“Certainly not!”
“A shame. The more you are asked, the less it seems like an insult.”
“That will do, Marusia.”
A loud sigh, then a half-smile told Katherine that Marusia was not one to give up so easily. But she retreated for the moment.
“Did the Princess give you those?” She indicated the dresses draped over Katherine’s arm.
“I’m to clean and press them.”
Marusia almost laughed at the look of disgust mingled with determination that crossed Katherine’s features. “That is one thing you need not concern yourself with, my lady. I will give them to Maksim, Dimitri’s valet, and he will return them to you here. Anastasia need never know.”
“I’m sure he has enough to do already.”
“Not at all. He will also see to your own clothing, and you will let him, yes, because he is the one who had to attend the Prince these last four days, and he is the one who is most grateful to you for making peace with him. It will be his pleasure to help you in any way he can.”
Katherine grappled with her pride for about two seconds before handing over the dresses. “That yellow one is to be trimmed down to my measurements.”
“Oh?”
“The Princess wants to paint me in it.”
Marusia grinned to hide her surprise. Anastasia was presently mad at the world and taking it out on everyone. Marusia would have wagered she would have been particularly unpleasant to Little English and wagered too that a battle royal would have been the result.
“She must have taken to you,” Marusia commented, still grinning. “And her painting is really very good. It is her passion, second only to men.”
“So I understand.”
Now Marusia laughed. “So she told you about her numerous lovers?”
“No, just the one who got her banished from England, and the unfairness of it all.”
“She is young. To her, everything she disagrees with is unfair, especially her brother. All her life she has done as she pleases. Now suddenly her reins are pulled, and naturally she objects.”
“It should have been done sooner. Such promiscuity is unheard of in England.”
Marusia shrugged. “Russians look at such things differently. You have a queen who would frown on such things. We had a tzarina who set the mode by flaunting her lovers before the entire world. So did her grandson Alexander. And Tzar Nicholas was raised in the same court. Little wonder then that our ladies are not as innocent as yours.”
Katherine held her tongue, reminding herself that Russia was a different country, a different culture, and she had no right to judge. But good Lord, she felt like a babe being thrust into Babylon.
She had been shocked into speechlessness when she had listened to Anastasia’s complaints about being in disfavor with her grandmother over her little affair, as she called it, so much so that the Duchess had sent for Dimitri to take her home. It was then that Katherine had realized just who Anastasia was: the Russian princess who had been on every gossipmonger’s tongue earlier in the year. She had heard the story herself. She just hadn’t made the connection when Dimitri had mentioned the Duke of Albemarle to her.
The Duke was their uncle on their mother’s side. They were half English. Katherine should have felt better for knowing that. She didn’t. Blood counted for nothing when you were raised to barbarity.
Chapter Eighteen
“Katya?”
Katherine’s heart skipped a beat. She should have known better than to try sneaking past Dimitri’s open door. Blast him for leaving the door open.
Katherine smoothed the grimace off her face and glanced inside. He was seated at his desk, a stack of papers before him, a glass of vodka at his elbow. He had removed his coat, and the white shirt he wore lay open at his neck. He had lit the lamp on his desk because of the gloominess of the day, and the light cast his face in sharp relief, making the gold of his hair seem almost white. She made a point of looking away after that quick glance.
Katherine’s voice was impatient, clearly indicating that she didn’t appreciate being delayed by him. “I was going up on deck.”
“In the rain?”
“A little rain never hurt anyone.”
