Anna’s pale cheeks took on a reddish hue as Synnovea turned an enigmatic smile upon her. If it was possible to read anything into the slight turning of those soft lips, then Anna could believe the girl was genuinely relishing Vladimir’s rebuke. That suspicion nettled her severely when she thought of such sumptuous treasures being indiscriminately wasted on the one she abhorred. She loathed acceding anything to her rival, especially when Ivan had been so close to winning the old man’s support. The bountiful largesse that Vladimir was capable of giving could’ve swiftly advanced Ivan’s efforts.
It was Synnovea’s pleading request that the jewels be kept in Vladimir’s care for safekeeping that amazed both Anna and Ivan. They stared agog as she sweetly added, “Just until the day I come here to live with you, for I couldn’t bear the loss if they were somehow mislaid.”
Cognizant of the cleric’s dark glower, Synnovea lowered her gaze demurely. Though his profession embodied all the honorable attributes one should possess in dedicated service to a higher order, she was wont to suspect that Ivan used his robe as a sham to bilk whatever lucre could be gained from those generously disposed toward accepting all clergymen as humble and honorable men.
Vladimir gladly deferred to Synnovea’s wishes when she laid a gentle hand upon his sleeve and looked up at him beseechingly. After bestowing an ardent kiss upon her slender fingers, he gave the treasures over to Igor, who took them away to a secure place.
“My own mother was uncommonly fetching,” Sergei stated as he presented Synnovea a glass of Visnoua. “But I think my father has outdone himself this time in selecting you as his future bride.”
“Oh, Sergei, what a beautiful sentiment,” she replied graciously. “And may I suppose, since you look nothing like your father, that you inherited your handsomeness from your mother?”
With an amiable laugh he kissed her fingertips. “Even my father has said as much, Countess. But if your beauty is an indication of the offspring you’ll bear my father, then I shall be put to shame by your children.”
Synnovea dipped her head briefly in gratitude for such a compliment, pleased that Vladimir’s sons were so willing to accept her into the family. As Sergei looked on, she sipped from the silver goblet. The libation reminded her of a red wine she had always enjoyed in France and was definitely pleasing enough for her to savor another taste.
“Delicious?” Sergei queried.
“Indeed!”
As the youngest of the brood stepped back with a chuckle, Feodor came forth and, after a sweeping bow, delivered a large bouquet of flowers to her. “Like these cherished blooms, my lady, you grace us with your beauty and fragrance.”
Feeling at odds with herself because she was unable to summon anything more than a hollow display of pleasure, Synnovea gathered his gift within her arms and lowered her face to the blossoms, inhaling their sweet essence. When she lifted her head again, she offered him a gentle smile. “You do me great honor, Prince Feodor, to compare my unworthy looks to such glorious marvels of nature.”
Her eyes grew misty with tears as he, too, took her hand and bestowed a light kiss upon it. It was the deepening anguish of feeling totally undeserving of their esteem that made Synnovea long to escape through the nearest door. She was painfully aware that, in comparison with her own reluctance and foreboding, their gifts of words and tender treasures came forth with sterling sincerity.
As the eldest moved back, Stefan came near to lay a garland of green around her neck. “Your company is cherished far above rubies and gold, Synnovea. Be assured that as a whole, the sons of Prince Vladimir Dimitrievich are enamored with your charm. We’re just as excited about having you in the family as our father is.”
Synnovea laughed through a fresh gathering of guilty tears. Against her will, she had been charmed by the brothers’ gallant display of manners, but their praise did little to ease the burden of regret weighing down her heart. “Dear, kind sirs, you woo me with such sweet tidings and eloquent speeches that I fear my tongue staggers lamely in search of prose equal to their beauty.”
Vladimir reached out again to claim her fingers and bring them to his own lips. “In truth, Synnovea, were your tongue forever silenced, we’d still be smitten by your sweet presence in this, our boorish surroundings. We’re but churlish clods in need of your gentle, transforming touch.”
Despite her rich enjoyment of their company and their chivalrous attempts to show her how much her presence pleased them, Synnovea was unable to accept her betrothal as anything more than an incarceration of Aleksei’s making. When it finally came time to take their leave, she experienced a moment of panic when she realized her intended meant to kiss her on the lips. She subdued the urge to flee, and though the blush that swept into her cheeks was well in line with a chaste maid’s reaction, Synnovea had no doubt that Vladimir would’ve been shocked out of his senses if he had had any inkling that she had conjured Tyrone Rycroft’s shadowed face before her own just to be able to stand her ground during the old man’s kiss.
Synnovea was distraught at the idea of carrying such a farce all the way to her marriage bed, but she knew it would be the only way she’d ever submit to Vladimir with any kind of forbearance. Truly, had the old prince begged her to be his daughter, she’d have gladly yielded him that honor as a living replacement for the father she had once loved and recently lost. Yet to think of Vladimir as her husband and to consider everything that that particular position would entail, she was no less desirous of being liberated from their betrothal than she was to escape the Taraslovs’ manse.
Tears spilled unheeded upon Synnovea’s pillow long into the night. Staring at the moonlit canopy above her head, she begged wearily for some sweet spirit from heaven to bring peace to her frazzled brain and to somehow impart a way she could be set free without wounding the old man. It was a troubling dilemma in which she found herself, for in spite of their cantankerous reputation, she valued the friendship of Vladimir and his sons, though regretfully not enough to rouse her eagerness to be bound by an oath of wedlock to the elder and certainly not until that time when widowhood finally came to release her. She didn’t covet Vladimir’s death. Nor did she ever want to yearn for such a fate for him in a marriage in which she’d be unable to find solace for her dreams of love and contentment.
The first rays of the dawning sun were just stretching out across the land when Ali came to her mistress’s bedside and awakened her. Not long after that, Synnovea left the chambers and made her final descent. Anna had remained upstairs to attend to some last-minute details which affected her own departure. In her absence, Aleksei had taken up a waiting stance just beyond the front portal. He was there when Synnovea emerged and was bold enough to halt her with a hand on her arm, but he frowned wincingly at the sun that shimmered brilliantly in the eastern sky, definitely pained by the presence of that particular sphere.
To see Aleksei suffering after a long night of copious imbibing that had begun at Vladimir’s manse was small recompense for the animosity Synnovea was presently feeling toward him. Tempted to give him a fair piece of her mind, she grudgingly allowed him a moment of her time. At least no further acts of aggression could be made against her person while they stood in clear sight of Ali, Jozef, and Stenka.
“Allowing you to leave here was Anna’s idea, not mine,” Aleksei informed her bluntly.
“I recognized your intent to keep me in your lecherous lair the day you announced that Anna would be leaving,” Synnovea acknowledged coolly. It was only for the sake of her servants that she made an attempt to appear civil in his presence. “Still, I don’t know how you might’ve hoped otherwise. Anna is no fool, you know. That’s why she’s so anxious to see me married off to Vladimir. She wants me out of the house and well away from you.” A slight upward movement of her shoulders prefaced her next comment. “Of course, she has just cause with you as her husband.”
“Anna has even more reason to hate you now,” Aleksei taunted. “After I told her how you solicited my favors the
other night, she was most eager to see you wed.”
A lovely brow lifted. “Well, I see you’re not above making up ludicrous stories to suit your purposes, Aleksei, but your little ploy to discredit me will have no bearing on my actions, so be warned.”
“You’d best be warned, my girl,” he snarled, gnashing clenched teeth. “I’ve no intention of letting you escape what has already been decreed, despite the fact that Natasha has a nasty habit of confounding proprieties to meet her own whims…”
The peak of Synnovea’s eyebrow sharpened challengingly. “And what of you, sir? Have you not done the same?”
Aleksei ignored her intrusion as he continued cynically. “I’m sure Natasha will try to undermine your betrothal by inviting men who can tarnish your reputation…”
Synnovea stared at him in growing amazement, never having considered the ruination of her honor as a means by which she could avoid marriage with Vladimir. Such a ploy would be a serious price to pay for her freedom and a sacrifice she was not entirely sure she wanted to make. The very idea went against everything she had been taught about sterling principles, but she was desperate. All she had to do was determine just how desperate.
“I can see that you might be worried about my honor, since Vladimir would be reluctant to attach himself to a maid whose virtue has been besmirched,” she answered disparagingly. “But for the life of me, Aleksei, I cannot imagine that you’ll be content to see me married off to another without trying to extract some further penance from me, which leaves me wondering how you intend to claim me as your conquered victim. It has been widely rumored that you have a preference for virgins, but then, so has Vladimir. Are you willing to allow him first taste of the unblemished fruit?”
“I’ll make an exception in your case,” Aleksei promised with a hint of a sneer.
“So good of you,” Synnovea derided. She glanced away as she sought to regain control of her quickly flaring temper, then turned on him again with renewed vigor, wanting to shatter his cocksure arrogance if only for the moment. “If it falls within my power to frustrate your purposes, Aleksei, let me assure you that I’ll use whatever wile within my capability to see your plans thwarted, even if I have to take Colonel Rycroft into my bed to see the deed done.”
The dark eyes flared with ill-suppressed rage. “Do you honestly think I’ll allow such a thing to happen while I yet breathe, maid?” he hissed. “You do err in conjuring such deceptive fantasies for yourself, for I’ll never let another man have you!”
“Not even Vladimir?”
“Through him I’ll claim my revenge for the injury you’ve done me! You’ll come back after you’ve survived a few of that old bull’s straining attempts, begging me to satisfy you.”
“You’re far too confident of your power over women, Aleksei,” she rejoined with a noticeable lack of warmth.
“What you don’t realize is that I’d rather submit to Vladimir for the next hundred years than be tainted even for a moment by your foul attention.”
“You won’t escape marriage to him!” Aleksei ground out bitingly, infuriated by her unswerving tenacity. “I’ll hire men to watch you and any house you’re in until the very moment the vows are spoken. There’ll be no help for you, my beauty. None will come to your rescue, not even your precious Englishman.”
“That remains to be seen, does it not?” Synnovea gave him an ungracious smile as her lashes hovered over a glare. Reaching out, she tapped a forefinger lightly upon his sleeve, as if chiding a naughty student. “Were I you, Aleksei, I would avoid any mention of this matter to your wife ere her departure, for I intend to protect myself henceforth from your malicious bent. If need be, I’ll take my complaints to Tsar Mikhail himself and let him deal with the both of you as you justly deserve. I swear I will!”
With a last irritated rap of her finger, Synnovea turned from him and made her way to the coach. It was only a short distance to the larger Andreyevna mansion, and when the conveyance pulled into the drive, Natasha came hurrying out to greet her with open arms. The morning seemed suddenly brighter for both women. Synnovea’s anger diminished to a more tolerable level, and as for the elder, she was anticipating the delight to be found in the sweet promise of companionship with the daughter of a woman whom she had once cherished as her closest friend and confidante.
In the ensuing days, Synnovea realized that she would have to make a choice fairly soon or see her options seriously hindered by Anna’s return. Whether to nobly abide by the betrothal contract or to seek freedom at the expense of her own honor, that was the question she’d have to answer for herself. The more dutiful course for a chaste maid would be to comply with Anna’s dictates, which would issue her forthwith into a respectable marriage with Vladimir. The alternative was drastic. Should she dare such an escape, damaging slurs would likely be brought to bear upon her name and she’d have to face the threat of being ostracized by her peers. Society was wont to judge a fallen woman harshly, and she’d be no less susceptible than the foulest tart. Still, if she could somehow preserve the secrecy of her actions or even feign her defilement (if such a feat were possible), then perhaps her ploy would yield her everything she yearned for.
Despite the clarity of her options, finding an acceptable answer to the riddle that confronted her was far more involved and complicated than Synnovea had thought it would be. The difficulty lay in her burgeoning apprehensions about the role of conniving seductress that she’d have to play with Tyrone, the only man she deemed suitable for the deed. Not only was he more acceptable to her than anyone she presently knew, his reputation as a rake, however false that might have been, solidified his credentials. Despite the best-contrived plans, however, events had a way of going awry. At the very least, she could suffer the rending of her virginity, but more disastrously, she could even bear a bastard child nine months later. Was her freedom to choose a husband worth the risks she’d be taking?
Synnovea’s fears far outweighed her dedication to gaining her own end, and she solemnly approached the idea that she just had to do what was proper. Her parents would have expected her to keep herself pure until her wedding night, and even if she had to marry Vladimir, she’d likely outlive him. Then she’d have the freedom to wed whomever she wished. All it would take would be waiting weeks, months, or even years for an old man to die….
Synnovea recoiled at such a diabolical notion as yearning for a human being to die, and she promptly found herself back at the crux of her dilemma, whether to ignobly pine for her husband to succumb to some malady or, by devious means, to seek the liberty to marry for love.
It was not until Synnovea ventured out with Natasha and Ali to a small, rough-hewn chapel located beyond the outskirts of the city that she actually became cognizant of just how persistent Aleksei was to see her wed and, in that endeavor, how closely he—and others—observed her comings and goings. The three women had set aside other duties to help a kindly old monk who devoted himself to acts of charity. Whether old, blind, wretched, decrepit, or lame, those in want were never turned away from the humble, tumbledown sanctuary where the kindly Friar Philip labored to serve their needs. His main concern was tending his flock, which included anyone who came to him lacking sufficient food, clothing, or peace for the soul. The afflictions of the poor were often decreased to a more tolerable level by his compassion or by those who assisted him in his selfless struggle. To his following, he was known as Saint Philip, though he wore shabby robes and denounced the acquisition of wealth for the church, which many of the Josephites had insisted upon. A number of the more powerful members of that particular sect had demeaned his attempts as self-serving and claimed that his real motive was to destroy a higher order of ordained servants to appease his own vindictive bent. They continually sought evidence to convict the man of his crimes.
Natasha was just as adamant to rally her friends to his cause and found Synnovea to be a willing participant. Upon their arrival early that morning, the women addressed themselves to the task of prepari
ng a meal in the kitchen, located in a lean-to behind the chapel. Even though their coach evidenced their wealth, they wore plain garments made from a common cloth to ease the apprehensions of the poor, who had reason to be wary of the nobility. Soon after the food had been cooked, Synnovea busied herself handing out loaves of bread and ladling a hearty stew into wooden bowls held forth by ragged peasants who shuffled past. Natasha sorted apparel from several bundles that she had either sewn or collected from friends, while Ali entertained the younger children with mimes and craggy-voiced songs, allowing their mothers to search through the donated clothing in an effort to fortify their families for the approaching winter.
Into this gathering of destitute humanity, Aleksei came swaggering arrogantly in, bearing himself like the mighty prince he obviously envisioned himself to be. Forcing the more unsightly commoners to scurry out of his way, he strode up to the two countesses and, with flamboyant mockery, bowed before them. Upon straightening, he glanced around in lofty disdain. “How generous you ladies are to devote your time to serving these paltry beings. Ivan Voronsky would be impressed.”