was in actual fact a procuress? What if she had been brought here under false pretences, to serve not as a...
‘Miss Galbraith?’ The man made a bow. Just in time, she noticed he wore a royal blue-and-gold livery, and spared herself the embarrassment of addressing him as her new employer.
‘I am come to escort you to the Derevenko Palace,’ the servant said, speaking just as The Procurer had promised, in perfect, if heavily accented, English. ‘I have a carriage waiting to take you there.’
Allison picked up her travelling herb chest by the brass handles, staggering under its weight, but waving the servant away when he made to take it from her. ‘No, I prefer to keep this with me, the contents are extremely precious. The rest of my baggage...’
‘All necessary arrangements have been made. The journey is a brief one. If you will follow me?’
She did as he bid, swaying a little as her feet adjusted to the solid ground beneath, coming to an abrupt, awed halt in front of the transport which awaited her. The carriage was duck-egg blue elaborately trimmed with gold, a coat of arms emblazoned on the doors. Another servant in the same livery sat on the boxed seat, holding the reins of two perfectly matched white horses. Inside, the plush squabs were the same royal-blue velvet as the groom’s livery, the floor covered in furs.
Peering through the large window as they trundled into motion, Allison observed that they turned immediately inland, following a road alongside a canal. The waters sparkled. The grand houses glittered. The sun shone. Everything looked so very perfect, so very beautiful, so very, very foreign and strange. A bridge spanned a small river not straight enough to be a canal, and the carriage followed the embankment for a short distance, passing ever more majestic mansions, before slowly drawing to a halt.
The groom opened the door and folded down the step. ‘Welcome to the Derevenko Palace, Miss Galbraith.’
It was indeed a palace. The edifice faced out over the river, on the other side of which was a vast expanse of open ground where what looked like a cathedral was under construction. Her first impression of the Derevenko Palace was that it reminded her of Somerset House on the Strand, neo-classical in style, three storeys high, with two wings stretching from the central portico, terminating in two smaller pedimented wings set at right angles, the shallow roof partially hidden by a carved balustrade. Above the central section, which was constructed almost like a square tower, a massive eagle-like stone bird was perched, gazing imperiously down its vicious curved beak at the shallow, sweeping staircase, and on Allison, who stood in trepidation on the bottom step. She shivered, thoroughly intimidated and battling the urge to turn tail and flee.
And where did she think she would go? Back on to the ship, back to the reclusive life she had been so delighted to leave behind?
Absolutely not! This was her second chance. She would not fail the woman who had presented her with it. More importantly, she would not fail herself. Not this time. Reluctantly handing her herb chest over to the groom, Allison straightened her shoulders, gathered up the folds of her travelling cloak and followed the manservant inside.
* * *
The interior made the façade of Derevenko Palace seem almost plain. A long strip of rich blue-and-gold carpet covered a floor of silver-and-pink stone laid in a herringbone pattern, which glittered under the glow of a magnificent chandelier. The carpet continued straight through a small entrance hall into another, bigger reception hall where two huge bronze lamps lit with a halo of candles flanked a sweep of enclosed stairs. Allison had a fleeting impression of immensely high and ornately corniced ceilings, before she was led up three flights of stairs to a half-landing, which then opened out into two stairways with elaborate bronze-gilt balustrades which in turn led to a massive atrium lit from above by light pouring through a central glass dome.
The servant paused in front of a set of double doors elaborately inlaid with ivory, mother of pearl and copper. He straightened his already perfectly straight jacket, and knocked softly before throwing the doors open. ‘Miss Galbraith, Your Illustrious Highness,’ he declared, waiting only until Allison edged her way into the room before exiting.
Your Illustrious Highness? Allison was expecting to meet a minor member of the aristocracy. She must surely be in the wrong room. Sinking into a low curtsy, she saw her own surprise reflected in the man’s demeanour. He had turned as the servant announced her, but took only one step towards her before coming to an abrupt halt. From her position, on legs still adjusting to being back on land, precariously close to toppling over, he looked ridiculously tall. Black leather boots, highly polished, stopped just above the knee, where a pair of dark-blue pantaloons clung to a pair of long, muscular legs. Which began to move towards her.
‘Surely there is some mistake?’ the imposing figure said. His voice had a low timbre, his English accent soft and pleasing to the ear.
‘I think there must be, your—your Illustrious Highness,’ Allison mumbled. She looked up, past the skirts of his coat, which was fastened with a row of polished silver buttons across an impressive span of chest. The coat was braided with scarlet. A pair of epaulettes adorned a pair of very broad shoulders. Not court dress, but a uniform. A military man.
‘Madam?’ The hand extended was tanned, and though the nails were clean and neatly trimmed, the skin was much scarred and calloused. ‘There really is no need to abase yourself as if I were royalty.’
His tone carried just a trace of amusement. He was not exactly an Adonis, there was nothing of the cupid in that mouth, which was too wide, the top lip too thin, the bottom too full. This man looked like a sculpture, with high Slavic cheekbones, a very determined chin, and an even more determined nose. Close-cropped dark-blond hair, darker brows. And his eyes. A deep Arctic blue, the blue of the Baltic Sea. Despite his extremely attractive exterior, there was something in those eyes that made Allison very certain she would not want to get on the wrong side of him. Whoever he was.
Belatedly, she realised she was still poised in her curtsy, and her knees were protesting. Rising shakily, refusing the extended hand, she tried to collect herself. ‘My name is Miss Allison Galbraith and I have travelled here from England at the request of Count Aleksei Derevenko to take up the appointment of governess.’
His brows shot up and he muttered something under his breath. Clearly flustered, he ran his hand through his hair, before shaking his head. ‘You are not what I was expecting. You do not look at all like a governess, and you most certainly don’t look like a herbalist.’
Allison, dressed in the most sombre of her consulting attire beneath her travelling cloak, bristled. ‘Ah, you were expecting a crone!’
‘A wizened one with a hairy chin,’ he said, with a smile that managed to be both apologetic and unrepentant.
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you on both counts,’ Allison replied, finding it surprisingly hard not to be charmed.
His smile broadened. ‘I find your appearance surprising, but far from disappointing. In my defence, I should tell you that I have very little experience on which to base my assumptions. I’ve never hired a governess until now and I’ve never before required a herbalist’s services. Forgive me, I am being remiss. I am Count Aleksei Derevenko,’ he said, making a brief bow. ‘How do you do, Miss Galbraith?’
Hers was not the only appearance to evoke surprise. This man did not look remotely like the father of three children in poor health and in need of English lessons. Portly, middle-aged, whiskered, red of face, bulbous of nose, is how she would have pictured such a man if she was in the habit of making sweeping assumptions. He would not have long, muscled legs that so perfectly filled those ridiculously tight breeches
