Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(36)

Troubled, Emma rang for a maid, and soon a small woman appeared. She was Emma's age, perhaps a little older, with thick, braided chestnut hair and intelligent gray eyes. She spoke English quite well, and identified herself as Rashel Fyodorovna.

“I like your name, Rashel,” Emma remarked as the maid began to unfasten the complicated scheme of hooks and buttons at the back of her wedding dress. “Is it the Russian version of Rachel?”

“Yes, Your Highness. My mother named all her children from the Bible. I have two brothers, Matfei and Adamka, and a sister, Marinka.”

“Matthew, Adam, and…Mary?” Emma guessed.

“Miriam,” the maid corrected, helping Emma step out of the dress as it collapsed in a heap on the floor. Expertly she lifted the billowing yards of silk and carried it to a nearby chair.

“Are your brothers and sister still in Russia?” Emma held her breath as Rashel unhooked her stays.

“No, Your Highness. They are all here, working for Prince Nikolas. We came with him after…after…” The maid paused, searching for a tactful way to express herself.

“After he was exiled,” Emma said bluntly.

Rashel nodded, the corners of her mouth curving in a smile. “It is good that you speak so plainly, Your Highness. Russians like directness. Shall I unpin your hair?”

“Yes, please.” Emma sat down at a dressing table, clad in her linen undergarments. Carefully the maid unfastened the white roses from Emma's ruddy curls and began to unplait her hair, using a silver-handled brush to smooth one section at a time. “Did you want to come to England with Nikolas?” Emma asked. “Or did you have a choice?”

“Oh, yes, my family wanted to come. We belong to the Angelovskys, you see. Not by law, of course, since the serfs were liberated by Tsar Alexander fifteen years ago. But my family, the Sidarovs, has served the Angelovskys for more than a hundred years. We felt it was right to follow Prince Nikolas wherever he close to go.”

“I'm sure he appreciates your devotion,” Emma said, although she suspected that Nikolas, with all his arrogance, probably took it for granted.

Rashel shrugged cheerfully. “We will always stay with him, if it pleases God. Prince Nikolas is a good master.”

“That's reassuring,” Emma muttered.

The maid paused in her brushing and sighed thoughtfully. “There are times when I miss Russia. Prince Nikolas never seems to, but I think he must. What a life he had there! He was even richer than the tsar. Twenty-seven palaces, and land everywhere. Once he gave his younger brother, Prince Mikhail, a mountain for his birthday.”

“A mountain?”

“Yes, a beautiful one in the Crimea.” Rashel concentrated on a snarl, brushing gently until it was gone. “We had a life in Russia you could scarcely imagine, Your Highness. Sometimes I ache to see it again. But we have a saying…‘It does not matter where you live, just so long as you are not hungry.’”

“That's true,” Emma said, and laughed. “I'm glad you're here, Rashel.”

When Emma's hair lay in a blanket of ebullient curls over her shoulders, Rashel helped her change into a nightdress of delicate embroidered linen with a matching robe.

“You look very Russian, Your Highness.”

Perceiving it was a compliment, Emma smiled in thanks. “I'm afraid I am a hundred percent English.”

“My people have very big hearts, and they laugh often. I think you are Russian inside.”

Emma was about to reply when her stomach growled loudly, making her blush and laugh self-consciously. “I had almost nothing to eat today,” she said, holding a hand to her empty stomach. “I was so nervous…the wedding…”

“Shall I bring up some soup and zakuski?”

“Zakuski?” Emma repeated, struggling with the unfamiliar word.

“Small bites of food. You will like them very much, Your Highness. I will bring some for you to try.”

The maid left, and Emma wandered through the suite. She shook her head in wonder as she discovered a bathing room fitted entirely with white marble. Four gold spigots shaped like dolphins were poised above the porcelain rim of the tub.

She wondered if her stepmother had lived in this kind of luxury during her childhood days in Russia. So much of Tasia's past was still private, still unknown. For the first time Emma began to realize how much Tasia had suppressed her Russianness, how much of her native language and customs had been left behind. What a different culture it was…and how difficult it must be to adapt, as Nikolas and Tasia had.

A soft tap on the bedroom door alerted her to Rashel's return. The maid had brought a large tray loaded with fragrant dishes, including a small tureen of spicy cabbage soup, bits of sausage and smoked salmon, little pies stuffed with mushrooms and ground meat. Enthusiastically Emma followed Rashel into the receiving room, and sat on a small, overstuffed settee. The maid set the food on a nearby table, pointed out a few delicacies she thought Emma might enjoy, and left her in privacy.

The food was delicious, much of it flavored with garlic, pepper, and nutmeg. Emma tried a taste of everything, washing it all down with sips of hearty red wine. The lushness of her surroundings made her feel cosseted and spoiled. “I could get used to this,” she murmured, leaning back against the plump velvet settee cushions.