Chapter 23 Katherine—Hiding the Truth
KATHERINE—HIDING THE TRUTH
My heart pounds. Katherine the Great is gone. I crawl into my closet and close it to a peekaboo crack. The princess shakes her head and mumbles in Russian.
“Katherine, I couldn’t wait.” Jahleel pushes open the secret door and barges inside. “I wanted to see … Mother?”
“Son, what are you doing?”
“Mamen’ka? I thought Lady Hampton was in here alone.”
He leans on his cane. He’s in a white shirt, cranberry waistcoat, and buff breeches. Freshly shaved and handsome, Jahleel has a healthy color to his cheeks. Has he gone out? Did Jahleel feel well enough to venture beyond the upstairs?
“Alone?” the princess repeats. “You’ve had modistes and a jeweler in here all day.” She picks up the velvet box and opens it. “Excellent rubies. So this bribe allows you to enter a lady’s chambers without waiting for an invitation.”
He takes it from her, juggling the box and his cane. Jahleel doesn’t respond. He’s silent, hunting, looking. “I wanted to see her reaction to my gifts.” He starts toward my closet, but his mother stops him.
Her foot taps. Her arms fold. “You intend to buy her affections?”
“If it were that simple. Nyet, Mamen’ka. I just wanted to give her something nice.”
“I see. To get rid of her clothes and change her room without asking, and of course being in close proximity for your whims, she earns rubies. Hmmm.”
He backs up. “The grunt of disapproval.”
“I do not grunt. I sigh loudly. You have that poor child greatly disadvantaged. Be careful. Be the son Andrew and I raised.”
“I will not take advantage of Katherine any more than she has me.”
“She’s living in fear of breaking whatever new deal you two have struck.”
His eyes turn to the cracked door. I’m sure he sees or senses me. But I’m not budging. Let him think of me more as a coward, than as a woman who can’t run the business she’s made her entire world.
He walks back to the secret door. “Let her know I was looking for her. And I’m not interested in games.”
“Of course. And here.” She takes up the flowers and shoves them into the crook of his arm. “Perhaps she’d turn up if you didn’t pelt her with grave flowers.”
“What? These are the pride of every Russian heart. Bold yellow creations. I grow them in my garden. They’re tended until full bloom and fragrant.
A chrysanthemum is delicate.” He sniffs.
“Picked too soon, they have little scent.” He wobbles, trying to show them to her, then stops.
“But these are ripe and remind me of the gardens of the Winter Palace.”
“You chose a woman from London. Not a Russian. She may not think of them this way. Instead of delighting in what you think is romantic, maybe you should ask her.”
He frowns. “You know her better than I do?”
“She’s not hiding from me. Try roses or scentless hibiscus. She’s Jamaican descended. Those petals might make her more amenable to your charm, rather than reminding her of death.”
He tucks the flowers back under his arm. “I’ll take this under consideration. But I doubt that the viscountess will ever look at me and not think of death.”
He goes back into his chambers.
The princess opens the closet door. “Now get out of there and out of these rags. I’ll have my maid put some ointment on these bruises. What time is your reading appointment?”
“Ten.”
“Good. Soak in a bath. And when you see him, tell Jasha what’s happening. Try working together to solve your problem.”
“What? But I can’t.”
“You married a man from Russia. He must feel useful. The one from London wasn’t useful at all. Jasha told me.”
Tavis had problems, but he was my friend. My head drops again. “Thank you for helping. And I do like roses and hibiscus.” I smile and then look at all the new things. “I can’t wear any of this tonight. The modistes must’ve taken my other dresses. Your son hates gray.”
“Like you hate chrysanthemums. I have something you can wear that’s perfect to put on for reading. His mind will be on St. Petersburg or what book you pick, nothing else.”
She leaves, and I sit at the vanity, waiting for a bath and the scent of death to disappear.