8
“Come, sit down, Vasili—you will permit me to call you so?”
Constantin didn’t wait for an answer, resuming his seat behind his desk. His study was what one might expect from a man of his years, sedate, and lacking all flamboyance. It reminded Vasili of his father’s study, before Maria had turned it into a sewing room after his death.
“Though we have never met, I feel as if I have known you all your life,” Constantin was explaining.
“But then, you were all your father ever talked about. He was so proud of you and your accomplishments. He wanted to show you off, you know, to take you with him on his travels and hunting trips, but he felt your schooling was more important, particularly since you shared the royal tutors with the crown prince. He was proud of that, too, since he never had such advantages himself, having no connection with the royal family until he married your mother. But I do know he intended to bring you with him to Russia after you turned eighteen. I remember when he…”
Constantin continued reminiscing for more than an hour.
Vasili was required to make few comments in reply, merely to listen, and he did that avidly, hearing things about his father he’d never known.
Long before the baron had finished speaking, the resentment Vasili had harbored against the man for most of his life was beginning to lessen, and by the time Constantin finished with “I still miss him, you know,” it was gone completely.
Ridiculously, Vasili felt close to tears, damn close.
He hadn’t cried since he was a small child, and the urge he felt now was all but choking him.
He missed his father, too, and until now he hadn’t realized how much.
Once his anger over his father’s untimely death had passed, he’d felt a good deal of regret, in particular that he’d never had the opportunity to be friends with Simeon, the way Stefan had become friends with his own father, Sandor, after he’d reached his manhood.
This was certainly not the way Vasili had anticipated his interview with the baron to go. Of course, nothing was going the way he had anticipated, especially his first encounter with his betrothed.
Her remark that she wasn’t what he had expected was an understatement.
He had pictured a pampered and frivolous aristocratic woman whom he could easily intimidate.
But he couldn’t imagine intimidating the audacious wench he’d just met.
She spoke her mind with brazen disregard for decorum.
She dressed like a peasant, a male peasant at that.
And she rode a horse astride, as if she had been born in a saddle.
There didn’t seem to be a shy bone in her body.
And why the hell didn’t she want to marry him?
Vasili wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he wasn’t relieved, as Lazar thought he’d be. He had been rejected. Rejected. It was a unique experience for him—well, not quite.
Tanya had also rejected him out of hand when she’d been told he was the king she would have to marry.
“I wouldn’t marry your king if you paid me,” was the way she had put it.
Of course, she hadn’t believed that she was Princess Tatiana Janacek, or that she had been betrothed at birth to the present King of Cardinia.
It wouldn’t have made a difference if she had believed it, though, since she had scorned Vasili at the time, just as he had scorned her.
But even then he hadn’t felt rejected. Nor had he felt whatever it was that had him so irritated now. And his inability to identify exactly what was bothering him only added to his irritation. He was careful, however, to conceal his feelings from the baron.
Originally he had intended to present himself to Constantin Rubliov as a completely undesirable son-in-law.
He had assumed, based on his experience with women, that his betrothed would be pleased to have him, and so would be the more difficult of the two Rubliovs to dissuade from this marriage, whereas her father could be easily outraged.
But after listening to the baron speak so highly and with genuine affection about his father, he knew he couldn’t do it—at least not in the more obvious ways he had planned.
He’d already lied about why he had been delayed in arriving, blaming it on an illness in his party, when in fact he had deliberately wasted time, staying over in each town for days, once for a full week—because of a pretty little redhead—instead of just for the night.
The delay was to allow the cold of the approaching winter to hinder travel.
If for some reason he had to take Alexandra Rubliov back to Cardinia with him, he wanted the weather to give her an added incentive to turn back.
He was, of course, going to give her a great many reasons to end this ridiculous betrothal, but he would utilize anything extra that might aid his cause, including the weather.
But now the rest of his campaign, at least where the baron was concerned, had to be set aside. He wasn’t going to disgrace his father in this man’s eyes by behaving like an utterly detestable son.
But he didn’t have to be perfect either. Perhaps he could disappoint him by not having—or pretending not to have—certain qualities or attitudes the man was hoping to find in him. He just had to figure out what they might be.
“About your daughter, sir?”
“Yes, I was watching from the drawing room when you met her.”
And Constantin couldn’t have been more pleased when he’d witnessed firsthand Alexandra’s reaction to the young count. It was all he could do to contain his relief now, it was so great. Somehow he managed.
“I regret that she wasn’t at her best,” he continued. “But you see, she spends most of each day working with the horses, and so she dresses for convenience, rather than—”
“Working with horses?” Vasili’s surprise was genuine, giving him no time to ascertain whether he should approve or disapprove. His tone said it all, and turned Constantin defensive.
“This is a horse-breeding farm, after all,” he explained. “And Alexandra was the only one of my three daughters who showed any interest at all in the horses. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged her, but I did, and once I did, there was no turning back.”
Vasili was relieved to see that he had taken the correct tone, at least for his purposes.
The father obviously allowed the girl her unusual occupation, and Vasili would not be out of line in expressing disapproval of that.
The baron’s quick defense told him the older man had probably anticipated that he would disapprove.
And just so there would be no mistaking that he was scandalized, albeit mildly, Vasili said, “You actually permit this?”
As if I could stop her, Constantin thought but refrained from replying. He would just as soon Vasili not find out how willful and stubborn his betrothed could be, at least until after the wedding.
“I saw no harm in this, and she is highly skilled with the animals,” he replied. “She doctors them, trains them, breeds them—”
“I beg your pardon?”
Color rose in Constantin’s cheeks, and he became defensive again. “Now see here. Alexandra is not some pampered, ignorant city girl who never gets her hands dirty. She was raised here in the country—”
Constantin stopped, for Vasili’s expression was eloquent. Well, that explains it, he might as well have said aloud, and in the driest tones.
The baron’s sigh was just as eloquent, the sound of a father at his wit’s end. “I will concede that my daughter’s activities need to be channeled in a new direction. And as with any new bride, a husband and children should see to that nicely.”
Vasili groaned inwardly, wondering now if his attitude wasn’t just what the baron had been hoping for.
He said carefully, “You do realize that I live in the capital city, near the palace. With the court functions she will be expected to attend, her life will be quite different from what she is accustomed to.”
“The change will do her good, though I warn you, she won’t give up her daily riding.”
That was such a moot point, Vasili said indifferently, “Most noblewomen ride for pleasure.”
“What about racing?”
“Preposterous. No lady races—she races?”
“Occasionally.”
“Not anymore,” Vasili said stiffly.
“Splendid.”
Vasili slumped a bit in his chair. He was supposed to be hitting on the things that would not please the baron, not turn out to be the ideal solution to the man’s apparent problems with an unnatural daughter.
Trying for a desperate about-face, Vasili said, “I do, of course, own several country estates not too distant from the capital. I suppose she could be allowed to pursue her…hobby there.”
Constantin smiled. “Alexandra will be delighted to hear that.”
Vasili gritted his teeth, giving up. His last hope, with the baron at least, was that the man might be lying about this betrothal. It was a slim hope, but Vasili was feeling desperate again.
“I would like to see a copy of the betrothal contract, sir. Apparently my father’s copy was misplaced or lost, since it was never found.”
“Certainly.”
Vasili flushed slightly, seeing that the contract had been lying there on the desk between them. Constantin handed it over, obviously having anticipated the request, and it didn’t take long for Vasili to peruse the brief document—and find his father’s signature on it. So much for slim hopes.
“Might I ask why you waited so long to write?” Vasili asked as he handed the contract back. “Your daughter is quite beyond the age when most girls marry.”
“That was selfishness on my part, wanting to keep her with me for a bit longer,” Constantin said. “And she was content with her life here.”
“I don’t doubt it. Are you aware that she doesn’t want to marry me?”
“She told you that?”
“She did.”
Constantin thought frantically for a moment before he waved his hand dismissively. “Nervousness, and the thought of change. It happens to many brides—and grooms.”
“Usually such feelings are kept to oneself,” Vasili replied in a near grumble.
Constantin chuckled. “Ah, you’ve discovered my daughter’s propensity for frankness.
I’ll admit it can be disconcerting at times, but refreshing at others.
Alexandra will never waste your time getting to the point, you can be sure of that.
But you needn’t take her remark to heart.
It’s not you she doesn’t want to marry, but anyone.
As I said, she would have been perfectly happy going on as she has been—indefinitely.
But she will marry you. I have her word on that. ”
That was not what Vasili was hoping to hear. “With all due respect, sir, are you sure you want to force your daughter to marry a man she doesn’t want?”
“Come now, doesn’t want?” Constantin smiled in such a knowing way that Vasili nearly blushed. “I saw what happened when she first beheld you, and I assure you, no man has ever rendered her speechless before.” Not even that damn Englishman.
Vasili was blushing now—unaccountably, because it wasn’t as if he weren’t used to rendering women speechless. “She claims I surprised her.”
“No doubt you did.”
“It was mutual.”
“No doubt it was. My youngest daughter is nothing if not unique,” Constantin said with a good deal of fatherly pride. “I also have no doubt that a man of your years and experience will have little difficulty in winning her affections—and easing her fears.”
Not if Vasili could help it. And he was getting nowhere with the baron. The man had accepted him wholeheartedly, would apparently use any excuse to continue to do so. Vasili knew he needed to concentrate his efforts on Alexandra, and there was no time to spare.
He assured the baron, “I will make every effort where your daughter is concerned.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, just a statement that was open to different interpretations.
He stood up to end the interview. “Because of my delay in arriving, I’m afraid we’ll have to leave very soon, preferably tomorrow, before the weather makes traveling too dangerous. ”
He’d managed to surprise the older man. “But arrangements aren’t finished for the wedding.”
Vasili feigned a look of remorse. “I’m sorry, but did I forget to mention that my cousin insists the wedding take place in Cardinia, in the palace? It was the queen’s suggestion, and Stefan does love to give her anything she desires.”
Constantin had no comment for that and could think of nothing but the dilemma this unexpected development was going to cause. “But I’ve made no provisions to travel at this time.”
“You can always wait until spring next year and bring her to Cardinia then,” Vasili was quick to suggest.
Too quick, Constantin noted, which was why he said, “No, it isn’t necessary for me to witness her wedding. With the betrothal, you are almost as good as married. I’ll wait and visit when she has her first child.”
Jesus, the man already had him married and soon to be a father, Vasili thought with dread. “But surely she’ll be disappointed?”
As angry as she was with Constantin? He barely kept from snorting. “Not at all. If anything, she’ll be glad to be out from under my authority.”
And instead be under mine, Vasili realized, the thought intriguing him—until the consequences reared up to horrify him.
Seducing the little wench was no longer a possibility, in fact, it was absolutely forbidden.
But it would be easier to get her to break the betrothal if her father wasn’t there to see how utterly despicable he intended to be—if he couldn’t get her to cry off before tomorrow.