Yekaterina

“Training is cancelled today,” Zinaida announces abruptly as soon as Dmitri, Giacomo, and I have taken our seats at the breakfast table. Giacomo arches an eyebrow quizzically.

“Is that so?” he inquires. Zinaida nods, her eyes daring him to contradict her. “Well then, in that case, I should like to go back to bed, if Your Ladyship has no objection.”

Zinaida and Wesley seem to have a short conversation with their eyes. They’ve both been present for almost every meal in the week that has passed since Dmitri told me about the letter she received from her family. I don’t like it. Are they practising to try to convince this Yekaterina that we are a loving, close-knit, happy family? They won’t fool anyone. Although, it must be said, compared to the “family” I lived with in Grandmother’s chateau, this really is quite a loving, close-knit, happy family.

“I see no reason why you should not,” Zinaida relents, more easily than anticipated. “You’ll just be missing the arrival of my cousin’s daughter, Yekaterina.”

“Thank you kindly, Your Ladyship. Give her my regards, and I’ll meet her properly at a decent hour,” Giacomo answers, apparently not tempted to stay with us by the promise of Yekaterina. Such a pity. I know of no one in the room who will be less at ease for his absence, except perhaps Zinaida, whose tight jaw and fingernails tapping on the table indicate this isn’t the outcome she’d hoped for. Maybe she hoped to set Giacomo up with this relative? It doesn’t matter; our tutor is already bowing and backing out of the room. Not that any amount of respectful behavior with save him if Zinaida is angry with him.

“She’s arriving this morning, then?” Dmitri inquires, a hint of a British accent coloring his tones. I can’t decide if I like that or the Russian more. Quite a conundrum.

“She should be, from what we understand. That’s what the telegrams would indicate, anyway,” Wesley replies.

I didn’t realize telegrams worked in Switzerland, what with all the mountains, but I guess I don’t really understand how they work. We never got them at Grandmother’s chateau, but then, I guess telegrams are unnecessary when you can talk to people through letters if those letters come into contact with flame.

“I look forward to meeting her,” I murmur properly. A lie. Just knowing that part of the purpose for her presence is to educate me in fashion and other lady things is enough to make me wish she was not coming. But, as Dmitri so kindly pointed out that afternoon in the garden, we haven’t any choice in the matter.

Since that afternoon, things between us have been almost normal. Almost. Dmitri has still been strained to remain civil during training, but it seems to get easier for him each morning. He and Giacomo might even end up being friends. And I...well, I don’t know how I feel about much of anything, except for a strong desire for all wedding plans to evaporate and a slightly stronger desire to be no longer subjected to lady lessons of any kind.

“Dmitri, have you briefed Aerys on the changes that will be made to your schedule as a result of Yekaterina’s living with us?” Zinaida asks, narrowing her eyes at us.

“Of course, Mother,” Dmitri answers immediately. It’s the right answer, even if it was not also true.

“Do you have any questions, Aerys?”

“How bad is the situation in Russia at present, to warrant this change of living arrangements now?” I ask, genuinely curious. What Dmitri described sounded more like an outbreak of paranoia than anything serious, at least, as yet.

“Nothing terrible has happened yet, but my relatives prefer to err on the side of caution,” Zinaida explains. “Besides, Yekaterina is so ladylike and fashionable, I think her companionship will only do you good.”

“It is my understanding that she barely speaks English, and as such I am not entirely sure how much good her ‘companionship’ will be, begging your pardon.”

“I’m sure Dmitri has told you that he will be teaching her English, and of course you and your ladies will also help in that endeavor. The language barrier will be only a minor handicap, I’m sure.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Excellencies,” a butler interrupts before I can argue, “but Lady Yekaterina’s entourage has just arrived outside.”

Zinaida releases a little squeak of excitement and dashes out of the dining room to greet this relative of hers. Wesley, Dmitri, and I follow in a much less excited, more proper fashion.

Outside the mansion, in the elegant horseshoe driveway, a caravan of shiny black automobiles is parked. Tall Russian soldiers with towering fur hats and snappy uniforms stand at attention in a line from one automobile to our front door. Zinaida has raced down this hallway of men in uniform to embrace the girl emerging from the vehicle, and she currently obscures the newcomer from my view. Dmitri and I exchange glances. Is all this really necessary?

Finally, Yekaterina escapes from Zinaida’s grip and begins her progress down the hall of soldiers to meet us, flanked by more soldiers carrying various trunks and other assorted pieces of luggage. I’m beginning to understand why so many automobiles were necessary. The girl is wearing an elaborate golden dress, stiff with intricate swirling white embroidery and gilt lace. She’s corseted within an inch of her life, too, I’ll warrant. I sincerely hope no one expects me to dress like that.

As she gets closer, I realize with some surprise that Yekaterina is stunningly beautiful. Her blonde hair, elegantly coiffed in an unfamiliar hairstyle that must be the height of fashion, shines like gold in the sun. She is pale, as one would expect a Russian woman to be, and she boasts voluptuous curves. Even if the corseting is forcing her bosom up and making it appear larger, hers is far larger than mine. For the first time, I feel a pang of inadequacy.

Her eyes are the swirling grey of an air elemental and are fixated on Dmitri.

I should not be surprised. I certainly should not feel this rush of bitter emotion and angry heat. Something boils inside me and I imagine pouring ice water on it. But the sultry expression she wears as she approaches us, eyes still for Dmitri alone, is not helping this unfamiliar and most unwelcome feeling.

“Здравствуйте,” she greets us--hello--dipping a slight curtsey, which I return while Dmitri and Wesley dip their heads in her direction.

“Welcome, Yekaterina,” Wesley returns solemnly. “We are pleased to have you.”

“Dank you, Lord Berkeley,” she replies slowly, the English words obscured by her heavy Russian accent. “Я надеюсь, что мне понравится жить здесь.” I hope that I will like living here. Wesley looks confused. How can he be married to Zinaida and not speak any Russian? Dmitri quickly translates. To my surprise, I understood her. It seems that teaching myself Russian has been somewhat successful, beyond being a sure way of arousing Dmitri’s more carnal desires.

“Очень приятно,” I tell her briefly. Pleased to meet you. I’m not actually pleased to meet her, but it can’t hurt to be friendly to her in her native language. She turns to me with surprise.

“А кто вы? Вы говорите по-русски?” she asks disbelievingly. And who are you? You speak Russian? I think, judging by her expression, that she thought I was one of the staff, or at least chose to believe that, despite my formal attire.

“Меня зовут Эйрис. Я немного говорю по-русски,” I answer smoothly. My name is Aerys. I speak some Russian. Zinaida and Wesley are staring at me as though I’ve grown a second head. I live for moments like these.

“Well! I didn’t know you knew any Russian, Aerys. Perhaps you will be more helpful to Yekaterina than I thought,” Zinaida exclaims, no doubt relishing the prospect. I’m sure she’s already decided that Yekaterina and I will become best friends. “Yekaterina, this is my husband, Wesley, my son, Dmitri, and his fiancée, Aerys.” Yekaterina’s eyes narrow at the word ‘fiancée.’ She understood that bit? Then I realise that Dmitri has been translating for her, softly. Why wouldn’t Zinaida just speak Russian? I foresee problems.

“Nice to meet you all,” Yekaterina says stiltedly. She smiles as though the radiance of her perfect teeth will make up for her near inability to speak our language. Zinaida leads her into the mansion, with the soldiers carrying Yekaterina’s luggage, Dmitri, Wesley, and I trailing behind. She and Yekaterina converse rapidly in Russian about the journey here and how all of their mutual relatives in the Motherland are doing. I can only catch bits and pieces, which in itself is impressive, given my current state of mind. I simply can’t help noticing that, ever since Yekaterina started walking in front of Dmitri, she’s been swaying her hips a bit more than is natural or healthy--she might throw a hip out of joint if she keeps this up, especially while navigating stairs--and I am far from pleased by this development.

But no one else will know that. I will do this better than Dmitri does. No one will know that I, too, possess the vicious green monster called jealousy. I shall treat her like a sister and keep her as close to me as possible, and endure all of the lady lessons with a smile. As they say, it is best to keep one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. Whatever intentions she has regarding Dmitri, I will find out, and keep her too close at hand to give her much freedom in pursuing those intentions.

***~O~***