In the days that followed, confined to the carriage and each other’s company, Marusia and Katherine touched on every possible subject at least once. Katherine learned about the rest of Dimitri’s family: about the oldest brother, Mikhail, who had died; about his two sisters, Varvara being one, and their families; about all the illegitimate children, who were as close and as well cared for as the legitimate ones; and about Dimitri’s Aunt Sonya, who according to Marusia was a female tyrant. No subject was sacred, even the Alexandrovs’ financial status. Textile mills, a glass factory, copper mines, as well as vast estates in the Urals with more than twenty thousand serfs, the summer residence on the shores of the Black Sea, the palace on the Fontanka in St. Petersburg, another in Moscow, Novii Domik—and these were just some of the family holdings.
Apparently Dimitri also had his own personal fortune, inherited from his mother, and numerous businesses scattered across Europe, which Marusia didn’t know much about. Vladimir, who did know, wasn’t volunteering any information. She mentioned only his ships in some detail—not one, but five—a castle in Florence, a villa in Fiesole, and a country manor in England, and the fact that Dimitri, until Mikhail’s death, had spent more time out of Russia than in it.
When they discussed serfs, Katherine discovered that use of the cane was not exclusive to the military colonies; even a torturing spiked collar was used by some landowners to enforce obedience in their serfs. She came to understand why the Alexandrov serfs were so fiercely loyal, and why they preferred to be owned than set free to earn dirt-poor wages in deplorable working conditions in the cities.
“Do you know what year this is?”
Marusia laughed, not needing an explanation for Katherine’s ridicule. “The tzars have talked of abolishing serfdom. Alexander wanted to. Nicholas too. How could they not when they see how backward we are in comparison with the rest of the world. But always they are given reasons why they should not, why this is not the time, why it is not possible—so many reasons.”
“You mean they succumb to pressure from the landowners, who refuse to give up their slaves,” Katherine sneered.
Marusia shrugged. “Thearistos… It is their way of life. People fear change.”
“But Dimitri is different,” Katherine remarked thoughtfully. “He’s not a typical Russian, is he?”
“No, and that is his mother’s doing. She influenced his younger years, at least until his father’s sister, Sonya, moved in. Then he had his very Russian aunt pulling him one way and his very English mother the other. And the two women hated each other, which only made matters worse. The Prince was raised in Russia, but he has never really forgotten his mother’s teachings, especially on the abomination of serfdom. Here is Russia, trying in every way to be westernized, yet clinging to the ancient custom of slavery, and it is not even a Russian custom. There were always peasants, true, but it was Ivan the Terrible who first bound them to the land so thoroughly that they lost the freedom to leave it at will.”
Katherine had much to think about during the trip, mostly that Russia was nice enough to visit as long as you didn’t see the cruelty and injustice beneath the surface. To have so much power in the hands of so few, and the vast majority tolerant of subjugation was inconceivable in this day and age. Good Lord, her father would have been in his element if he could have worked toward reform here. So much needed changing, too much for one person—no, that wasn’t true. The Tzar was an absolute ruler. If one man could turn thousands into serfs, another could free them.
It gave Katherine a headache to think about Russia. If this had been her country, she would have gone mad from the impotence of being able to do nothing about the conditions here. But then, if this were her country, she would probably have a different outlook. It was just fortunate she wouldn’t be here long. Why she had to stay at all was becoming a question she asked herself repeatedly. Just because Dimitri said so? Ha!
At the first posting house, where the horses were changed, Katherine reviewed her options on slipping away unnoticed. It wasn’t heartening to find there were none. Vladimir had obviously been given the responsibility of keeping her in his sights and out of the public eye as much as possible, and he took his duty seriously. Whenever he wasn’t around, Marusia or Lida or one of the other servants was.
There was even less opportunity for escape the few times they spent the night at a country estate belonging to acquaintances of Dimitri’s. There Katherine slept in the servants’ quarters with a half-dozen other women, on a hard pallet on the floor. She could have slept in the main house in a comfortable bed, though probably not alone. Dimitri did make the offer. But after learning the true plight of Russian servants, and feeling a new and unbridled anger that Dimitri had placed her in the same class, Katherine turned stubborn. If she was no better than the other servants, why should he make an exception for her? She wouldn’t have it. She would either be given her due or demand consistency. No more half measures. She had too much pride to accept the crumbs of his generosity, knowing what he really thought of her.
It felt good to pit herself against Dimitri again and have her will prevail. This high and mighty prince was not going to haveeverythinghis way. He might drag her off to the country and keep her prisoner there, but he couldn’t control her behavior. She was still Katherine St. John with a mind of her own, not some lackey afraid to disagree with him.
Chapter Twenty-three
Similar to the country estates passed along the way, yet on a much grander scale than anything Katherine had seen so far, Novii Domik, or New Cottage, was a surprise and a delight. She had almost been expecting some colossal mansion, considering what she now knew of Dimitri’s wealth, yet the Alexandrovs’ country home was not in the least pretentious. Half-hidden amidst a grove of trees, it was a sprawling two-story manor with wide-flung wings, the veranda and balcony supported by massive white columns. Typically Russian was the fretwork on the eaves and window shutters, an example of the most beautiful carving Katherine had ever seen.
Approaching the house, Katherine could see an avenue of lime trees leading to an orchard of apple, pear, and cherry trees. Closer to the house were flower gardens, a riot of color in late-summer bloom. In the back, beyond her view, a vegetable garden separated a variety of outbuildings from the house, and less than a half-mile away was the village.
Dimitri had not ridden ahead, though he had spent most of the trip on horseback and was impatient to be home. For the last several miles he had ridden alongside Katherine’s carriage. It was the most she had seen of him since they left St. Petersburg. Even at the posting houses he had managed to avoid her. She didn’t mind. She had become used to not seeing him on the ship. And whenever she did see him, she always experienced that rush of feeling that she could certainly do without.
Was he still displeased with her for insisting on sleeping with the servants again last night at his friend Alexey’s house? Of course he was. He was so easy to read when he was angry: the deep scowl, the tight-set lips, the little muscle that ticked along his jaw as he ground his teeth together, and the murderous look in his eyes when he happened to glance her way, as if he would like to wring her neck.
No wonder his servants feared him when he was like this. Katherine supposed she ought to fear him as well, but she couldn’t help being amused instead, at least in this instance. Dimitri was so like a little boy in his temper. He reminded her of her brother Warren when he was a child and the tantrums he would throw when he didn’t get his way. Ignoring Warren had broken him of the habit. Ignoring Dimitri wasn’t quite so easy. It was in fact impossible to ignore such a man. She could pretend to, but the truth was she was always aware of him, vitally aware. Even when she couldn’t see him, she knew when he was near.
When they reached the house, Katherine became uneasy, seeing so many people waiting there to welcome the master home. Worse, out of the four carriages in their cavalcade, hers had to be the one to stop directly in front of the house. Worse still, Dimitri ignored everyone, even his aunt waiting on the veranda, to open the carriage and drag Katherine out, up the stairs, and into the house. This is what she got for being amused by his temper—mortification.
In the wide entrance hall, Dimitri swung Katherine around to face him before he let go of her wrist. “Not a word, Katya!” he cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest such bizarre behavior. “Not a single word. I have had enough of your stubbornness, enough of your contrariness, and most definitely enough of your arguments. Here you will sleep where I put you, not where you want, not with the servants, but where I put you. “Vladimir!” Dimitri shouted over his shoulder. “The White Room, and see that she stays there!”
Katherine was incredulous. He actually turned his back on her then and walked back to his aunt. Dismissed. Treated like a child again—worse than a child!
“Why you—”
“Sweet Mary, not now,” Vladimir hissed in her ear. “He got it out of his system. His temper will improve now, but not if you challenge him again.”
“His temper can rampage perpetually for all I care,” Katherine hissed back. “He can’t order me about like that.”
“Can’t he?”
She started to contradict him, but snapped her mouth shut. Of course Dimitri could order her about. As long as she was in his blasted power, he could make her do anything he pleased. And out here in the country, surrounded by his people, she was most certainly in his power. Intolerable. Frustrating beyond belief. But what could she do?
Ignore him, Katherine. His behavior is beneath contempt anyway and not deserving of a reaction. Patience. Your time will come, and when it does, Dimitri Alexandrov will rue the day he met you.
Dimitri already rued the day he met Katherine. No woman had ever caused him such exasperation, and he couldn’t even claim that she made up for it in other ways. And there was little doubt that she did it deliberately, took pleasure in annoying him, delight in spiting him, and she did it so well. Ungrateful wench. But he was tired of humoring her and tired of losing his reason and control where she was concerned. He had only to glance around him to see what a fool he had just made of himself.
