The Ice Swan полностью

Mama harrumphed and scooted down into the pillows, cradling her steaming cup of tea. “Of course, but why listen to me? I’m not but your mother who raised you as a princess to live in palaces and ride in fine troikas. Surrounding yourself with musty old books is not the habit befitting the lifetime of training I have poured into you.”

“Those days are over, and I refuse to cling to them as you do. We have the chance to start again. Not many of our people were given that.”

“Start again. What does that even mean?”

The unfamiliar sensation of nerves trailed over Svetlana’s next words. “We can rebuild our lives here. You, me, and Marina. Certainly it is different and many of the customs far from our own, but this is a chance to leave the hurts in the past. We cannot continue to carry our past disagreements and hope to thrive.” The wall between them may not tumble in a day after years of sharp words and wounded pride reinforcing the mortar, but it was high enough and she grew tired from the bricks lobbed at one another.

Taking a sip from her teacup, Mama’s eyebrows rose over the rim. “By thrive I am to assume you mean ingratiate ourselves with these people who have welcomed us into the bosom of their backwater hovels.” So much for not flinging bricks.

Placing her delicate cup on the mantle, Svetlana swept an arm up and pointed a toe out in tendu. She would work her way through an entire warm up in a corset if it meant staying calm.

“I am now Duchess of Kilbride. I must learn to find a new way, and that starts by reading all I can about this place and its people because they’re my people now. My responsibility, and I will do what I can for them.” And for Wynn.

“In Russia—”

“In Russia I was only required to sit perfectly, attend the opera, dance at balls, and offer light conversation in powdered drawing rooms. I want more than that. Here, the nobility are expected to participate in charities, provide benefits to their community, and ensure their tenants are looked after. I can make a difference here.”

“Did your husband tell you all of this? To carry on the work while he’s not here?”

Svetlana rose en relevé. Not a week went by without a letter from Wynn giving her all the details of his hospital and the declining rate of soldier patients as they were shipped back home to Blighty. Odd name for England. He’d also mentioned moving back into his old bachelor quarters with Gerard, which she was glad to hear. That townhouse was too large for him to rattle around in by himself. He needed the company of others. Never once did he mention Sheremetev, Leonid, or the White Bear. He always asked if she was settling in well, the health of Marina and Mrs. Varjensky, and a passing greeting to Mama. Every letter was signed “Yours, Wynn.”

Yours. What did that mean? Yours in letter form? Yours most sincerely? Your husband? Yours in belonging? Which did she want him to be?

Toes aching, she lowered to a plié.

“Growing up, you instructed me not to bother my husband with trivial details of home maintenance while he was away. Those details belong to the woman’s domain, you said, so that the man might keep his focus on more important matters.”

“Sergey never would have dropped you in the middle of such a miserable existence only to abandon you. If he hadn’t been dragged off the train platform in Petrograd, he would’ve been in Paris with us. Our lives never would have veered onto such a desolate path.”

Positions forgotten, Svetlana whipped around with enough force for a fouetté. The heat from the fire seared up her back. “Wynn has not abandoned me, nor has he placed me on a desolate path. Every action has proved him honorable.”

“So was Sergey’s.”

“Sergey is not here, and any future I may have had with him is gone. My future is tied to Wynn, and I will honor the agreement made between us.”

Placing her cup down, Mama drew the edges of the shawl around herself and rolled her eyes away from Svetlana. “You sound like your father.”

From anyone else it would have been a compliment, but not from Mama. She never appreciated a stance against her desire to bend wills. “Is that so terrible? Father is a good man. Honorable and strong.”

“Most think so until it overshadows your marriage. Mark my words, you’ll find out there is truth in my words soon enough.”

The heat waving across Svetlana’s back weaved into her blood. “Why do you dislike Wynn so? After everything he’s done for us, you still treat him as second best.”

Mama notched her chin up, still not meeting her daughter’s eyes. “Wynn wasn’t my choice.”

“No, he’s mine.”

“Choice for what?” The deep male voice cut through the throbbing tension like a welcome shot of relief.