Which he most decidedly did not wish to do just yet. It was time to conclude this most extraordinary conversation. Miss Galbraith had already demonstrated that she had a sharp mind. It would not be long before she asked him why the devil he had not found someone closer to home to perform what must seem to be a fairly straightforward task, and he wasn’t ready to answer that question just yet. Not until he’d made sure that St Petersburg society, that hotbed of scandal and intrigue, took Miss Galbraith, English governess, at face value and did not question her presence in the palace.
Aleksei had intended to introduce her at a soirée or a small party. There was, in the euphoric aftermath of victory at Waterloo, no shortage of social events to choose from. As it so happened, this very night a much grander affair was taking place. It would be a baptism of fire, but he was confident that she would emerge unscathed. It wasn’t only the guarantees he’d received from The Procurer—though they certainly helped. No, it was Miss Allison Galbraith herself. She was confident—once she had got the better of her quite understandable early nervousness. She was without question clever. And feisty, a woman whose fiery temperament matched her red hair. He reckoned she would fight her corner, so he’d better make sure they were in the same corner. And as for her other qualities? Irrelevant. Absolutely, completely, ravishingly irrelevant.
But also, without question, an absolutely completely, delightful bonus. A most unwelcome distraction from the task in hand undoubtedly, but from a personal point of view a very welcome one. For the first time since he had read that life-changing letter from Michael’s man of business, he felt his spirits lift. ‘If you have finished your tea, I will have a servant show you to your quarters. You have...’ Aleksei consulted his watch. ‘...three hours to prepare.’
She stared at him blankly. ‘To prepare for what?’
‘Your introduction to society,’ he informed her blithely. ‘I did not expect The Procurer to send me a sultry redhead, but your appearance could actually work in our favour. By tomorrow morning, all of St Petersburg will know that there is a new English governess at the Derevenko Palace.’
Four hours later, Allison found herself standing in the foyer of the Winter Palace, the official home of the Russian royal family. Her hand was resting lightly on the arm of a disturbingly attractive man she had met for the first time today. And she was wearing a dead woman’s ball gown. Not, the maid Natalya had hastened to assure her, that the Duchess Elizaveta had ever worn the garment, it was one of many gowns the Duchess had owned but never worn. All the same, were it not for the fact that she possessed only one evening gown, and that not at all suitable for a ball at a royal palace, Allison would have refused to have worn it. It felt both inappropriate and slightly macabre.
She had had no option, however, and though she selected the very plainest of those offered to her, the luxurious garment was outrageously glamorous and utterly unlike anything she would ever have chosen to purchase. White silk with an overdress of creamy net, the evening dress was embellished with tiny gold-thread flowers, a seed pearl at the centre of each. There was a demi-train, the puff sleeves and the surprisingly modest décolleté were trimmed with scalloped lace, and a narrow sash of gold ribbon was tied just under her bust, in the style made popular by the Empress Josephine. The layers of satin-and-lace petticoats made a faint rustling noise when she moved, like fronds swaying in the breeze. For long moments, staring at her reflection in the mirror earlier, Allison had been quite transported by the idea of gliding round a ballroom in such a very beautiful garment. Beautiful but absurdly complicated, mind you. She’d had to fight the urge to ask Natalya for donning instructions.
Hooking the last of what seemed to be about a hundred tiny buttons, the maid had brought Allison firmly down to earth. ‘This is a very simple gown in which to attend the Winter Palace, but since the Emperor will not be in attendance, then it will suffice. Do you have no other jewels, madam, other than one locket?’
A disapproving purse of the lips was the response to Allison’s shaking her head. She had looked similarly disapproving at the dullness of Allison’s wardrobe when she had unpacked her luggage. ‘Perhaps madam intends to shop in St Petersburg,’ she had said. And when Allison had answered that she doubted she’d have need to, Natalya had looked positively shocked. ‘With mourning over, the children will be expected to attend any number of functions,’ she had said. ‘Catiche is old enough to make her debut appearance at the children’s balls, and you will be expected to accompany her.’
Children’s dances, for heaven’s sake! What other duties would she be expected to carry out? But with this very adult ball looming, Allison had decided it was better not to know, and to concentrate on surmounting each social hurdle as it arose.
There was no doubt that this was a social hurdle where the bar had been set very high, she had thought as their carriage arrived at the vast edifice that was the Winter Palace. Light blazed from all four sides of the courtyard as their carriage passed through the imposing arched entranceway, light which became positively blinding as they entered the palace itself, where someone removed their cloaks, and they joined the throng waiting to ascend the most magnificent double staircase of marble and gold that Allison had ever seen.
Which was where she was now standing, her eyes drawn upwards, past the double row of arched windows, the pilasters and statues, the profusion of gold-leaf laurel and acanthus leaves, to the ceiling, where cherubim and seraphim peeped down at her from puffy white clouds in a celestial blue sky.
The crowd was moving very slowly. Allison clutched at Count Derevenko’s arm, willing herself not to succumb to nerves. She had travelled over a thousand miles to reach this cosmopolitan city armed with questions, questions which she had been unable to ask the woman who appointed her, in the rush to make her arrangements. Questions which should have been answered by the man standing beside her this afternoon. And they had, most of them. Save one question so fundamental she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her until today. But which she could no longer ignore. ‘Why did you send all the way to England for me?’
The Count frowned down at her, raising his eyebrows at her peremptory tone. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
She would have missed it, were she not studying him so carefully, that tiny flicker in his eyes which told her he understood perfectly. ‘There must be any number of females right here in St Petersburg qualified to fulfil my role.’
‘You underestimate yourself, Miss Galbraith. I require a governess who is also a skilled herbalist. That is an elusive combination.’
‘But surely not unique in a city the size of St Petersburg. Was the previous governess also a herbalist? I presume the children are sickly, or perhaps suffering from some inherited malaise?’
‘You presume because The Procurer wasn’t specific?’
Allison nodded, her brow furrowed. ‘Was I mistaken?’
‘Miss Galbraith, this is hardly the time or place for such a discussion.’
‘Which confirms that there is a discussion to be had.’
He acknowledged this hit with a small smile. ‘You have a sharp mind.’
‘Yes, I do, so don’t attempt to pull the wool over my eyes.’ She treated him to her best Take your medicine or else, young man face. It didn’t work on this particular patient. He laughed. His eyes crinkled when he laughed. She bit her lip, determined not to soften her stance. ‘Well?’
‘Not here. No, please spare me another of your schoolmistress glares.’
‘The glare of a herbalist who wishes her patient to take his pill, actually.’
‘Does it work?’
‘Almost every time. And I should warn you, Count Derevenko, I’m an expert at detecting procrastination.’
‘I’m