16

A li was clearly ecstatic over the idea of being able to view a full-dress parade. Heretofore she had only heard rumors about the exhibitions of horsemanship and colorful uniforms worn by the riders. She had been assured that it would be a lavish spectacle, and now that other cavalry units were competing against her master’s outfit, it promised to be an exciting event, one that she hoped would solidify Colonel Tyrone Rycroft as the best equestrian instructor in all of Russia.

The maid was by no means the only one desirous of seeing the presentation. Synnovea was elated over the prospect of watching Tyrone and his men perform on the field for the tsar, yet she was a bit anxious about it, too, considering His Majesty would be comparing the skills of her husband’s company to others. Now that there were other troops of Hussars eager to win the distinction of being the best and most impressive riders on the field, she was anxious for Tyrone to accomplish a flawless exhibition.

For the occasion, Synnovea had garbed herself in an emerald-green sarafan lavishly embroidered with twining vines and small silk clusters of pale blue flowers. It was one that Tyrone especially liked. Not only did the darker hue accentuate the green in her eyes, but the rich color complimented her fair skin. A matching kokoshniki had been created with tufted ribbons of light blue interspersed among green silk leaves, which had been adorned with dewdrops of translucent beading. Lastly she draped a fringed shawl of iridescent green silk around her shoulders, hoping the weather would stay pleasant long enough to allow her to escape the need for a cloak, which she had prudently brought along in the carriage.

Natasha had also been caught up in the enthusiasm of her companions and vivaciously waved and called greetings to friends and acquaintances as she followed to the reviewing stand to which Tyrone had verbally directed them before taking his leave earlier that morning. Prince Adolphe hailed Natasha from afar and hastened to catch up as she, in turn, tried to keep pace with Synnovea. Arriving at the pavilion where the wives and families of the officers were gathering, the younger woman paused to catch her breath, much to the relief of the two older women, who had lagged behind in spite of their attempts to keep up. Rosy cheeks on all attested to their rapid flight across the grounds in the crisp morning air.

“You should be grateful that Tyrone wasn’t here to witness your arrival, my dear,” Natasha exclaimed breathlessly, dabbing a lacy handkerchief to her cheeks where a fine mist of perspiration now glistened. “Otherwise you might have given him cause to think you’re anxious to see him all spiffed and polished in his uniform.”

Synnovea had taken a measure of delight in withholding news of their new marital relationship from the older woman. Since it was clearly what the elder had been expecting, Synnovea had no doubt that she’d be teased unduly, and was just as certain that she’d never hear the last of Natasha’s gleeful hooting if she even hinted of her growing infatuation with Tyrone Rycroft.

Tossing her head, Synnovea sweetly needled, “And I suppose you just came along to pester me and have no real interest yourself in watching the proceedings. If that’s all you’ve come for, perhaps Prince Adolphe can entertain you while Ali and I watch the festivities.” She inclined her head to indicate the gray-haired man who was hastening up the steps of the pavilion. “He’s here now to save you from the dreadful boredom of this event.”

Natasha chuckled at the girl’s spirited rejoinder. “You should know by now that a team of Adolphe’s finest horses couldn’t drag me away from here today.”

“Of course,” Synnovea answered with a smug smile. “But I just wanted to hear it from your lips.”

Both women swept into deep curtsies as Prince Adolphe joined them. The man’s dark eyes twinkled admiringly as he complimented Synnovea on her apparel, but when they settled on Natasha, a different light glowed in their depths, one that closely resembled adoration. Even after being gently rejected several times, the widowered prince hadn’t yet lost hope that Natasha would someday relent and accept his proposal of marriage.

“Perhaps the two of you should adorn the tsar’s pavilion, where your beauty can be better viewed,” Adolphe suggested with a chortle, “and where I can also benefit from your radiant glow while adhering to my duties.”

The two women laughed at his magnanimous compliment, but Synnovea kindly rejected his gallant invitation. “My husband will be expecting to see me here, Prince Adolphe, and I wouldn’t want him to think that I hadn’t come. Therefore I must forgo the privilege of joining you. But there’s no reason why Natasha cannot.”

The prince was eager to convince the older woman. “So many of our friends are already there, Natasha.” Puckish humor tugged at the comers of his mustached mouth. “But then, there are several who might not be quite as pleased to have you there as I. Princess Taraslovna has made a point of joining her cousin, perhaps in a quest to get back in good stead with him. That sober little cleric she dotes on is also trying to gain favor with the tsar and Patriarch Filaret, but his duplicity seems ill-timed.”

The last time Natasha had seen Ivan, he had been trying to rally support for a second advisor to be appointed for the tsar. She wasn’t at all surprised by the cleric’s cozenage, but she was curious to know why it seemed inappropriate. “How so?”

“From what I understand, the good patriarch got wind of Ivan Voronsky’s efforts to see himself appointed as counselor. Right now, the cleric is rather hampered by a swollen jaw and can’t offer explanations as skillfully as I’m sure he would like.”

“But what happened to his jaw?”

Adolphe chuckled. “Prince Vladimir and his sons got miffed over a remark that Ivan made about a certain colonel’s wife. Well, you know their tendency to pick a fight with anyone they find fault with. I’m afraid poor Ivan didn’t fare too well in the process.”

Natasha cast a quick glance toward Synnovea, whose attention had been snared. The older woman carefully voiced an inquiry. “Was the colonel’s wife anyone we know, Adolphe?”

“None other than your beautiful house guest, my dear.”

Synnovea could imagine the insults that Ivan was wont to lay upon her and gingerly offered a supposition. “I assume the remark was terribly offensive.”

“It was,” Adolphe Zherkof admitted, “but after Sergei nearly fractured his jaw, Ivan has been extremely hesitant about repeating the slur lest that brawling brood come after him. At the time, he probably thought Vladimir would agree with him when he said something about you supposedly being caught with the Englishman soon after the document for your betrothal to the old prince was signed, but from what Feodor told me about his brother’s attack, Ivan’s slander not only incensed their father, it outraged the whole family. ’Twould seem they are still much taken with you, my dear.”

“I knew I liked those boyars,” Natasha chimed in with amused laughter. “I just never knew how much until now.”

Adolphe grinned. “I thought you’d enjoy that bit of news, my dear. In fact, you’ll probably hear more delectable tidbits if you’d consent to join me in the tsar’s pavilion.”

“I’d love to, Adolphe, but you’ll be busy introducing diplomats and foreign emissaries to His Majesty, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll come after the parade, when you’ll have more time.” Lightly resting a hand upon his arm, she asked, “Will you be able to join us this evening for dinner, or must you attend the banquet for the dignitaries?”

“Alas, my services will be needed at the banquet.” He peered at her hopefully. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”

Natasha smiled. “Of course, Adolphe, but we can talk about it later.”

His dark eyes gleamed back at her. “After the parade,” he assured her, lifting her hand to bestow a kiss upon her slender fingers. “I’ll return to fetch you.”

“I shall be awaiting you,” the woman told him with a soft, warm light shining in her own eyes.

Synnovea slanted a curious stare upon her companion after the prince made his departure. “Do you suppose you’ll ever marry him?”

A sigh of contentment slipped from Natasha’s smiling lips as her gaze followed the man. “Aye,” she breathed. “When I no longer have to worry that my late husband will come between us. After enjoying a love that seemed without equal, I fear at times that it might not be the same with Adolphe.”

“If I’m any judge of men, Natasha, I rather doubt that you’d ever be sorry if you married the prince. He loves you very much, and if I may be so bold, I think you’re also in love with him, but just too reluctant to let go of your memories.”

Natasha’s dark eyes danced with humor as she met the other’s gaze. “Not so long ago, I was the one giving counsel to you. Now here you are advising me. What a turnabout indeed.”

Synnovea laughed. “Aye, and ’tis sweet revenge to be on the giving end,” she teased, squeezing the other’s fingers fondly. “At times some women are blinded by circumstances when a matter is too close to the heart, but they’re able to see things much more clearly from a distance.”

“I can hear the gossips now,” Natasha replied with a feigned sigh of lament. “That awful Natasha Andreyevna, they’ll say. Married again for the fourth time! Disgraceful hussy! And now she’s a princess, for heaven’s sakes!”

“There’s not a woman your age who isn’t envious of you,” Synnovea reasoned.

“’Twill certainly give Anna Taraslovna something to talk about,” the older woman predicted. “After all these years, she has never forgiven me for being Aleksei’s first choice for a wife.”

Synnovea was taken aback by surprise. “I didn’t know.”

Natasha lifted her slender shoulders in a casual shrug. “’Twas nothing of any import. We met while visiting mutual friends at their home. We were together for several days after a snowstorm hindered us from leaving, and although nothing untoward occurred, Aleksei vowed afterwards to have me as his bride. At the time, I was a bit overwhelmed by his charm and good looks and fervently hoped something more would come of it. Aleksei offered my parents a contract of marriage, but by then they had already promised me to my first husband. Like you, I preferred the younger man, yet my parents were alive and I could neither disobey them nor ignore the contract. It was as simple as that. Nothing more came of it, and a pair of years later, Aleksei and Anna were wed. I was widowed a week later, and when the Taraslovs came to offer their condolences. Aleksei whispered that he should have waited. I’m not sure whether he told Anna about his offer of marriage to me or she found out on her own, but she took it upon herself to draw me aside during that same visit. In short, she warned me to stay away from her husband.”

“All this time I couldn’t understand why Anna hated you so intensely,” Synnovea said in amazement. “But now I understand. She’d begrudge any woman who her husband thinks is attractive.”

“Anna must be eaten up with jealousy by now, considering the legions who’ve been beguiled by him,” Natasha observed. “I can count myself fortunate that I never had to worry about a promiscuous husband.”

“Perhaps Aleksei would have been of a different bent if he had married you,” Synnovea ventured to suggest.

The countess sighed. “Nevertheless, it has seemed my good fortune that I didn’t marry him. Who knows? I might have turned out to be as shrewish as Anna.”

“Good morn’n’!”

The greeting came from behind them, and though the voice was strangely familiar to both women, neither Synnovea nor Natasha could place it until they each turned to find Aleta Vanderhout moving toward them. The woman’s eyes swept over their elegant Russian apparel and chilled perceptibly above a stiff smile. “My, my! Yu two certainly make every effort to claim masculine attention, don’t yu?” she simpered in a voice dripping with derision. “Why, it’s a vonder the two of yu aren’t avaiting the soldiers on the field.”

Synnovea’s own smile was rather stiff as she rejoined with a fair measure of sarcasm, “We don’t need to follow them as some women are wont to do, Aleta.” Glancing aside at Natasha, she lifted a hand to indicate the newcomer. “Do you perhaps remember Madame Vanderhout? She came to your house with her husband, General Vanderhout…after my wedding.”

Natasha could hardly forget the general’s shouts filling the manse when he had chided Tyrone, or his angry search for his wife when he had sought to storm out in vexation after being gently reprimanded for his rudeness. “Of course, how could I forget?” she replied, bestowing her attention upon the blonde. “Your husband was quite insistent that I find you and wouldn’t allow me to desist until you finally made an appearance. Ever since then, I’ve been wondering where you had wandered off to. Did you get lost, perchance?”

“Tell me, Synnovea,” Aleta urged snidely, ignoring the countess’s query. “Have yu come to view your husband at this affair, or does some other man interest yu?”

The flashing green-brown eyes conveyed Synnovea’s irritation. “When my husband is the most handsome among the tsar’s troops, why in the world would I look elsewhere, Aleta? But I can certainly understand why your eyes are inclined to roam.”

Though the insult was only vaguely subtle, it took Aleta a full moment before she recognized the slight against her own spouse. For a lengthy moment she stared agog at Synnovea, unable to find an adequate retort. Then her eyes hardened, and her mouth tightened, at least until she glanced beyond them. Then she brightened and hurriedly excused herself before bustling off toward the stairs and taking her leave of the pavilion.

Natasha leaned near her companion. “I sense by your chilly retorts that Aleta has given you ample cause to dislike her.”

Synnovea glowered after the departing woman. “That shameless little trollop had the nerve to accost my husband right in our chambers! That’s where she was when you went searching for her.”

“The unmitigated gall of that hussy!” Natasha’s lips curved with amusement as she glimpsed an honest display of wifely jealousy on the part of her young friend. “If I may ask, how did Tyrone handle that brazen trollop’s overture?”

Synnovea’s eyes began to dance with delight as she returned her attention to her friend. “Thankfully, he answered in a manner that any wife can approve of, and since neither was aware of my presence, the rebuff seemed genuine.”

“I’m glad Tyrone didn’t disappoint you, my dear, but I never thought he would. He’s quite enamored with you, you know.”

Synnovea sighed wistfully. “The same can be said of me.”

Natasha laughed in pleasure and patted her friend’s arm. “I’m glad you’ve finally arrived at that realization, my dear. It took you long enough.”

The younger suffered a twinge of surprise. “How long have you known?”

Natasha smiled contentedly. “Since he carried you to my carriage.”

The sweeping brows lifted in amazement. “That long ago?”

“Aye,” the elder assured her, “but, of course, I wasn’t with you before that day, so I really have no real ken how long you’ve actually been in love with him.”

“In love with him?” Synnovea repeated with deepening astonishment. “How can that be? Not so long ago I thought I abhorred him.”

Natasha laughed and lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug. “Sometimes love can hide behind different faces, my dear.”

Synnovea was still mulling over the wonder of it when she happened to glance toward the direction in which Aleta had gone. It seemed the woman’s goal had been to reach a Russian boyar whose head was being turned this way and that by every young and winsome lady who passed in front of him, but when Aleta laid a hand upon the man’s sleeve, he turned promptly to face her.

“Aleksei!” Synnovea clutched a trembling hand to her throat as a sudden vision of Tyrone hanging by his wrists loomed before her eyes.

Noticing her sudden pallor, Natasha grew immediately concerned. “Dear child, what has taken hold of you? You look as if you’ve just walked over your own grave.”

Synnovea could no more subdue her violent trembling than she could halt the memories that assailed her. “Aleksei nearly killed Tyrone for what I did, Natasha,” she stated in a voice fraught with emotion. “In my selfish quest to gain my freedom from Vladimir and choose my own husband, I nearly saw Tyrone’s life forfeited.”

“Hush, dear,” Natasha gently soothed, slipping a consoling arm around the girl’s shoulders. “That’s all in the past now. Things have turned out well in spite of everything. ’Twas Aleksei’s selfish desires that nearly saw you both undone.”

“Aye, but I see no reason for him to be here today except to cause trouble for my husband,” Synnovea replied worriedly.

“How can he, my dear? Tsar Mikhail is here to see whatever that crow might try to do. Even Aleksei wouldn’t be foolish enough to start something in front of so many important witnesses.”

“That may be true, but I still don’t trust the man,” Synnovea declared emphatically. “He’s as wily as a serpent.”

“I agree, my dear, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let that viper steal my joy.” Natasha affectionately slid an arm around the younger woman and squeezed the slender waist. “Now, let me see the radiant greeting you’ll bestow upon your husband when he rides out.”

Synnovea forced a smile and grew amused at the comical look of exasperation the elder bestowed upon her in return. Her qualms swiftly vanished. It wasn’t difficult at all to accept Natasha’s reasoning. Aleksei was too shrewd and too much of a coward to start trouble in a place where he’d likely suffer defeat. Hadn’t he proven himself recreant on the night of Tyrone’s flogging, letting Ladislaus or his men confront whatever danger lurked in wait for them before he dared to venture forth?

“You’ve always been as wise as my own dear mother, Natasha,” Synnovea assured her friend. “It’s comforting to hear such sage advice.”

“Considering the fact that your mother and I were the dearest of friends, I’ll accept that as an enormous compliment, my dear,” the countess replied with a radiant smile.

“Me lamb, look!” Ali cried from nearby. Nearly jumping up and down in her excitement, the tiny maid pointed toward the mounted troop advancing across the field. At the vanguard rode Tyrone, resplendently bedecked in a short red doublet embellished with braid and looped cords of shining gold and trimmed with midnight green around the cuffs and the banded collar. Matching green breeches were tucked into sleek black boots polished to a glossy sheen. The narrow brim of his silver helmet was worn low over his brow, and a red plume adorned the headgear, signifying him as the commander of the regiment, the smaller unit of which rode behind him now. The feather was readily visible as it dipped and fluttered in the buffeting breezes, allowing Synnovea to locate him easily as he and his men rode across the grounds to pay homage to the tsar. They saluted His Majesty, who acknowledged their presence with a wave of his hand, and in response, the cavalry unit returned to the center of the field and took up their positions.

Synnovea’s heart began to beat with swiftly expanding exhilaration as the trumpets sounded a fanfare. In the next moment the horns fell silent, and a low rumble of drums began. The volume grew by ever-strengthening degrees until the drumbeats became pulsing vibrations that matched the smoothly sweeping advance of the mounted Hussars. The men rode as if they were of one body and in complete harmony with their steeds, seeming firmly attached to their saddles, contributing to the graceful smoothness of their ride as they performed a maze of maneuvers that held Synnovea spellbound. In rapt attention she watched the cavalrymen approach. Upon nearing His Majesty’s pavilion, they split in twain and circled the grounds in opposite directions. As they did, the two lines separated into smaller units, becoming echelons of riders who crisscrossed the paths of others from the opposing string before merging again in a dazzling, intertwining exhibition of horsemanship. A moment later, they divided once more, this time in squared-off columns. After another circling sweep around the field, they melded like cards being shuffled together. On and on they rode in intricately performed equitation, fascinating the spectators, whose gasps of pleasure and frequent applause attested to their enthusiasm.

The thrills intensified for Synnovea soon after the troop began to execute its maneuvers in front of the pavilion where the wives had gathered. Ali skittered about like an excited hen, pointing at the colonel and boasting to other servants that he was her master. Even a warning twitch or two on her skirts by her mistress wasn’t enough to remind the maid to pay attention to proper decorum.

“Magnificent!” Natasha exclaimed.

“Yes, he is, isn’t he,” Synnovea murmured, completely absorbed in watching her handsome husband. With sudden certainly, she knew that none of the other regiments would be able to thrill the tsar as much as Tyrone’s troop now did. If her own reaction was any indication, then His Majesty’s heart would be nigh thumping out of his chest.

The comers of Natasha’s lips lifted in a sublime smile as she cast a glance askance at her companion. “I was talking about the performance in general, my dear, but of course I agree with you. Your husband has always been quite impressive, even before you realized that fact.”

Synnovea’s cheeks pinkened lightly as she glanced in some embarrassment at her friend, but Natasha’s laughter was warm and inviting, completely infectious. Synnovea’s own amusement rallied, and together the two yielded to their bubbling mirth.

Zelda left her own husband to tend to his duties in the tsar’s pavilion shortly after Tyrone’s unit had ridden off the field, and hurried over to join her friends. “What did I tell you, Synnovea?” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Isn’t your husband magnificent?”

Natasha and Synnovea relented to their merriment again, completely bewildering Zelda until Synnovea laughingly explained that they had just been elaborating on that very fact. Zelda joined them in their amusement, nodding in agreement.

The princess was nearly bubbling with excitement. “Vassili said there are many boyarinas and daughters and wives of foreign officers who are of the same mind,” she eagerly confided as another troop rode onto the parade grounds. “You’ll likely be seeing a fair sampling of the colonel’s ardent following when this affair is over, my dear. The women simply adore him and will probably rush upon him to offer their congratulations, so be warned.”

Synnovea smiled at the animated ebullience of the princess. “What do you suggest that I do to stake my claim upon him?”

“Didn’t your husband tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Why, my dear, it has become a private tradition among the wives and fiancees to present their colors to their men.” Zelda was surprised that her friend hadn’t yet been informed, but then, she could understand a man not wanting his loved one to think that he was demanding such an honor. “By doing so, you’ll be able to frustrate the hopes and aspirations of all the women who desire to have your husband as their own. I’m sure there are many who’ve become cognizant of the fact that in the past, Colonel Rycroft has finished these affairs without a special lady in attendance. Just as many have no ken of his recent marriage and will no doubt try to offer their colors as consolation.”

Synnovea’s eyes clouded with sudden concern. “But Tyrone didn’t tell me. What must I do when I have no colors to give him?”

Thoughtfully Zelda scanned Synnovea’s apparel and took note of the scarf that was casually draped over her shoulders. “Your shawl will certainly suffice. It must go around his Waist, you know, so it should be about the right size.” Glancing toward the older countess, she asked, “Would you deem it suitable, Natasha?”

“Absolutely,” that one agreed cheerily. “’Twill be the most gorgeous of the colors received here today.”

The last group of Hussars concluded their performance and vacated the field. Then the commanders led their troops in order of appearance in a final review before the tsar’s stand. If the applause was an indication of the one which the spectators thought offered the finest performance, then it was thunderous enough to evoke cringes of pain when Tyrone’s unit passed in review.

At the conclusion of the event, the officers dismissed their men and rode back to the pavilion where their families awaited them. As Tyrone swung down from his mount, nearly a score of young women hastened forward in an eager quest to be at the vanguard of those who met him. Vying for attention, they fawned over him, stroking their hands caressingly along his sleeves, palling his back, and complimenting him profusely on his horsemanship. As Zelda had predicted, many clasped scarves in their hands and were desirous of having the distinction of being the one to wrap her color around his lean waist.

Tyrone politely demurred their offers, evoking disappointed sighs, and upon leaving them, briskly mounted the pavilion steps. As he strode toward his wife, his eyes melded in warm communication with hers, and though nothing more than a grin came from his lips, he revealed his pleasure with her appearance in a slowly exacting perusal that swept the length of her. When he halted before her, he leaned down to brush a kiss upon her cheek, daring much by his display of affection. He gathered her slender fingers into his, squeezing them fondly. “This is the first time my heart has soared with so much pride after one of these events,” he said in a husky murmur. “I never fully realized until now what I was missing. I wish I could kiss you as I yearn to do.”

Her soft lips curved in a radiant smile as her eyes plumbed the depths of those sparkling orbs. “I suppose we shouldn’t be so forward while we have such a vast audience of onlookers. You seem to be the darling of the parade, sir. Even so, it would be nice to claim you with a kiss. In lieu of that, I must resort to other methods.” Synnovea drew forth the shawl, which she had folded and draped over her arm. “I’ve been told that it’s customary for wives and sweethearts to present their men with tokens of their regard. Would you honor me by accepting my colors, sir?”

“With great delight, madam,” Tyrone breathed warmly. Retreating a step, he spread his arms and waited as she wrapped and knotted the scarf around his waist. When she lifted her head and offered him a loving smile, he could resist no longer. Ignoring proper decorum, he placed a soft kiss upon her mouth, which rapidly slackened in surprise. Astonished gasps were wrenched from older matrons, while giggling twitters were elicited from the younger women who had followed him into the pavilion and then had watched from a discreet distance. Tyrone paid neither group heed as he lost himself in the warmly glowing green-brown orbs. “That will have to suffice until we get back to our bedchamber, my sweet.”

Synnovea’s cheeks brightened with a blush of pleasure. “You make me anxious to return.”

Gazing into those luminous depths, Tyrone had to remind himself to breathe, “’Twas thrilling to have you in attendance as my wife.”

“Not as thrilling as it is to have you as my husband,” she murmured with adoration shining in her eyes.

Natasha leaned near and whispered a warning, “General Vanderhout seems to be coming this way at a fast pace, Colonel, and if you ask me. he doesn’t look at all happy. So be careful. He’s almost behind you now.”

Releasing an irritated sigh, Tyrone turned to meet his scowling commander “Good afternoon, General,” he greeted stiffly. “Did you enjoy the presentation?”

“Blasted waste of time, if you ask me,” Vincent Vanderhout grumbled. “I hope after today you’ll lend your attention to more important matters. It’s about time you took the men out on maneuvers and trained them in warfare. After all, that’s what you came here for, not this flamboyant extravaganza.”

“Your pardon. General, but I have been training my men in military tactics. I started the day I assumed command.”

Vincent scoffed. “I haven’t seen much evidence of that lately.”

Tyrone offered him a blunt supposition. “Perhaps because you haven’t been around to see it.”

The general’s eyes flared. “Are you suggesting that I’ve been ignoring my duties as you seem wont to do?”

Tyrone sought to curb his own rising vexation. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing. General, but my men and I haven’t seen you in the last week or so.” He failed to mention that he had enjoyed the man’s absence. “Otherwise, you’d be aware of what we’ve been doing to prepare ourselves for maneuvers in the field.”

General Vanderhout faced Synnovea with a tense smile. “If you’ll excuse us, madam. I’d like a private word with your husband.”

“Of course. General.” Synnovea glanced worriedly at Tyrone, who squeezed her hand reassuringly before he followed his commander from the pavilion. Anxiously she watched them, wondering what insults the general would heap upon her husband this time, no doubt in a tone that everyone could hear.

Zelda had witnessed the general’s approach and the fact that he had claimed Tyrone. Returning to her friend’s side, she offered counsel of her own. “Don’t fret over anything that man may try to do, my dear. He’s like a large bubble ready to pop. If Tsar Mikhail hasn’t noticed, those close to him certainly have, including the field marshal.”

General Vanderhout stalked around the far end of the pavilion to a place well out of sight of the royal pavilion. By the time he faced his second-in-command, it was obvious he had grown even more irate, for his cheeks now bore a florid, mottled hue. “How dare you suggest that I’ve been lax in my duties. Colonel!”

“I didn’t suggest anything of the kind,” Tyrone countered. “I simply said that I didn’t know where you had been.” Then, because he couldn’t resist gently needling the man, he queried, “Were you lax in your duties?”

“Certainly not! I’ve been indisposed.”

“I hope nothing serious,” Tyrone quipped.

Vanderhout glared back at him. “Just what do you mean by that?”

The colonel lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. “Only that if you were ailing, I hoped it was nothing more than a passing malady.”

“Who said I was sick?”

“Actually, no one,” Tyrone replied. “I naturally assumed that was what you meant.”

The general blustered. “Well, you were wrong to make such an assumption. My health is not the problem here. You are. Just because you’ve entertained the tsar with your horsemanship, you probably think you’re now the favored one in his eyes. ’Tis my duty to remind you of your lowly position.”

Tyrone canted his head, just now beginning to understand what was driving the man. Vanderhout’s jealousy was like deadly worms eating him alive. “The parade is over, General, and very soon I’ll be leaving Moscow to search out Ladislaus. In view of that fact, I can see little reason for your reprimand. Can you?”

Vanderhout clenched his teeth to still an acid retort. He had been hoping to see the younger man shaking in his boots, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll let you off this time. Colonel, but you’d better keep your wits about you or I’ll see you sent back to England.”

Tyrone’s lips drew into a laconic smile. “Thank you for your warning. General.”

With that, Tyrone gave him a crisp salute and, pivoting about-face, strode back to the pavilion. Vanderhout glared after him, wishing he could carry through with his threat, but he was painfully aware that his own career would spiral sharply downward once the colonel was gone and he could no longer claim the man’s accomplishments as his own. Thus far, he had been lucky in spite of the fact that his rank had been purchased by a wealthy father who had entertained aspirations of his son becoming a great military leader someday. Vanderhout heaved a sigh. Sadly enough, there were times when he felt completely inept at commanding men, and he knew well enough that the resentment he was harboring against the colonel was nothing more than his own envy spurring him on to vindictive accusations.

Synnovea’s attention had been drawn away from the two men when Natasha whispered another warning, “I do believe Anna is coming with that goat Ivan. She seems as vexed as the general. Do you suppose she could still be stewing over your marriage to the colonel?”

Synnovea steadfastly faced Anna as that one strode across the pavilion toward her. The woman’s thin jaw was rigid, and her eyes could’ve been likened to two penetrating slivers of gray ice. Obviously she hadn’t been able to reclaim the ground she had lost with the tsar, for at the moment, her rage seemed undiminished.

“The minute my back was turned, you started playing your foul little games to embarrass me before my cousin. Had I known what mischief you intended to brew in my absence, I would never have left Moscow.”

Recognizing the woman’s venom, Zelda interrupted cautiously. “This really doesn’t concern me, Synnovea. I must leave anyway and find my husband before he comes searching for me.” She pressed a cheek against her friend’s and voiced a conjecture in a muted tone. “Anna is merely irate because you escaped her malicious ploy to see you married off to Prince Vladimir.”

Stepping back, Zelda almost stumbled over Ivan Voronsky, who had halted close behind her. Perhaps the man’s intent had been to overhear what was being said between the two younger women, and though neither Synnovea nor Zelda doubted the capability of the cleric to resort to tactics of that sort, they were both amazed that he wasn’t more discreet.

Ivan sneered at Zelda in obvious distaste before she offered a hurried excuse and made her departure. Then he turned and bestowed a snide smirk upon Synnovea as he queried, “Another little witless friend of yours, Countess?”

Synnovea gasped in outrage. “Princess Zelda can hardly be considered witless, sir!” she protested, sharpening the man’s glare. “Nor can you accurately judge the wisdom of another when you have no idea what that particular word means!”

“Have you room to boast on any account?” Ivan challenged officiously. “I know what you are! I’ve known it all along! You’re naught but a filthy little slut!”

Ivan’s thin arm was immediately seized in a steely vise, eliciting a sharp yelp from the man. Looking around in painful surprise, he almost gulped when he met the glaring blue eyes of the Englishman.

“Be careful what you say, little toad,” Tyrone rumbled. “Someone may be tempted to do the world a favor and break your scrawny little neck. In other words, if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head when you’re talking to my wife, I’ll be obliged to do the deed myself.” Releasing the wide-eyed man as if he were something tainted, Tyrone gave Ivan a meaningful stare as if to affirm his pledge. “Be warned.”

Anna dared to intervene. “If you should attempt such a thing. Colonel, I’m sure every Russian in Moscow will be amused to see your head lifted off your shoulders at the Place of the Brow.”

Tyrone scoffed in derision. “What? For killing a rat?”

Ivan blustered in outrage, but Tyrone pulled his wife’s arm through his and gave them a curt excuse. “His Majesty has bade me to bring Synnovea to his pavilion ere we involve ourselves in any of the celebrations to be held afterwards. So if you’ll excuse us, the tsar is waiting.”

“I’ll tag along,” Natasha announced cheerily. “Adolphe wanted me to join him anyway, and since the air has grown quite offensive here, I’d like to seek a more fragrant site.” Taking it upon herself to give Ali leave to stay and talk with the other servants, Natasha waved to the tiny maid and then turned, meeting Anna’s glower briefly before she hastened to join the handsome couple, who were already making their way toward the royal pavilion.

Tsar Mikhail was standing with the field marshal when the three arrived, but he readily excused himself from the man and lent his full attention to Tyrone and Synnovea as Adolphe hurried forward to claim Natasha and draw her aside.

Mikhail’s dark eyes gleamed with pleasure as he considered the newlyweds. “I’m happy to see you both looking so fit. Obviously marriage agrees with you, Colonel.” He bent a smile upon Synnovea. “You also seem quite happy, my dear. Is all well with you?”

Her smile wavered enticingly between timidity and radiance. “Very well indeed, Your Majesty.”

Mikhail eyed the man at her side. “I’ve never seen a better performance from your outfit as I saw today. Colonel Rycroft,” he declared with enthusiasm. “In fact, I thought you seemed in remarkably good spirits while you were out on the field.” A threatening grin lugged at the corners of his lips. “Though in the past I’ve been much awed by your presentations, I was curious to know what had motivated you to such perfection today. Then I chanced to witness your haste to reach the other pavilion after the event. Obviously you had your mind affixed on pleasing your wife more than anyone else.”

Tyrone’s bronzed features took on a ruddy hue. “My most humble apology, Your Majesty, if I seemed distracted….”

Mikhail held up a hand to halt the polite plea. “I welcome whatever it was that encouraged the unparalleled excellence of your performance. Colonel. You delighted me—and my guests—far beyond the measure I was expecting.” Thoughtfully he tapped a forefinger against his lips. “It wouldn’t grieve me at all if you’d allow that particular inspiration to motivate you in the future. If such exhibitions are enhanced to the degree that I’ve seen here today, then I can only determine that it’s in my best interest to allow you to perform them in the main for your wife.”

Though relief flooded through him, Tyrone responded with a crisply executed bow. “I’m grateful for your kind indulgence. Your Majesty.”

“Perhaps when it’s convenient for you, we should discuss your last petition. I have a feeling that you’ll want to consider withdrawing it.”

Tyrone’s eyes dropped briefly as he suffered through a moment of painful chagrin. He was embarrassed that he had ever let his ire rule his head, but he squared his shoulders. “You see through me quite well. Your Majesty. I’d feel kindly favored if you’d forgive my impertinence and allow me to retract the petition. It has already been nullified.”

“I thought as much,” Mikhail replied with an amused chortle. “You seemed too happy with your present situation for me to believe otherwise. But then, I was sure in time you’d have a change of heart.”

“My heart has always been firmly ensnared, Your Majesty,” Tyrone dared to correct. “’Twas only my head that was led astray by my resentment.”