The night rolls on endlessly. I move between chatting and talking politics with Sergei to somehow dancing with Edmund, The Duke of Buckinghamshire, a visitor to the court from England. He’s regaling me with tales of his lovely Brittan and his astute and powerful King George, when I see Mikhail pick up a very drunken Peter under the arm and help him out of the room, toward his bedchamber. Alexander follows after, but not before finding me in the crowd with his eyes and giving me a subtle tilt of the head, which I return.
“Perhaps that is the true purpose of me being here, to keep the peace between our countries,” he continues, though I’m only half-paying attention. My thoughts are with Peter and the dark-haired boy, whom I can’t quite decide whether I can trust or not. “But it leaves me here to continue to negotiate a peace, with Russia at least.”
I nod softly. England and France are a hair’s breadth from one side or the other declaring all-out war, a prospect with the potential to rip Europe apart at the seams.
“It seems a shame that a treaty cannot be reached between them,” I offer in a light tone. “War is such indelicate sport.”
He frowns at my light remark.
“War is not sport, my lady.”
I shrug. “Perhaps. But, in all this, a war began when two great powers disagreed over matters that should have been simple.”
He lowers his chin, glowering at me. “I do not think you understand.”
“I understand that there was a decree signed, one that should have been honored and was not. And then, another decree, another promise unkept. I know that because of this, the rightful heir was overlooked in succession and that there are those who will not willingly accept such a thing.”
“That agreement was long undone.”
“Perhaps. So which agreement should be held to? My thought would be the first. An oath made requires a leader who is honorable enough to keep it, despite any fleeting inconveniences that might arise. But then, perhaps I do not understand. I am only Prussian after all.”
He frowns and sets his jaw.
“I think you are mistaken, Princess. Surely, you are as Russian as the empress herself is. I see it in your countenance. You may have been born elsewhere, but your heart is Russian.”
Count Lestocq interrupts, taking me by the arm gently.
“Excuse me; I must speak with the princess.”
I mumble my excuse and let him lead me away, as we pass the table a take a glass of wine and drink it quickly.
“Already making enemies with the English, are we?” he asks, his tone friendly.
I sigh. “He smelled of bitters and vodka and spit when he spoke.”
Now my companion laughs heartily.
“Very true. But I suspect we will be rid of him soon. I expect the empress to side with France, though the chancellor would very much like to see a different outcome.” He stops himself, as if realizing to whom he’s speaking, and waves me off. “Not your concern. But, right now, I do have news that should concern you.”
I take another drink, finishing off the chalice and setting it down as the wine begins to soften the edges of my mind.
“What news?” I ask, a bit afraid to hear the answer.
“We are expecting more company in only two days’ time. Princess Charlotte of Saxony. She’s coming at the chancellor’s behest. No doubt as an attempt to undermine your engagement to Peter.”
“There is no engagement. Not yet.”
“And if Bestuzhev succeeds in offering her as an alternative prospect, we could lose any chance of seeing that engagement happen.”
I sit at a long bench near the hallway and motion for him to do the same.
“Tell me about her, what do you know?”
“She is a true Saxon princess, a daughter of King Augustus of Poland. She was all set to be wed to the next Dauphin of France before the battles began. Now they will send her to us, in the hopes that a union with Peter could turn Russia to their favor, against France.”
“Yes, but what of her?”
He shrugs. “She’s quite lovely, by all accounts. Well bred, versed in all things of the gentler nature. And if her mother is any indication, she will be more than capable of providing plenty of heirs. Sixteen children or something like that, her mother has.”
He stretches warily, as if exhaustion has seeped into his very bones.
“But this, this is of the most importance to you. She will try to win Russia by winning Peter. Bestuzhev knows the empress’ favor lies with you, only a very impassioned plea from Peter himself might change her mind.”
I let that sink in. The empress would choose me, unless Peter loses his heart to another. She would put his happiness above her loyalty to my family—as she should. If I have any chance, I must have Peter securely in my hands before Charlotte arrives.
That doesn’t give me much time.
“Can you do something for me?” I ask, a plan still formulating in the back of my mind.
He nods.
“Find the royal seamstress. Tell her I need a riding habit. By morning.”