Every chandelier in Thornhill blazed with light to warm the stone walls and walnut floors like an ancient oil poured out as anointment for the charity bazaar. The elegant tapestries and glowing candles wrapped the affluent guests in rich comfort as they entered from the frigid night. Gift-laden tables set out for the silent auction were available to peruse while a small orchestra played lively tunes from Tchaikovsky, Stravinksy, and Rachmaninoff. The world may still eye Russia with distrust, but Svetlana wasn’t about to allow the same for its music. Such superiority needed to be heard by all.
Svetlana slipped among her mingling guests and into the dining room where delicacies from shortbread and some kind of oat
flattened cakes called bannocks—which Constance assured her were a must at any Scottish gathering—to Russian peasant savories
of
Marina came to stand next to Svetlana. With her curled hair pinned atop her head and pearls dangling from her ears, Marina had bloomed overnight into a woman. If they had been home and life had continued as planned, her baby sister would have been presented in court before the tsar and tsarina with suitors standing in line to beg for the first dance. Such things belonged to dreams of the past, but at least they had awoken to a future together.
“I believe Mrs. Varjensky has found her true calling. She was destined to be a caterer.” Marina tilted her chin to indicate the small figure across the room.
The old woman was dressed in a simple but elegant black gown with no adornment other than the lacey shawl Svetlana had given her held together in the front with the
“I found her offering Lord Barrow an oil to massage the lump on his forehead,” Svetlana said. “She claimed the protrusion was caused by a kiss from the devil. Thank goodness he didn’t speak Russian.”
Two women dripping in jewels strolled by and congratulated her on the splendid evening. Svetlana thanked them for coming before allowing herself to take in the other fashionable guests. Smiles and laughter rippled through the soft strains of music and clinking plates. Perhaps they had only come to see the new Russian princess curiosity, but they had come and that was as good a starting place as Svetlana could hope for.
“They’re right. Everything looks splendid tonight. You’ve outdone yourself, Svetka,” Marina said.
“Mama’s party-planning sessions have finally paid off. I’ve been able to put my skills to good use.”
“Anyone with enough money and wine can put together a party, but you’ve done something more. You’ve created an event that exceeds its premise. The guests are excited to be here, unlike all those painted-on expressions of regal boredom drowning in the palaces back home.”
“You forget: we were those bored people.”
“Not anymore. People are having a good time.” Marina’s smile encompassed the room.
“I think they’re all simply curious to see the
“No, I think they’re here to see the new Duchess of Kilbride. This mysterious princess from the east with her strange accent and even stranger family in tow. ‘Do they really dine on bear and cabbage?’ they’re probably asking.” Horror flashed across Marina’s face. “Mrs. Varjensky didn’t make bear and cabbage
“With the way people are going back for seconds, I doubt it. Then again, they are Scottish, and Wynn informed me the cuisine here is all based on a dare.” Svetlana absently plucked at the cream lace on her sleeve, her thoughts drifting far beyond questionable food. “I only hope this evening reflects well on Wynn. He hasn’t been the same since his brother died, which is understandable, but then the death of his patient too. He needs something to lift his spirits.”