Chapter Three
Chapter Three
A nna woke up late the next morning. Sofia had already gone from the bedroom, but she was in no hurry. Nicholas and Olga Bulgarin were leaving today and she wanted to make sure they had gone before she went down. What had possessed her last night? Not only had she accused Olga of cheating, she had then acted like a child eavesdropping on the gentlemen.
The memory made her cringe. Mama would be appalled. Thank heavens she wasn’t here. Her mother despaired of her unruly behaviour. Too often her thoughts were elsewhere, deep in a book or contemplating a painting she had in mind. Papa loved her spontaneity, but Mama was more critical. She rebuked her for moving too fast, interrupting conversations and speaking without thinking. If Valentina Brianski ever heard what happened last night, Anna would never be allowed to go anywhere again.
But Count Bulgarin was older than her and it was unlikely she would run into him again. There was no point in worrying, Anna decided, her natural optimism asserting itself. Lila, the maid she shared with Sofia, had given up waiting, so she chose a simple muslin gown with a wide yellow ribbon. The dress slipped on easily but the buttons down the back were more difficult. Twisting and turning in front of the mirror and using a buttonhook, she’d managed to get most of them done up as the clock in the stable-yard chimed twelve.
It was later than she realised. Where had she left her new Moroccan slippers? After a frantic search, Anna found them at the back of the wardrobe. She ran a comb through her hair, tucked it loosely under a linen bonnet, then collected her parasol and hurried out to the main staircase.
‘Good morning, Anna Ivanova. Or should I say good afternoon?’
Anna was halfway down the stairs and Peter Dashkovy was standing in the hallway. The light streamed through the doorway behind, skimming around him so that his body was outlined by a thread of darkness, and all she could see were rays of sunshine turning his hair gold. He was alone and she stared at him over the banisters, gripping the rail to steady herself.
‘The houseguests have gone on ahead. I’m here to escort you to the picnic.’
Peter smiled, the lazy smile she loved, and Anna slowly let out her breath. Then, not taking her eyes off him, she continued on down. ‘How kind of you, Captain Dashkovy. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
As Peter led the way through the hall and down the steps to the garden, Anna rested the handle of her parasol on her shoulder. The lawns were scattered with buttercups and daises, but she barely noticed her surroundings. Her heart was fluttering wildly as thoughts dashed around her head. Peter had been waiting for her! He was worried that she was late. Everyone at the picnic would see them arrive together. What would they think?
‘You’ve grown up this last year, dear Anna. Are you enjoying yourself?’
Anna nodded and touched the verbena sachet in her pocket. She wished she had done up her hair and chosen a prettier dress. This was the first time she had ever been alone with Peter. She mustn’t spoil it by saying something stupid. They walked in silence until Peter remarked, ‘Miss Bulgarin asked me to convey her best wishes to you and say goodbye. Her brother insisted they depart directly after breakfast. Poor Olga. It’s a shame she had to miss the final celebrations.’
‘Have you been acquainted with the Bulgarin family for long?’ Anna tried to make her voice indifferent.
‘Nicholas Bulgarin was a colonel when I joined the Hussars. I only met Miss Olga two days ago. And you?’
‘I know her through my friendship with Maria. The two of them are inseparable.’
‘Except when Monsieur Pushkin’s paying court to one or the other,’ Peter observed unemotionally. ‘The young whippersnapper’s incorrigible when it comes to the ladies.’
‘Alexander Pushkin’s a poet, sir. Women are his inspiration.’ What did she know about a poet’s inspiration? Anna could have bitten off her tongue. She sounded pretentious and wished Peter hadn’t mentioned Olga. He was waiting for me – for me – she reminded herself and turned to him. ‘I’ve always admired Pushkin’s poetry.’
‘He’s talented but an excitable fellow. Have you met him or Count Bulgarin?’
‘I’m going to ask Maria for an introduction to Monsieur Pushkin, but I’ve no desire to meet Count Bulgarin. I’m sure we have nothing in common. What’s your opinion of him?’
‘We don’t always agree, but I admire him. He’s an acquired taste – for some, too self-opinionated for their palates.’
‘Indeed! I was impressed by his conceit.’
‘Really? And when was that?’
Thankfully, there was no chance to answer for they had arrived at the picnic. A throng of people were gathered on the lawn where Madame Davydov was seated in an armchair brought down from the house. Catching sight of them, she called out,
‘Where’ve you been all this time, Captain Dashkovy? I was afraid you’d fallen under the spell of those wicked Bulgarins and been spirited away.’
‘Sasha Brianski asked me to escort his sister to the picnic. Prince Repnin insisted on taking him and Prince Volkonsky on a tour of the island.’
‘Your chivalry is beyond reproach.’ Madame Davydov favoured Peter with a smile before she screwed up her eyes and turned to Anna. ‘Miss Brianski’s beauty is fair recompense for your labour.’ Her hostess extended a gloved hand and touched Anna’s cheek. ‘How are your parents? I’m sorry they were unable to accept my invitation.’
Anna wasn’t sure how to answer. She didn’t know why her parents disapproved of Madame Davydov, but it had taken a letter from Maria to persuade them to let her accept. As she hesitated, a stiff-looking young man, obviously irked by the delay, made a show of opening his fob watch.
‘Do put that thing away, Gaston!’ Madame Davydov scolded. ‘Since when has punctuality been a prerequisite for a picnic? Everyone may start whenever they wish.’
Long trestle tables, draped in fine linen cloths, stood under the thick shade of trees with benches on either side and hampers of food unpacked onto plates. Footmen moved between the guests, carrying silver trays, bowing and smiling as they served champagne in long-stemmed glasses. Older women sat in chairs while others stood around or sat on cushions from the house scattered about on the grass.
Peter was taken aside by a stout gentleman and Anna looked around for her friends. It seemed the whole island had been invited to the picnic. Anna caught sight of the Lenkov brothers with their sister, Anastasia. The Lenkovs were all good-looking and fine horsemen. Anastasia was the eldest and famous for her dashing exploits but too charming for anyone to disapprove. Today her glossy red hair was hidden under a turban and she wore Turkish trousers rather than a dress.
Her brother, John, was the same age as Anna and usually timid with girls. He had sat next to her at the concert, and she was surprised when he moved his chair close to her own. She had felt his eyes on her throughout, but John Lenkov aroused none of the passion she felt for Peter. He was a sensible, pleasant young man but she avoided his gaze until Sofia came over and took her to where Maria was seated on a hassock surrounded by friends.
‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ Anna whispered. ‘I’m mortified to be so late.’
‘You’re not … mortified.’ Sofia retorted with a mischievous grin.’ You look like the cat that’s licked the cream.’
‘I gather Captain Dashkovy was only too happy to take Sasha’s place,’ Maria added. ‘I don’t know what happened last night but poor Monsieur Pushkin has taken to his bed. Babushka’s sent him caviar and vodka to ensure he recovers in time for the fireworks. She wants this to be a day all of us will remember.’
And indeed, it was. Madame Davydov’s hospitality was legendary. There were zakuski – bites of pickled salmon with truffles and wafer-thin blini pancakes piled high with caviar and served with different flavoured vodkas. Borsch soup was laced with soured cream and followed by sturgeon and cold meats accompanied by green vegetables and salad. In pride of place at the centre of the table stood an iced birthday cake three tiers high.
Guests began to help themselves, but Anna scarcely touched her food. She found a seat near Sofia and nibbled on a biscuit as her eyes wandered over the company. Stately matrons sat under an arbour, their heads close and voices hushed as they exchanged gossip. The day was melting with heat, and formal wear had been abandoned. Open-necked shirts replaced frock coats and cravats were loosened or discarded. Officers in uniform unbuttoned their tunics, and Peter was standing by the water’s edge wearing a patterned waistcoat and ruffled shirt.
Light from the sea and sun made the colours dance with brilliance. Under a cloudless sky, the girls were bright as butterflies in summer dresses with open parasols fluttering in the breeze. It was a scene to be painted – but not today. Today Anna could think only of Peter. She imagined him close to her and repeated his name in her head. Peter Igorovich Dashkovy.
At that moment Peter looked round, his eyes roaming over the guests until he saw her. He smiled and Anna felt a jolt of lightning pass between them. Peter must have felt it too for he turned away quickly and began talking to one of his friends. He does love me, Anna thought excitedly. I haven’t yet attended my first Bal Blanc – that’s the only reason he’s keeping his distance. It wouldn’t do for him to appear over-attentive. When all the guests have gone and we’re finally alone, he’ll come and find me. We’ll walk together in the cool of the evening. Will he make some kind of declaration? The thought made her feel giddy. It will be our secret – a sacred pact between us – until I’m old enough for him to propose. I won’t tell a soul, not even Sofia.
Anna watched as Anastasia Lentov walked over and engaged Peter in conversation. She said something that made him laugh and a sliver of doubt pierced Anna. Two years was an eternity away. Oh, if only she were eighteen already! Peter might fall in love with someone like Anastasia in the meantime. What would she do then? Anna resolutely drove the idea from her mind. With the supreme confidence of youth, she told herself it would never happen. Their destiny was written in the stars and in two years’ time she would be his bride.