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Chapter 13
In a day of reunions, I’m ready when Sergei finally comes for me. Like the darkness descending beyond the windows, he appears in the doorway of the small sitting room long after everyone else has left.
“Ellen. Did you sleep all right?” he asks, crossing the threshold. “Was the room to your liking—”
“I’m not taking your bait,” I say, cutting to the chase. “If you want to tell me about my family, or my mother—fine. But I won’t beg you to—”
“Understandable.” He comes to stand beside me and gestures to one of the vacated chairs. “Shall we sit? Don’t worry. I will not mention mybait, as you so put it. Whatever you ask, I am more than willing to answer.”
I copy him warily, perching myself on the chair Anna occupied. It’s still warm.
“How did you know my mother? I’ve already heard the abridged version from Mischa,” I add. “But I want to hear it straight from you.”
“Marnie Winthorp…” His eyes darken thoughtfully, and he cocks his head. “Should I say that I raped her? Tortured her? Beat her? I’m sure Mischa has filled your head with all sorts of sordid scenarios—”
“Just tell me the truth,” I say tiredly. “I want… No, Ineedto hear it from you.”
“Well, I never touched her. We never hurt her. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Ivan.”
“But you took her from her family,” I point out. “From her daughter.”
“Yes.” He nods, turning his gaze to the window. “There was that. But you can rest assured that Ivan didn’t force himself on her if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Hope forms a painful ball at the base of my throat. It’s nearly impossible to speak. “How do you know that?”
He shrugs. “Because he loved her. More than I have ever seen him love anyone short of his own daughter. Even his first wife. While he cared for her, Marnie Winthorp had that man’s soul in the palm of her hand.”
It’s strange, hearing it said so starkly out loud. I try to pair the two people I know: gnarled Vanya with beautiful, innocent Marnie. No matter how I arrange their imaginary specters, I can’t see it clearly.
“But he let her go back to Robert Winthorp,” I say.
“She was recaptured, yes.” Sergei sighs. “You will have to ask him why he didn’t rescue her, but do not doubt that he loved her.”
“Did…” I swallow hard and force the question out. “Did he know about me?”
“I don’t think so,” Sergei admits. “But knowing my brother… I don’t see him being content to let you grow up in that place.”
A part of me wants to take comfort in that. At least until I recall how he was with Anna. Why go after one daughter when he clearly had another? One he raised and loved wholeheartedly.
“So what do you want with me now?” I demand.
Sergei holds out his hands defensively. “Nothing. I merely want you to learn about your family, the Vasilevs. Learn our ways.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Even with Anna back?”
“Anna…” It’s like he takes his time, mulling over the most polite phrasing possible. “Who knows what the Winthorps did to her. Is it really fair to ask her to helm so much so soon?”
“But I can?”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he settles into his chair and observes the ornate lawn visible beyond the window. Moonlight ghosts the foreign landscape, making it seem more ethereal than real.
“I want you comfortable here, Ellen,” he says after a moment. “I won’t ask anything of you for a few days. Explore. Ask questions. Have the run of the entire manor.” Grunting, he pulls himself to his feet and heads for the door. “How did you find your room?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” He meets my gaze with a searching look of his own and then steps into the hall. From it, his voice reaches me. “It was your mother’s. I hope to see you at dinner. I’ve ordered my chef to prepare a banquet. A celebration of sorts, but I will understand if you prefer to have it brought to you instead.”
I say nothing, listening to his steps retreat.
