“Three months, Jahleel?”
“Three months. That should be long enough to find you a man worthy enough to be your husband, and me a new wife. We will confer on prospects. And you’ll entertain me as my generous mistress. Then I, the princess, Lydia, and my new bride will go to St. Petersburg in the autumn.”
This was a compromise. All these changes in three months. I don’t know if it’s possible.
The door to his bedchamber bursts open.
Lydia barrels inside. She shrieks, pointing to the empty bed.
In a blink, I’m running to her. “Calm, dearest.”
“You said he was better. You lied.”
“No, darling.” I hold her against me. “He’s right there. Your Papa is doing much better.”
“Lidochka!Come to me.”
She breaks free of my embrace and runs to him.
Jahleel puts Lada on the floor but struggles to pick up Lydia. “I’m alive.”
“Papen’ka.”
His arms wrap about her like she’ll disappear. He sobs. “I never thought I’d hear you say that again.”
He’s weaker than he’s pretending to be. Though he lives this time, the sickness keeps ravaging him. I wanted to believe he was fine, but I’ve robbed him and Lydia. There’s no way to give back time.
My kitten knows I’m about to implode in grief. She nips and purrs at his shoes. My throat closes as I bend and pick up my kitten. I squeeze out, “I’ll let you two enjoy each other.”
Lydia wraps her arms around his neck so tightly that I almost fear Jahleel can’t breathe. Then I hear my child, my baby girl, say, “Make her go. Banish her. She’ll find a way to keep you from me.”
“Don’t say that, dorogaya. And I don’t have those powers here.”
“What about St. Petersburg? Take us there. You talked about how happy you were when you were there.”
His gaze lifts to me. “I have to fix things here before I go.”
Was that another way to say he’s still going to die?
Head bowed, I go to the door. “I accept our deal, Jahleel.”
With tears dripping down my face, I leave them. Any time is better than none.
Chapter 19
KATHERINE—MISTRESSTIME
Peeking at my father’s pocket watch, rubbing my fingers over the silver inlay, his etched initials, and Mama’s, I pace in the comfortable but smaller room that I’m assigned at Anya House. The princess is now in possession of the guest room I once used regularly.
This bedchamber—I can’t tell if it truly was for a mistress, an unloved wife, or some sort of nursery.
Its furnishings are mismatched and old—old, not in antiques but as in old—a little worn, a little scratched.
I’m not complaining; it merely reflects my reduced status. I’m lucky to be allowed in Anya House or anywhere near Jahleel and Lydia.
The ticking isn’t my repentant heart but the watch in my palm. The slim hands announce twenty minutes to ten.
My chance to change my dress has expired. He’ll get a woman returning from the other side of the Thames, one who’s finished the ledger accounts of Wilcox Coal.
