Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(66)

“How did you find out?” Tasia asked in astonishment.

“The other night after supper I heard Papa call you that, just as I was leaving the room. And I wasn't surprised, because I've always thought you were more than a governess. You can tell me the truth now—who are you, really?”

Tasia smiled ruefully as she stared into the girl's face. Emma's blue eyes were alight with curiosity. “My real name is Anastasia Kaptereva,” she admitted. “I was born in Russia. I had to leave my home and come to England because of some trouble I was involved in.”

“Did you do something wrong?” Emma asked incredulously.

“I don't know,” came Tasia's soft reply. “As strange as it sounds, I don't remember much about it. I'd rather not tell you any details. All I can say is that it was a terrible time in my life…but your father has convinced me that I should try to put it behind me, and look only to the future.”

Emma's long-fingered hand crept over hers. “Can I help you somehow?”

“You already have.” Tasia turned her palm and squeezed the girl's hand affectionately. “You and your father have taken me into your family. It's the most wonderful thing anyone could have done for me.”

Emma smiled at her. “I still don't know what to call you.”

“What about Belle-mère?” Tasia suggested. “That's how the French say Stepmother.”

“Belle means pretty, doesn't it?” Emma asked with a pleased expression. “Yes, that's a perfect name.”

“If only there had been time to have a proper wedding gown made,” Alicia lamented, helping Tasia put the finishing touches on her appearance. “You should have a fresh new gown of your own, not another old one of mine.” They had altered an ivory summer dress from Alicia's wardrobe, but the fit wasn't as perfect as it might have been. “At least you'll be married in white.”

“In this case, white is questionable,” Tasia said. “It would be more fitting if I wore a red dress. Scarlet red.”

“I'll choose to ignore that remark.” Busily Alicia fastened white roses on the thick braided coils at Tasia's nape. “Don't feel guilty, dear, if you, er, forgot yourself with Luke. Most women would, if they were alone with him for more than five minutes. He's an irresistible man…unless one happens to be married to Charles, of course.” Alicia pretended not to notice Tasia's blush, and continued to talk lightly. “It's strange, but I didn't like Luke at all when I first met him.”

“You didn't?” Tasia said in surprise.

“I suppose I was jealous of the way Charles worshipped him. Everyone in their circle repeated the clever things Stokehurst said, and talked about his latest escapades. None of them liked to make a move without asking his opinion first, even when they were deciding which girls to court! When I finally met him, all I could think was, ‘What a spoiled, self-centered young man. What in heaven's name do they all see in him?’”

Tasia laughed. “What caused you to change your mind?”

“I realized what a good husband he was to Mary. Remarkable, really. With her, Luke was considerate, tender—all the things that men are usually afraid to be, thinking they might appear weak in front of others. And he never looked at another woman, no matter how they threw themselves at him. I came to see the strength of character beneath Luke's arrogance. And then there was the accident…” Alicia shook her head in wonder. “Losing Mary, and being maimed for life…he had every right to be bitter and self-pitying. Oh, how Charles dreaded visiting him that first time! ‘Stokehurst will never be the same,’ Charles told me, just before he went to Luke's sickbed. ‘I don't think I can bear to see what's left of him.’ But Luke had become more of a man, rather than less of one. He told Charles that he didn't plan to waste time feeling sorry for himself, and he wanted no one's pity. He intended to honor Mary's memory by giving Emma a happy life, and teaching her that outward flaws didn't matter, because only the inside of a person's heart is important. Charles came home with tears in his eyes, and said he admired Lord Stokehurst more than any man he'd ever known.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Tasia asked, her voice husky.

“I suppose I'm trying to say that I approve of what you're doing, Tasia. I don't believe you'll ever regret marrying Stokehurst.”

Uncomfortably Tasia turned to check her hair in the mirror. She avoided the sight of her own tear-brightened eyes. “Until recently all I've allowed myself to think about are the Angelovskys, and the dreadful thing I may have done. I don't know what my feelings are about Lord Stokehurst. I can't put them into words yet. But I do know that I've begun to turn to him in a way I've never turned to anyone.”

“That's a promising beginning, I think.” Alicia stood back to look at Tasia. “Lovely,” she pronounced.

Tasia reached back to touch the flowers in her hair. “How many are there?”

“Four.”

“Could you pin on another, please?”

“There's not room, I'm afraid.”

“Then you must take one away. I'll wear either three or five.”

“But why?…Oh, yes, how could I have forgotten?” Alicia smiled as she recalled the Russian tradition. “An odd number of flowers for the living, an even number for the dead.” She glanced at the large arrangement of blossoms that Tasia would carry into the chapel. “Must I count your bouquet for you?”