Read Online Far Flies the Eagle by Evelyn Anthony - Free Book Online Page B

badly, and the casual embraces of one or two German ladies at Erfurt had only increased his loneliness and sharpened his desire for her. He fell asleep with his blond head pillowed against the satin upholstery and dreamt that he held her in his arms.
    On his arrival at the Winter Palace, the first person he sent for was his mother. The Dowager Empress went into her son’s room and remained shut in alone with him for nearly an hour. Then a page was sent to bring the Grand Duchess to her brother.
    Catherine had expected the summons, and she was blazing with anger. He had betrayed his promise at Erfurt; she was to remain in Russia, unmarried and rotting, idling away her youth and beauty with lovers who kept her sensuality at bay but did nothing to satisfy her ambition. She stormed into Alexander’s room and stood still abruptly when she saw the mother and son standing side by side.
    â€œMy dear sister,” he said softly. “How happy I am to see you.”
    She noticed suddenly that he had made no move towards her, no attempt to kiss her as he always did after a separation. There was something cold and forbidding in his manner, in spite of the gentle greeting, and her mother’s face was heavy and blank.
    â€œRumour has preceded you,” she said sharply. “Unless you send for me to contradict it. There is to be no marriage. Is that correct?”
    She could see her mother’s colour rising and knew that she was frightened, frightened of Alexander.… She stood rigid with pride and defiance, fighting a queer sensation of fear that was creeping through her. She had never seen such an impersonal, dead expression in his eyes as he studied her and then answered in the same level voice.
    â€œI’m afraid it’s quite correct. There is to be no marriage between you and Napoleon.”
    â€œYou betrayed me!” she accused. “You promised and you’ve broken your word!”
    It was then that the Empress Dowager spoke. She too was calm, and the effect of the composure of these two people suddenly made Catherine feel she might have hysterics.
    â€œYour brother has done everything and more than he promised. Napoleon wouldn’t have you, Catherine Pavlovna. He wants to marry your sister Anne.”
    â€œWouldn’t have me … it’s not possible! For what reason?” She was gasping with surprise and rage.
    Alexander explained quietly, “Anne is not yet sixteen and he prefers a very young wife to bear his heirs. I’m sorry, Catherine, I know how humiliated you must feel, as I do, for your sake.”
    â€œAs we all do,” her mother added.
    Catherine stared from one to the other. Napoleon had refused her … truth or lies, God only knew. Why was her mother aiding him? Had he deceived her, bullied her, or was it really true that an Italian guttersnipe had refused to marry Catherine Pavlovna Romanov?…
    â€œIn order to spare you public humiliation, I have decided on another marriage for you,” Alexander said. “Mama agrees with me that you must be married before Napoleon makes any other choice. We have selected Prince George of Oldenburg.”
    â€œOldenburg!”
    A tiny Duchy, a living grave of ambition, even of life itself. She had seen George of Oldenburg; he was frail and spotty complexioned, a stupid oaf many years her senior.
    She stepped back from them. “No,” she said. “No, never. You can’t do that to me, Alexander. This is you, not mother. You can’t. I won’t marry him.”
    â€œYou will, Catherine, you will do exactly as your brother and I tell you. You will marry George of Oldenburg, or you’ll stand before the world as the Princess Bonaparte rejected. You have no choice.”
    Her mother had a vein of implacability in her nature, though she seldom showed it, but Catherine recognized it now.
    She turned to Alexander. Her throat constricted so that she could hardly speak.
    â€œAnne,”