of satin-and-lace petticoats made a faint rustling noise when she moved, like fronds swaying in the breeze. For long moments, staring at her reflection in the mirror earlier, Allison had been quite transported by the idea of gliding round a ballroom in such a very beautiful garment. Beautiful but absurdly complicated, mind you. She’d had to fight the urge to ask Natalya for donning instructions.
Hooking the last of what seemed to be about a hundred tiny buttons, the maid had brought Allison firmly down to earth. ‘This is a very simple gown in which to attend the Winter Palace, but since the Emperor will not be in attendance, then it will suffice. Do you have no other jewels, madam, other than one locket?’
A disapproving purse of the lips was the response to Allison’s shaking her head. She had looked similarly disapproving at the dullness of Allison’s wardrobe when she had unpacked her luggage. ‘Perhaps madam intends to shop in St Petersburg,’ she had said. And when Allison had answered that she doubted she’d have need to, Natalya had looked positively shocked. ‘With mourning over, the children will be expected to attend any number of functions,’ she had said. ‘Catiche is old enough to make her debut appearance at the children’s balls, and you will be expected to accompany her.’
Children’s dances, for heaven’s sake! What other duties would she be expected to carry out? But with this very adult ball looming, Allison had decided it was better not to know, and to concentrate on surmounting each social hurdle as it arose.
There was no doubt that this was a social hurdle where the bar had been set very high, she had thought as their carriage arrived at the vast edifice that was the Winter Palace. Light blazed from all four sides of the courtyard as their carriage passed through the imposing arched entranceway, light which became positively blinding as they entered the palace itself, where someone removed their cloaks, and they joined the throng waiting to ascend the most magnificent double staircase of marble and gold that Allison had ever seen.
Which was where she was now standing, her eyes drawn upwards, past the double row of arched windows, the pilasters and statues, the profusion of gold-leaf laurel and acanthus leaves, to the ceiling, where cherubim and seraphim peeped down at her from puffy white clouds in a celestial blue sky.
The crowd was moving very slowly. Allison clutched at Count Derevenko’s arm, willing herself not to succumb to nerves. She had travelled over a thousand miles to reach this cosmopolitan city armed with questions, questions which she had been unable to ask the woman who appointed her, in the rush to make her arrangements. Questions which should have been answered by the man standing beside her this afternoon. And they had, most of them. Save one question so fundamental she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her until today. But which she could no longer ignore. ‘Why did you send all the way to England for me?’
The Count frowned down at her, raising his eyebrows at her peremptory tone. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
She would have missed it, were she not studying him so carefully, that tiny flicker in his eyes which told her he understood perfectly. ‘There must be any number of females right here in St Petersburg qualified to fulfil my role.’
‘You underestimate yourself, Miss Galbraith. I require a governess who is also a skilled herbalist. That is an elusive combination.’
‘But surely not unique in a city the size of St Petersburg. Was the previous governess also a herbalist? I presume the children are sickly, or perhaps suffering from some inherited malaise?’
‘You presume because The Procurer wasn’t specific?’
Allison nodded, her brow furrowed. ‘Was I mistaken?’
‘Miss Galbraith, this is hardly the time or place for such a discussion.’
‘Which confirms that there is a discussion to be had.’
He acknowledged this hit with a small smile. ‘You have a sharp mind.’
‘Yes, I do, so don’t attempt to pull the wool over my eyes.’ She treated him to her best Take your medicine or else, young man face. It didn’t work on this particular patient. He laughed. His eyes crinkled when he laughed. She bit her lip, determined not to soften her stance. ‘Well?’
‘Not here. No, please spare me another of your schoolmistress glares.’
‘The glare of a herbalist who wishes her patient to take his pill, actually.’
‘Does it work?’
‘Almost every time. And I should warn you, Count Derevenko, I’m an expert at detecting procrastination.’
‘I’m not procrastinating.’ They shuffled up two more steps. The Count pulled her closer, placing his lips disconcertingly close to her ear. ‘The truth is,’ he whispered, ‘that I cannot trust anyone in St Petersburg. I need an outsider...someone I can be sure has no connections to the court.’
They mounted another step. ‘Well, I certainly fit the bill on that score, but...’
Two more steps. ‘This really is not the time. Look, I promise that I’ll explain everything in due course. Trust me.’
‘Trust has to operate in both directions.’
He smiled enigmatically. ‘You can have no idea of the amount of trust I am about to invest in you, but for now, let us concentrate on making a success of your introduction into polite society.’ Count Derevenko ushered her up the final two shallow steps. ‘Your audience awaits, Miss Galbraith.’
* * *
She had enjoyed their verbal sparring, even if the Count had once again avoided answering her questions, but as they approached the wide-open double doors at the entrance to the ballroom, Allison’s confidence faltered, her stomach became queasy with nerves. She had never had cause to attend any ball, let alone a royal ball, but she was damned if she would fail at this, the very first challenge. A deep breath, a straightening of her shoulders and her nausea subsided.
As they stepped across the threshold, she realised how large a gathering she was about to face, and just how awe-inspiring the setting. The formal staircase was but an amuse-bouche, a mere taster for the magnificence of this ballroom, so elongated that Allison struggled to see where it ended. Two tiers of windows, one tall and arched, one square, faced each other across the expanse of dance floor, with massive marble Corinthian pillars spaced between each set. The walls themselves were plain, but the ornate, gilded and corniced ceiling was reflected in the intricate pattern of the parquet flooring. Light flooded the chamber from innumerable glittering chandeliers, and from the branches of candles which stood at each window. Aside from a few flimsy-looking gilded chairs upon which no one sat, the room was empty of furnishings and filled to the rafters with milling people.
People who glittered with diamonds and jewels in many forms and incarnations—ornate tiaras, necklaces, opulent rings, bracelets and bangles, military and ceremonial orders and medals. It was no wonder, she thought, resisting the urge to touch her grandmother’s simple gold locket, that Natalya had been horrified at her lack of baubles. She need not have worried about being overdressed. The gown, which she had thought so fussy, was almost puritan compared to most here, encrusted as they were with pearls and embellished with gold thread. And the men! Most were garbed in magnificent dress uniforms, tassels and sashes, boots so polished they reflected the light. ‘Is the entire Russian army present?’
She spoke flippantly, but Count Derevenko’s smile tightened. ‘The real soldiers, the ones who did the fighting, would be lucky to be given
