Chapter Text
A letter is a tad old-fashioned, Lady Alina thinks when she opens it, her steel and mother-of-pearl letter opener slicing through the wax seal easily. A gentleman with modern sensibilities would have written poetry waxing on about her starlit eyes or the velvet shine of her hair, accompanied by flowers after every ball and chaperoned strolls at Hyde Park where all of London could see them and know that an announcement would be made in the papers at the end of the season.
Instead, Genya delivers a sealed letter to her just after breakfast, after Alina escapes the stifling breakfast room, with her aunt recounting all the gentlemen Alina danced with the evening before and their marriage prospects.
On the topic of Lord Morozov, all Ana Kuya would say was, “his lordship has been in London for the last ten seasons after his wife died. He’s never shown interest in re-marrying.”
He’s not the right sort for you, child, went unspoken. Alina knows the rumors about Lord Morozov, how the monarchs turn a blind eye to some of his more unsavory dealings because he is the godfather to the young Prince Nikolai (who happens to be the same age as Alina herself). How his political opponents always find themselves trapped by bad rumors and broken deals and sent into exile, or worse, once Lord Morozov set his attention to it.
But Alina remembers their conversation too, even more than how gracefully he spun her around the ballroom floor or the way he didn’t look away from her at all during their set. The half-hour spent in his company had flown by until he was bowing over her hand, not a second longer than was appropriate, and delivering her to her next dance partner.
“His lordship delivered it himself this morning,” Genya explains, brushing out Alina’s long hair as Alina pores over the letter. Another sign of Lord Morozov’s maturity: he hasn’t sprayed the letter with any colognes. It’s refreshing, although Alina knows she shouldn’t find that attractive. “He could have sent any number of his servants, or sent it with the flowers instead… the others all did.”
Alina frowns— more flowers to fill the house with their headache-inducing scents— until Genya leads her downstairs to see. There, she finds the arrangement of blue irises waiting in the front hall. Her favorite. How he would’ve known, she has no idea, but he took the time to discover this small fact about her.
Perhaps there’s something to be said for older gentlemen too.