steps of the new fox-trot to perfection, under Clayton's careful direction. And he stood handsome and proud as he whirled her around the floor, so obviously in love with his beautiful young wife that it made everyone hate her. She was twenty years old with a waist he could encircle with both hands, graceful legs, and the face of an angel. And when the waltz struck up, she felt tears sting her eyes, as they moved slowly around the floor, looking up at him with the memory of the night they'd met, and painful memories from long before that. If she closed her eyes, she was in St. Petersburg again … dancing with Konstantin, or handsome young Nicolai in the uniform of the Preobrajensky Guard … or even Nicholas at the Winter Palace. She remembered the coming-out ball she was to have, and never had, and now none of it seemed quite so painful. He had made it all up to her, and now she was even able to look at her photographs of Mashka, with a sad smile, but without tears. She would carry her friends and her loved ones with her in her heart forever.
“Hove you so much, little one …” he whispered as they danced at the Astors’ ball in June, and then suddenly she stopped and stared, as though she had seen a ghost. Her feet were rooted to the floor, and her face went pale, as Clayton whispered to her, “Is something wrong?”
“It can't be …” She looked ill as he felt her hand go cold in his own. A tall, stunningly handsome man had just entered the room with a pretty woman in a shimmering blue gown.
“Do you know them?”
But she could not speak. It was Prince Obolensky, or someone who looked exactly like him, and the woman on his arm appeared to be the Grand Duchess Olga, the young Grand Duchesses’ aunt who had brought them into town every Sunday for lunch with their grandmother, before stopping for tea at the Fontanka Palace with Zoya.
“Zoya! …” He was afraid she might faint, as the woman stared and gave a gasp of surprise as she hurried toward them. Zoya gave a little cry like a child, and flew into her arms.
“Darling … is it you? … oh, my little Zoya …” Lovely Olga folded her into her arms as they both cried tears of joy, filled with the tender memories of the loved ones they had lost, as Clayton and Prince Obolensky watched them. “But what are you doing here?”
Zoya curtsied low, and turned to introduce her handsome husband. “Olga Alexandrovna, may I present my husband, Clayton Andrews.” He bowed and kissed the Grand Duchess's hand, and afterward Zoya explained that Olga was the Tsar's youngest sister.
“Where have you been since …” She had difficulty saying the words as their eyes met. She hadn't seen her since they both left Tsarskoe Selo.
“I was in Paris with Grandmama … she died after Christmas.”
The Grand Duchess embraced the girl again, as everyone in the ballroom watched, and within hours it was everywhere. Clayton Andrews's new wife was a Russian countess. The tales of the Folies-Bergdre faded on the wind, and Prince Obolensky told tales of glorious and exotic balls held at the Fontanka Palace.
“Her mother was the loveliest woman I'e ever seen. Cold, of course, as Germans are, and rather high-strung, but incredibly pretty. And her father was a charming man. It was a terrible loss when he was killed. So many good men gone.” He said it with regret over a glass of champagne, but with less emotion than the women. Zoya never left Olga's side for the rest of the night. She was living in London, but had come to New York to visit friends. She was staying with Prince Obolensky and his wife, the former Alice Astor.
Word spread around New York like fire, about Zoya's origins, her noble family, her relationship to the Tsar, and within moments she was the darling of society. Cecil Beaton chronicled her every move, and they were invited everywhere. The people who had shunned her suddenly loved her.
Elsie de Wolfe wanted to redo the house, and then instead proposed a remarkable suggestion. She and her friends had bought a group of old farms on the East River, and were remodeling the old houses on a street called Sutton Place. It was not fashionable yet, but she knew that when it was finished it would be.