“Nyet.” Lydia stomps her feet. “Mamen’ka and Papen’ka marry each other. No one else. Why can’t we ever be normal?”
“Lydia,” I say. “Calm. No one is marrying anyone.”
“That’s still not normal. Mamen’ka and Papen’ka are supposed to be married and in love.”
“I disagree with and disapprove of these wagers and gambles, too.” The princess comes closer to the vanity. “Did your mother raise a coward?”
“No, Patsy Wilcox did not raise a coward.”
“Hey, that’s other grandmother.” Lydia folds her arms. “She was nice.”
“And she had one husband, four children, one precocious son and three healthy but annoying girls.” The princess frowns at me and lifts my chin. “That’s normal. And you never know what life will give you. Don’t let the unknown frighten you. You’ll never be burdened by more than you can bear. I pray for that.”
She comes to me and extends her hand like a scepter. “You make my son happy, crazy, and thoughtful. Go make him joyful and want to keep living.”
“Jahleel is fine. He’s strong.”
“I left him in his study, packing away his treasured chess sets. Jasha lost his faith. Go help him find it. Come along, Lydia.”
“There’s too much …” I want to sayhurt, but Lydia’s giving me her sad eyes.
“You gave away Lada. Can’t we keep Papen’ka?”
“Katherine,” the princess says, “you are tied to him regardless. A new husband won’t solve anything. And why burden another woman and her mother with the scandal you made? Fix it. Fix it for me, for Lydia.”
She might as well have addedfix it for mother Russia.
The princess kisses my cheek. “You both deserve to make things right finally. Be brave for Patsy and me.”
She takes my daughter’s hand and waves me into action. Lydia crosses her fingers on both sets of hands and mouthsNormal.
I sit looking at the doorway to Jahleel’s adjoining room. I stay seated, then dig into the vanity for the papers Lord Ashbrook gave me. I read through them again and find the place with the missing date. If I dated it to Tavis and my wedding or even today, legally, this arrangement would be over.
Perhaps the most normal thing is to put a date on it and make my freedom official.
Yet with the quill balancing in my hand, I can’t write a jot. Instead, I crawl into bed, make a wish, and pray to see the future, to find my missing faith. Then I blow out the candle.
Chapter 41
KATHERINE—THEPARTYMUSTGOON
The sunset faded hours ago, but my window shows the torches blazing. They highlight the gardens. Mr. Steele and Scarlett took me to the churchyard at St. Pancras. I visited my parents, my brother, and my lost son. It was the first time since each had passed that I’d done it. I understand better why Jahleel goes there.
A timid tap sounds on the connecting door—my pulse ramps.
“May I enter?”
Jahleel. I haven’t seen him since yesterday as we waited through Thom’s surgery. “Yes.”
The door rattles and opens.
He enters, and my breathing becomes nonexistent. I’ve seen him dressing smartly every day with the best tailoring in cravats and waistcoats, but this is different. His coat looks like midnight, dark with hints of blue and dramatic pleats along the back that flare when he takes a step. The collar, edged with gold and black threading, appears regal. There’s a pattern to them that I see on his shirt. The ivory material of his cravat looks so soft. The diamond and ebony broach pinning it shimmers. A crimson sash of moiré silk reflects the candlelight like fire. Charcoal black breeches and slippers complete his attire. He looks like an admiral.
I take a step to him. “You wearing family orders tonight?”
“Da.” He moves forward with one hand behind his back. His other holds a shimmering cane. “My father’s orders and some symbols in reference to Gannibal. I am both.”
Taking a few more steps, the silver muslin floating about me rustles as I move. The exaggerated hem of at least six inches stays stiff. A beautiful wide circle edged in silk satin and embroidered with red and green threads forms roses and foxgloves.
