Silver Nights by Jane Feather Page A

said dryly. He flicked a dismissive hand at the young maidservant, who took herself off with a cheeky grin at her swain.
    â€œBeg your pardon, Colonel, but we hadn’t any orders—” began the soldier.
    â€œNow you have,” interrupted Adam. “You will post the men in the house and around the estate to ensure that Princess Sophia does not leave the immediate boundaries of the estate between now and tomorrow morning. If she wishes to go farther afield, you will prevent her with all courtesy, before escorting her to me.”
    Sergeant Passek saluted and marched off, leaving a moody Count Danilevski to wander through the gardens, absently noting the efficient husbandry that produced flourishing currant bushes and vegetable plots, and well-pruned fruit trees in the orchards. The steppes did not provide the most hospitable soil for such fruitfulness, so it was to be presumed someone was a skilled gardener.
    He came across Sophia Alexeyevna, in gloves and apron, pruning shears in hand, on her knees in a rose garden. She did not seem to be aware of him, and he hesitated, unwilling to disturb her absorption, yet drawn toward that lissom figure almost without volition. Maybe he could produce some softening of her intransigence, something that would make unnecessary what he must otherwise insist upon during their journey.
    â€œI was thinking that someone around here must have a great love of gardening,” he said pleasantly, stepping toward her along the narrow path between the rosebushes.
    â€œWere you?” She did not so much as turn her head.
    It was not encouraging. He tried again. “I am surprised in such arid soil you are able to produce so much.”
    â€œAre you?” The shears clicked and a green sprouting offshoot fell to the earth, separated from the thick gray stem from which it would otherwise have drawn away strength and sap.
    Stubborn, arrogant bitch! he thought with a surge of fury. Well, if that was the way she wanted it, on her own head be it. “Your pardon for disturbing you, Princess.” He saluted, spun on his heel, and returned to the house.
    Sophie sat back on her heels, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes. Why did she have this feeling that in any other circumstance she would enjoy the count’s company very much? And why was she bothering with this pruning of roses that she would not be here to see flower? Why was she doing anything today? Every sight, sound, action of the daily life so familiar to her was another turn of the knife, and she was bleeding enough.
    Rising to her feet, she made her way back to the house, to be met by old Anna, wailing over the loss of a dish of pirozhkis prepared for dinner and ready for the pot. One of the dogs had stolen both dish and contents from the kitchen table.
    Sophie could summon up no interest in the fate of meat dumplings, or in that of the guilty dog whimpering pitifully in the corner of the courtyard after Anna had wielded her broomstick to good purpose.
    â€œWell, what are we to have instead?” demanded the housekeeper, flinging up her hands. “There’s dinner to be made for the dining room, dinner for the soldiers, dinner for the kitchen…and no pirozhkis!”
    After tomorrow, Anna would have to deal with such matters without guidance, Sophie reflected. But then there would only be the old prince to care for…. Tears stung her eyes and she ran from the kitchen, leaving Anna muttering and shaking her head.
    â€œSophie!” Prince Golitskov appeared in the library door. “I must talk with you, ma petite .”
    She showed him her tear-wet face, and he held out his arms to her. They clung together in the doorway, then he drew her into the room, closing the door quietly.
    â€œYou think me harsh, I know,” he said. “But, in truth, ma chère , you must go. If this prospective husband does not please you, you must talk to the empress. In many ways, she is an enlightened