“Of course. And here.” She takes up the flowers and shoves them into the crook of his arm. “Perhaps she’d turn up if you didn’t pelt her with grave flowers.”
“What? These are the pride of every Russian heart. Bold yellow creations. I grow them in my garden. They’re tended until full bloom and fragrant. A chrysanthemum is delicate.” He sniffs. “Picked too soon, they have little scent.” He wobbles, trying to show them to her, then stops. “But these are ripe and remind me of the gardens of the Winter Palace.”
“You chose a woman from London. Not a Russian. She may not think of them this way. Instead of delighting in what you think is romantic, maybe you should ask her.”
He frowns. “You know her better than I do?”
“She’s not hiding from me. Try roses or scentless hibiscus. She’s Jamaican descended. Those petals might make her more amenable to your charm, rather than reminding her of death.”
He tucks the flowers back under his arm. “I’ll take this under consideration. But I doubt that the viscountess will ever look at me and not think of death.”
He goes back into his chambers.
The princess opens the closet door. “Now get out of there and out of these rags. I’ll have my maid put some ointment on these bruises. What time is your reading appointment?”
“Ten.”
“Good. Soak in a bath. And when you see him, tell Jasha what’s happening. Try working together to solve your problem.”
“What? But I can’t.”
“You married a man from Russia. He must feel useful. The one from London wasn’t useful at all. Jasha told me.”
Tavis had problems, but he was my friend. My head drops again. “Thank you for helping. And I do like roses and hibiscus.” I smile and then look at all the new things. “I can’t wear any of this tonight. The modistes must’ve taken my other dresses. Your son hates gray.”
“Like you hate chrysanthemums. I have something you can wear that’s perfect to put on for reading. His mind will be on St. Petersburg or what book you pick, nothing else.”
She leaves, and I sit at the vanity, waiting for a bath and the scent of death to disappear.
Chapter 24
JAHLEEL—WHAT’SUPWITHTHATWOMAN?
Lydia joins me for dinner in my chambers. The grin on her face and the light in her mirror-black eyes delight me.
“Papa Duke,” she says, “I taught Lada to wiggle-walk a little.”
“Wiggle-walk? What is that?”
“She just has to hop a little and wiggle her bottom, and then she can get in and out of her basket. She needs a little help.”
“So you’re taking care of Katherine’s kitten?”
“Yes. Mr. Steele and I share. It’s a big responsibility.”
“Why isn’t your mother taking care of her cat?”
Lydia’s head tilts, and she has the expression that Katherine often gives me, a you-said-something-silly look. “She has to work.”
The woman doesn’t need to work. And it’s dark. She should be here. “Have you seen her today?”
“Yes. She stopped by the library. She didn’t come on time, but she came.” She sips her tea, then looks down. Her voice lowers. “That’s something.”
“What’s wrong, my dorogaya?”
“Katherine wasn’t too happy.”
Stretching, I lift her to my lap. “Tell your papen’ka. Maybe I can make it better.”
