Page 175 of Snowbound Surrender
The smell of sickly pomades hit her, and she paused, so strong was the intoxicating stench. Her father looked at her quizzically.
“This is my last Season,” she whispered forcefully. “And then I am disappearing from society.”
Sir Thomas rolled his eyes and continued walking into the room, nodding at a few acquaintances as they slowly circulated.
Anne tried not to allow her thoughts to be obvious on her face. She could not wait to leave this place, and they had only arrived twenty minutes ago! To think, they would have to spend Christmas here, amongst the intrigues of Court, when all she wanted to do was celebrate the joys of the festive season with her father and Meredith, at home.
Sir Thomas had consoled her on their journey here with tales of excitement and drama, but Anne knew better. In the last ten years of being trotted out in the hope of securing a husband, she had seen little true excitement. It was all restrictions, rigid rules, and no true fun at all.
“You never know,” Sir Thomas murmured as they continued to walk around the edge of the room, ensuring they were seen by everyone, “you could still get married.”
She could not help but laugh aloud at his words. “After all that has happened, the secret we have kept for…”
It was then that Anne caught Meredith’s eye, and she allowed her voice to trail away.
“I suppose you are getting old,” her father muttered.
Fury rose in Anne’s heart, but she controlled herself. She would not snap at her father, not in public, not over this tired old argument.
Instead, she turned her gaze around the room, and sighed. It was precisely what she had expected: plenty of elderly women, in the fashions from their youth, and a few gentlemen ofaround her age, all likely married. Their foppish styles looked ridiculous, but she swallowed down the boredom.
This was the last year she would be trotted out to the marriage market, and would have to put up with those idiotic young fools.
Meredith pulled at Sir Thomas’ sleeve. “Papa, my bodice is…I cannot breathe properly.”
Anne smiled. She was not the only one then, who hated the restrictive clothing of the Court.
“Hush, Meredith,” Sir Thomas said quickly, looking around to ensure they had not been overheard.
Anne squeezed Meredith’s hand and spoke under her breath. “I do not like my clothes either, Merry, but we only need stay here an hour or two. We can then retreat to our rooms just around the corner, and you can get into your day gown.”
“But why do we have to stay here at all?” Meredith looked around the room with wide eyes.
Anne sighed. “To be seen.”
The double doors opened once more and a further rush of people entered the room, which grew even stuffier as people started to push their way through. A few gentlemen were in the crowd of newcomers, but they gravitated almost immediately to a small gaggle of young ladies, all younger than twenty if Anne was any judge.
She sighed and tried to keep her head high. This was so foolish, so ridiculous. She had been an ignorant chit ten years ago, certainly not worthy of any interesting conversation. She could probably run rings around those young men, but none of them would look at her twice, and all because she had a little more experience!
“I cannot see any other children my age,” Meredith whispered to her father. “I thought you said…”
But Anne’s attention was distracted away from their conversation. As her gaze had moved lazily around the room, she had spotted a gentleman on the other side in the most formal clothing she had ever seen before. It was almost a military uniform, but not one she recognised, covered in gold trimming and brass buttons.
He was also prodigiously handsome. Tall, with dark hair that was incredibly unkempt, with dark eyes and a closely clipped beard that did not hide his strong jaw. His eyes were bright but he looked just as bored as she felt.
Anne felt a flicker of curiosity well up inside her. Who was this man? Why did he stand so alone, so aloof, away from everyone else in the room. What sort of strange costume was he wearing?
A footman had approached them with a tray of drinks, and her father took one thankfully.
“My lady?”
Anne thanked him as she took a glass for herself, and then added, “Do you know who that gentlemen is?”
The footman looked in the direction she had pointed, and then sniffed haughtily. “He calls himself Alexei Dmitry Immanuil Maximilian Konstantinvich. Says he is the true Czar of Russia.”
The servant was called away before Anne could make any further enquiries, but the answers she had received just made her even more curious. He says he is a Czar? What could that even mean?
She looked at him again. He was evidently an important gentleman – or at the very least, self-important. That was not a gentleman who would consider Miss Marsh from Romney a suitable bride, and she did not wish to marry either, but could he be a distraction for the next two weeks that she was forced to be here?
