Silver Nights by Jane Feather

with her. “I insist that you remain here and listen to what I have to say.”
    With a little shrug, she obeyed, but remained standing with her back to the room, her hand on the door latch.
    Adam groaned inwardly again at the thought of how he was to manage her on a month-long journey of discomfort bordering upon hardship and immeasurable tedium. Clearly, he was not going to be able to trust her out of his sight, and that prospect filled him with gloom and trepidation. If there was no trust between them, how could he hope to help her achieve the acceptance of her lot that would, in turn, ease that lot?
    Prince Golitskov was speaking in the quiet room. He was telling her that she would leave under the count’s escort the following morning, that she would take Boris Mikhailov and Tanya Feodorovna with her as personal attendants. They were deeded to her as part of the marriage settlement. Her inheritance would pass into the control of her husband, with the exception of Berkholzskoye, which on her grandfather’s deathwould belong solely to her and her heirs. Thus would she retain some measure of independence.
    He fell silent, waiting for a response from the motionless figure. There was nothing, until Sophie raised the latch on the door and left the room.
    Golitskov looked at the count with that same slightly malicious gleam in his eye. “I have done my part, Count. Take her to St. Petersburg. Let her wed this Prince Dmitriev. But she will always have a home here, married or no.” He went to a rolltop secretair and took out a heavy metal strongbox. “I would give this into Sophie’s charge, but I do not think it will make your task any easier if she has the financial means to evade your escort.” A sardonic smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “I did say I would not hinder you, did I not?” He handed Adam two weighty leather pouches and a sheaf of bills. “She will need wedding clothes…other things, too. Ensure that she receives this when she reaches St. Petersburg.”
    Adam took the money. “I will write you a receipt, Prince.”
    â€œThat will not be necessary,” Golitskov said. “She will take Khan with her, also. Boris Mikhailov will have charge of him.”
    That thought brought to mind a major concern. Grimly, Adam broached the subject that had been uppermost of his worries since he followed Sophie onto the steppe the previous night.
    Golitskov heard him out. “I suppose if you feel you must, then you must,” he said slowly. “But I wish you would reconsider. She will be quite wretched.”
    â€œShow me an alternative.” Adam decided that he had had enough of the old prince’s games. On the one hand, with that uncomfortable gleam in his eye, Golitskov would tell him that he must now manage the affair himself; then, when the unpleasant aspects of that management were brought home to him, he implied that Adam was as callous as the harshest jailer.
    The old prince shook his head, and for a moment the deep sorrow he felt at the prospect of his loss showed on his face.He looked a tired old man, shorn of the power of decision and the armor of wit. “Do what you must,” he said, and shuffled wearily from the room.
    The lawyer cleared his throat, reminding Adam of his presence. “I will draw up the documents, Count, and give them into your charge before you leave in the morning.”
    Adam nodded. “We leave at cock-crow.” He strode from the room, going in search of the sergeant of his troop of soldiers. Sergeant Ilya Passek was to be found in the sunny courtyard at the rear of the house, smoking a pipe and engaged in light dalliance with a chubby-faced young kitchen maid. He came smartly to attention at the approach of his colonel, and it was clear from his nervous expression that he was unsure whether his off-duty demeanor was about to draw censure.
    â€œPlaytime is over, Sergeant,” Count Danilevski