‘Very well, Aggie, you should unpack a clean gown for me.’
A clock somewhere was striking six when Mrs Noakes escorted Natalya to the drawing room. It was exactly twelve hours since she had left Bath. She was on edge and she had to screw up her courage even tighter when she realised that the housekeeper was not coming in with her.
The drawing room was empty. Natalya felt almost weak with relief and it was a few moments before she could take in her surroundings. The room was furnished in comfortable elegance. The pictures on the walls were mainly of horses, with a few hunting scenes and one of game birds that she thought might be by Hondecoeter. Most likely this was a hunting lodge, then. Remote, secluded. She shivered suddenly and rubbed her arms. She felt as trapped and hunted as any of the poor creatures in the paintings. Too late to go back now. The best she could hope for was that the mystery would soon be explained.
She heard the door open and looked round expectantly, but it was only a liveried servant bringing in refreshments, a selection of wines and a jug of fresh lemonade, together with a plate of little cakes. Natalya took a glass of lemonade, deciding she needed to keep a clear head for whatever was to come.
Chapter Sixteen
Natalya had eaten one of the cakes and finished her lemonade when an elderly man came into the room. She hastily rose from her chair and studied him carefully.
He was tall and lean, his short black hair streaked with silver. He carried an ebony cane in one hand, but he barely used it for support. His bearing was upright and on the breast of his dark evening coat was a large jewelled order of merit.
He bowed to her. ‘Have I the honour of addressing Miss Natalya Fairchild?’
She curtsied. ‘You have, sir.’
He raised his quizzing glass to observe her. Natalya put up her chin and gave him a challenging look in return. He smiled slightly and lowered the glass.
‘Forgive me, my dear. It is impolite of me to stare.’ His voice was soft and heavily accented. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Ilya Mikhailovich Borkusov.’
Prince!
She swallowed. Hard. ‘You are a Russian prince?’
He inclined his head.
‘You are my benefactor?’
‘Alas, no. That privilege belonged to your father.’
He had used the past tense. She clutched the back of a chair.
‘He is dead, then.’
‘He is. I am so sorry.’
He was only confirming what the Pridhams had told her, but it did not prevent her feeling another sharp stab of grief. The Prince gestured with one white hand. ‘Shall we sit down?’
Natalya was very glad to do so. She folded her hands in her lap and waited until the old man had lowered himself on to a chair opposite. There was probably some protocol that decreed she should wait for him to address her, but she was far too impatient for that.
‘Do you know my history?’ she asked him. ‘Can you tell me?’ He was silent for a moment and she added, ‘On peut parler en français, si vous préférez?’
A faint smile curved his thin lips. ‘I see that the money your father put aside for your education was not wasted. But we shall continue in English, your native tongue.’ He steepled his fingers and stared at them for a long moment. ‘Your father came to England in 1792, to join the entourage of the Russian Ambassador, Count Semyon Vonotsov. Your mother, he met in London. She was the daughter of a wealthy English gentleman. They fell in love, but were forbidden to marry.’
Natalya’s chin went up. ‘She was not noble enough for him, was that it?’
‘That was not the reason, my dear. You see, his bride had already been chosen for him, a young relative of his mother. His parents were unyielding, they insisted the match must go ahead. But young love, it is very strong. It was an affaire de coeur and the lady’s family, they cast her off when they learned she was with child.’
Natalya interrupted him. ‘I beg your pardon, sir—your Highness—the lady you mention, would that be Miss Elizabeth Faringdon?’
‘The same.’
She nodded. Mrs Ancrum’s suspicions had been correct.
The Prince frowned. ‘You are familiar with the story? It was my understanding that nothing was to be divulged to you. Your father’s instructions were explicit on that matter.’
‘I learned of Miss Elizabeth Faringdon from an acquaintance who saw a likeness between us. But it was conjecture, sir. There was no proof and the Pridhams have told me nothing.’
‘They do not know the whole and they had orders not to inform you of your parentage.’
‘You should be pleased, then,’ she retorted bitterly. ‘They have followed those orders, to the letter.’
‘You have my sympathy, my dear. From everything I have learned since coming to England, your guardians have proved themselves scrupulously honest, if unimaginative, in their dealings with you.’
‘Perhaps it would have been better if they had not been quite so meticulous.’
‘Perhaps. However, what is done is done. Now we can move on.’
‘But not before you have told me everything you know about my parents.’ She stopped, conscious that this was not the way one should address a prince. ‘I beg your pardon, your Highness, I do not mean to be impolite, but I have waited so long to learn the truth.’
He inclined his head. ‘Your curiosity is understandable, my dear.’
Another pause. Natalya curbed her impatience. Only her hands, clasped so tightly that the knuckles gleamed white, showed the extent of her anxiety.
‘The lady, your mother, died soon after your birth. Mikhail Nikolayevich, your father, was distraught. He had been summoned back to Russia, ordered to return and marry the woman chosen for him.’ The old man stopped, his mouth turning down a little. ‘The letters he received from
