‘Wrong?’
‘Impossible!’
‘But why? I love you.’ His face cleared as he had a sudden thought. ‘You didn’t think I meant to – to dishonour you? You couldn’t have! I want to marry you, Anna Petrovna..When I said I wished you could go to England with me, I meant as my wife, my countess! The Countess Anna Petrovna Kirova – how good it sounds!’ he said exultantly.
Anne felt close to tears. The name he had given her – the name she had secretly, wickedly, longed to bear – but in other circumstances! She could not meet his eyes, and yet saw all too plainly his young, handsome, flushed face, the generous love in his eyes, the first outpouring of a warm and untouched heart, offered trustingly to her – to her. What could she say? How could she bear to hurt him? But she must – she must.
‘Sergei, it’s impossible. You cannot marry me. Please – you must put it from your mind. You must forget – we must forget that this ever happened.’
Now there was hurt as well as bewilderment in his expression. ‘But why? Anna, why?’ She might have known that he would not simply accept it – what man would? ‘I don’t understand.’
‘My dear,’ she began desperately – mistakenly: he seized on the word, and her hand, lifting her fingers to his lips.
‘Your dear – I am your dear, aren’t I? You do love me, Anna – you do, don’t you? I know you do.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, ‘but not – not as a wife.’
‘What then?’
‘I am a great deal older than you,’ she said, fumbling for words. ‘I knew you as a child, don’t you see? To me you are still–’
‘A child?’ More puzzled than hurt. ‘Not true! When I kissed you just then, you kissed me too – and not like a child. You can’t deny it! You love me as a man.’
Impossible to explain. She could only shake her head dumbly-
He kept hold of her hand, looking earnestly into her face. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? Not your age, surely? The difference between us is nothing!’
‘Others wouldn’t say so.’
‘You can’t be so foolish as to care what other people think? If we don’t mind it, why should they?’
‘I am your sisters’ governess,’ she said desperately. ‘Your father’s employee – a trusted servant in his house. How can I – how could I – so abuse–’
‘Abuse?’ he cried dangerously.
‘Abuse his trust–’
‘But you didn’t – you haven’t! How can you say that? You have done nothing wrong! It was I who – made things happen. And Papa would not think so, either. He holds you in the greatest respect. You are not a servant,’ he said hotly. ‘You are more like a – a guest in our house. Papa would be proud and happy to have you as a daughter-in-law, I know he would. He has so often spoken to me about you, about how intelligent and cultured you are, how you are a gentlewoman by birth. He really likes you, Anna – you must believe me.’
She looked at him sadly, knowing she could not make him see. Since he thought of her as being of the same generation with him, he assumed she regarded the Count as he did – as one of an older generation. He could no more have imagined Anne being in love with the Count, than himself being in love with someone of his grandmother’s generation.
And besides, her feelings for the Count were something she could not admit to anyone. She tried not to admit them even to herself. What reason could she give Sergei for rejecting him, that he would accept? How explain that moment in his arms when her whole being had longed for love, for a lover, for caresses and warmth and belonging, for a mate? There was one part of her still that wanted, crazily, to accept him: it would be an escape from the impasse of her life, a way out of the weary, repetitive sin of loving another woman’s husband. It would give her security and love; and she did love him, in a confused and complex way. But she could not do such a thing to Sergei, who deserved nothing but the best; and she could not do it to the Count.
She met his eyes as steadily as she could, and gently withdrew her captive fingers. ‘Sergei, I cannot marry you,’ she said. ‘I am deeply honoured, and grateful–’
‘Grateful! I don’t want you to be grateful!’ he said, his face flushed with mortification, his eyes too bright.
‘Please try not to mind,’ she said desperately. ‘In a little while, in a few months, you’ll see I was right. You’ll meet someone else nearer your own age, someone of your own station in life–’
‘Someone like Zinochka, I suppose,’ he said angrily. ‘A young, empty-headed girl – and she will drive you out of my heart – you, who are everything a man could want –’
Anne turned her face away. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’
He came close to her, put his mouth to her ear. ‘Anna, listen to me! I think I understand – you think this is just a passing fancy of mine, that I will fall out of love with you in a little while, and go off after someone else. Well, I won’t! You’ll see. I love you, and I know you love me, and I will prove to you that it’s a real, lasting thing! No, don’t argue with me!’ he said quickly as she drew breath to protest. ‘There is no reason in the world why I may not try to win you, is there?’
Only reasons I cannot explain to you, she thought.
‘I don’t love you in that way,’ she said again.
He smiled, and rested his forehead against her hair. ‘So you say. Very well; but you will some day. I will make you love me.’
I shall have to go away, she thought desperately; and as if he heard her thought, he kissed the tip of her ear and straightened up, saying, ‘Don’t worry, milienkaya, I shan’t do anything to embarrass you. In front of the others, I shall be just as I have been before; but privately, I shall try to win you. You will not deny me the right to court you, surely? Everyone has that right.’
She had no answer for him. He smiled – a lovely, warm, confident smile, which made her feel just for an instant younger than him, and under his protection. ‘You’ll enjoy it, Anna Petrovna. I promise you!’
She wouldn’t have thought, after such a scene, and such spilling of emotions, that it would be possible for them to continue with the ride, to spend the rest of the day together, without awkwardness. But Sergei took charge, not only directing their activities and choosing their route, but setting the tone of their conversation and introducing topics when Anne’s sad, confused mind refused to co-operate. His life-long social training as a cadet both of the Guards and a noble house had given him the skills. Gradually his mood affected Anne, and she began to respond more naturally, until at last they were chatting almost as easily on the ride home, as they had on the way out.
Anne was grateful to him, as well as a little surprised by his self-possession. Perhaps it would be all right, she thought. If he behaved like this, she could cope with the situation; and in any case, he would have to return to his regiment soon, in another week or ten days. By the time she saw him again, everything would be changed. At his age, surely, such a mistaken love could not last very long? Some pretty girl would take his fancy, and she would be forgotten.
From the picnic place they rounded the hill and began to descend, climbed again, and passed through a small wood to come out at the other side of the Valley of the Horses, having covered three quarters of the circular route Sergei had planned for them. The herd was down below, but Quassy paid them no attention beyond a sharp pricking of the ears and an intent look when she first spotted them. The stallion was out of sight, and the mares and foals were grazing peacefully, drifting westerly to the sheltered end of the valley where they would spend the night.
‘I wonder if Quassy will prove to be in foal,’ Anne wondered aloud; but Sergei’s attention was not on her. He was staring away across the valley and to the east, away from home, a frown between his brows. ‘What is it?’ Anne asked. ‘Have you seen something?’