High Society
Muted conversation. The quiet rattle of forks on plates. Music from the string quartet that played in a discreet corner. Men and women in their best evening clothes. Irina's gloved hands lifted the cup of tea to her lips for a sip of the dark liquid within the delicate china. She'd been sifting through her invitations, the ones that had been gathering in her hallway since her arrival in London, and picked this one at random. The host was the Earl of Something-or-Other, she'd forgotten the location already, but she'd remember later when she bid the man goodnight. If she'd been in any mood to husband-hunt, this was where sh would have done it.
And even if the evening was a bit dull so far, she was at least getting the opportunity to practice her English, which was improving in fits and starts. And she was more or less in her element regardless, amid the high society of the city. She was currently discussing the latest novel by a famous writer with the Earl's wife, perched on a small couch as she and the other woman conversed. Interesting talk was something she had missed since Pyotr's death. As old as Husband had been, he'd been of the belief that women could be perfectly intelligent creatures given the chance, and although she loved Anna and Sergei neither of them read much or were interested in affairs of the world.
"We're so glad you could join us, Lady Kirmasov," the Earl's wife, whose name was Beatrice, was saying, and Irina smiled serenely. Foreign or not, she was a new commodity, and everyone was interested in at least making her acquaintance. There was nothing like a bit of flattery, in her opinion.
"What do you think, Lord Balinbrooke?"
Henry blinked and turned from his study of Earl Whitehaven's latest acquisition, an impressionist oil painting depicting a pleasant pastoral scene somewhere on the continent, to his questioner. The scholar barely managed not to blanch at the sight of the widow Smithson, a battle-axe of a woman with a voice to match. He noted with alarm that she was no longer wearing black, and was squeezed into a dress that was at least a size too small even with the corset that was straining to hold in her bulk.
"I'm better with languages than I am impressionist art I'm afraid," Henry responded, stalling for time as he tried to subtly look for an excuse to get away from the newly out of mourning widow.
"Oh, dear, there she goes again." Beatrice's cultured voice contained a note of dismay, and Irina also directed her attention towards what the other woman was looking at. The blowzy woman's dress seemed very likely to part company with her frame, and the Russian raised one eyebrow imperceptibly as her new acquaintance added, "I'm afraid I must play hostess. Would you care to meet Lord Balinbrooke? I don't believe you've spoken with him yet." Under her breath, where almost no one could hear her, she added, "I'm sure he'll be grateful."
Irina received a refill of her teacup before trailing along in the taller woman's wake, and the two of them approached the other couple. "Ah, Lord Balinbrooke, I see you're admiring my husband's latest find," Beatrice said smoothly, and Irina curtsied when her hostess added, "Terribly sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce you to our guest from abroad. Lady Kirmasov, this is an old friend of my husband's, Lord Balinbrooke."
The diminutive Russian studied the older man through lowered lashes. He was her father's age if he was a day, but there was something striking about him despite that. "I am..." Stumbling a bit over the search for the proper word, as she usually did in polite company. "...Delighted to make your acquaintance, Milord."
Henry smiled gratefully as Beatrice skillfully disrupted the battle-axe's attempt to corner him. The scholar turned his attention to the young noblewoman who was his pretext to escape. "Kirmasov...Russian I believe, isn't it? You're a long way from home milady, I hope you're adjusting to life in London."
The foreign woman's difficulty with English was noted, and Henry switched to his lightly accented Russian. "We can converse in Russian if you'd prefer, unless you'd rather practice your English."
He eased them away from Beatrice and widow Smithson, trying to disappear from the battle-axe's line of sight before she realized what their hostess was up to and tried to compensate.
There was a quick smile in response, and Irina replied, "I am trying to make my pronunciation better, but thank you. Russian is easier, but if I am to live in this city I must make an effort."
The two of them wove their way further through the crowd, and she continued, "I do hope I was not taking you away from someone important to you? She seemed to be...very interested in speaking with you. If I have intruded, I apologize."
"Margaret Smithson has been trying to get me to the altar since we were both little more than children." Henry said feelingly. "I'd hoped she'd given up after we'd both married, but both our spouses are gone and she seems to have decided that I am to be her second husband."
He'd lost his Katie decades ago, along with the daughter she'd died giving birth to. Henry had been inconsolable when they'd died, and left Britain immediately after the funeral. The scholar didn't set foot on the island again for five years as he threw himself into a long term study of the cultures of the Silk Road as a way to cope with his grief. He'd never remarried, and he carried a lock of Katie's hair along with her picture in a locket.
"So, no, you actually did me a service Lady Kirmasov. Thank you."
Irina cast a hidden look of disparagement over her shoulder in Madame Smithson's direction. Terrible cow, and not just because of that dress. "I am recently out of mourning myself," she confided, glad for the chance to cast aside widow's black in exchange for the dark-blue gown she'd removed from her wardobe that night. "Husband has been gone for almost two years. I dread the day when I will have to deal with unwanted attention."
They were nearer to the musicians now, and the Russian listened appreciatively to their efforts. When she began to entertain again, she would have to see about arranging for music as well. "You are of the peerage," she noted. "I see that many here have such titles. Where is Balinbrooke?"
"I am sorry for your loss," Henry said with genuine sympathy. It was never easy losing a spouse at such a young age, that was something he knew for certain, and it had to be even more difficult for a woman. "If you don't wish to marry again don't let anyone try to force you."
The string quartet was doing a fair job on a piece from Mozart, and Henry found himself nodding in approval. He preferred Persian classical music himself, it had more energy than the more staid classical music of Europe in these settings, but one had to accept what was available. There were technologies that allowed one to record sound, but the quality so far was very poor compared to the real thing.
"Most people here are peerage, I attended Eton with Earl Whitehaven when we were both schoolboys many years ago now." He glanced around at the men in their formal white tie suits and women in ballgowns, and returned his attention to his companion. "This is probably one of the only places I use my title, I place more stock in the doctorate I earned at Oxford to be perfectly honest."
"Ah!" The Russian had drained her cup and given it to a servant to take away, and her small hands clapped together quietly. "You are a man of letters, then. I thought for some reason you seemed different from the other men I have spoken to tonight. It is the same in Russia. Intellect shines even among the sloth of complacency. It just takes a bit of looking to see it."
There was a pause as the quartet finished, and the Russian applauded along with the others while the next piece of music was being prepared. "So what you do you when you are not among society?"
"The vast majority of the time I'm either teaching, writing, or traveling the world." Henry replied easily. It wasn't quite the truth these days, but it had been his life for decades. If not for Prince Edward's successful attempt to recruit him for the inquisition he would still be at it, there was nothing that kept him in the country otherwise aside from occasionally teaching at his Alma-mater in the Spring and Summer.
"I'm working on a book that requires me to spend time here in the city on research, but otherwise I tend to travel extensively."
He glanced over at the foreign noblewoman as the musicians began to play again. "What made you decide to leave Russia? I imagine your family must have wanted you to stay close to home after the death of your husband."
"I was..." How to phrase this in polite company? Not the truth, certainly, or at least not all of it. "Father has many duties with the court. The Emperor demands much of his time and it leaves him little freedom. As my late husband's sole inheritor, I took possession of his holdings, which included some apartments in the city. I decided I wanted a change of scenery."
There, that should suffice. No need to bring Stavros into it, or her brother's ravings when she'd announced she'd booked passage on a ship to England. Brother was married himself now, and the distance would do them both a service. They weren't children anymore. Some things should never be repeated.
"Pyotr had no children," she elaborated. "None surviving, at any rate. Otherwise I'd certainly have remained in Moscow. As it was, I have not regretted the decision to come here."
Henry nodded in understanding. While women weren't considered the equals of men even in England, they were miles ahead of views in Russia even in the circles of nobility.
"Changes of scenery can be therapeutic, and I commend you on your choice. London is a vibrant city, constantly changing."
"I greatly like to look at the architecture," Irina confided. "Where do you teach? It seems as if ideas are in great demand as the century nears its close. Do your students know of your other life, as it were?"
There was a faint smile on the Russian's face as she spoke, but it was a bit puzzling. Men of the Viscount's age had usually retired to a comfortable home by now, and they certainly didn't go traipsing around the globe as if they were thirty years younger. She wondered if she might have read anything he'd written. "What is your field of interest, Milord?"
"Languages and cultures, and please, call me Henry." He didn't mind his title, and was proud of his family's heritage, but being called "Lord this," and "milord that" got tiresome with frequent use. "I normally teach at Woolsey College in Oxford when I'm in the country, but I've agreed to teach German to select upperclassmen at King's College here in London while I'm in the city."
The smile didn't go unnoticed and the scholar smiled as well and shrugged. "I travel with more creature comforts than when I was a young man, but I think if I stay in one location too long then old age will find me and then I'll be unable to travel at all."
"Henry, then."
Normally she'd never have dared such familiarity on such short acquaintance, but having been invited to do so she had fewer qualms. There were some social errors that being foreign could erase, after all. "I am to acquire some property farther out in the country, although I do not know when. I miss my horses, and there is no room in the city for them. Does a man such as yourself count horsemanship among your accomplishments?"
"I have a townhouse in the city, so I am well aware of the difficulties of keeping horses." Henry replied in rueful agreement to her plight. "I enjoy a good ride every now and again, being a competent rider has been essential in my travels. The Whitehavens have graciously allowed me to board a few horses in their estate outside the city and I go there to ride. My own lands are a good distance north of here I'm afraid, in the border regions of Scotland."
"Who are your family back in Russia? I might have met your father, I've traveled to St. Petersburg many times."
'My father is Anatole Bartnev. He is chief court adviser to Alexander the third. He and Mother met at a family gathering and were wed soon afterward. Raisa Karpova? She had some fame as a singer before my brother and I came along, you may have heard of her."
That her parents were related even without the marriage would be something Henry already knew if he was acquainted with them. It had never come up at home, but perhaps the English had different standards. Inbreeding certainly couldn't be something only the nobles of her country did. "The two of them largely stay close to St. Petersburg for the sake of Father's work, but they do socialize frequently with the foreigners who visit the city."
"I believe I heard your mother perform once," Henry said with some surprise. It had to have been quite a scandal for a nobleman of her father's stature to marry a performer, whether or not she was related. He didn't bat an eye at the realization that her parents were cousins prior to getting married. The idea of marriage to a close relative wasn't unheard of in aristocratic circles even in Europe or America, and had been quite common in the near east from time immemorial. "She had a lovely voice, I remember it clearly now. Does she still perform at all, even if just for family and friends?"
"She sang at Father's last birthday celebration, actually," Irina confirmed. "He had a conservatory built on the family property for her to practice when she liked. She speaks of her days on the stage occasionally. Perhaps you have visited our home?"
The idea hat he had and she had failed to remember him was a bit embarrassing, but given the size of a typical social gathering at the Bartnev estate, it wasn't unlikely either. It was one of the main reasons she was comfortable in such a large crowd rather than wanting to crawl through the nearest open window to escape.
"I may have once or twice, but you would have been a young child the last time I was there. I doubt you would have remembered me." Henry told her. "Most of the times I met your father he seemed a good man, very dedicated to the service of his sovereign and state. I do hope he's still in good health."
"Father is as robust as ever," the Russian said with a slight incline of her head. "I am sure he will be pleased to hear you are also well. Perhaps in the future you could stop by for tea? I'm sure that with less of a crowd there will be less unwanted attention."
"I would be delighted to take tea at some point in the future," Henry told her genuinely. Like all British aristocrats he'd grown up with the practice of taking tea in the afternoon, and while he hadn't been able to do it all the time in the field, he made a point to when in the country.
"I shall give you my card. Obviously you are a busy man, but I should like to converse with you again. I miss the language of ideas."
A small hand proffered the heavy paper of the calling card in Henry's direction, and Irina was already planning to have the front rooms of her apartments thoroughly cleaned. The servants had been lazy recently, it was time to make them earn their wages. "I look forward to it, Lord Balin....Henry."
"It would be my pleasure, Lady Kirmasov." Henry took the card, and smiled at the young woman. "I don't know exactly when my schedule will permit it, but I will look into it and send word." He fished out a card of his own from his pocket and handed it over to Irina. "I may be away from the city from time to time, but if you need to reach me simply leave a note here and I will be in touch."
"Someone is usually at the house to take messages. I shall tell Sergei to keep a close watch for visitors. Hopefully with less scowling. Sergei served in the army as a much younger man, he has never learned not to be mistrustful of strangers."
The Russia tucked the card out of sight, noticed that the musicians were beginning to put away their instruments. It must have gotten later than she'd imagined, then. "I bid you a good evening and a safe journey home."
"And you as well milady," Henry inclined his head slightly as he prepared to find their hosts to thank them as politeness dictated. The Whitehavens were nice people, and theirs were among the few social events to which he was able to decline an invitation. For a change he'd actually enjoyed himself, meeting Irina had been a pleasant surprise.
"I look forward to our next encounter." With that he made his way from her side to go off in search of his old friends.