Forever in Your Embrace (46 page)

“I did nothing more than tell His Majesty that the colonel was in danger. After that, he took matters into his own hands. The Englishman had already won the tsar’s favor and respect by his own merits. Quite clearly, ’twas that fact alone which prompted his Highness to fly to his side.” Nikolai glanced askance toward the chamber wherein the tsar held unofficial court and hastened to advise, “We mustn’t delay any longer, my lady. Tsar Mikhail is waiting to speak with you.”

Synnovea took a deep breath, hoping to settle her restive nerves, and entered upon the major’s arm. Her gaze flitted about the large room until she found Tyrone standing at attention just to the left of the tsar’s chair. He made no attempt to glance around in her direction but maintained his stoic reticence as Mikhail beckoned her forward. Drawing near, she sank into a deep curtsy and waited in trembling silence while Major Nekrasov took his leave.

“Synnovea, I have made several decisions concerning your future,” His Majesty announced. “I hope you’ll not find them too burdensome.”

“Your will is my command, Your Majesty,” Synnovea answered, her voice declining in strength until her last words were barely audible. She had no idea what lay in store for her, but she was resolved to find no fault with what was commanded of her. At the very least she expected to be sent to a monastery.

“I have decreed that you and the colonel shall wed….”

Astounded by his revelation, Synnovea jerked her head up to stare at him. Then, just as quickly, she looked around to see Tyrone’s response. He stood ramrod-straight and stubbornly refused to meet her shocked gaze, though the muscles in his sun-bronzed cheeks tensed and flexed in his attempt to check any outward show of abhorrence.

“…Before the week is out,” Mikhail continued, allowing her hardly enough time to catch her breath. “You’ll be married in my presence day after the morrow. That should give you both time to decide several matters concerning your quarters. ’Tis unthinkable that a Russian
boyarina
should live in the German district. Therefore, Synnovea, you may ask the Countess Andreyevna if she will accommodate your new marital status as a personal favor to me. Assuming that she’ll agree, I’ll deem the matter already settled. Once the ceremony has been concluded, you and Colonel Rycroft may celebrate as you see fit. I’m sure Natasha would enjoy making much of the occasion, and though the colonel is still indisposed with his back, I would urge you both to participate in such a way as to make it seem a festive occasion to alleviate the possibility of damaging rumors being circulated among my boyars. It isn’t often that the Tsar of all the Russias personally initiates the union of two of his favored subjects. You may consider my attention in this affair as a personal compliment to you both. To celebrate, I shall order a midday banquet to be held here in the palace soon after the nuptials are performed. Now, are there any concerns you wish to voice?” He waited as each made a negative reply, and then smiled as he bade, “Then you may go.”

Together they paid homage, Synnovea with a sweeping curtsy and the colonel by a painfully executed bow. Tyrone shifted his gaze in her direction, briefly assessing the beauty of his intended, but without word or other form of acknowledgment, he turned crisply to make his exit from the room.

“Colonel Rycroft.” Mikhail’s voice brought that one to an abrupt halt. “I hope you’ll consider how fortunate you are to be gaining such a winsome bride and treat her accordingly. Is it not proper for a gentleman of your country to graciously escort his betrothed upon his arm and make a show of cherishing her, especially while there is an audience in attendance? If there is no such requirement in your country, then I shall deem that circumstances warrant such care here in this land. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty,” Tyrone replied succinctly and, stepping beside the countess, stiltedly presented his arm as he faced the door.

Synnovea could sense his roiling displeasure at having to extend any show of chivalry toward her and found it terribly ironic that he had come to loathe her, while she, during either her contrived seduction or her initiation into sensual pleasures, had fallen under the colonel’s bewitchment and was now thoroughly infatuated with the very one she had singled out to be her victim.

“Is your coach still outside?” Tyrone inquired as they entered the antechamber.

“Yes,” she answered softly, “but you needn’t escort me out if you find the task too burdensome.”

“I’ve been ordered by Tsar Mikhail to show you favor,” Tyrone jeered icily, “at least while we have an audience. Until we find ourselves alone, I’ll try to comply with the directive he has given. ’Twould seem I’ve little choice if I want to leave here in good graces with His Majesty.”

Tyrone came to abrupt attention as the field marshal strolled through the front door. With a crisply executed salute, the colonel greeted the Russian, who passed them with a casual wave. No movement came from Tyrone as the man departed, and Synnovea glanced up to find her escort standing in rigid silence. The color had drained from his face, and the muscles in his lean cheeks had tightened to an intensity that clearly conveyed the fact that he was silently enduring a moment of intense pain.

“Are you all right?” she whispered in concern.

He nodded rigidly and, with a slight twitch of his shoulders, reclaimed tenacious control of his bearing. But now he moved at a much more deliberate pace as they passed through the front portal.

Managing the steps with only a wince or two, Tyrone handed her into the waiting coach and, closing the door, stepped back with an abbreviated gesture to Stenka. As the conveyance rumbled away from the palace, Synnovea leaned back against the seat, biting a quavering lip and squeezing her eyelids tightly shut against the tears that flooded upward within her. Despite her effort to stem the tide, they trickled down her cheeks in widening channels. One could say she had made her bed and now would have to lie in it, but it gave her no pleasure to think that there was so much resentment bound up in the man who was about to become her husband.

When the carriage arrived at the Andreyevna mansion a short time later, Natasha was at the front portal, anxiously awaiting her return. Synnovea choked out a lame excuse and, with an unchecked torrent of tears, rushed past the woman. Once she gained the safety of her chambers, she found herself confronted by Ali and a barrage of dismayed questions.

“Oh, me lamb! Me lamb! What has broken yer heart so?”

Bidding the maid to leave her, Synnovea fell across the bed and sobbed in bleak misery until she felt totally drained of emotion. The delicate eyelids grew swollen and seemed to scratch her eyes as she sought sleep as an escape from her anguish, but such a respite was not within reach. Thus, for a time she stared listlessly toward the window, dismally taking distant note of the brightly colored leaves fluttering to earth beyond the panes of glass. Sometime later, a light rap came upon the door of the anteroom, and in solemn dejection Synnovea went to let Natasha into the chambers.

“I couldn’t wait a moment longer.” The woman searched the reddened eyes with grave concern as she begged excusal for the interruption. “Dear child, what has happened to bring you to this end? Have you been banished from court?” A lame shake of the beautiful dark head gave tacit answer. “Denounced by the tsar?” A slash of a slender hand negated such an idea. “Sentenced to a nunnery?”

“Not anything so trivial,” Synnovea whispered miserably.

Natasha lost her aplomb. Catching the girl by the shoulders, she shook her as she demanded in desperation, “Good heavens, child! What has His Majesty decreed your sentence to be?”

Synnovea gulped back another torrent of tears and carefully pronounced each word as she gathered them together in a strained reply. “His Majesty, Tsar Mikhail, has ordained that Colonel Rycroft should marry me ere the week is out.”

“What?” Natasha almost shrieked the word out in sudden jubilation. “Oh, great sainted mother! How could he have been so clever?”

Synnovea frowned at her friend through a new wealth of tears. “You don’t understand, Natasha. Colonel Rycroft hates me, just as you said he would. He wants nothing to do with me, and he’s especially loath to take me to wife.”

“Oh, my dear child, lay aside your grief and dismay,” the older woman cajoled. “Don’t you see the way of it? The colonel’s anger will surely soften in time. A man can hardly ignore a woman who is his wife.”

“He detests me! He loathes me!” Synnovea declared glumly as she returned to her bedchamber. “He didn’t even want to escort me from the palace! ’Twas only by the tsar’s mandate that he did so.”

“He will change,” Natasha reassured her enthusiastically, following in her wake. “When are the nuptials?”

“Day after tomorrow. His Majesty also asked if you’d consent to let us both stay here with you.”

Natasha chortled as she stroked a finger thoughtfully across her chin. “Never let it be said that Tsar Mikhail isn’t shrewd and wise enough to handle Russia’s affairs on his own. Why, just by this edict alone he has shown his ability to manage matters wisely.” She smiled into Synnovea’s teary eyes and tried to encourage her. “For a time your rage and aversion to each other will punish you both, but when your anger has been spent…” She lifted her shoulders in a lighthearted shrug. “Only God can foresee the end of all things, my dear. We can only bide our time and hope for the best.”

Natasha returned to the anteroom and opened the outer door, where Ali was still anxiously fretting. The elder’s sad eyes and deeply wrinkled countenance evidenced the distress she was presently suffering. Natasha smiled down at the servant and, taking the frail hand into hers, drew Ali into the bedchamber, where her mistress sat staring dejectedly out the window.

“You’ll never guess, Ali,” Natasha said in a cheery tone. “Colonel Rycroft has been commanded by the tsar to take your mistress to wife.”

The wispy brows jutted upward in surprise as Ali glanced toward Synnovea. “Ye don’t say!”

“Ah, but I do,” Natasha reassured her. “In fact, they’re to be wed day after the morrow.”

“So soon?” Ali squinted up at her in surprise. “Are ye sure?”

“Your mistress has said as much herself.”

“Then why is me lamb so put out?” Ali was genuinely perplexed, for she couldn’t understand why any woman would grieve about her forthcoming marriage to such a fine specimen of a man.

“A mystery, to be sure, but her lamentations are bound to turn to joy, do you not agree, Ali?” Natasha paused briefly to receive the tiny woman’s eager nod. “ ’Twill only be a matter of time. But we must plan a celebration to mark the event! The colonel must encourage his friends to come, while we shall invite our own.” Natasha laughed with the sheer excitement of it and clapped her hands together in glee. “I’m almost tempted to ask Aleksei to the nuptials just to see him suffer, but I fear his presence would only provoke the colonel, and we cannot have that.” Natasha leaned near the widely grinning servant as she continued to voice an avalanche of conjectures. “Of course, you know Princess Anna will probably be utterly devastated when she returns to find the couple already wed. When last I saw her, she was absolutely in a snit over Colonel Rycroft petitioning the tsar for Synnovea’s hand. If not for her, the couple might have already been wed.”

“Go away, the two of you!” Synnovea groaned in wretched misery. “You’re both making light of all of this, but I’m so distraught I shan’t able to sleep for a whole year!”

“Then we’ll leave you to mourn in solitude,” Natasha replied, completely bereft of sympathy. “Ali and I will be happy to do all the planning while you’re indisposed.” She paused in the anteroom to glance back at the younger woman. “Where are the vows to be spoken? Did you think about that?”

“His Majesty made the decision for us. They’re to be said in his presence at the palace.”

Natasha again clapped her hands together in glee, like a small child anticipating a confection. “Then we’ll have to find you a rich gown to wear in honor of the occasion. You must look your best for both the tsar and the colonel.”

“I don’t think either of them will care what I look like, especially the colonel,” Synnovea retorted morosely.

“Nevertheless, you must be outfitted in a grand manner if you’re to arouse a warm response from your groom.”

Ali was eager to report, “Me mistress had settled on a
sarafan
for her wedding to Prince Dimitrievich. ’Tis prettier than anything she can have made or perhaps find in so short a time. ’Twill do her justice, a pink one nearly as comely as she.”

“The day will be fair,” Natasha proclaimed, heaving a contented sigh, “and the bride shall be absolutely breathtaking….”

Absolutely breathtaking!
Major Nekrasov mused after witnessing Synnovea’s entrance into the palace’s antechamber. She had entered with the two older women fussing attentively over her costume as they followed closely behind. Her
sarafan
of heavy, pale pink satin was beautiful beyond compare. The long, slightly flaring sleeves and lower skirt were embellished with elaborate scrolls of gold-silk stitchery and masses of tiny pearls. Lending immeasurable elegance to her appearance was the elaborate
kokoshniki
which was encrusted with the same lustrous jewels interspersed with tiny loops of delicately corded pink satin. Strings of delicate seed pearls hung in a generous fringe over her forehead to a length that all but brushed the sweeping eyebrows. The dainty tassels swayed gently with her movements, and though no further ornament was needed to emphasize the stirring splendor of her face, pearl teardrops hung from delicate diamond clusters that adorned her earlobes. She was so radiant that Nikolai was wont to believe that the tiny flames dancing atop the tapers bowed in humble awe. Indeed, her beauty was such that even a reluctant bridegroom would be bedazzled, for no man could turn a cold shoulder to such perfection. As for himself, Nikolai knew he’d always be smitten, though his heart pined in remorse at the realization that another man would soon be claiming her for his own.