This bit of uber Xena fan fiction belongs to me. Any references to the characters of RCA/Universal's "Xena: Warrior Princess" are purely intentional, but are not designed to make me any money. I also owe a debt to Chekhov's "The Cherry Orchard." Again, no insult or infringement is intended.
This story contains scenes of love and sex between consenting adult women. If this is illegal where you live, or if you are under 18 years of age, do not read any further.
AND, by the way, I started this story long before I read one speck o' fan fiction, and Alex was named Alex way back then! So there!
Any feedback, good, bad or indifferent, is greatly appreciated. E-mail: vandersonsc@yahoo.com

Chapter 12

As the next month progressed, more and more migratory workers joined us in the fields. We were soon able to accommodate as many as one hundred workers at a time. Some used their own wagons to get to the fields from where ever they were camped, and some simply parked their wagons at the end of a row of vines and lived where they worked. They were an interesting lot, these gypsies. Often at the end of the day I could smell appetizing dishes stewing in pots over their cooking fires. I had not smelled such spices before, and while I recognized the lamb or beef or chicken for what it was, I could not place the scent that went with it. Families appeared close knit, and highly protective of their privacy, so I did not attempt to assuage my curiosity. As often as I joked around with Spatzo, I did not feel as though I could ever intrude upon their camps. Nor did Spatzo make overtures toward me in any manner that wasn't part of our professional relationship.

By the end of the first month in the fields, I felt new muscles I didn't even know existed, and my already dark complexion was considerably darker. I thought perhaps too that I had lost considerable weight. My normal curves, which I took great pains to hide in this setting, were not nearly so well defined any longer. Not having paid much attention to my physical appearance in the past, I found myself wishing to look more attractive to Margaret. Yes, certainly we had no future together, but I wanted her lasting impression of me to be both fond and favorable.

One morning as I was dressing for the day, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hmmm. I must ask Patric about a haircut. And look at my face! It's so thin. . . . . I hadn't paid attention before, but now my weight loss was indeed confirmed. Not only had I slimmed down, my arm muscles were more fully developed. The effect served to make me appear more masculine than before. I ran one hand across my chin Still no beard though. Thank goodness, I laughed to myself. I was a bit disconcerted that I was losing what little femininity I possessed. While saving Winterhaven, had I sacrificed any possibility of marriage and children? I thought about this for a moment and decided this was not the case. Aside from Margaret, I could not image spending my life with anyone, let alone some man would could legally restrict my freedom and take my home and property. Besides, I chastised myself, you made this bed, Alexandra, now lie in it! I dressed and started out the door, when Lucien knocked and said that Uncle Henri wished to see me. I reported to his study as he instructed, surprised that he was up at this hour, and found him sitting behind his desk. He rose to greet me when I came in the door.

"Ahh, Alexander, come in and sit down.

I did as I was instructed, and waited for him to continue, thankful for the respite, but impatient to get out to the fields to work nonetheless.

"How goes it in the vineyard?" he asked

"Quite well, Uncle. I think you'd be pleased. Spatzo assures me we are slightly ahead of schedule, and should have the remainder of the work completed by the end of May."

"Excellent! Well done. I am gratified to learn that the Russian work ethic is not exaggerated. Which brings me to my next point. How are you at arithmetic?"

"Well, Uncle," I replied, "I don't wish to boast, but I am quite good in that subject. I consistently placed in the top of my classes at Gymnasium."

"Again, excellent," he replied. "I am removing you from the fields today and putting you in charge of the bookkeeping and ordering of the supplies we will need for the coming season. There is not much need to change the order from what we placed last year. Some of the provisions have already been received, including the corks, but we will be needing more, and we may as well order those now."

"This is a wonderful turn of events, Uncle. Not that I haven't enjoyed getting to know the land, but I am eager to provide assistance in an area at which I excel."

"I like your enthusiasm, my boy. You may get started today reviewing the books, and you may use my study to do so. At present, I have little use for it. You will find the books in that locked cabinet, and I keep the key hidden in my top desk drawer. While I am fair with the servants of this household, I do not want prying eyes to view the financial goings on of this estate, and I would thank you to maintain this privacy. Only you, I, Margaret and my lawyer know the location of this key. I entrust you with it now."

I hesitantly took the key from him, thankful for his trust in me. "I will guard it with all precaution, Uncle." While Uncle Henri made movements toward the door, and to what I presume was his room, he turned to me before leaving and said, "Oh, Alexander, one more thing."

Yes, Uncle?" I replied as I approached the cabinet.

"You may want to change into more suitable work attire. Wouldn't want Margaret to see you in your field clothes, now would we?" He winked at me and was gone, but not, I'm sure, before he saw me blush from the base of my neck to my hairline.

I did as he instructed, and vaulted upstairs to change my clothes, eager to start this new aspect of my job. I chose a dark green pair of pants, a white shirt and collar, a green and black striped tie, and a black vest. I thought about putting on a jacket, and then decided it wasn't really necessary as I was only going to be working in the study all day. I returned to Uncle Henri's office, drew the books from the cabinet, and opened the first one for review as I sat at his desk. Much to my dismay, I soon found that ALL of the books were written in French! How stupid of me to think they would be otherwise. While I could most certainly read the numbers, I didn't know how to read the items to which they were attached. 200 francs for what? Apples? Pens? Trees? I had no idea. I summoned Patric and inquired as to whether Margaret was yet up for the day.

"I believe, Monsieur, that she is in the ballroom," he replied.

I thanked him, amazed that everyone in the house was up with the sun, so I excused myself and went to find Margaret. She was, indeed, in the ballroom, chatting with an older gentleman dressed in, of all things, a tuxedo. Not wishing to interrupt their conversation, I tried to politely look at the paintings on the walls until she was finished. She, however, noticed me and called me over.

"Alexander," Margaret smiled at me as I drew closer, "I would like you to meet Monsieur Jacques Sere. Monsieur, this is the new master of the house and Uncle Henri's protégé, Monsieur Alexander Petrovka."

"A pleasure sir," I replied as I held my hand out to shake.

"The pleasure is mine, Monsieur Petrovka. Since you are the new master of the house, surely you wish to consult on the preparations?"

"Preparations?" I asked, turning to Margaret for clarification.

"Monsieur Sere has been in charge of the estate's annual balls for as many years as I have been here. Uncle Henri asked me to take care of the details since he knew you would be occupied with the vineyard. I hope this meets your satisfaction, Alexander?"

Of course it does," I replied, "I had no idea that a ball was even planned. When does this event take place?"

Monsieur Sere spoke up, "Oh, the Meullier estate has a long tradition of entertaining. The spring celebration of the coming season and the wine it will produce is a century long custom. As is the summer celebration, the fall celebration, and the winter hiatus celebration."

I laughed and said, "It is a wonder then that any work gets completed at all."

Margaret smiled and replied, "Uncle Henri has a great fondness for entertaining. Even in his current state of health, nothing could prevent him from gathering his neighbors for a bit of revelry."

"Indeed?" I replied, raising one eyebrow. "I would not have guessed at this side of his personality."

"As Monsieur Sere indicated, these celebrations are steeped in tradition, and aside from Uncle Henri's generosity with his neighbors and workers, he is nothing if not traditional," Margaret explained.

"Well, then, I leave the planning in your capable hands, Margaret. I look forward to the spring event."

Before I could leave, Margaret spoke up. "I see, Alexander, that you are not in your field clothes . . . . have you moved on to your other duties?"

I looked down at my attire, "Yes, I am now working in Uncle Henri's office, and, in fact, had a question for you when you have a moment."

"I shall be there momentarily. Monsieur Sere and I are nearly finished here. I can go over the details with you as soon as I've answered your questions if you'd like?"

"I certainly trust all of your decisions, Margaret, but would be glad to hear about the details of the event if you don't mind sharing?"

"Of course not. I'll meet you in the study in no more than 10 minutes."

True to her word, Margaret was in the study no more than a few minutes after I myself had returned. I spent the time waiting by looking at the books my uncle had chosen to populate his personal library. Philosophical works that ranged from Socrates to Kant, books on farming and gardening, and a well-worn copy of Aesop's Fables. The more I learned about my uncle, the more I came to see Margaret's fondness for him. Yes, he was gruff, but behind that mask was a man who made the most of his family ties and tried to give back what fortune had been granted him. I was thumbing through the book of fables, when Margaret entered the room.

My, my, Alexander, you do look smashing in that striped tie. I have not seen that one before, have I?"

"Really, Margaret, don't tease me so. I know you hate stripes. It just so happens, that this tie matches these trousers," I replied.

"And about those trousers . . . ,"she started, but I held up one hand stopping her. "Now, don't you start in on these too. My brother gave me these and I'm quite fond of them. Besides, I thought green was your favorite color. You wear that dress often enough to make me think so."

Margaret tried for an icy reply, but didn't quite make it, and was smiling by the end. "I am particular about shades on green, Monsieur, and THAT is the most hideous shade I have ever seen."

"Oh, really? Then I shall wear pants these every day in your honor."

She stopped our kidding abruptly, and asked, "Isn't it funny, Alex? I have never been so at ease with anyone else as to joke like this." She suddenly looked alarmed, "You know I am joking, right?"

I sniffled, and replied, "No, my heart has been torn asunder my your cruel antics. Draw your sword and slay me now and put me out of my misery."

Oh, stop!" she replied as she playfully slapped my arm. "I came to answer your question."

I laughed, "I'm sorry, Margaret, I couldn't resist taunting you some more. You looked so earnest standing there."

Margaret got a devilish gleam in her eye, "You ought to know better than to get on my bad side, Alexander Petrovka. Just ask Spatzo about the trout in his bed."

"OK, OK, I give. Just don't break out the rotten fish."

We both grinned as she sat down on the sofa. "Now, old chap," she said, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I have a wee bit of a problem, and you have promised to teach me to read French," I said.

I can only assume the two are related somehow?" she asked.

I nodded, and brought one of the ledgers over and sat next to her on the couch. "I have been placed in charge of the books," I started to explain.

"And the books are in French, yes?" Margaret surmised. I nodded unable to talk further. We were seated so closely together on the couch, I could see the fine hairs on her cheeks and the back of her neck. If I wanted, I could have easily reached over, cupped the back of her head in my hand, and drawn her to me for a kiss. I quickly shut out these thoughts as Margaret continued, "I can see, Monsieur, that you are in quite a pickle. Hmmm. What shall I ask for in return?" I started to protest, but she stopped me, "Upp, upp, upp. I have you where I want you, and there's no getting out of it now."

I pretended astonishment, "And here I thought we were evenly trading French for Latin and Greek. In fact, I am teaching two languages to your one, so you owe me."

"Yes," Margaret replied, "this is true; however, your need is more immediate than mine. I have an entire year to bribe you into teaching me. You, Monsieur, have but a fortnight to get the books in order and the supplies on their way. What is it worth to you?"

"Why, Margaret, I did not know you were capable of such larceny! Very well, name your price."

She appeared to think it over, although I think she had something in mind all along. "Alright. You must promise me at least 3 dances at the ball, and one of them must be a waltz."

I panicked. I knew how to dance, but only as a woman, I couldn't possibly lead! "A waltz?" I gulped, "Surely that's a bit old fashioned?"

"Pish tosh! I like old fashioned. Are you afraid to dance with me, Monsieur?"

Afraid? Yes! Terrified? Yes! Being so close to her, I was bound to give away at least some of my feelings, and, aside from the dancing, was not entirely sure I could keep my impulses in check. "Very well, Mademoiselle, you shall have your dances!" I said with as much bravado as I could muster. "Now, let's get down to the ledgers."

When Margaret was not preparing for the coming ball, she and I worked daily together on the books. She was a brilliant guiding hand who was not only able to teach me to read rudimentary French, but to guide me through the ins and outs of the supplies and other general estate duties. I learned that not only had she been through a season herself, but that she had virtually been running the household since Uncle Henri had taken so ill. At the end of the first week, the Friday before the weekend celebration, I was working seated at the desk while she stood over me. "Now," she said, "if you order the bottles from the local glassblower, he charges an extra 30 Francs per case for shipping, whereas the bottles from Burgundy are shipped free of charge. The packing for both is nearly the same, and the bottle quality is not all that different, so we could order from Burgundy and save hundreds. However, in order to support the local economy, we usually split the order and get 80 cases from him, and the remaining 100 cases from our man in Burgundy. We also order extras from Burgundy to accommodate breakage. Last season, 5 cases was more than sufficient."

"Seems quite straightforward, I shall send the orders today." I suddenly realized this might be challenging, and said, "Ummm, Margaret?"

"I have already drafted the letters in French." She produced them from the desk drawer. "They await your signature."

I laughed quietly, shaking my head in awe, and commented on her skills in all of the household duties. She sighed quietly, and replied, "Yes, it is almost too bad I was not born a man. I could easily have taken over for Uncle Henri, and you would never have had to leave your home."

"This is true, Margaret, but then we would not have met, and I know my life would have been infinitely poorer for it."

I couldn't bring myself to turn and face her as I awkwardly tried to express even the smallest bit of my feelings for her, and my face turned bright red. We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us it seemed daring to breathe. I could feel more heat creep into my face while I waited for her to respond. Finally she said, "Alex. . . .I . . . . " She then turned and fled the room. I called after her, and when she didn't return, I went in search of her. I eventually found her seated deep in a chair in the library.

"Margaret," I said quietly, "I am so very sorry if I have offended you in some way." I was struck dumb when I came closer and saw that she had been crying.

She wiped her tears and haltingly replied, "It's not you, Alex. It's . . . oh, I don't know. I'm just confused . . . and frightened"

"Frightened . . . ?" I waited for her to continue, but what she said next was a long time coming. "Alex, I have been planning for so long to return to my homeland. I have thought of little else since the death of my parents." She paused again before continuing, "The vineyard is a wonderful place to live, and Uncle Henri is kind to me, but I was actually quite lonely here. I . . . I'm not lonely anymore. You have breathed fresh air into this place, and into me. And you've made me think about what it might be like to live . . . in Russia . . . with you."

To say that I was flabbergasted is an understatement; but I was thrilled too. And scared. And excited. I sat on the ottoman in front of the chair, and she watched as I slowly drew her hand into mine. We didn't speak for some time. We just sat there, and I wondered at the warmth of her fingers in mine. I finally cleared my throat and said, "I, um, I know about your plans to return to England, and I do not wish to interfere with those. But I must be honest, Margaret, I, too, have had thoughts of . . . us." What am I doing?!, I thought. Alexandra Petrovka, you nip this in the bud right now, or you will surely ruin this good woman's life! But I didn't really want to listen to myself, I wanted to hold Margaret in my arms, and kiss her breathless. I wanted to take down her hair and run my fingers through it as I nuzzled her face and neck.

"Oh, Alex," she whispered, and looked into my eyes. I saw mirrored there the same desire I knew existed in my own eyes. Abruptly, I dropped her hand, and stood.

"Margaret," I said as I turned my back to her, "this is impossible. I am to return to Winterhaven in less than 10 months time. My . . . my family has no money. When Uncle Henri sent that letter to us, we saw this as a golden opportunity to get our family fortunes in order through monies gotten from the vineyard. If not for some creative bookkeeping by my brother and myself, we both would have been in debtor's prison long ago." I turned back to her, "Don't you see? I have nothing to offer you."

"But Alex," she protested, "the vineyard is yours once the season is over. You will be a wealthy man."

I shook my head, "No, I won't. The profits from the vineyard will only be enough to maintain operations on both farms. There will be little left over. Winterhaven has no staff to speak of really, but I cannot possibly cut the staff here. I feel a sense of honor to uphold everything that Uncle Henri has built, and that includes maintaining the household as it always has been."

I could see that Margaret was puzzled, "But, Alex, if we truly . . . have feelings for one another, don't you think we could make anything work?"

I wanted so much to tell her I would do anything to keep her in my life, but it was not fair to her to lead her on. She deserved to be married and have children and be happy. I could never give her those things. The expression of regret on my face apparently told her everything she needed to know, because her next words were spoken with barely suppressed anger. "I apologize if I mistook your intentions. The 'courtship' was, after all, purely a business deal between the two of us, and I am afraid I let my affection for you take an inappropriate turn." I started to protest, and knew it would do no good. She continued, "If you will excuse me, I am needed to see to final menu preparations."

She whirled and departed the room, and with her went my heart. I did not try to stop her. I did not utter any words of protest. I sat heavily on the sofa and tried to reason with myself, telling myself this was for the best. But even as I did so, I could feel the tears slowly rolling down my cheeks, and land on my hands clasped tightly in front of me.

Chapter 13

I did not see Margaret all the next day. Even had she not been avoiding me, she would likely have been very busy overseeing the staff prior to the ball. I presumed I was supposed to assist her in these endeavors, but quite frankly hadn't the heart to face her. I spent my day as a coward would, buried in ledgers I wasn't actually reading, and thinking how badly I had managed to mangle things with the truest friend I'd ever known.

At 5 o'clock, I rose from the desk, stretched the muscles that had sat too long, and went upstairs to change for the festivities. Not feeling very festive, the wardrobe I chose reflected my mood. I bathed, and dressed in a black coat, black trousers, black boots, and gray weskit and tie. I knew this affair was as much of a celebration as it was a chance for the neighboring gentry to meet me. To that end, I was to stand in the receiving line for the first part of the evening, and Margaret was to introduce me. Steeling my mind for anything, I went downstairs, and headed for the ballroom.

Margaret was already there supervising the placement of table centerpieces. She looked radiant in a blue silk gown, her hair cascading down her neck in a series of ringlets. The glow of the hundreds of candles around the room made her hair and her dress shimmer. I could not take my eyes off her, and stood awkwardly in the room's entrance. I must have caused a bottleneck, because Margaret's first words to me were, "Alexander, please allow the musicians to get through the door."

I turned, and there stood a group of about twelve men, each carrying an instrument case. "Oh," I said, "I am sorry. Please excuse me." They entered when I moved aside, and began setting up on a small stage that had been erected just for their benefit. Knowing Margaret had seen me, I went to her and asked if there was anything I could do to help.

"At this stage, "she said pointedly, "there is but naught to do."

Guiltily I replied, "Margaret, I really didn't think you would want to see me today, so I purposely stayed out of your way. Please allow me to help in any way that I can."

Something akin to sadness crossed Margaret's face, before she tried to politely smile and say, "No, really, Alex, there isn't much left to do, and Patric, Lucien and Monsieur Sere have seen to most of it. Are you ready to face your critics?"

I tried for levity, "Isn't that what I did just now?"

Margaret smiled, "No, sir, I am not your critic. But," she added, "please don't be surprised to find that the halibut from dinner has been served in your wardrobe."

I laughed, and sniffed my coat, "Ah, so that's what that smell is! How thoughtful of you, Mademoiselle. Eau de Fishhead. I think it'll catch on."

Margaret returned my laughter, but I still noticed the same look of sad weariness in her eyes. I offered her my arm. "I am eager to see what wonders you and Monsieur Sere have cooked up for the evening."

She took my arm, and replied, "I promise both a divine meal and divine company for the entire evening."

"If you stay with me, I know the second part of that will undoubtedly be true."

"She is, indeed, Uncle Henri."

"Enough of that you two," Margaret said, "Already the guests are arriving. Now hush while I greet Viscount and Lady Boudrot."

We stood at that doorway for over an hour, greeting nearly 200 guests, only a few of whom I knew. By the time we were finished, everyone was engaged in either eating, dancing or in loud conversation with someone only a foot away. The noise level was, to say the least, blaring. I had to lean close to Margaret to ask, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Actually, I'm quite hungry. Can we get some food and sit and eat?"

I nodded, and turned to ask Uncle Henri to join us, but he was laughing with a group of his friends, and I saw Lucien put a drink of champagne in his hand. Seeing that he was well taken care of, I again offered Margaret my arm, and we headed for the food tables. There was, indeed, a sumptuous feast awaiting us. Roast duck, roast beef, lamb, curried vegetables, potatoes, steamed greens with garlic, pastries, cakes, and a large variety of sauces to go over all of it. I had seen Margaret eat large amounts of food before (although I had no idea where she put it, she was so slim), but when she returned to me with her plate piled high, I was amazed. I leaned over and asked her, "Would you like to sit outside on the terrace so we can talk?"

"Yes," she nearly shouted back, and we headed in that direction. Once outside, the noise level dropped dramatically, and I led Margaret to one of the stone benches. Around us, various couples strolled across the grass and patio, while others sat as we did, balancing food on their laps while they ate.

"I am very impressed with the menu, as well as with your ability to sample everything on it," I joked.

She looked at me inquiringly, "What? This? Oh, this is only the first helping. I'm going back for seconds."

"Where does all of that go?" I asked in amazement.

She leaned over conspiratorially and faux whispered, "We English have hollow legs. Didn't you know?"

I laughed and started in on my roast duck. We sat in fairly companionable silence, eating our food. Margaret was, astonishingly, finished first. She excused herself, and returned with another plate full before I had even finished my vegetables.

"You're supposed to keep up with me, Alex. How will you ever live this down?"

"I have no hope of keeping up. We Russians only have hollow heads, and the food doesn't travel that way."

"Ah ha!," she exclaimed, "I knew there was something about you I found familiar. You were the donor for that monster in Mary Shelley's book, weren't you?"

"Actually," I replied in seriousness, "Mademoiselle Shelley modeled that book after me. Margaret, can you forgive me for being such a monster yesterday?"

"Oh, Alex. There's nothing to forgive. It was I who behaved inappropriately. I would never think to force my affections on someone who does not share them. Can you forgive me?"

"A man would have to be crazy to shun your affection. Like you said, nothing to forgive." So much for companionable silence I thought to myself. Now you've really muddled things up!

From inside, I heard the strains of the Danube waltz begin. I stood, put on my gloves, and offered Margaret my hand. "Would you care to dance, Mademoiselle?"

"What happened to 'waltzes are old fashioned'?"

"Ignorant prattle. I now know better. Will you join me on the dance floor?" I bowed

"That's alright," she said, "I have two right feet. We'll be a perfect match!"

"You underestimate your abilities, Alex. You are an excellent dance partner."

"It is you who make this look good, Mademoiselle. I am merely an arm upon which to rest your beauty."

"Oh Alex, don't tease me when I'm trying to be serious."

"I am not teasing."

At that moment, we danced as if there was no one else in that room but us. Internally, I was at war with myself. One part of me wanted to escort Margaret over to the first available man in the room, and flee. The other part, the part that was winning, again felt the urge to kiss her and declare my undying love. She clasped my hand tighter, and said, "Alex, Alex. I don't know what to do."

"Come with me," I replied, and I led her from the dance floor back onto the terrace. There were even more couples milling around outside than before, and I asked if there was someplace we could talk in private. She replied, "The moon is nearly full. I think we can see our way to the garden without a lantern."

We did find our way there, and sat next to each other on the same bench across from the roses. There were now even more flowers blooming than before, and their scent surrounded us. I was the first to speak, "Margaret. I want you to know I have the utmost respect for you." No, no, no, this isn't what you want to say! Start over! "What I mean to say is, I would never purposefully do anything to hurt you. I know there is something between us. Something very strong. I can't. . . . "

"Alex?" she interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Shut up." And with that, she leaned over and firmly pressed her lips to mine. Oh, what sweetness! A softness I had never felt pressed passionately to my lips, and a heat I'd never experienced coursed through my body. I reached up to hold the side of her face in my hand, and deepened the kiss, opening my mouth and lightly touching my tongue to her upper lip. She made a quiet whimpering sound, and slowly met my tongue with her own. The moment was heavenly, and I felt more than just the connection of our bodies, but a connection of our souls. I pulled away and looked into Margaret's eyes, still stroking the side of her face with my thumb. We sat in silence for a while, then she tilted her forehead until it met mine. We leaned against each other for some time this way, breathing the same air with the same heavy breath. I could smell the sweetness of her lips in the air she breathed out, and it made me swoon again for the want of her lips on mine.

"Alex," she whispered.

"Margaret," I whispered back.

"Do you want to be with me?"

My god, how brave of her! Even after our kiss just now, yesterday was undoubtedly fresh in her mind. I waited for the losing side in my internal war to speak up, but the battle had already been lost. "Yes, more than anything in this world," I said.

"And I, you," she said as she too stroked my face.

"Then," I whispered, "we will just have to make it happen."

Even the winning side hoped I wasn't making the biggest mistake of my life.

Concluded in Part 5.