From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(55)

Save once, she thought. The familiar sadness laced with guilt was still there, but it was a faint echo of what it had been.

‘You have certainly not let me down, Allison.’ Aleksei held her at arm’s length to study her. ‘And you know, the more I look, the more I think that salmon-pink is your colour.’

She chuckled. ‘You once told me that you never lied. Take that back, or your unblemished reputation will be in tatters.’

‘I won’t take it back. I think you look quite delectable.’ He closed the gap between them. ‘So delectable, that I think I might have to—’

‘Uncle Aleksei!’

‘Catiche.’ He whirled around. ‘I was just admiring Miss Galbraith’s dress. She tells me the colour was your choice. A most excellent one.’ He made a flourishing bow. ‘May I compliment you, Lady Catherine, on your attire. It is an honour to be escorting such a lovely young lady on her debut.’





Chapter Eleven



The ball was being held at the Catherine Palace at Tsarskoye Selo, the Village of the Tsar, situated in the countryside about two hours’ drive from St Petersburg.

‘Everyone thinks that the Catherine Palace was named for Catherine the Great,’ Catiche informed them as the carriage turned on to the driveway, ‘but it was actually Peter the Great who had it built for his wife, the Empress Catherine. Is that not so, Uncle Aleksei?’

‘I bow to your superior knowledge, Catiche.’

‘Madame Orlova’s superior knowledge,’ she said with a shy smile. ‘Madame knows everything about every Imperial palace in St Petersburg. This one, you must know, celebrates not only the first Empress Catherine but also the Empress Elizabeth, after whom Mama was named. If you look carefully, Miss Galbraith, you will see the initial “E” in the insignia. “E” for Elizabeth, and for Ekaterina. It is above many of the doors, Madame Orlova told me. We must look out for it.’

Their carriage joined a slow procession of others. The palace they approached was baroque in style, painted blue though with the usual abundance of gilt and gold which Allison had come to expect of every royal palace, and an abundance of statuary lining the driveway and holding sentry along the entire frontage.

‘The wings are an extension to the original building,’ Catiche continued, obviously keen to show off her knowledge. ‘But when the Empress Elizabeth came to the throne, she decided that it was not luxurious enough, and so she employed the Italian, Count Rastrelli, to redesign the entire palace. Count Rastrelli and the Empress Elizabeth were very fond of gold. Madame Orlova said that if you took all the gold from the reception rooms it would weigh more than Papa.

‘Miss Galbraith,’ she continued in a very different tone as the carriage steps were let down, ‘you will stay by my side, won’t you?’

‘Don’t fret, we are both here to support you,’ Aleksei said, taking her hand.

They proceeded, flanking Catiche, through countless carved and gilded doorways, through endless corridors glittering with yet more gold, before joining a snaking queue of people at the entrance to what must be the ballroom. As they edged forward as each aristocratic family was announced, Catiche became paler, her posture more rigid, and Allison, recalling her own ordeal on her first public outing at the Winter Palace, could do nothing save smile reassuringly and pray to whoever watched over society children that Catiche would come through the occasion without mishap.

As they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, Allison, who thought she had seen the most elaborate rooms St Petersburg had to offer, was struck dumb. The two longest walls seemed to consist entirely of glass. Daylight streamed through the windows, bouncing off the mirrors placed in between and off the highly polished parquet flooring, making the chamber seem as if it were made entirely of burnished gold. Lit by candlelight it would be quite dazzling.

Catiche’s hand tightened on her own, and she saw they were at the head of the queue. The Derevenko name was announced. Catiche was handed a dance card, and claimed by an immense woman wearing a terrifying headdress that must have left at least one ostrich plucked clean. There was nothing more to be done but to watch nervously as her charge made her debut into society.

*

‘She’s not happy,’ Aleksei said, two hours later.

‘She has danced every dance, and has not once lacked a partner.’

He sighed irritably. ‘She’s a Derevenko, of course she’s not lacking willing partners. Look at her, though. She’s putting on a brave face, but it’s obvious to me that she’s miserable.’

Instead, Allison studied Aleksei. ‘She expected to attend this ball with her mama. It is yet another painful reminder that her parents are dead.’

‘Yes. I suppose that could be it.’ A Russian peasant dance had begun, involving much twirling and waving of scarves. Taking her arm, Aleksei led Allison away from the crowds to a window embrasure looking out on to the gardens. ‘When Grigory called the other day, he told me that I should stop burying my head in the sand and accept my responsibilities here.’

‘And what do you think of that advice?’ she asked, careful to disguise her surprise.

He shrugged. ‘It’s logical in one sense, though I maintain that I am not best equipped to raise them in the traditional manner.’

‘And if things were to change?’