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Chapter Seventeen
The Winter Palace – The Grand Ballroom
June 22, 1889
4:50 PM
They had been dancing for nearly an hour when Konstantin took a break. There was a carafe of
water on a tray atop the piano and he led her to it, poured a careful glass for her and then himself.
Emma took it with pleasure. She had been thirsty for some time, but the fact that he was as well was
a type of confirmation that her dancing indeed was getting better. They had spent the last fifty minutes
working hard, covering larger sections of the floor. It was the first time a pianist had joined them in
their lessons and practicing with music had inspired her. Her small solo within the long and complex
imperial waltz lasted no more than twenty seconds, but they had gone over the steps numerous times
and there was a faint sheen of perspiration on Konstantin’s broad brow. It showed her what she
suspected that he would never say – that they were truly dancing now.
“You are not married?” he asked.
The question surprised her. They had never spoken of anything remotely personal. She shook
her head and took another sip of water.
“So the man you were with when you opened the door…he was…” He paused, glanced at the
pianist. “Who was the man you were with that day?”
She supposed it was natural that he would want to know.
“Thomas Bainbridge,” she said. “The Queen’s physician.”
“And he is your lover?”
“Good heavens,” she said. “Certainly not.”
He sipped his water too, regarding her flustered response with confusion. “If there is no
husband and no lover,” he said, “then who protects you?”
Trevor protects me, she thought automatically and the speed with which the name came to her