Chapter Thirty-Seven Alix
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alix
“Can you hand me some twine?” Ernie was poised on the top step of the ladder, positioning a candle on the fir tree.
“Not until you move that candle higher,” Johann insisted.
“It’s perfectly spaced!”
“Alix, tell your brother how wrong he is,” Johann pleaded, turning to her. “We have a better view of the tree than he does.”
Smiling, Alix reached for the box of twine. “Sorry, Ernie, but Johann is right.”
“Of course. I’m always right,” Johann teased.
Ernie barked out a laugh as he caught the twine that Alix tossed to him.
The three of them had spent a lot of time together lately. In another household it would have been impossible, but here in Darmstadt, in a smaller house with a close-knit staff, they could get away with unusual behavior.
When they were alone, Alix treated Johann the way she would treat anyone that her brother loved.
And so Ernie and Johann were open with Alix, letting her see the things they would normally have kept hidden—the way they laughed together; the glances they exchanged in amusement, or exasperation, or affection.
No one spoke about the fact that this would all have to stop once Ernie married Ducky.
Alix tried not to think about that. Or the fact that this was her last Christmas as the mistress of Darmstadt. Next year Ducky would be the one pulling out the decorations, arranging them in their proper places, wrapping them away at the end of the season with loving care.
Alix paused, glancing out the window at the town’s familiar streets. Smoke rose up from chimneys in the distance. So far the snow had only been a light dusting, but Alix knew that heavy snowfalls would come soon enough, the streets vanishing beneath a glittering blanket of white.
She blinked; a rider had turned down the avenue toward the house. He sat his horse easily, a dark cloak fluttering out behind him.
It was Maximilian.
“Looks like you have company, Alix. Johann and I will make ourselves scarce,” Ernie said meaningfully. Johann nodded, folding the ladder before following Ernie out into the hall.
Alix ran a hand nervously over her dress, then walked out to greet Maximilian.
After that conversation with Hélène, after rereading those letters from Nicholas, Alix had agonized about what to do. In the end, she’d written to Maximilian, asking him to come see her.
“Alix!” Maximilian was off his horse in a fluid movement, then bounded up the stone steps toward her. A groom silently emerged to take his steaming horse to the stables.
“Thank you for coming.” Alix opened the door, gesturing him inside, to the warmth.
Maximilian surprised her by pulling her into a hug, right there on the front steps.
He brushed a kiss on her brow. “I’m sorry about your cousin.
I wish I could have gone to London with you.
” He’d been stuck in Potsdam doing business with the kaiser, who was increasingly coming to rely on Maximilian as a statesman.
Probably because German politicians were usually known for their bluster and swagger, rather than their tact.
Maximilian, reasonable and logical, was something of a rarity.
Alix led Maximilian to a sofa in the main drawing room, where the half-decorated tree stood proudly in a corner.
“You know, I haven’t been to many funerals,” she said clumsily.
“This one felt different from the others I’ve seen, my mother’s and Frittie’s.
Those were quiet, whereas Eddy’s was all gun salutes and battalions of marching soldiers. ”
“And yet I’m sure you felt it all over again, didn’t you? The loss of your mother, and Frittie.”
Of course she had. That was the nature of loss; it compounded itself, made you think of other losses, other griefs. Alix had wept at the funeral—for Eddy and for Hélène, but also for her mother. For her tiny baby brother, who’d hardly gotten a chance to live.
“I was wondering if we could talk,” Alix began, feeling awkward.
Maximilian frowned in concern. “Of course. Is everything all right?”
Looking at him, in that moment, Alix saw everything he felt for her written plainly on his face. It almost made her second-guess her decision. He was so warm, so sincere. So true to himself and the people he loved.
No. She had to do it now, before she lost her nerve.
“I am sorry, Maximilian, but we cannot keep courting,” she said as gently as she could.
The silence between them pulsed with hurt and confusion. Maximilian didn’t speak right away. He was looking very steadily into the distance, working something out in his mind.
“You are back with him, aren’t you?” he guessed. “The other young man, the one you loved?”
Alix shook her head. “I will probably never see him again. But that doesn’t change the fact that I cannot keep seeing you.”
“Alix.” Maximilian clasped her hands in his. “If things with him are truly over, then what is keeping you from seeking happiness elsewhere? Because I know we could be happy together, you and I.”
He was right; they could have been happy together.
Maximilian had wooed her so beautifully, from the very day they met, when he’d walked with her in the Buckingham Palace gardens and given her the space she’d asked for.
He had always given her what she asked, had respected her wishes the entire time she’d known him.
Things were so easy with Maximilian, so safe. Free of heartache and pain and secrets and lies.
But Nicholas had always hovered between them. No matter how hard Alix had tried to forget him.
If she had never met Nicholas, Alix might have been so happy with Maximilian.
But for better or worse, she had met Nicholas.
Hélène was right; Alix couldn’t let herself settle for anything less than…
true love? Passion? She didn’t know how to describe what she felt for Nicholas; it was wild and limitless and impossible and heartbreaking and deliriously wonderful. Even when it hurt.
“You are such a good man, Maximilian. You deserve someone who loves you wholeheartedly, and I could never give you the whole of my heart.”
He was watching her intently. Alix knew he could read the emotions on her face, the anguish and regret.
“I see,” he replied, though she knew that he didn’t see, not at all.
“For what it’s worth, I hope we can remain friends,” she added.
Maximilian’s voice was sharper than she had ever heard it as he said, “Alix, don’t do me the disservice of pretending I can be your friend. You know I will never think of you as just a friend.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, voice breaking.
Maximilian stood stiffly. “I should be getting back now. Of course, if you are ever passing through Baden, you are always welcome.”
“Thank you.” They both knew that Alix would never be passing through Baden. It would be cruel to strain his hospitality in that way.
This was goodbye, for good.
As he started toward the door, Alix realized belatedly that he had a long ride ahead. “Wait! Before you go, can I get you some water, or a glass of wine? And doesn’t your horse need to rest? You don’t need to leave just because I—”
“It’s all right, Alix. Give Ernie and Louis my best.” Maximilian cast her one last look, and then he was opening the front door, his steps echoing with a hollow finality.
Alix walked to the window. She watched as he called for his horse, remounted, rode off into the darkening streets of the city.
Only a few minutes later, Ernie and Johann reappeared, holding a bottle of claret. “I thought I heard you calling for wine, so I opened this,” Johann said, without an ounce of remorse for eavesdropping. “Looks like you need a glass.”
“I can’t believe Maximilian didn’t stay.” Alix accepted the glass, distracted, and took a sip. “He can’t mean to go back to Baden tonight?”
“Let him go, Alix,” Ernie said gently. “He’ll head to an inn, get himself some ale or perhaps a bourbon, ride back in the morning. A man needs some time to himself after a rejection like that.”
“So you were listening?” She tried to sound angry, but found that she was too weary, too sad, to be upset.
“No, we weren’t, but if you hadn’t rejected Maximilian, he would have stayed,” Ernie said evenly. “Besides, I can see the guilt on your face.”
Alix set down her wine and collapsed onto the sofa. “I do feel guilty. I know this was the right thing to do, but still, I wish…”
She trailed off, not knowing what she wished. That she loved Maximilian as much as he loved her? That she hadn’t spoken to Hélène? That she still had a chance with Nicholas?
“What will you do now?” Ernie asked.
Alix tried to sound flippant as she replied, “As much as I’d love to stay here forever, playing the eccentric aunt to your and Ducky’s children, I think I should leave once you’re married. You will want your own space.”
“No one would ever call you eccentric,” Johann said loyally. “You’re too beautiful.”
Alix laughed at his blatant attempt to cheer her up. He was wrong, of course; often beauties were labeled the most eccentric, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same.
“I was thinking that when we go back to England to see Grandmama next month, I would offer to be her secretary,” Alix said tentatively. “Aunt Beatrice is always begging for someone else to take on the role.”
Their aunt Beatrice, Queen Victoria’s youngest child, was in her early thirties.
For years, Beatrice had served as the queen’s personal secretary; Victoria didn’t trust her correspondence with anyone outside the family.
Beatrice was now married with three children, yet she still showed up each morning to read Grandmama’s letters and write out her responses.
“We all know you’d make an excellent secretary. You are painfully organized,” Ernie agreed. “But let’s not rush to take on Aunt Beatrice’s life, all right? You are always welcome here. You know that.”
Alix decided to change the subject. “Can we finish the tree? It’s looking quite lopsided with only a few branches done.”
Johann hurried to retrieve the ladder while Alix sorted through the candles.
The rest of the evening, as the three of them decorated the tree and sang Christmas songs woefully off-key, and ate so much salted toffee that they all claimed stomachaches, Alix thought how lucky she was to have a family like this: warm, accepting. Full of love.
She could survive any heartache, as long as she came home to this.