Curse Not the King by Evelyn Anthony

but Gregory Potemkin, who held private counsel with the sovereign. While Catherine stormed, he said nothing, watching her out of his one eye, his ugly, expressive features set in thought.
    He was so tall that his head topped the massive mantelpiece, his clothes were covered with gold and embroidery and blazing with jewelled orders, yet he was dishevelled and his wig lay carelessly upon a nearby chair.
    â€œI have heard that he’s grieving very much,” he remarked after a moment.
    â€œGrieving!” Catherine exclaimed. “His servants tell me that he’s scarcely slept or eaten, that he spends his days shut up alone with her miniature and that sometimes they can hear him weeping through the door! It’s ridiculous, I say; to mourn with dignity, yes, but this foolish spectacle has got to stop.… I sent for him this morning, Gregory, to tell him that I expect him to attend at Court in future.” She paused, her full lips drawn into a line of unbecoming hardness.
    â€œI also told him that he must prepare to marry again very soon.”
    Potemkin moved from the fireplace and poured some wine into two golden goblets.
    â€œAnd of course he refused you, my love. Defied you, declared that he would love the late Natalie until the day of his death, and that he wouldn’t hear the mention of another wife.”
    Catherine took the wine cup and nodded.
    â€œExactly. You’ve gauged his nature very cleverly, Grisha. Those were almost his very words. Oh, but he’s such a fool! The girl deceived him with that young devil. Rasumovsky within a few months of their marriage! I reminded him of it and he shouted that I was maligning the dead and rushed out of the room.… What am I to do with him? He must remarry as soon as etiquette permits, but I don’t think I can make him without using force.”
    â€œOne thing I can vouch for, my adored,” he said, “and that is that the Grand Duke will never yield to force. You may threaten, you may even act, but that’s not the way to break his will. I am surprised, that for such a brilliant woman, you’re always so stupid with your son.”
    The great Empress, before whom Princes trembled, accepted this rebuke and only looked at him appealingly.
    â€œThen what do you suggest?”
    â€œIf you wish to bend Paul, it is Natalie Alexeievna who must be attacked. She is the obstacle. He clings to her, you see; it is the nature of loneliness, and without her he is very lonely. As you say, he was a fool, therefore we must enlighten him!”
    â€œHow do you mean, Grisha? I don’t understand you.”
    â€œHow many times a day do we write to each other, Catherine?” he asked, suddenly.
    â€œWhy, a dozen times at least,” she answered in surprise.
    â€œExactly, though I see you so freely, I’m always thinking of little things to say and sending notes to you. And you send notes to me. Because we’re lovers, my dear, and it is the way of lovers to put down their love on paper. You have kept my letters, haven’t you, Catherine?”
    â€œOf course, my dearest one. You know I have them all. They’re there, locked in my bureau.”
    Potemkin put one great arm round her and smiled.
    â€œThen doubtless that’s where Natalie hid Rasumovsky’s love letters. Have her apartments searched, and when you find your evidence, let it speak for you to the Czarevitch.…”
    â€œMy son has fought me successfully for years,” she said, “but I believe he’s met his match in you.”
    The following day Catherine’s servants went into the dead Grand Duchess’s rooms and made a thorough search. They unearthed a lot of fine jewellery which the Empress sent down to the Treasury, a mass of miscellaneous papers and household bills, and in a secret recess of her writing-desk they found a packet of letters tied up with ribbon.
    That same evening Catherine and Potemkin retired early to