The Lost Souls of Angelkov by Linda Holeman Page A

said.
    Antonina raised her shoulders. “What don’t you understand? I asked if you want me to come to Kazhra and see your puppy.”
    “But … but … if you wish to come, you will come. It is not my choice.”
    It wasn’t the answer Antonina wanted.
    Lilya saw that she had annoyed Princess Olonova. “If this is what you wish, princess,” she said quickly, aware of the clenching in her stomach, “then, of course, it is my wish too.” She held her breath.
    Antonina smiled.
    Yes, her nose was a bit long, Lilya thought, her eyebrows so much darker than her hair, but when she smiled, the stern expression disappeared. She was pretty, really.
    “All right,” Antonina said. “I’ll come to the village. Look for me.”
    Lilya let out her breath. She had chosen the right words, then. “Perhaps … perhaps it would be better if I bring the puppy here, to the clearing. And princess? It must be on this day, at this time.”
    “Sunday afternoon?”
    “Yes. It’s the only day I’m not at work, and allowed my own time—Sunday, after church.” Lilya couldn’t imagine what her father would think should the daughter of Prince Olonov come to their izba; surely it would cause trouble. He wouldn’t understand.
    Lilya didn’t understand herself. But it was the princess’s order. She smiled back at Antonina, a small, forced smile.
    Her front teeth were short, the eye teeth longer and pointed, and Antonina saw the tiniest bit of her pink upper gums. With her slightly slanted golden eyes and sharp incisors, Lilya Petrova had the look of a small and wary yet intelligent animal.
    A fox. Yes, a fox.

A ntonina lived in the huge and glorious country manor with her father and brothers. Her father hired nurses and governesses to watch over her, and tutors who taught her to read and write based on religious and Biblical texts: the Psalter and the books of hourly prayers and the Gospels. She was a quick learner but difficult to keep on task, working carelessly, easily distracted and often gazing longingly towards the windows during her lessons.
    Her favourite time was at the piano. She had taken her first lessons on the small spinet in the corner of the music salon but quickly advanced to the beautiful rosewood Érard square piano, imported from Paris, in the centre of the room. Her teacher, the elderly Monsieur Fadeev, told the prince that his daughter showed great eagerness for a four-year-old, and had a definite gift. He had Prince Olonov come into the music salon, where Antonina sat on a high tufted cushionplaced on the piano bench. The old man played a simplified Mozart sonata and Antonina played the tune back easily, her small fingers stretching surprisingly to reach the keys.
    Prince Olonov smiled proudly at his daughter, fondly, perhaps, but the fact that she was talented musically was of minor importance. Playing the piano was one of the requirements of young ladies of the nobility. By the time they were ready to be courted, they were expected to have a repertoire pleasing to the ear. They would play at small soirees and gatherings for the pleasure of family and friends and, hopefully, a future fiancé. However great a musical talent a Russian noblewoman might possess, it was simply a form of entertainment within the confines of the home. Professional performing was relegated to the serf troupes trained specifically for this purpose.
    For women of Antonina’s class, singing, the reciting of poetry, skill with the needle, lovely penmanship, cleverness at cards, or playing the piano with a deft touch were all part of a package, one designed to attract the proper suitor. In Antonina’s case, her dowry was so large that it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d possessed the face of a horse and played the piano as though her fingers were wooden pins—there would be a line of men eager to wed her for her riches, and Antonina’s father imagined that he would marry her into further money.
    Whatever her father’s thoughts about