From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(22)
‘But this was your childhood home. You must have some happy memories of the palace.’
‘I remember Michael and I used to ride our wooden horses here in the winter. You have to understand, Allison, over the years, we spent very little time in one another’s company. By the time I was sent off to military school at the age of six, Michael, at ten, was already spending most of his day taking lessons in our family history, in etiquette and the traditions and rules of the court, in the running of the estates and many palaces he would one day inherit.’
‘An unfair burden on one so young.’
‘My thoughts exactly. You can have no idea,’ Aleksei said wryly, ‘how relieved I was when Elizaveta finally gave birth to a son.’
‘And will your nephew receive the same upbringing as his father?’
‘He is the Duke, it is how things are done here.’
‘Poor little Nikki.’ Allison grimaced. ‘I confess, I never thought I’d feel sorry for a duke.’
‘The boy knows no different. Most people would think him very fortunate indeed, though not I.’ He gazed around the vast space of the Gala Reception Room. When he spoke he made no attempt to disguise the sneer in his voice. ‘St Petersburg was built on vanity, and it thrives on it to this day. They say that tens of thousands of serfs and Swedish prisoners of war died building the city. Or rather whisper it behind their hands and their fans, as they do when they gossip and speculate endlessly.’
‘You really don’t approve of polite society, do you?’
‘No more than you, from what you told me last night.’
Last night. The atmosphere between them changed in an instant. Or was it her imagination? The air between them wasn’t really crackling. There was no actual cord pulling her towards him. She could easily brush away his hand as his fingers trailed lightly over her cheek. His touch was cool, that was why she shivered in response. When she reached up to mirror his action, to touch his cheek, it was a reflex, that was all.
‘We should not. Not here. We are working, we agreed we need strict demarcation lines,’ Allison said.
‘We did.’
His hand smoothed down the back of her gown to rest lightly on her waist. He did not urge her to step closer, but she did anyway. ‘Yes,’ she said, tilting her head and closing her eyes.
‘Yes,’ Aleksei whispered, before his mouth covered hers.
The most fleeting of kisses, too little and far too much. They sprang apart.
‘Time is marching on,’ Aleksei said, ‘we need to concentrate on the matter in hand.’
‘Yes,’ Allison agreed, refusing to meet his gaze. ‘We should inspect the herb garden before the children return.’
*
‘These are fabulous,’ Allison exclaimed, standing on the terrace which overlooked the formal gardens at the rear of the Derevenko Palace. ‘How fortunate you are.’
Aleksei had only ever considered the gardens of Derevenko Palace a vast playground, when he was a boy. Now, he had no interest in them whatsoever, and while he could see that the expanse of green manicured lawn, the formal flower beds, symmetrical paths interspersed with small fountains and statues were pleasing to the eye, he could see little in the vista to elicit the rapturous look in Allison’s eyes. ‘Not so very different from many gardens I’ve seen in England. Or France. Or even Italy, for that matter. In Spain, the climate is arid. There is less greenery,’ he said vaguely.
‘Gardens are not really your cup of tea, I take it,’ Allison said, eyeing him with amusement.
‘Not really.’
‘Then I will explore them at my leisure, or with the children. Let us concentrate on the herb garden.’
Aleksei led the way down the steps and on to the path leading to the walled area. Opening the wooden door set into the high wall surrounding the herb garden, he stood back to permit her to enter first.
‘Oh!’ Allison gazed about her with delight. A wide paved path split the garden into two halves. Low, neatly trimmed box hedges set in groups of four formed planting areas, and smaller gravel paths ran between each. Against each of the four walls, other borders were planted, and the walls themselves had been used to support a huge variety of small trees and shrubs. Aleksei could not put a name to a single plant, but even he could see that the riot of late summer colour was pretty enough, the perfumed scent heady.
‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Allison breathed ecstatically, before setting off down the path to the first box enclosure, grabbing his hand and forcing him to accompany her. ‘Here are some of the most common herbs,’ she said. ‘Mint, peppermint, and skullcap. Various forms of thyme. Lemon verbena. Comfrey. Parsley. Chervil. Lovage. All fairly hardy, and so in the most exposed location, do you see?’
He saw only lots of plants, but fortunately Allison either expected no response, or else took his silence for acquiesce. ‘Here we have fennel, dill, comfrey. Angelica. Oh, and St John’s wort, valerian, and you don’t need me to tell you that is lavender,’ she added, gesturing at the silvery line of plants which marched along one long border. ‘Rosehip here, and rosemary too, in the sunniest part of the garden.’ On she dragged him. ‘Those flowers that look like daisies are echinacea, and over here we have the various berries, and there—’
She broke off, making a wry face. ‘But you’re not interested in a lesson in horticulture, are you? You want to know whether any of these plants could have poisoned your brother. And the answer is—oh, Aleksei, I wish the answer was straightforward, but it’s not. Many of these plants, in the correct combination, could be lethal. Yet in a different combination they can act as curatives. The problem is though, that constructing the correct combination, of dried leaves or fresh, seeds or flower parts, roots—it requires a great deal of knowledge and skill.’