CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alix
ALIX DIDN’T NORMALLY MAKE A habit of attending the Princess of Wales’s Tuesday at homes; she saw enough of her family while she was in town without deliberately seeking them out. But her thinking had changed now that Nicholas was staying at Marlborough House.
Plus, she was eager to hear Eddy’s account of his meeting with the queen.
Alix had deliberately left Buckingham Palace beforehand, fleeing with Amelia, the parlormaid, to wander the streets of Piccadilly.
She had trailed along the sidewalks for several hours, studying the goods in store windows without really seeing them.
So much depended on what happened between Eddy, Hélène, and Grandmama right now: her own future as well as theirs.
When she finally judged it safe to return, the palace butler greeted her with an opaque “Her Majesty is waiting for you.”
Alix’s heart pounded as she approached the sitting room. She had braced herself for the worst—but to her surprise, and relief, her grandmother merely peered at her over her spectacles and said, “I hear that it is all over between you and Eddy.”
Whatever it was, it never really began, Alix thought. Aloud she said simply, “I am sorry to have disappointed you, Grandmama.”
“You should be the first to hear that Eddy asked for permission to marry Hélène d’Orléans.”
Alix gasped with the appropriate amount of shock. She understood that she wasn’t supposed to know this yet—that Eddy’s plea had hinged on Victoria’s thinking she was the first to hear their secret. As Alix had hoped, Grandmama had clearly been swayed by the impulsive romance of it all.
“Hélène? Really?” she asked.
Her grandmother nodded. “I have decided to grant them my blessing. I always thought that you would be good for Eddy, but I am beginning to think that Hélène will, too. She is certainly headstrong…though perhaps that is not a bad thing. Already she has inspired Eddy to take the most drastic action I’ve ever seen him take.
The way he stood up to me, the conviction with which he spoke… ” Victoria trailed off, pensive.
Good for Eddy, Alix thought, trying to hide her satisfaction.
“Of course, you cannot speak of this to anyone until it is announced,” her grandmother commanded. “And in the meantime, we must think of you. Now that Eddy is spoken for, we should consider other options. I was wondering if you had ever considered the Danish princes—Christian, or perhaps Carl?”
Alix must have blanched, because her grandmother smiled indulgently.
“Denmark is quite far. Which brings me to Maximilian of Baden, a good German prince only a few years older than you. Of course, he is not as handsome as one might hope, but Vicky assures me that ever since he grew a beard, his nose does not seem so terribly oversized….”
If the prospect of more arranged courtships hadn’t terrified her, Alix might have been amused. Her grandmother was alarmingly shallow sometimes.
“I’m afraid I’m not ready to make such a choice,” she said hastily. “Why don’t we discuss it next summer?” She needed a stay of execution, at least until she knew how things stood with Nicholas.
Now, as she stepped into the gallery that ran the length of Marlborough House’s second floor, Alix was quite grateful that Eddy and Hélène had bought her some time.
Etiquette demanded that she speak to the Princess of Wales first, so she obediently turned to the hostess, who gave her usual, politely bland smile. “Alix, it’s such a treat to have you in town this long. You look lovely, as always.”
Alix nodded and made an appropriate reply, but her eyes had drifted eagerly past her aunt. Normally an at home was attended exclusively by women, but there were always exceptions, especially when the hostess had out-of-town guests.
Sure enough, there they all were: George and Eddy, along with their visiting cousins, Tino and Nicholas.
Uncle Bertie and Uncle Alfred were there as well, clutching wineglasses and laughing uproariously.
The haze of male energy made the space, filled with gilded chairs and sofas, feel smaller than normal.
Nicholas saw Alix at once, his eyes lighting up. He said something to the rest of the group and immediately made his way toward her.
“Aunt Alexandra, I am having the most wonderful time,” he murmured, inclining his head ever so slightly. Then he turned to Alix. “It’s such a beautiful day that I was thinking of strolling the grounds. Would you care to join me?”
She beamed at him, ignoring her aunt’s startled expression. Aunt Alexandra probably didn’t know that she and Eddy had broken off their so-called engagement, but it wasn’t Alix’s place to tell her. And there was nothing improper about a walk on the grounds of a private home.
“I would love that,” Alix told the tsarevich.
Outside, Nicholas led her onto a path alongside a row of clipped hedges. Sunshine glinted over the parterres filled with golden-brown chrysanthemums.
He cleared his throat. “I am so glad you came today, Alix. It feels like every day I don’t see you is a day lost.”
She knew exactly what Nicholas meant. They had been apart for less than forty-eight hours, since the dinner party two nights ago, but it had stretched on like an eternity.
Alix smiled. “I agree. Really, I owe Tino a debt of thanks, for going on a Continental tour before his wedding and giving you an excuse to visit.”
“That is actually what I wanted to discuss with you.” Nicholas let out a breath. “My parents have finally sent for me. I go back to Russia in two days.”
Alix stopped in her tracks. Then, recalling all the people who could surely see them from the gallery—who might be snooping through the mullioned windows that looked out over the back lawn—she forced herself to keep walking.
“I understand. They need you with them, of course.”
Hadn’t she known that this would happen eventually? Nicholas couldn’t keep pushing back his departure date the way she could. He had an empire to help run.
“I shall miss you,” Nicholas said urgently. “Surely you know by now how much you occupy my thoughts.”
They had come to stand near a thicket of beech trees, out of sight of the house. It was improper, perhaps, but Alix couldn’t bring herself to care.
Nicholas must have realized the same thing, because he fell to one knee, right there in the gravel path, and clasped her hand in both of his.
“Marry me, Alix.”
For a moment all she could do was stare at him. She had thought—had hoped—he might declare his affections for her, or ask if they could keep writing while he was gone. She certainly hadn’t anticipated a proposal.
Reading her silence as indecision, Nicholas fumbled to keep talking. “I’m sorry that I don’t have a ring; we can get one in Russia, if you like. I know this is a lot to consider. I am asking so much of you, hoping that you will move with me to Russia, say goodbye to England and to Darmstadt—”
“I love you.”
Alix had dreamed of saying those words to a man ever since she first read an Ann Radcliffe novel at age twelve, yet the declaration didn’t come out like she’d always thought.
It wasn’t histrionic and passionate, the way a romantic heroine might say it.
Instead the words seemed to float out of her, escaping her lips of their own accord.
Nicholas’s features flooded with relief. “I love you, too,” he said softly. “So is that a yes?”
Her smile faded.
Seeing her expression, Nicholas went still. “You are going to say no, aren’t you.”
“No! I mean, I’m not certain, I just…” She tugged at Nicholas’s hands, pulling him to his feet. He stood slowly, hurt flashing in his eyes.
She loved him, but she also feared everything that came along with marrying him: the gowns, the grandeur, the endless state functions.
How could a young woman who had suffered crippling anxiety at her own confirmation—which was only attended by a few dozen people, all of them family—handle the most excruciatingly public role on earth?
Tsarina of All the Russias was the only position more prominent and vast in scope than Queen of England.
“I need to tell you something,” she began.
All her life, Alix had hidden her illness behind a bland, social smile and polite words—and even though she’d lately begun lowering her shields, revealing her sickness to Hélène and then to Eddy, she hadn’t dared confess the reasons behind it.
Even her family, who knew the truth, would never say it aloud.
But she had to tell Nicholas.
It might change the way he looked at her, but that was a risk Alix needed to take. He deserved the truth.
“I have suffered from an affliction for years now.”
Nicholas’s eyes met hers in concern. “What sort of affliction? Have you seen a doctor?”
“I have, though it’s not technically an illness. It can feel like a physical ailment, but it’s more…emotional in nature.” Alix drew in a breath, then said, “When I was five, my brother Friedrich—Frittie—died.”
“I know. I’m so sorry,” Nicholas replied, with infinite gentleness.
“His death was my fault.”
A ringing silence followed her words. Alix couldn’t bear to see the horror on Nicholas’s face, so she stared out into the distance, the trees a green blur, her eyes stinging.
“He had the bleeding disease. It runs in our family and for some reason seems only to affect men. Or boys.”
Nicholas said nothing, so she swallowed and continued.
“My mother always said that Frittie was delicate, that I had to treat him gently, but I never really understood. I just wanted to play with him. One day in the nursery we were pretending to be knights. I told Frittie to climb up onto a chair, that I would be the dragon and he could slay me. But once he was standing on the chair, he saw something outside, and leaned out the window…” Her voice caught, wavered. “He fell out.”
“Oh, Alix,” Nicholas murmured.
“The nursery was on the ground floor; I had fallen out of that window before, trying to catch butterflies! It wasn’t a great distance at all. But once Frittie fell…he couldn’t stop bleeding. He wasn’t even three years old,” she added mournfully.
“I’m so sorry,” Nicholas said again, but Alix shook her head.
“Don’t you see? I’m the one who should be sorry! He died because of me!”
Her words were as sharp as knives. Knives she would turn upon herself, to plunge into her own anguished chest.
“You were both children,” Nicholas reminded her. “Little boys always run around, and climb things, and fall. You cannot blame yourself for that.”
“I knew he was sick! I should have pulled him down from the chair, should never have played with him in the first place….”
“What happened was a terrible tragedy, but it was not your fault, Alix. No one could blame you for what happened.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest, hunching forward. “I blame myself. That’s why I can’t marry you, Nicholas. Ever since the accident, I’ve been…different. I fall prey to sudden episodes of fear and anxiety.”
“What kind of episodes?” he asked, without judgment.
“I feel dizzy and paralyzed with panic; I can’t breathe.
It usually happens when I’m somewhere crowded, or about to make an important decision.
Then my mind spins me back in time and I’m in the nursery with Frittie again, watching him fall, hearing his little voice, so broken and weak…
” She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, then closed her eyes.
“Having to see his tiny body in the coffin.”
A moment later, she felt arms encircling her. Alix hesitated, then let herself relax into the warmth of Nicholas’s chest.
Her head was tucked beneath his chin, his arms a solid band around her torso. She listened to the steady beat of his heart, felt the rise and fall of his breath, inhaled the delicious scent of him. This was wildly inappropriate, but she didn’t step away.
Slowly, the anguish drained from her.
“I’m sorry about Frittie. I can’t imagine what you went through.” Nicholas’s words rumbled through her. “But you need to let go of all this self-recrimination. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nicholas, I can’t marry you! You deserve someone who can love you with a whole heart, not one that was broken years ago. Not someone who can’t even look at a crowd without feeling like she might faint.”
Nicholas took a step back but didn’t release her; his hands stayed clasped on her shoulders, then slid down over her arms, to lace his fingers in hers.
“Maybe your affliction will never go away. Guilt can be stubborn like that,” he said softly.
“Still, I think that your episodes will become less frequent if you stop blaming yourself for Frittie’s death.
As for your heart,” he went on, “I would rather have yours, no matter how bruised or broken, than any other.”
“You still want to marry me, knowing all of that?” she whispered.
Nicholas placed a gentle kiss on her brow. “I want to marry you more, if that is even possible.”
Alix looked into his eyes. She had never imagined that someone might see all the terrible parts of her and still want her. Still love her.
“In that case,” she said through her tears—which were tears of joy, now, as much as grief—“I will marry you.”