Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(93)

Emma smiled. “Probably hundreds of them.” She was grateful for Jake's happy chattering, the way he settled in the carriage and pulled toy soldiers from his pocket, engaging them in a mock battle. Any distraction was welcome, helping her to ignore the fluttering nerves in her stomach.

She had refused to see her parents since her wedding to Nikolas four and a half months ago. There had been little communication, aside from a few stilted letters exchanged between her and Tasia. She wondered how they would react to seeing her. Would their reception be warm or cold? What would they say about Jacob? Perhaps it would have been best to go by herself, but Emma needed the boy's company. And she wanted them to know about the child—it would help them understand the things she would try to tell them. Jacob seemed to be an integral part of the change that had come over Nikolas.

“You'll probably meet my brothers, William and Zachary,” she said as the carriage proceeded down the long front drive. “William is exactly your age, Jake, and you're cousins of a sort, although so distant that it's very difficult to trace. Russians are very keen on the idea of family, and very proud of their relatives, so I imagine William will be quite pleased to claim you.”

Jake looked wary. “Will I like him?”

“You will definitely like him,” Emma said firmly. “He's a nice boy, Jake. He's not the kind who calls names or makes fun of others.”

“But I talk like the villagers…and I'm a bastard too.”

Emma hadn't realized the boy was conscious of his rough country accent. “You don't have to tell people that, Jake. Your heritage is nothing to be ashamed of, and certainly nothing you could help. Second, William won't think anything about your accent. And as you grow older, that will soften a bit.”

“Will it?” Jake looked vaguely pleased, and went back to playing with his soldiers.

Emma's nervousness increased during the drive to her family's Italianate villa on the Thames. The lovely, familiar trio of round towers with cone-shaped roofs and surrounding loggias came into view. The carriage stopped in front of the villa, and footmen dressed in heavy brocaded livery came to assist her and Jake from the carriage. Perhaps sensing her apprehension, or sharing it, Jake slipped his hand in hers as they walked to the front door. Emma glanced quickly at him and at herself to make certain they looked their best.

The butler met them at the door, a small smile cracking his usual composure as he recognized her. “Miss Emma,” he said, welcoming them to the entrance hall just as Tasia hurried to meet them.

“I saw the carriage through my window,” Tasia exclaimed, rushing to Emma. Her face glowed with delight. “How wonderful it is to see you!” She threw her arms around Emma, and they both laughed in joy, the embrace none the less hearty for being muffled by Emma's mantled cape. Emma's anxiety began to fade as she basked in the familiarity of home, of Tasia's loving presence.

Tasia pulled back and surveyed her appraisingly. “Stunning,” she said. “Smiling, radiant, splendidly fit…you seem to be thriving, Emma.” Her gaze moved to the small figure at Emma's side, and her blue-gray eyes widened a little. Surprise caused her face to pale a shade or two. The soft lines of her mouth trembled, and she whispered something in Russian. Finally she appeared to gather her wits. “Who…” she said unsteadily. “Who is this?”

“This is Jake,” Emma replied, keeping her hand on the child's tense shoulder. “Nikolas's son.”

Exercising a great amount of self-control, Tasia managed to hide her surprise. “Of course…there is no mistaking the look of an Angelovsky. The eyes, especially.” She met the boy's gaze and summoned a smile. Her voice was very kind. “Nikolas's son…I suppose that makes me your grandmother, doesn't it?” She knelt in a rustle of silk and perfume to enfold him in her slender arms.

“You're too pretty to be a grandmother,” Jake said frankly, accepting her embrace. He added in a muffled voice, “And you don't smell like one either.”

Tasia laughed. “And you, my lad, have a way with women—just like your father. You may call me babushka, if you like. That's the Russian word for grandmother.” She stood and removed the boy's cap, smoothing his dark hair. “Would you like to sit with my son William and his tutor while they finish a lesson? Come with me, and we'll look in on them.”

“What about Zachary?” Emma asked.

“He's in the nursery—it's naptime for him.” Tasia reached down for Jake, who took her proffered hand obediently.

The three of them went through the halls, lined with marble and columns, to the stairs, which were bordered by priceless tapestries depicting social scenes of medieval life. Tasia encouraged Jake to talk, and he eagerly told her about the menagerie on the Angelovsky estate and all the things he did with his papa. They reached the schoolroom, a cozy place filled with toys and books, the walls covered with maps and framed engravings from children's stories.

William, who was sitting at the table with an earnest, scholarly-looking young man, looked up at the visitors. His gaze fell first on Emma, and he crowed in delight, hopping off his chair. “Emma!” he cried, flinging his arms around her excitedly. “Emma, you're back!”

She laughed and hugged him tightly. “Oh, William, you've grown at least an inch.” Her dark-haired brother was as wonderfully sturdy and energetic as ever. Glancing down at Jake, she saw that he had drawn back a few steps, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and possessive jealousy. She let go of her brother and drew Jake forward, keeping both her hands on his shoulders. “William, this is your cousin Jake. Nikolas's son.”