"Does it mean nothing, that we have always taken care of you Stephanoffs, that you have always had your home with us?" he said, trying to use guilt to reach her. "Where has your loyalty gone?"
"Loyalty?" Maria scoffed. "You lost mine years ago when you threatened me, Ivan, over my daughter's leaving. Or did you think this old woman would ever forget that? What you have had since then is mere apathy on my part, since there is no other band that I cared to join. But we come again to the crossroads, of one of mine needing to go her own way, and she will not be hindered in this."
"Maria—"
"No!" she cut in sharply. "There is no more to say, except this. I have given my life in service to you and yours, but it is over. If you don't want me dying with a curse on my lips that will follow you until the end of your days, you will bid your farewells to my granddaughter and wish her happiness in the path she has chosen. Good fortune will still be yours as long as you are wise enough not to interfere with love."
It was a sop for him to salvage his pride and walk away with dignity. This he did with a curt nod to first her, then Anastasia. His son had no dignity to begin with, however, so it was not surprising that he spat on the ground at Maria's feet before he stalked off.
Anastasia had gotten to her feet when Maria arrived. She put her arm around her shoulders now to help her back to their wagon. She could feel her weakness, hear her labored breath, now that the confrontation was over.
"You strained yourself," she scolded. "I thought we agreed that I would handle that."
"You would deny me my last great fury?"
Anastasia sighed. "No, of course not. Did you at least enjoy it?"
"Immensely, child, immensely. Now, where is this husband of yours? Why isn't he with you?"
At which point, considering what she must answer, Anastasia promptly burst into tears.
It was still morning, but Anastasia had put her grandmother to bed. There was very little life's essence left in Maria now. Anastasia could feel none as she sat there and held her cold hand.
A death vigil. She knew that was what this was. Sir William shared it with her, standing silently behind her, his hand on her shoulder. It was all she could do to assure Maria that she would be fine, when she had no idea if that would be so, when she was trying to deal with her grief as well. Yet it all needed saying.
"He holds himself unaccountable for what he did while he was drunk last night," Anastasia said in answer to why the marquis wasn't there with her. "He thought I agreed to be his mistress, and he was delighted with that assumption. He refused to believe he'd married me instead. He actually thought I would lie about such a thing."
"So you think he didn't really want you?" Maria asked. "After meeting him, I know this isn't so."
"He wants me, just not for his wife. Which is fine. I aspired too high, apparently, to the likes of him. I will be wiser next time."
"Next time?" Maria chuckled softly. "There will be no next time."
Anastasia misunderstood. "Then I will remain without a husband. It makes no difference to me," she tried to assure Maria. "The English lord, he served the purpose we needed. I am no longer promised to Nicolai because of him. For that, I am grateful."
The old woman smiled. "You have a husband. You will keep that husband."
"I don't want him now," Anastasia tried to insist, though she was never very good at lying, and particularly to Maria, who could unravel a lie so easily.
"You do."
"Really, Gran, I don't. And besides, as soon as he finds proof that we married, other than my word, which he would not believe, he'll have the marriage dissolved quicker than it takes to blink."
"He won't."
Anastasia sighed, but then chuckled wryly. "Very well, I am sure you have good reason to be so stubborn about this. Why won't he divorce me?"
"Because you showed him light, daughter of my heart. He won't go back to the darkness that was his before he met you. He is not a complete fool, though it may seem otherwise to you just now. It may take him a while to figure this out. You need only wait, and be prepared to forgive him when he comes to his senses."
"Or nudge him a bit, to hurry him along," Sir William suggested.
Anastasia swung around in surprise at the Englishman's unexpected remark. "I would not ask you to speak with him, William."
"Nor would I be so presumptuous," he said in his stiff English way. "He is a marquis, after all, while I'm merely a lowly knight."
"Then how would you go about nudging a marquis?" Maria questioned.
William grinned, somewhat conspiratorially. "I could take her to London, dress her in fine gowns, introduce her as my niece. It would show that young pup that appearances and origins mean very little in the end, that happiness is all that really matters."
