‘This Bonaparte lives as well as a king,’ Lady Murray had complained many times since their arrival last November; but no one could resist the charm of Madame Josephine, and there was no regal stiffness or ponderous etiquette about the Consul’s court. Elegant equality was the watchword, the best of the Ancien Régime mingling with the best of the Republic.
Anne went with the Miss Murrays to an ante-room to ensure that the ten-minute sojourn in the carriage had not impaired their toilette, and then accompanied them into the ballroom, taking up an unobtrusive position amongst the chaperones from which she could watch the arrivals. This must be her pleasure. If she had attended this ball as her father’s daughter, she could have looked forward to dancing every dance, for an English admiral was the equal of anyone short of a governor or head of state. As it was, she could only sit and watch, and her active part would be confined to pinning up a hem or securing a loose curl if her young ladies should dance too vigorously.
And yet the ball was a glittering affair. To be present in any capacity was an honour, something of which she knew she was much more aware than her heedless young charges. Their minds were on their own appearance and the prospect of partners; that they might be witnessing history in the making was beyond them to appreciate.
Representatives were arriving from all the courts of Europe. The Whitworths were there, of course, casting cold looks upon the First Consul and his closest advisors: the feline Cambacérès, bachelor and gourmet with exquisite but occasionally bizarre tastes; Joseph Fouché, a grey-visaged, cold-eyed man who had already served both the late King Louis and Robespierre, for whom he was rumoured to have carried out hideous atrocities in the provinces during the Terror; and gentle, upright Armand de Caulaincourt, a noble of the old school, fearless, frank, and courteous, whom Beugnot had called the only completely honest man in Europe.
There were the representatives of Prussia and Saxony and Austria, and a little dark man, unmistakeably Italian, whom Anne thought must be from the court of the Two Sicilies. And now here was the Russian Ambassador, Markov, with his party. Anne had not expected to find so much to interest her in the appearance of the Russians, and indeed, they looked very much like anyone else, dressed in French style, though perhaps with rather more colour and jewellery about them, and certainly more appearance of enjoying themselves than the English.
Count Kirov entered at the Ambassador’s shoulder, evidently deep in conversation with him. He was the taller man and had to bend his head to reach Markov’s ear. The Ambassador turned his head and replied, and both men laughed. Then the Count straightened up and scanned the room, as anyone might who had just arrived at a ball. Why, then, did Anne feel it necessary to shrink back, as though afraid his eye might fall on her, and why again did she feel faintly disappointed when it did not?
The dancing began, and after the first formal minuets, the couples began to form sets for the country dancing. The Miss Murrays were spared any agony of doubt, for their hands had been solicited long before, and having seen her charges walk off with their partners in perfect propriety, Anne was able to resume her seat and allow her eye to wander. It was odd, she thought, how much in evidence Count Kirov seemed to be. Everywhere she looked, it was on him that her eye alighted. Of course, he was a tall man, amongst the tallest present. He had been walking about the margins of the room, and now was leading a splendidly jewelled lady, one of the Prussian Ambassador’s party, to the top set.
Nothing at all unexpected happened until the end of the second supper interval. Then, in the press towards the door leading out of the supper-room, Anne became separated from the Miss Murrays, who had been making themselves disagreeable to her because she had baulked their plan to eat their supper with their partners, unsupervised. Trying to edge herself out of the main stream of bodies by which she had been caught up, Anne unluckily found herself in the immediate vicinity of Lady Whitworth, whose diamond bracelet caught for a moment in Anne’s shawl. The former duchess, who had not noticed that she was attached, moved her arm abruptly and tugged it free. The ripping sound caught her attention, and she looked round briefly to see what had happened. An expression of annoyance crossed her face at having been in such close proximity to a person of inferior status, and Anne shrank back, a flush of anger and distress colouring her cheeks. Lady Whitworth passed on, and Anne managed at last to wedge herself into a corner where she could examine the damage.
There was an ugly three-cornered rent in the delicate gauze, the edges of which were so frayed that it would be impossible to mend it invisibly. Anne was still mourning over her ruined finery when a gentleman coming out of the supper-room bumped her elbow painfully with the hilt of his dress sword, and she was almost vexed enough to cry out.
But the gentleman paused, and a familiar voice said, ‘Miss Peters! What a pleasant surprise. But I hope I did not hurt you? A thousand pardons, mademoiselle.’
Anne felt her cheeks grow warm. She had hardly expected the Count to notice her again, particularly at so glittering an occasion, but he was looking at her with such friendly concern that she automatically smiled and answered him lightly.
‘For so small an offence, sir, one would suffice,’ she said.
‘You are too generous, mademoiselle. And this is a famous way to renew my acquaintance with you, to begin by knocking you about! You will think me nothing but a clumsy fool.’
‘Anything but that, sir. Did not Cicero say, “The mind of the man is the man himself”?’
The Count raised his eyebrows. ‘Now you have really surprised me. Do you understand Latin too, mademoiselle? But no, I mistake. I am not really surprised. It is stupidity which is always so surprising, not intelligence. It is a pleasant ball, is it not? Pleasure shows everyone to advantage. It seems to make the women appear more handsome and the men more distinguished. Are you having an agreeable time?’
‘I was sir, until I fell foul of a diamond bracelet,’ Anne said, displaying the rent in her shawl. It seemed so natural to talk to him that she found it impossible to be formal, or to check his disastrous tendency to be friendly.
‘Oh, what a pity,’ the Count said. ‘And such a delicate gauze! It is beyond mending, I fear. But perhaps if you cut it down, you might make a fichu of it. It is too pretty to be quite wasted.’
She looked at him with amusement. ‘Do you understand such things, sir? It is not the way with English gentlemen.’
‘In Russia we take a great interest in clothes. We understand fine materials. And jewels, also. We Russians understand jewels better than anyone in the world.’ He surveyed her with a practised eye. ‘Your gown is very elegant, mademoiselle, and very becoming, but you should have a necklace. Diamonds would look very well with your colouring, or pearls. No, diamonds, I think, at the neck and in the hair. And not the cap – caps are for old ladies.’
This talk of diamonds embarrassed Anne. ‘For old ladies, and for chaperones, sir,’ she said lightly. ‘I think you have forgotten my station in life.’