Free The Coldest War by Ian Tregillis Page B

Ambassador,” she said. “But I must correct you. While I do have honor, my grace is nonexistent. My husband has proved a suitable provider in other regards, but he has been a crushing disappointment in this area.”
    Fedotov looked confused.
    â€œThe blame lies at my brother’s feet,” chimed Will. “Selfish fellow, hoarding titles for himself and his wife.” He indicated Viola, also on the balcony, where she stood chatting amicably with the ambassador’s wife. “She, of course, is ‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Aelred.’”
    â€œBut I am merely Lady Gwendolyn Beauclerk.”
    â€œFormerly the Lady Gwendolyn, of course,” said Will.
    Fedotov looked back and forth between them, like a spectator at a tennis match. Which, in a way, he was.
    Taking encouragement from the deepening furrow between the ambassador’s eyebrows, Will put on the air of revealing a close confidence. “As I’m sure you can imagine, our marriage was quite the scandal. The daughter of an earl marrying an untitled commoner like myself?”
    Which was partially true. Not for the sake of titles, of course; Gwendolyn herself was not a peer. Marrying into the Beauclerks had been the eventual aim of many families since Will and Aubrey had been children. But Will’s personal history, rather than the order of his birth, had tarnished the brand.
    The ambassador frowned.
    Gwendolyn shook her head lightly. “It wouldn’t have been quite so scandalous had you allowed the announcements to use your title.” She turned to Fedotov. “‘Lord William Edward Guthrie Beauclerk,’ naturally. But he wouldn’t have it. So the announcements looked quite lopsided: ‘William Edward Guthrie Beauclerk and the Lady Gwendolyn Wellesley.’”
    â€œBut you did compromise in the end, dear.” Will’s turn to take Fedotov into confidence. “She finally agreed to drop that ghastly ‘the’ after our nuptials.”
    â€œCompromise? I had no choice in the matter, love.” Again, an aside to Fedotov: “My husband is merely a lord. And that only by courtesy. Which is why today I am merely Lady Gwendolyn. It’s all quite straightforward, you see,” she concluded.
    A moment passed. The creases of concentration on Fedotov’s forehead melted away, and he smiled. He shook a finger at them. “You are having me on. Both of you.”
    Will shook his head. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”
    Fedotov laughed. “We don’t suffer from such complexities in the Soviet Union,” he said. “Anybody is free to marry anybody, without consideration of titles and status. That, my friends, is just one of the reasons why we thrive. Everybody is equal.”
    Again dabbing at the corners of her mouth, Gwendolyn said, “And yet you live in a mansion.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œMy wife complimented your lovely home,” Will covered.
    Cherkashin, the cultural attaché, noticed the conversation. He pushed aside the lock of hair that had flopped across his forehead and hastily joined them. Gwendolyn stiffened. Cherkashin lacked the ambassador’s gift for chitchat. And his smile never quite touched his eyes. It was a Potemkin smile.
    More introductions and niceties all around. Cherkashin whispered into the ambassador’s ear. Gwendolyn caught Will’s eye; he didn’t understand the source of her unease, but he tried to quell it with a wink. It didn’t appear to mollify her.
    Fedotov nodded. He replied to Cherkashin also in Russian, then turned his attention back to Will and Gwendolyn. “I’m reminded that I had hoped to take advantage of your attendance, Lord William—”
    Fishhooks of panic jabbed Will in the neck. Please not in front of Gwendolyn, he thought.
    â€œâ€”to iron out a tiny business detail. If I could prevail upon your patience, Lady Gwendolyn?”
    Gwendolyn smiled,