Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(42)
“Perhaps you would like to stay with your father as well?” he suggested.
She shook her head. “I can’t bear the thought of what Poppy will say if I have to move back because I destroyed my own home only a few months after I bought it.”
“You will have no water here,” he said gently.
She swiped a lock of hair from her face, leaving a trail of plaster dust in the dark strands. “I’ll be all right. I’ll figure something out.” She pushed herself to her feet. The skirt of her gown was smeared with grit and water stains. “I need to change before we go to my father’s. Please say nothing about this. I’m simply not up to Poppy’s derision today.”
He nodded and watched as she trudged up the stairs, her usual spritely manner vanquished and defeated. The wet, smelly catastrophe of her house would be dispiriting for anyone, but it could all be repaired.
She emerged a few minutes later wearing another of the prim suits she’d worn since he met her. This one was moss green with a tailored vest, a wasp-waisted jacket, and a slim skirt. She sent him an apologetic glance.
“I hoped to take you on a trolley so you could feel like a real New Yorker, but we need to go by cab. We’re already late, and Poppy is going to throw a fit.”
“Whatever you think best,” he said.
Impressing Poppy Blackstone was of little interest to him. Of far more importance was establishing a rapport with Oscar Blackstone. Natalia had put her faith in Admiral McNally’s ability to find someone who could verify what happened at the Amur River, but that was an uncertain prospect. In the meantime, Dimitri still needed to be prepared to scuttle the ongoing construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway.
That meant finding the best way to maneuver around Oscar Blackstone.
19
Natalia could tell Poppy was annoyed the moment she and Dimitri arrived in the foyer of her former Fifth Avenue home.
“We expected you hours ago,” Poppy said with ill-concealed annoyance. “Couldn’t you have at least worn something appropriate? Everyone else is dressed for a formal dinner, and you show up looking like a day at the office.”
Natalia silently groaned. She had hoped to introduce Dimitri with as little fuss as possible, then leave to survey the disaster of her home, but a glance down the long marble corridor showed a dozen relatives already gathered for a black-tie affair to welcome Count Sokolov to the city. The men wore starched collars and formal black tailcoats, while Poppy dripped with diamonds and pearls.
“I thought we agreed on a small family dinner,” Natalia said, wondering why each encounter with Poppy had to be so contentious. Couldn’t Poppy understand that Dimitri was a stranger in New York? That after traveling halfway around the world, a man might want a few hours to relax?
Actually, Poppy couldn’t understand. None of the people gathered here tonight knew anything about Dimitri’s disgrace in Russia or his flight through the wilderness to reach freedom. Natalia had already advised him to keep quiet about his trial until she had the opportunity to speak privately with her father about what happened at the Amur River.
Despite her worries, Dimitri immediately slipped into fine form as he greeted Poppy. “You have a beautiful home,” he said, giving a courtly bow as he kissed the back of Poppy’s hand. “Its splendor is surpassed only by the beauty of its hostess.”
“Count Sokolov!” Poppy flushed beautifully at the ridiculous flattery, but it appeared Dimitri was in a mood to lay it on thick.
“You are as lovely as Helen of Troy,” he said with a nod to Poppy’s enameled brooch liberally studded with opals, diamonds, and pearls.
“You recognize it?” Poppy asked in surprise.
“But of course. Helen is always portrayed with the white roses of Aphrodite and the doves of peace. You have both in your brooch. Is it Fabergé?”
“It is!” Poppy enthused. “Oscar bought it for me when he was in Paris. The jeweler said no one would understand the symbolism, but it looks like he never met you!”
They headed deeper into the house, where Poppy made the introductions to the rest of the family. The newly married Gwen and Patrick were here, as were Liam and some of her father’s elderly aunts.
All throughout dinner, Poppy was in her element. She continued nattering about the quality of Fabergé versus Tiffany, and Dimitri indulged her by adding insightful commentary in his elegant accent during the soup and fish courses. To Natalia’s astonishment, Gwen and her father seemed to find the conversation engaging. Patrick mercifully managed to change the topic after the turtle soup was cleared to make way for the gouda cheese souffle.
“What brings you to America after all these years?” Patrick asked in his lilting Irish accent. Patrick was the kindest man ever to walk the earth. It was an innocent question, but Dimitri paused for a fraction of a second before answering.
“I wanted to meet Natalia in person,” he said, raising his goblet to her.
“Well, well,” Poppy fairly purred. “We must arrange for you and Natalia to do something more interesting than fritter away time at the bank.”
Natalia could see the wheels turning behind Poppy’s calculating gaze. Getting an aristocratic title in the family would be the ultimate coup for her status-hungry stepmother, who continued jabbering on about all the places she intended to take Count Sokolov, as though he were her newest fashion accessory.