“It’s a good visual reminder of how Western culture is layered onto the traditional Russian landscape,” observed the earl. “But we shouldn’t be fooled into thinking that the veneer is more than skin deep. Russian aristocrats speak French and English better than they do Russian, they wear the latest fashions from Paris and London, but my sense is that their souls are Slavic, and we would do well to remember that.”
Arianna shut her book. “I couldn’t agree more. No matter what country or culture one visits, appearances can always be deceiving.”
The carriage turned down a side street and came to a halt in front of a magnificent townhouse. The front door was flung open, revealing yet another military officer dressed in gold-braided regimentals who rushed down the entrance steps to greet them.
Seeing a bevy of liveried servants lurking in the entrance foyer, Arianna murmured, “We shall need to establish our own house rules.”
“José will send all them packing as soon as we are moved in,” said Saybrook. Their head footman was a former partisan fighter from Spain whose intimidating appearance ensured that his requests were rarely disobeyed.
The earl offered his arm. “Shall we go in?”
Opulent didn’t begin to describe the interior of the residence. Brocade upholstery, heavy velvet drapes in rich jewel-tone colors, gilded Louis XIV furniture . . .
Arianna’s eyes were already beginning to ache.
“You must be starved after shipboard food!” A man—a chef by the look of his apron and toque—appeared, followed by a footman bearing a silver tray offoie graspiled onto tiny slivers of toast. Behind him was another servant whose tray offered a large bowl of caviar and three crystal glasses filled with a colorless liquid.
She guessed it was vodka.
“If you prefer something sweet instead of savory, I’ve also prepared a small selection of pastries.” The chef clapped his meaty hands, and another footman appeared with a platter of sugar-spun delicacies, followed by another bearing cakes slathered in whipped cream.
“At what hour would you like to dine?” he continued. “I have sturgeon and pheasant in the kitchens—”
“Thank you, but the ladies and I would prefer to freshen up before we begin to think of domestic arrangements.” Saybrook glanced around. “Perhaps you could leave your offerings in the dining salon until later.”
“As you wish, Milord.” He signaled the servants to retreat, and then gave a deep bow, and backed out of the entrance hall. “You have only to ring for service.”
His place was quickly taken by a majordomo. “If you will just follow me. Milord, I shall show the three of you to your rooms upstairs . . .”
“Ye gods.” Arianna took a seat on the sofa in their sitting room once they had finally chased out the retinue of maids who were plumping the bed pillows and down-filled duvets. “It appears that Alexander is prone to doingeverythingto excess.”
“A weakness,” agreed the earl after expelling a sigh. “Let us hope it’s not a fatal one.”
He secured the latch so they couldn’t be disturbed. “His mercurial temperament is the reason we’re here. Were he a stable, responsible ruler, he wouldn’t have allowed the bauble on which his throne is balanced to be stolen out from under his nose.”
Arianna admitted the truth of Saybrook’s words. Tsar Alexander’s boyish charm was endearing, and at times he was capable of showing resolve and courage. But of late, his behavior had become increasingly erratic.
Some rumors said it was because his soul was being gnawed away by guilt over his father’s assassination, which had allowed him to inherit the throne. They hinted thatAlexander turned a blind eye to the plot, as his father was mentally unstable and prone to delusional rages.
But still . . .
She rubbed at her temples, feeling a little overwhelmed on contemplating the challenges ahead.
“We’ll both think more clearly on a full stomach,” said Saybrook, as he sat down beside her. “And a good night’s sleep on a bed that isn’t tossing and turning.”
“Amen to that,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.
But a knock on the door made her sit bolt upright.
“Now what?” muttered Saybrook. After hesitating for a moment, he rose to answer it.
“Forgive me, Milord.”
Arianna was relieved to hear it was José, their head footman, not one of the myriad Russians roaming the corridors.
“This just arrived for Milady, and I thought you would wish to see it right away.”
Saybrook returned with a fancy packet dripping with ornate wax seals and colorful ribbons.
