13

Synnovea arrived at the Palace of Facets much earlier than the time designated for her appointment with His Majesty Mikhail Romanov, the Tsar of all the Russias.

It was exactly twoscore hours after His Royal Highness had first bidden the countess to come and see him, and though her apprehensions hadn’t been alleviated by even the slightest degree, she was nevertheless the very essence of serene beauty as she waited outside his private offices.

Not only did she appear composed and sweetly demure in a mauve sarafan and beribboned kokoshniki , but she gave every indication that she was content with her summons.

But then, she had little choice after making a decision to set the record straight about what she had done.

It was here that Synnovea became a compassionate witness to the carefully executed entrance of Colonel Rycroft.

His movements were slow and painfully stiff, but only the slightest grimace could be noted by the one who watched him move away from the doorway.

The antechamber was narrow enough that he couldn’t miss seeing her.

At first, his only indication at having done so was a brief upward flick of a tawny brow.

Then his scowl deepened and his jaw lightened beneath tensely flexing muscles.

Disinclined to take a chair, he stood ramrod-straight while he stared stoically toward the entrance to the tsar’s chambers.

Synnovea had never seen such a tenacious stance, but the message he conveyed was clear. He was loath to even acknowledge her proximity.

Some moments later, Major Nekrasov came out to escort the colonel into the tsar’s presence, and in the stark solitude following Tyrone’s passage, Synnovea was reminded of the contempt she had heard in his voice shortly before the first stroke of the whip.

He had thrust her away in distaste and given his hearty approval for Ladislaus to take her for his own, confirming Natasha’s warnings that he would come to hate her for her coyly contrived entrapment.

The knowledge of his vehement rejection now evoked within her a gloomy regret for which she could find no assuagement.

So bleak were her hopes to reconcile herself to him that it wouldn’t have surprised Synnovea at all to hear the objections which the Englishman was presently voicing in response to the tsar’s suggestions.

“I plead your pardon, Your Majesty, but I must respectfully decline.”

Tyrone tried to check his darkly brooding vexation, but it was impossible for him to even consider such a proposal.

“I could never take the Countess Zenkovna as my wife after she used me for her own end.

If, in the months and years to come, my life’s blood is required upon a field of battle, then I hope it will be spilled honorably as a soldier in your service, but your recommendation is too much to ask of me.”

“I fear you’ve mistaken my words, Colonel Rycroft.”

Mikhail smiled benignly.

“I don’t request your compliance with my proposition.

While you’re here in this country, you’ll obey my every directive.

It’s my express wish that you take Synnovea to wife with all possible haste.

I promised her father before his death that I would see to the welfare of his daughter.

I would be lax in the performance of that pledge if I allowed you to escape your personal participation in this affair without seeking some remuneration for what has been done.”

“Was not the scarring of my back enough punishment for my involvement?”

Tyrone asked bluntly.

“The whipping was indeed dreadful, but it hardly corrects the problem.

Synnovea has confessed her guilt in deliberately seeking you out to be her champion of sorts.”

Mikhail glanced up briefly as a faintly audible snort came from the colonel.

After musing briefly on the disdain visible in the man’s visage, he continued with unswerving dedication to his proposal.

“Nevertheless, you were the one who accomplished her deflowering and are the only one who can properly amend the situation.

After all, you’re no young whelp who can plead innocence.

You’re old enough to accept the consequences of your actions and, may I presume, far more knowledgeable about this matter than the maid.

’Tis obvious she had good reason to believe you were willing to bed her or she would never have considered her defilement by you a viable option…which causes me to think that surreptitiously you had already begun courting the maid.

Is that not true?”

Tyrone’s face darkened to a ruddy hue.

“I saw her several times, but for the most part, Princess Anna denied my requests.”

“Did you take it upon yourself to see the girl in private?”

Most reluctantly, the colonel admitted that fact.

“I did, Your Majesty.”

“And were you successful?”

“Aye.”

“Where did this tryst take place?”

“In her bedchamber at the Taraslovs’.”

“And did Synnovea invite you in?”

“No, Your Majesty.

I climbed through a window after I had awakened her.”

Mikhail was aghast at the man’s audacity.

“And if you had been caught and been forced to pay penance, would you have claimed that the girl had deliberately enticed you into her chambers?”

“No, Your Majesty.

She had cautioned me to leave.”

“Well, there you have it!”

Mikhail threw up a hand, indicating the matter settled.

Tyrone was not so willing to accept defeat.

“Your Majesty, will you not kindly ponder my position?”

Mikhail was losing patience with the persistence of the man.

“Was Synnovea not a virgin ere you took her into your bed?”

Tyrone’s lean cheeks flexed tensely with the effort of keeping his temper under tight rein.

“She was a virgin, but—”

“Then there is no more to be said! I wouldn’t have another man mend your wrongs because you were duped by a young chit! Would you roar deception on a field of battle if you were tricked by a general whose face still bore the fuzz of his youth?”

“No, of course not, but—”

Mikhail slammed his open palm down upon the arm of his chair.

“Either you’ll marry Synnovea or, by heaven, I’ll see you discharged without honor from your service here!”

In the face of such a threat, Tyrone could only yield to the monarch’s authority.

He abruptly clicked his heels as he gave the tsar a crisp salute.

“As you so deign, Your Majesty.”

Mikhail reached up and jerked on a silken cord, bringing Major Nekrasov quickly back into the chamber.

“You may escort the Countess Zenkovna into my presence now.”

Tyrone dared to interrupt, bringing the major to a halt as he made another plea.

“I beg a moment more of your time, Your Majesty.”

Mikhail was immediately skeptical of what the colonel would request.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I shall abide by your order as long as I am here, Your Majesty, but once I leave, I’ll no longer be under your authority.”

Tyrone paused as the tsar inclined his head in cautious agreement and then continued in a respectful tone.

“If you should determine at that time that I have pleased you in the performance of my duties and have held myself away from Synnovea, which may be confirmed by her inability to produce an heir of mine, will you grant me an annulment from this marriage ere I return to England?”

Major Nekrasov’s head snapped around, and he glanced between the two men, feeling horrendously distraught by the fact that Synnovea would be marrying another.

Knowing he would have gladly endangered his own life in his quest to have her as his wife, he couldn’t even begin to understand the colonel’s request.

Mikhail was abruptly taken aback by the Englishman’s petition, but he could find no viable way to refuse.

If the dissolution wasn’t granted here within the boundaries of Russia, the colonel would likely seek it in England.

Mikhail would not tolerate a Russian countess being subjected to that kind of humiliation in a foreign land.

“If all will be as you say near the time of your departure, and you still wish such a separation, then I shall grant your petition.

But I must remind you that you still have three years to serve under my authority.”

“Three years, three months, and two days, sire.”

“That is an extremely long time to withhold yourself from so enchanting a woman, Colonel.

Can you even consider being successful in that endeavor?”

Tyrone faced the question frankly in his own mind.

He had no firm assurance that he’d be able to ignore Synnovea as his wife during the full extent of that time or even that he’d be able to curb his desires for her once the pain of her deceit subsided to a more tolerable level, but he had to leave open an option wherein their marriage could be dissolved should he find no further reason to continue with her.

At the moment, with so much anger roiling within him, he was hell-bent to go his own way without her, but there was always the possibility that his mood in time would soften toward her.

As the tsar had unerringly pointed out, Synnovea was as enchanting as she was beautiful, and when it had obviously been his foolish desire to trust her, he couldn’t promise with unswerving finality that he’d never fall victim to her siren’s song again.

Then, too, his heart might never recover from the wounds she had inflicted upon him.

“My failure or success will be revealed prior to my departure, Your Majesty.

You may take full account of the condition of our marriage at such a time.

Until then, I’ll make no guarantees, for I cannot in truth deny my zeal to have her before she played me for a fool.”

“I will hope by that time that your heart will be softened by forgiveness, Colonel.”

Mikhail sighed.

“I cannot imagine such a beautiful woman being ignored by her husband.

I once considered taking Synnovea for a bride myself, but I didn’t think she’d be able to abide the stricture of a terem .

I’d be appalled to see her hurt by your rejection of her.”

“You may save her both the pain and the humiliation of our annulment by allowing us to go our separate ways now,”

Tyrone suggested, peering at the tsar from beneath his brows.

“Never!”

Mikhail flung himself from his chair in a fitful rage.

“By heaven, Colonel, you’ll not maneuver your way out of this marriage! Indeed, I’ll see you wed before the week is out!”

Tyrone was wise enough to know when he had been defeated and immediate obeisance was advisable.

Clasping a hand to his chest, he bowed stiffly before the Russian tsar though the agony of his movement nearly splintered his control.

“As you deem fit, sire.”

Mikhail gave a crisp nod to Major Nekrasov, who made an about-face to carry out his order.

As Nikolai entered the antechamber, he managed a wan smile as he approached the woman he both admired and cherished.

“Tsar Mikhail will see you now, Lady Synnovea.”

A hesitant smile touched her lips as she rose to her feet.

“I thought I heard shouting.

Is His Majesty very angry?”

“Surely not with you, dearest Synnovea,”

Nikolai assured her.

“Did he say why he wanted to see me?”

she asked uneasily.

“I wasn’t permitted to stay in the room while he spoke with Colonel Rycraft.

You’ll have to ask His Majesty.”

“I never thought I’d anger so many people by what I did…”

Her words trailed off when she realized that Nikolai was regarding her quizzically.

“And what may that have been, my lady?”

Synnovea lowered her eyes hurriedly to avoid meeting his gaze any longer than she had to.

“’Twas nothing.

I’m proud of, Nikolai, and if you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather not speak, of the matter, for the memory of my deeds pains me sorely.”

Recalling that she had not thanked him for what he had accomplished by coming to the colonel’s rescue, she laid a trembling hand upon his and looked up at him.

“I shall be eternally grateful for your help in rescuing Colonel Rycroft, Nikolai.

I never dreamt that you’d actually bring Tsar Mikhail with you.

However did you manage such a feat?”

“I did nothing more than tell His Majesty that the colonel was in danger.

After that, he took matters into his own hands.

The Englishman had already won the tsar’s favor and respect by his own merits.

Quite clearly, ’twas that fact alone which prompted his Highness to fly to his side.”

Nikolai glanced askance toward the chamber wherein the tsar held unofficial court and hastened to advise, “We mustn’t delay any longer, my lady.

Tsar Mikhail is waiting to speak with you.”

Synnovea took a deep breath, hoping to settle her restive nerves, and entered upon the major’s arm.

Her gaze flitted about the large room until she found Tyrone standing at attention just to the left of the tsar’s chair.

He made no attempt to glance around in her direction but maintained his stoic reticence as Mikhail beckoned her forward.

Drawing near, she sank into a deep curtsy and waited in trembling silence while Major Nekrasov took his leave.

“Synnovea, I have made several decisions concerning your future,”

His Majesty announced.

“I hope you’ll not find them too burdensome.”

“Your will is my command.

Your Majesty,”

Synnovea answered, her voice declining in strength until her last words were barely audible.

She had no idea what lay in More for her, but she was resolved to find no fault with what was commanded of her.

At the very least she expected to be sent to a monastery.

“I have decreed that you and the colonel shall wed….”

Astounded by his revelation, Synnovea jerked her head up to stare at him.

Then, just as quickly, she looked around to see Tyrone’s response.

He stood ramrod-straight and stubbornly refused to meet her shocked gaze, though the muscles in his sun-bronzed cheeks tensed and flexed in his attempt to check any outward show of abhorrence.

“…Before the week is out,”

Mikhail continued, allowing her hardly enough time to catch her breath.

“You’ll be married in my presence day after the morrow.

That should give you both time to decide several matters concerning your quarters.

’Tis unthinkable that a Russian boyarina should live in the German district.

Therefore, Synnovea, you may ask the Countess Andreyevna if she will accommodate your new marital status as a personal favor to me.

Assuming that she’ll agree, I’ll deem the matter already settled.

Once the ceremony has been concluded, you and Colonel Rycroft may celebrate as you see fit. I’m sure Natasha would enjoy making much of the occasion, and though the colonel is still indisposed with his back, I would urge you both to participate in such a way as to make it seem a festive occasion to alleviate the possibility of damaging rumors being circulated among my boyars. It isn’t often that the Tsar of all the Russias personally initiates the union of two of his favored subjects. You may consider my attention in this affair as a personal compliment to you both. To celebrate, I shall order a midday banquet to be held here in the palace soon after the nuptials are performed. Now, are there any concerns you wish to voice?”

He waited as each made a negative reply, and then smiled as he bade, “Then you may go.”

Together they paid homage, Synnovea with a sweeping curtsy and the colonel by a painfully executed bow.

Tyrone shifted his gaze in her direction, briefly assessing the beauty of his intended, but without word or other form of acknowledgment, he turned crisply to make his exit from the room.

“Colonel Rycroft.”

Mikhail’s voice brought that one to an abrupt halt.

“I hope you’ll consider how fortunate you are to be gaining such a winsome bride and treat her accordingly.

Is it not proper for a gentleman of your country to graciously escort his betrothed upon his arm and make a show of cherishing her, especially while there is an audience in attendance? If there is no such requirement in your country, then I shall deem that circumstances warrant such care here in this land.

Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty,”

Tyrone replied succinctly and, stepping beside the countess, stiltedly presented his arm as he faced the door.

Synnovea could sense his roiling displeasure at having to extend any show of chivalry toward her and found it terribly ironic that he had come to loathe her, while she, during either her contrived seduction or her initiation into sensual pleasures, had fallen under the colonel’s bewitchment and was now thoroughly infatuated with the very one she had singled out to be her victim.

“Is your coach still outside?”

Tyrone inquired as they entered the antechamber.

“Yes,”

she answered softly, “but you needn’t escort me out if you find the task too burdensome.”

“I’ve been ordered by Tsar Mikhail to show you favor,”

Tyrone jeered icily, “at least while we have an audience.

Until we find ourselves alone, I’ll try to comply with the directive he has given.

’Twould seem I’ve little choice if I want to leave here in good graces with His Majesty.”

Tyrone came to abrupt attention as the field marshal strolled through the front door.

With a crisply executed salute, the colonel greeted the Russian, who passed them with a casual wave.

No movement came from Tyrone as the man departed, and Synnovea glanced up to find her escort standing in rigid silence.

The color had drained from his face, and the muscles in his lean cheeks had tightened to an intensity that clearly conveyed the fact that he was silently enduring a moment of intense pain.

“Are you all right?”

she whispered in concern.

He nodded rigidly and, with a slight twitch of his shoulders, reclaimed tenacious control of his bearing.

But now he moved at a much more deliberate pace as they passed through the front portal.

Managing the steps with only a wince or two, Tyrone handed her into the waiting coach and, closing the door, stepped back with an abbreviated gesture to Stenka.

As the conveyance rumbled away from the palace, Synnovea leaned back against the seat, biting a quavering lip and squeezing her eyelids tightly shut against the tears that flooded upward within her.

Despite her effort to stem the tide, they trickled down her cheeks in widening channels.

One could say she had made her bed and now would have to lie in it, but it gave her no pleasure to think that there was so much resentment bound up in the man who was about to become her husband.

When the carriage arrived at the Andreyevna mansion a short time later, Natasha was at the front portal, anxiously awaiting her return.

Synnovea choked out a lame excuse and, with an unchecked torrent of tears, rushed past the woman.

Once she gained the safety of her chambers, she found herself confronted by Ali and a barrage of dismayed questions.

“Oh, me lamb! Me lamb! What has broken yer heart so?”

Bidding the maid to leave her, Synnovea fell across the bed and sobbed in bleak misery until she felt totally drained of emotion.

The delicate eyelids grew swollen and seemed to scratch her eyes as she sought sleep as an escape from her anguish, but such a respite was not within reach.

Thus, for a time she stared listlessly toward the window, dismally taking distant note of the brightly colored leaves fluttering to earth beyond the panes of glass.

Sometime later, a light rap came upon the door of the anteroom, and in solemn dejection Synnovea went to let Natasha into the chambers.

“I couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

The woman searched the reddened eyes with grave concern as she begged excusal for the interruption.

“Dear child, what has happened to bring you to this end? Have you been banished from court?”

A lame shake of the beautiful dark head gave tacit answer.

“Denounced by the tsar?”

A slash of a slender hand negated such an idea.

“Sentenced to a nunnery?”

“Not anything so trivial,”

Synnovea whispered miserably.

Natasha lost her aplomb.

Catching the girl by the shoulders, she shook her as she demanded in desperation, “Good heavens, child! What has His Majesty decreed your sentence to be?”

Synnovea gulped back another torrent of tears and carefully pronounced each word as she gathered them together in a strained reply.

“His Majesty, Tsar Mikhail, has ordained that Colonel Rycroft should marry me ere the week is out.”

“What?”

Natasha almost shrieked the word out in sudden jubilation.

“Oh, great sainted mother! How could he have been so clever?”

Synnovea frowned at her friend through a new wealth of tears.

“You don’t understand, Natasha.

Colonel Rycroft hates me, just as you said he would.

He wants nothing to do with me, and he’s especially loath to take me to wife.”

“Oh, my dear child, lay aside your grief and dismay.”

the older woman cajoled.

“Don’t you see the way of it? The colonel’s anger will surely soften in time.

A man can hardly ignore a woman who is his wife.”

“He detests me! He loathes me!”

Synnovea declared glumly as she returned to her bedchamber.

“He didn’t even want to escort me from the palace! ’Twas only by the tsar’s mandate that he did so.”

“He will change,”

Natasha reassured her enthusiastically, following in her wake.

“When are the nuptials?”

“Day after tomorrow.

His Majesty also asked if you’d consent to let us both stay here with you.”

Natasha chortled as she stroked a finger thoughtfully across her chin.

“Never let it be said that Tsar Mikhail isn’t shrewd and wise enough to handle Russia’s affairs on his own.

Why, just by this edict alone he has shown his ability to manage matters wisely.”

She smiled into Synnovea’s teary eyes and tried to encourage her.

“For a time your rage and aversion to each other will punish you both, but when your anger has been spent…”

She lifted her shoulders in a lighthearted shrug.

“Only God can foresee the end of all things, my dear.

We can only bide our time and hope for the best.”

Natasha returned to the anteroom and opened the outer door, where Ali was still anxiously fretting.

The elder’s sad eyes and deeply wrinkled countenance evidenced the distress she was presently suffering.

Natasha smiled down at the servant and, taking the frail hand into hers, drew Ali into the bedchamber, where her mistress sat staring dejectedly out the window.

“You’ll never guess, Ali,”

Natasha said in a cheery tone.

“Colonel Rycroft has been commanded by the tsar to take your mistress to wife.”

The wispy brows jutted upward in surprise as Ali glanced toward Synnovea.

“Ye don’t say!”

“Ah, but I do,”

Natasha reassured her.

“In fact, they’re to be wed day after the morrow.”

“So soon?”

Ali squinted up at her in surprise.

“Are ye sure?”

“Your mistress has said as much herself.”

“Then why is me lamb so put out?”

Ali was genuinely perplexed, for she couldn’t understand why any woman would grieve about her forthcoming marriage to such a fine specimen of a man.

“A mystery, to be sure, but her lamentations are bound to turn to joy, do you not agree, Ali?”

Natasha paused briefly to receive the tiny woman’s eager nod.

“’Twill only be a matter of time.

But we must plan a celebration to mark the event! The colonel must encourage his friends to come, while we shall invite our own.”

Natasha laughed with the sheer excitement of it and clapped her hands together in glee.

“I’m almost tempted to ask Aleksei to the nuptials just to see him suffer, but I fear his presence would only provoke the colonel, and we cannot have that.”

Natasha leaned near the widely grinning servant as she continued to voice an avalanche of conjectures.

“Of course, you know Princess Anna will probably be utterly devastated when she returns to find the couple already wed.

When last I saw her, she was absolutely in a snit over Colonel Rycroft petitioning the tsar for Synnovea’s hand.

If not for her, the couple might have already been wed.”

“Go away, the two of you!”

Synnovea groaned in wretched misery.

“You’re both making light of all of this, but I’m so distraught I shan’t able to sleep for a whole year!”

“Then we’ll leave you to mourn in solitude,”

Natasha replied, completely bereft of sympathy.

“Ali and I will be happy to do all the planning while you’re indisposed.”

She paused in the anteroom to glance back at the younger woman.

“Where are the vows to be spoken? Did you think about that?”

“His Majesty made the decision for us.

They’re to be said in his presence at the palace.”

Natasha again clapped her hands together in glee, like a small child anticipating a confection.

“Then we’ll have to find you a rich gown to wear in honor of the occasion.

You must look your best for both the tsar and the colonel.”

“I don’t think either of them will care what I look like, especially the colonel,”

Synnovea retorted morosely.

“Nevertheless, you must be outfitted in a grand manner if you’re to arouse a warm response from your groom.”

Ali was eager to report, “Me mistress had settled on a sarafan for her wedding to Prince Dimitrievich.

’Tis prettier than anything she can have made or perhaps find in so short a time.

’Twill do her justice, a pink one nearly as comely as she.”

“The day will be fair,”

Natasha proclaimed, heaving a contented sigh, “and the bride shall be absolutely breathtaking….”