Nadia’s expression became defensive. “I knew she could be trusted and it was not as if I could share my most intimate thoughts with anyone else. There was not a woman in society who was not consumed with jealousy by my relationship with Czar Alexander.”
“As they still are.” Leonida hastily soothed the older woman. She would get nothing out of Nadia if she were pouting. And Leonida had a terrible foreboding she needed to know precisely what was happening. “But you are rarely so indiscreet.”
Nadia was far from appeased. “How could I possibly suspect that anyone beyond the Duchess would ever see them?”
Leonida’s heart stuttered. “Someone else has seen them?”
“I do not need you to point out that I was a reckless idiot. I am painfully aware of my mistakes.”
“Very well.” Leonida sucked in a calming breath. “I presume that these letters hold information that might prove uncomfortable for the Czar?”
“It is much worse than that. In the hands of his enemies they might very well destroy him.”
“Destroy him?” Leonida blinked in shock. “Surely you must be exaggerating?”
“I only wish I were.”
“Mother?”
With a graceful motion, Nadia sat on the brocade window seat, the morning sunlight revealing the shadows beneath her eyes and lines that bracketed her full lips.
It was the first occasion that Leonida could recall her mother actually appearing her age.
That was more frightening than all the melodramatic insinuations of imminent danger.
“Being the leader of the Russian empire is never a simple task,” she said in low tones. “Unrest is always brewing among the citizens, while treachery is a mandatory game for the nobility, but matters have become even more perilous over the past few years. Alexander spends too much time away from his throne as he travels about the world. It gives his enemies encouragement to plot against him.”
“They hardly need encouragement.”
“Perhaps not, but they grow more bold with every passing day.”
Leonida licked her dry lips. “And there is something in the letters that would offer Alexander Pavlovich’s enemies the means to harm him?”
“Yes.”
“What…”
Her mother held up an imperious hand. “Do not ask me, Leonida.”
Leonida’s first instinct was to demand an answer. If she were to be involved in whatever mess her mother had created, she deserved the truth.
Then she wisely swallowed the words hovering on her lips.
She held a great love and respect for Alexander Pavlovich, but she of all people understood he was just a man, with all the failings and frailties of any other. And, in truth, there had always been a melancholy air that shrouded the Emperor, as if he carried with him a deep and painful secret.
Did she truly wish to know what caused him such sorrow?
“Then you must write to the Emperor and warn him of the dangers,” she said briskly. “He will surely wish to return to St. Petersburg.”
“No,” her mother denied sharply.
“You cannot hide the truth, Mother.”
“That is exactly what I must do.”
Leonida frowned, unable to believe her mother could be so selfish.
“You will put Alexander Pavlovich at risk because you do not wish to confess your indiscretion?”