilded icons decorating the vestibule of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. A fitting place for the ceremony. Not to mention the only place to allow an Orthodox wedding. “How was our family brought to such an abyss? If only I had been stronger. If only your father were here. He would know what to do.”
“He would put the well-being of our family above all else as I am trying to do. Is that not what marriages are for? A weeding out of sentiments for the betterment of an alliance. Wynn is a good alliance.”
“The man is an Anglican!” Mama’s trump card. No proper Russian argued with the dictates of the Holy Church, but wartime had a way of requiring one’s head to be turned the other way as circumstances required.
“Due to our upsetting circumstances, the priest is willing to overlook Wynn’s heresy.” A few gold coins slipped into the altar coin box might have pushed the decision to more favorable means as well.
“Surely there must be another way. Perhaps you have not thought of them all. I’m certain if we were to ask Shereme—”
“No!” Svetlana took a deep breath as every fiber of anger, sadness, and fear roiled within her. Mama would never learn of what happened with Sheremetev nor of the evilness he allowed to hunt them. Wynn was their only hope now. “Go and take a seat.”
“Svetka.” Mama reached a hand toward the veil.
Svetlana pulled away. If one more person prodded her, she would lose her last shred of control. “I’m ready. Please go.”
Ready. A rather misleading term. Certainly she was ready to put her troubles behind her and breathe for one day without the threat of financial ruin or starvation, but was she ready to marry a man she barely knew? She’d known Sergey for years, which was an anomaly in her social circles. Marriage contracts were often drawn up based on name and wealth alone with the bride and groom having met a mere afterthought. And love, well, that was best left to the fairy tales. She was under no illusion of what this marriage to Wynn meant and her gratitude to him could never be fully expressed.
A side door opened. Svetlana jumped.
“Are you prepared, my child?” The priest was dressed in robes of gold and black with a bushy beard stretching down his chest.
Heart racing, Svetlana nodded. It wasn’t Sheremetev come to drag her away to the den of the Reds.
“I must ask you never to tell that this holy church allowed a man of non-faith to be joined to you, a true believer, in its inner sanctum. If rumors were to spread, anarchy could ensue. Papists will demand their own heretical services.”