My heart seizes, squeezing to nothing as she stands before me like a stranger. Her grandmother keeps her walking straight at me to escape.
This woman will raise my child. She’s Lydia’s guardian, and my lies give her no reason to be lenient. “Lady Hampton,” she says in a cool tone.
“My apologies, ma’am.” I block the path and humble myself, kneeling to Lydia’s small height. “I’m so sorry.”
My arms open wide to hug her, but Lydia stands still like a statue.
She’s so upset; her rich brown cheeks are red. She could get sick. Dropping my hands, I glance at the white rya carpeting, which hides the dark mahogany like it’s ugly or a mistake. “May I comfort you in this moment?”
“Nyet.” She reviles me and hurries past.
“Time. We all need time. Even the woman who took yearsfrom my son.” The princess shakes her head and chases after my daughter. Their shoes click along the corridor and then become silent. Then there’s nothing but the moan of tears.
My heart lodges in my throat. It should strangle me.
“Come inside, Katherine.” Scarlett brings a teakettle like it’s a censer or fumigator pot. It scents the room with earthiness, spice, and even sweetness. I want it to cleanse the hard feelings—the deserved hard feelings that Jahleel must have for me. She lets the red-colored tea sit in a bowl on a close bed table. A ladle lies there, too, ready to serve.
Scarlett’s eyes have rings. She doesn’t rest.
Jahleel’s gaze seems to move, up to the colorful ceiling. His lips are so pale. A day or two without sun always robbed him of color. Tiny memories of him and us, lying together looking up at the sky, bubble up from my soul. His smile was lazy and full as I curled into his arms by the Neva River.
I’ll never forget the way he cradled me, so strong and tight, or how I cradled him in the dacha by the river. We’d just loved each other in the dark; then he trembled from the pain of this sickness.
“Katherine, come in or go out. I want the temperature to be consistent. Stephen is afraid of the duke catching pneumonia.”
My sister sounds as serious and angry as Lydia. I shake free of the past, step fully inside, and pull the door closed. Thethudsays it’s too late to run.
Scarlett ladles Jahleel some of her tea. The molasses smell floats to me. My sister brews hope and strength in her pots.
He slurps slowly, finishing about half a cup’s worth. “More. You need more, Your Grace, for a proper dose.” Her voice is so gentle. Too gentle. It scares me.
“Nyet, my dear.” He pushes the ladle away. “I wish to be lucid a little longer.” He winces and offers a moan. I remember that sound and the way his lips pressed together as he buried himself in our love.
“Not dead yet, Lady Hampton. Don’t look so hopeless. It can still happen.”
“No. Sorry. This room. It is so huge. And it mirrors where we spent our wedding night at the Winter Palace.”
“Admitting to such in front of a witness? Are you sure, Madame Carew, that I’m awake? Dreams can be vivid and filled with deception.”
“You’re awake, Your Grace.” She groans, maybe grinding her teeth. “Very awake.”
Why couldn’t this be a cold or the seasonal sneezing he proclaimed … not the thing that killed Mama?
“Lady Hampton, I’m not at my best. Say what you came to say. Or leave knowing that, for now, the father of your living child still breathes. Cross this visit off your busy list and be gone. Do svidaniya.”
“Jahleel, don’t joke. I’m not thinking of work.”
“No jest here,” he says. “I’m sure there’s coal to be sold.” He tugs at his robe like he wishes to be free of it. “Madame Carew, send for Steele. I want a bath. A change of clothes.”
Scarlett tucks the covers about him. “When my husband returns, we will consider it. He didn’t think it wise yet.”
Jahleel flings his head back like he’s tired of everything.
Beneath the robe peeks the collar of a nightshirt. Jahleel never slept in one. Brazen nakedness was how he wished it. No wonder we had twins so quickly.
Feeling fevered from the images of him, me, and St. Petersburg, I fan my face and then drop my silly hands to my side. “I need to be useful to you.”
Stepping around my sister, I lean over him and free one shoulder out of the fine white linen sleeve.
