Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(98)

Sergei completed the will an hour later. Dr. Sopin and Count Ulyanov witnessed it, and Dimitri signed the document with a shaking hand.

His job was complete. He smiled and lay back, savoring a job well done . . . as all good heroes did.





38





Natalia’s kitchen was delightfully warm as she fussed over a pot of simmering cranberry sauce on her new enamel stovetop. Her kitchen now had a new oven with two burners, new cabinets, and a new icebox. Today she would host her first Thanksgiving meal, and she was determined to do everything right. She may have once struggled to boil an egg, but in an hour a holiday feast would be served with great fanfare.

The chef on the Black Rose had provided the main course, since a roasted turkey was beyond her fledgling skills. Liam helped Natalia in the kitchen, but there was no room for Gwen, who was seven months pregnant and probably ought to be off her feet anyway. She sat in the parlor with Patrick, who was lazily skimming the newspaper before the meal.

By the time Natalia lit the candles, Liam was teasing Gwen about her choice of baby names because Gwen wanted to name her children after plants. The baby would be called Iris if it was a girl and Florian if it was a boy.

“You can’t name a boy Florian,” Liam insisted.

“Why not?” Gwen asked. “It’s an ancient name going all the way back to Roman times, and it means flower.”

“That’s why you can’t name him Florian,” Liam said. “The kid won’t be able to hold his head up in school. Patrick, you can’t be on board with this.”

Patrick kept his nose buried in a newspaper. “I’m hoping for a girl.”

“I’m hoping you grow a backbone and stand up to your wife if you have a son,” Liam said.

The bickering continued, with Liam trying to think of other names from the botanical world that might work for a boy, but all Natalia could come up with was Basil, which wasn’t much better than Florian.

Suddenly, Patrick looked at her over the rim of the newspaper. “Have you read today’s news?”

“Just the headlines,” Natalia said. After all, part of her efforts to broaden herself beyond the world of business meant that she no longer had to obsessively monitor stock prices and economic news. Still, Patrick looked concerned. “Why?” she asked.

“There was an explosion in a Saint Petersburg train station. Twenty-six people were killed.”

She sucked in a quick breath but forced herself to remain calm. “I’m sure Dimitri is fine,” she said. “His estate is two hours south of the city.”

Thinking about Dimitri was worrisome. He still hadn’t responded to the letter she sent him almost a month ago. All she had was a strange package containing a Russian translation of Little Women that had arrived last week. She hadn’t even realized it had been translated, but she’d flipped open the cover, reading the odd message from Dimitri scribbled on the title page, reasserting his insistence that Beth’s death scene was the best in the book.

What was she to make of it? There was no letter, no other message, just a copy of Little Women. Dimitri was rarely that succinct.

Actually, he was never that succinct. Something must be deeply wrong for him not to have sent along an effusive note either ripping into the entire American literary canon or at least commenting on the letter she sent him about her pending visit in the spring. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her letter. It was the only explanation she could think of to explain his strange silence.

“What else does the newspaper say?” Liam asked, his voice grim.

“Not much,” Patrick replied. “Most of the victims aren’t listed, but the anarchist who threw the bomb was killed. So was a twelve-year-old girl who’d been selling matches.”

Liam swiveled his gaze to her. “You see? Things are getting bad over there. You shouldn’t go.”

“Are you going to Russia?” Gwen asked in surprise.

Natalia was reluctant to answer. What if Dimitri finally responded to her letter by telling her not to come? It would be embarrassing to admit he was the main reason she wanted to go, so she scrambled for an excuse.

“My mother told such wonderful stories of Moscow,” she said. “Now that I’m selling my records there, I ought to go and learn a little more.”

Patrick sounded skeptical. “You’re selling records in London and Berlin too, but I haven’t heard any plans for you to visit those cities.”

“Who would want to see Russia in winter?” Gwen asked.

Even her mother had nothing good to say about the Russian winter, and Natalia hastily assured them she would wait until the spring to go. Provided Dimitri was willing to see her.

But as November passed and the snows of December deepened with no additional word from him, her worries grew.





39





Natalia had always believed that Christmas in Central Park was magical. Tiny electric lights were strung through the trees, ice skaters glided across the frozen pond, and vendors sold hot chocolate to the throngs of people bundled in coats and cheerful red scarves. And the music! What celebration would be complete without festive Christmas carols serenading the crowd?

It was the perfect opportunity to sell her Christmas album. The same brass trio she’d hired for the album played carols at the music pavilion, while she and Liam set up a table to sell copies of the recording. The stall next to them sold phonograph players, which were an ideal Christmas gift. Naturally, people who had just bought a phonograph needed albums, and sales for her Christmas record were brisk.