“I’m aware of Prescott’s reason for being here,” responded Fitzroy. “And that I am to keep my role as Grentham’s operative a secret.”
“Then I assume you also know that Grentham doesn’t trust him,” answered the earl.
“Yes,” answered Fitzroy.
“Good. Because neither should you,” said Saybrook
Her brother looked pensive. “You think that his support of the conspiracy to overthrow Tsar Alexander may be real.”
‘We must assume it’s a possibility,” said Saybrook. “So tread carefully around him.”
“This cursed mission turns more convoluted by the moment,” muttered Fitzroy.
The earl got to his feet. “And given the little we’ve heard so far, unraveling it is going to require not only every skill we possess . . .” He swallowed the last of his brandy.
“But also a stroke of Luck.”
By the endof the next morning, Arianna wished that she could crawl back under the downy covers of their stately bed. A breakfast meeting in their mansion with one of the ambassador’s attachés concerning the protocol of the upcoming court presentation was followed by the requisite meeting with the grand mistress of the court at the Winter Palace.
Countess Litta was the niece and heir to Prince Potemkin, who, among other things, had been Catherine the Great’s favorite lover. The lady had been lovely in her youth but had grown quite stout—a fact she hid well by swathing herself in costly silks and glittering diamonds. But the folds of her fleshy face didn’t hide her shrewd gaze. Arianna recognized her as a formidable ally—or enemy—and did her best to pique the lady’s interest.
She guessed that the countess was bored to flinders by most of the ladies she met, and so dropped a few hints about her skill with chocolate.
“Chocolate?” Countess Litta’s eyes lit up.
“Indeed,” said Sophia. “Lady Saybrook is much admired for her culinary talents in creating sumptuous pastries and confections with chocolate. The Tsar is very fond of them.” A pause. “And so is Napoleon. While waiting for the British warship taking him to St. Helena to set sail, he sent word to her asking for a last box of bonbons as a token of sweeter times.”
“What a delicious story!”
The countess, thought Arianna, looked as though she feasted on gossip as well as gourmet treats.
“I don’t suppose you would care to sample some of my humble creations,” she murmured, looking up at the lady through her lashes. “After all, you have your choice of sumptuous treats from the finest French chefs.”
“As a gesture of goodwill between our two countries, I would be happy to sample your chocolate confections,” answered Countess Litta.
“I’m honored, Milady,” said Arianna. “Allow me a day or two to create something very special just for you.”
“I look forward to it,” replied the countess, and then dismissed them with a languid flick of her bejeweled fingers.
“Good heavens, what a dreadful woman,” whispered Sophia, once they were out in the corridor.
“But a useful one,” said Arianna. “I suspect she knows most of the secrets that swirl within these walls. And chocolate may tempt her to reveal some of them.”
A turn took them through the Neva Enfilade, a suite of State Rooms that afforded a magnificent view of the famous Neva River that ran alongside the palace. From there they descended the Ambassadors’ Staircase and walked through another grand corridor decorated with fanciful Baroque motifs. At last they reached the doors to the main palace courtyard, where a uniformed majordomo was waiting with Saybrook to take them to the Tsar’s private wing of the palace.
After passing through two archways, their party came to a set of massive oak doors guarded by a pair of Black Africans dressed in Turkish garb.
The majordomo murmured something in Russian, and the two guards snapped to attention and opened the portal.
They entered an anteroom lit by an ornate chandelier whose candles cast a flickering glow over the gilt-framed icons hung on the burgundy red walls. A thick oriental carpet silenced their steps as they moved to yet another door.
“My dear Lady Saybrook!” Tsar Alexander rose frombehind a massive desk and waved them forward as the majordomo led their party into the Imperial inner sanctum. “And Miss Kirtland—how lovely to see you both again!” He smiled at the earl. “And you, of course, Milord.”
Arianna and Sophia both dropped into a deep curtsey.
“Oh, please, we are dear friends, so let us not stand on ceremony,” said the Tsar as he hurried to greet them.
His blond curls were receding, observed Arianna, and his former slimness was giving way to a thickening middle.
