Page 10 of A Swirl of Shadows
A flush of color rose to Sophia’s cheeks. “It would be akin to the pot calling the kettle black if I lectured against allowing emotion to influence one’s judgment.” She hesitated. “However, in this case, I do wonder if it’s wise to venture to Russia.”
“Because I’m too fragile?” demanded Arianna.
Sophia looked unsure of how to reply, but Saybrook quickly interjected, “You yourself said yesterday that you had no stomach for any international intrigue.”
“Perhaps my digestion has improved,” she murmured.
“Don’t make light of the matter, Arianna,” chided the earl. “As Grentham has suggested, the Orlov family is likely the ringleader in trying to foment upheaval in Russia. If Dmitri Orlov has taken over his late brother’s place, I think it very possible that he knows what treachery his brother was up to in London and Paris.”
His eyes darkened in concern. “Which means there is a good chance he knows about you.”
Saybrook’s gaze shifted to Sophia. “And you.”
Arianna remained silent.
“Speaking of emotions, revenge is a very powerful one,” he added softly.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” pointed out Arianna.
“That doesn’t diminish the danger,” he warned. “We must assume Dmitri Orlov is as cunning and ruthless as his brother.”
A truly terrifying thought.But she took care to mask her reaction.
“And as for us,” continued the earl, “if we accept the mission to St. Petersburg, we’ll be moving within a totally unfamiliar society, with no idea of the nuances of power—the alliances, the people who hold influence—that make the difference between life and death.”
“I don’t deny the risks or the fact that they are very real,” said Arianna. “But in the past, we haven’t let the prospect of danger stop us from going to the aid of our friends.” She steadied her voice. “Richard is still in many ways a stranger to me. But he is family, regardless of the fact that he was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“I . . .” Blowing out his breath, Saybrook cast a harried look at the mantel clock. “I have promised the vice president of the Royal Society to join him in entertaining several visiting scholars at White’s this evening. So may we put off further discussion of Russia until later?”
“Of course.” Arianna was not unhappy to have some solitary time in which to think more about the situation.
“I, too, have an evening engagement,” said Sophia after the earl had taken a hurried leave. “So I must be off.”
“The Bluestockings?” asked Arianna. She knew Sophia often attended a salon for literary-minded ladies run by the curmudgeonly dowager Countess of Marquand. Their meetings featured discussions on poetry and novels, along with the radical ideas of Mary Wollstonecraft on the rights of women.
Sophia nodded. “You should come along sometime. It’s an interesting and eclectic group.”
Arianna smiled. “I prefer practical endeavors like cooking or solving mathematical problems to high-minded intellectual discussions. I fear I might shock them.”
“Very little shocks the Bluestockings,” replied Sophia dryly. “But suit yourself. I shall stop by tomorrow to hear what you’ve decided.”
The following day,however, brought no final decision. And despite her resolve to put aside the question, Arianna found herself too unsettled to concentrate on her manuscript.
“Milady, Miss Kirtland is here,” intoned the butler after a discreet knock.
“Please show her in.” Arianna pushed aside her papers, grateful for the distraction.
“Forgive me for arriving so early, but—”
“A decision has not yet been made,” said Arianna quickly. “Saybrook wished to make some inquiries among his military friends and his Uncle Charles at the Foreign Office in order to form his own assessment of the situation in St. Petersburg.” A sigh slipped out as she took a seat on the sofa and gestured forher friend to join her. “He says it’s to confirm that Grentham isn’t skewing the facts to force our hand. However, I suspect it’s because he’s worried that I’m not mentally or physically strong enough to handle the danger.”
“Areyou?” asked Sophia, after smoothing at her skirts.
Her friend’s blunt question made her smile. “What a relief. At least you have stopped treating me as if I were a delicate piece of porcelain, in danger of cracking from a mere puff of breath.”
Sophia cocked her head. “Well, are you strong enough?”
“Yes,” she replied after a tiny hesitation. “I wasn’t sure until yesterday, when I had a pistol in my hand and felt its recoil, heard its bang, and caught a whiff of gunpowder.”
