Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(94)

The boys regarded each other closely, while the process of appraisal and acceptance occurred in the space of a few seconds. “Are you an Angelovsky, then?” William asked.

Jake nodded with wary pride. “I'm part Russian.”

“So am I,” William replied, and they exchanged a shy smile.

“Look what I have.” Jake pulled a handful of soldiers from his pocket, and William examined them with great interest.

Tasia interceded then, talking briefly with the tutor and asking that Jake be included in the study session. When both boys were seated side by side at the table, Tasia and Emma left the schoolroom and walked together toward the parlor.

“Is Papa at home?” Emma asked.

“He's at a board meeting at the railway company. He'll arrive soon, I expect.” Tasia slid an arm around Emma's narrow waist. “Now, tell me about Jake.”

“Nikolas had never seen him until a few weeks ago. The mother worked at a dairy on one of Nikolas's farms. Recently she died, and someone from her village brought the child to us. Nikolas has decided to keep Jake and openly acknowledge him as his son.”

“I find that surprising,” Tasia said frankly. “I don't recall that Nikolas has ever liked children. Not only that, but the boy looks so much like Mikhail—it must cause Nikolas a great deal of discomfort.”

“Yes,” Emma said earnestly, “the whole thing has been a tremendous shock to him. At first he could barely stand the sight of the boy. But now he adores Jake. It's amazing to see them together.”

Tasia shook her head in bewilderment. “I suppose children can bring out the best in people. Even in a man like Nikolas.” She paused for a moment. “You look so healthy and happy, Emma. I hope that means Nikolas is treating you well?”

“He didn't at first,” Emma admitted, coloring slightly. “But lately…” Her blush deepened. “Lately things have been better. He's different now. I can't even be certain the change is permanent. All I can do is hope.”

They sat in the parlor together, talking while Tasia attended to some needlework. Her hands were delicate and deft as she repaired the torn cuff of her husband's shirt. Finding it a relief to unburden herself, Emma told her about Nikolas's strange behavior of the past months. “At first he had these odd episodes in which he had a feeling of seeing something familiar. He had visions he didn't like to talk about, and they seemed to disturb him greatly.”

“Visions,” Tasia repeated, setting the mended shirt in her lap and staring at Emma intently. “What kind of visions?”

“I don't know exactly. But every time it happened, there was such a strange look on his face, such fear and anger…and then I found the painting. Do you remember one of the letters I sent to you in which I mentioned that we were having an old landscape restored? It turned out that underneath it was a portrait of an Angelovsky ancestor…Nikki's distant grandfather, actually. It's a mirror image of him. When he got his first good look at it, he turned white and fainted dead away. We couldn't revive him for an hour. And when Nikki finally awakened, he was…different.”

“Different?” Tasia was startled and intrigued.

“It was like the flip of a coin. One minute he wanted nothing to do with Jake or me, and the next, we were the most important things in the world to him. Later he said that he had remembered a—a past life, in which we were married to each other. For him it seems to have changed everything.” Emma frowned self-consciously. “No rational person would believe such a story. The surprise is that Nikolas, of all people, would invent something like this. Tell me, Belle-mère, is my husband going mad, or is he trying to make me out as the greatest fool alive?”

Tasia was quiet for a while, concentrating on her needlework. “I suppose I could believe Nikolas's story,” she finally said.

“You must be joking!”

“It's a Russian's nature to believe in such things. We're a people full of contradictions. Intemperate, mystical, superstitious…” Tasia shrugged and smiled slightly. “Perhaps we have all led past lives. Who am I to say we haven't?”

“But you're so religious! You know the Bible by heart!”

“For Russians, religion is an elastic thing. It encompasses many different beliefs and ideas.”

“I'm not like that. I can't allow myself to believe in something so extraordinary. But I do know that Nikolas is convinced his experience was real, and it seems to have influenced him for the better.”

“Then perhaps you don't need to question it too much, Emma. You might try to accept what has happened and simply go on from here.”

“But how—” Emma began, and suddenly she became aware of someone's entrance into the room. She looked up, and her heart jumped as she saw her father. Lucas Stokehurst looked the same as always, tall and distinguished, his blue eyes bright and piercing. A change came over his face as he stared at her, his features softening with hope and love.

“Emma—”

She sprang up and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. He was so comfortingly solid and dear. A wave of happiness rushed over her, and she lowered her face to his shoulder. “Papa, listen to me,” she said rapidly, her arms locked hard around his neck. “I've realized so many things lately. I've always demanded so much of other people, expecting them to be perfect. And I was the hardest on the people I love, so angry when they disappointed me by being human. You were trying to protect me and help me, and you were absolutely right about Adam Milbank. Forgive me for things I said. I was in such a rage, I didn't mean any of it. I love you, Papa. I've missed you so much.”