interpretations of particular stanzas. It was a bit,' she added with a smile, 'like playing chess through the mails.'
'And you came to follow in your father's footsteps,' Alisa said. 'I suppose you've been asked countless times whether you find the field unusual.'
Lisaveta nodded. 'Hafiz seems very normal to me, raised as I was in the midst of his research. The exotic qualities of the topic elude me. It's rather like a comfortable old sweater.'
Nikki smiled. 'An uncommon metaphor for Hafiz, I'd warrant, but I understand. Mother's Romany blood may seem exotic to others, but their culture is prosaic and second nature to me. I may see it as interesting but certainly not exotic.'
'Exactly,' Lisaveta agreed warmly.
'Be warned, though,' Nikki cautioned out of concern for his cousin's feelings, 'some in society may see your interest in other terms.'
'I understand,' Lisaveta replied, her smile intact. 'Papa was careful to apprise me of those possibilities years ago, and I've all the bland phrases readily available. I deflect the rabidly curious, politely correct the detractors, and I tell the mildly inquisitive that Hafiz was a troubadour of sorts, much like the medieval European ones. He composed love songs. It sounds all very innocent.' She was composed, Stefan's pearls at her neck, a sherry in her hand, unintimidated by prurient interpretations of her work.
'Should you need a champion beyond the curiosity seekers, I'm at your disposal,' Nikki offered, 'and apparently the Tsar is, as well. Note was taken, you can be sure, of your arrival in a royal railcar.'
'His special courtesy was very kind… I was wondering, perhaps, if Stefan had anything to do with it.' She spoke moderately without inflection, and her golden eyes were guileless.
'Stefan?' Nikki carefully repeated, knowing only one Stefan that close to the Tsar, conscious as well of
'Bariatinsky,' Lisaveta supplied.
The Tsar's overture of hospitality was immediately crystal clear.
'You know Stefan?' Nikki asked casually. He and the Prince had been frequent compatriots in female amusements before his marriage, had in fact been friends from their days in the Corps of Pages.
'I met him by accident on the Plain of Kars,' she said, and proceeded to describe her dramatic rescue, their journey to Tiflis and her meeting with Militza and Nadejda. She didn't, however, detail the exact chronology of these events, nor did she mention their two-week holiday in the mountains.
Nikki, though, knew the distance from the Plain of Kars to Tiflis. He also knew Stefan's propensity for beautiful women and knew Stefan had been actively involved in the siege of Kars for several months. Stefan would not let an opportunity like Lisaveta innocently pass, certainly not after being deprived of female companionship for so long.
'Princess Orbeliani is pleasant, is she not?' Alisa mentioned, having met Militza several times at Stefan's over the past few years.
'Utterly charming,' Lisaveta declared with warmth. 'Her candor is-'
'Much like Stefan's,' Nikki finished.
'Yes,' Lisaveta answered. 'Both are without subterfuge.' There had been times in the past few days as she traveled north when she had wished Stefan had been less bluntly frank. She would almost have wished to cling to the unreal hope that they would meet again rather than the reality of their parting. He had said a simple goodbye. And meant it. The sorrow she felt for a moment, knowing she would never see him again, was evident on her face.
'He's back to Kars, then?' Nikki inquired, aware of Stefan's habit of transient affairs. But this time, with a female relative of his involved, he viewed Stefan's amorous amusements with less tolerance. And Lisaveta was obviously despondent.
'As I understand it,' Lisaveta replied, recovering from her futile grieving over Stefan with a ready logic she'd always commanded. Mourning his loss wouldn't recall him, and she was in Saint Petersburg for the first time in her life and about to be introduced into society. There was enjoyment in the prospect. 'Apparently the Grand Duke is on some fact-finding junket,' she added, able to smile again.
'Making trouble no doubt,' Nikki snorted. 'Will Stefan be coming up to Saint Petersburg soon?'
'I don't know.'
And his question of Stefan's interest was answered. 'We'll have to see you're introduced around,' he said avuncularly, annoyed despite his own sexual adventuring that Stefan had preyed on his cousin. His sense of outrage surprised him momentarily-it must be a sign of domesticity. He smiled at Alisa. 'Alisa will see to your gowns. Won't you, darling?'
'I'd love to.' Since she knew many of Nikki's friends and their predilections she, too, had come to her own conclusions about Stefan Bariatinsky and the Countess. Lisaveta was very splendid, her disposition charming; Alisa understood what Stefan had found alluring. There were, however, scores of men less ruthless in amorous dalliance and she meant to see that Lisaveta enjoyed herself in Saint Petersburg. 'Did you bring something for the ceremony? For the ball? Do you have a court dress?'
'No…on all counts, I'm afraid. My baggage was all left behind when the caravan was attacked, although it wouldn't have been adequate anyway, and while Stefan had a dressmaker at Aleksandropol repair my wardrobe deficiencies, it was a sketchy arrangement.'
Nikki was not pleased to hear Stefan had clothed his cousin; he'd done the same too many times himself for the paramours in his past to misunderstand the nuances of the situation. 'How many days do we have,' he said in a crisp voice, 'before the ceremony?'
Alisa looked sidelong at her husband as he sat beside her on the sofa. He was angry about Stefan. 'Two days,' she said, and added with a placating softness, 'it's plenty of time, dear. Madame Drouet will manage.'
Turning to her, he smiled an apology; he knew she was actually suggesting they would manage to repair the hurt caused by Stefan's philandering. 'Of course, you're right.' Of Lisaveta he asked, 'Are you up to a day of standing and being measured and fitted?' It was obvious from his tone that he had taken on her protection in all things.
'To please the Tsar, of course. What do you suggest, Alisa? I'm completely ignorant of fashion, existing as I have so long in the country.'
And the conversation turned to deciding on the basic requirements she would need to be entertained by the Tsar and Saint Petersburg society.
The next three weeks were like a young girl's dream come true. The Tsar feted Lisaveta beyond the ceremonial functions surrounding the honors given her father. He invited her to small dinners at the palace, he took her out riding in his carriage, he sent gifts and flowers, he danced with her always at the balls he attended, and he wasn't known to exert himself as a dance partner. He was, in a word, assuring Countess Lazaroff's success in Saint Petersburg society. His deliberate patronship was noted and remarked on, although even without the Tsar's recognition, Lisaveta's beauty would have gained her avid attention.
The whirl of parties, dinners, balls, the deluge of admirers, was heady. Enormous numbers of bouquets and male callers descended on the pink marble Kuzan palace on the Neva Quay, and the Countess Lazaroff became the most sought-after belle in Saint Petersburg. Lisaveta enjoyed her first encounter with Saint Petersburg's gilded set; she danced and flirted and smiled; she met everyone of importance and was treated with the deference and fervor her beauty and the Tsar's favor engendered. She appeared in the Kuzan box at the ballet and opera; she attended musical soirees and afternoon teas; she danced till dawn and slept till afternoon; she indulged herself completely in the aristocratic world of luxury and amusement.
But in the rare moments of respite from the dizzying diversions, she would recall the quiet solitude of the mountains and the man she'd come to love. Against the yardstick of that cherished time, the glitter of Saint Petersburg paled. She'd promised Alisa to stay until Katelina's birthday and she would, but after that she intended returning to her country estate. Once the war was over she'd accept the Khan's invitation to return to her study of his collection in Karakilisa. In the meantime, she could begin collating her voluminous notes and, she reflected with a small sigh, try to forget the man who'd captured her heart.
Lying back against the bed pillows, her gaze on the sunlit window the maid had opened to the afternoon air, she determinedly shook away the melancholy of Stefan's departure from her life and briskly thought, Now then, was it a poetry reading this afternoon or a piano recital? And dinner tonight was at one of the numerous grand dukes.
