Chapter Eighteen Alix #2
You just had to live with the pain of it.
Later that night, when she was finally back in her room at Osborne House, Alix stared up at the green canopy over her bed.
She couldn’t sleep. She had cried so hard her pillow seemed to be drowning in tears—knowing that on a yacht in the harbor, bobbing on the waves, Hélène was doing the very same thing.
If only she could go see Hélène, find some comfort in their shared pain.
Instead Alix slipped out of bed, pulled on a silk dressing gown, and padded into the hallway.
Prince Ernest of Hesse, read the card a few doors down. She knocked.
An instant later the door swung open, revealing her brother, his own dressing gown tied at the waist. “Alix,” he breathed, lowering the gas lamp he held. “It’s you.”
“You were expecting Johann?”
Ernie flinched and tried to shut the door in her face, but Alix held out a hand to prop it open.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day, Ernie!”
He let out a breath. “Whatever you thought you saw, you were mistaken.”
“Please, don’t shut me out! We have already been through so much together.” Losing their mother. Losing Frittie. “Whatever is happening, let me be part of it.”
Ernie hesitated, his eyes traveling over her face. “Have you been crying?”
“Only as much as you’ve been drinking.”
Her brother let out a strangled laugh at that. “Please, I got enough judgment from Grannie and Aunt Alexandra today, and I’m dealing with an awful headache.”
“You didn’t need to run from me, you know,” Alix said softly.
“Who said anything about running?” Ernie asked, in a flippant tone that didn’t fool her. “I found Eddy outside the yacht club, getting into a carriage. He said he was going to get beers, and I asked to join.”
Alix pushed past her brother into his room, a mirror image of hers but with darker, more masculine fabrics.
He sighed and followed her, setting down the lamp before climbing up into his four-poster bed.
Alix scooted up to sit next to him, the way she used to when they were children: when their mother tucked them in bed, telling stories of castles and knights, of sorcerers and enchantments.
Everything had felt so simple then, Alix recalled. So abundantly clear. Now she felt certain of nothing at all.
“Did Eddy tell you what he was upset about?”
“No,” Ernie said simply.
“And you didn’t ask?”
Ernie shook his head. “No, we just talked about the usual things. You know, the regatta. Horses. Gossip about other princes who are less wonderful than ourselves.”
Of course that was all they’d talked about. Alix wondered why she’d expected otherwise. Even among family, society dictated that conversation avoid anything problematic—or anything that actually mattered.
“I’m sorry about my reaction. I mean—when I found you,” Alix said haltingly. “I was just surprised.”
Ernie turned to look her in the eyes. “You aren’t ashamed of me?”
“Of course not!”
“But such desires are counter to God’s will. Everyone knows that.”
“Don’t you remember what Mother always used to say? God made you, and you are wondrous in His eyes.”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you think that there is anything in all of creation that God doesn’t touch?” Alix demanded. “Are you somehow the one single thing that exists outside His power?”
“No, of course not,” Ernie mumbled.
“Well then, God made you this way. He gave you these feelings. Therefore, they cannot be wrong,” Alix said firmly.
Her hand lay atop the scalloped edge of the coverlet; Ernie reached for it, giving her a fierce squeeze. “Thank you.”
Alix saw that he was close to tears, and looked away so that she wouldn’t start crying, too. She couldn’t bear to weep any more today.
“Can I ask…you and Johann…?”
“I love him.” Ernie’s reply was almost a whisper.
“When did it begin?”
“Last winter.”
“Was he the first…?”
“There was a groom once.” Ernie let go of her hand, pulling a pillow into his lap to play with the fringe.
“Alix, I have always known that I am different. Standing in the gentlemen’s lounge at the opera or the races, hearing the way the other men talk about women…
I think I was twelve when I realized that I was not like them. ”
She thought of what Ernie had said all those months ago in Darmstadt, when she was upset about Nicholas: I know how hard it is. He did know what it meant to love someone you couldn’t be with.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
Ernie stared out the window. “I promise that I have been discreet. I know what damage it would cause our family, you in particular, if this came out. It would ruin your marriage prospects.”
“You think I care about that?” Alix asked. “All I care about is you, Ernie. I want you to be happy. And it’s not as if you can go ask Grandmother for her blessing in marrying Johann.”
“Unfortunately not.” Ernie hesitated, then added, “Johann is nowhere near noble enough. Not even a baron, and Grannie would insist upon a duke at the very least.”
He had joked about it. Alix was startled into a smile, but it quickly faded. “What will you do, since you cannot have Johann? Will you marry Maud?”
“It doesn’t seem fair to marry Maud, or any woman, really. It feels deceptive, don’t you think?” Ernie sat back with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll just keep putting Grannie off for as long as possible. Maybe now that Eddy and May are engaged, she’ll ease off on the rest of us for a bit.”
Alix was silent at that. Ernie noticed and shifted, glancing over. “You’re clearly upset about more than just Eddy’s engagement. Did something happen with Nicholas?”
She decided to tell him. She skated over the details of the previous night, but she didn’t hide that Nicholas had visited her in secret; she imagined Ernie could fill in the blanks just fine.
Then Alix told him about the moment between Hélène and Nicholas on the yacht, how she had seen it and realized the hopelessness of her own situation with Nicholas.
“Alix. Are you sure?” Ernie asked slowly.
“I can’t keep doing this, hiding my love, turning it into an awful, shameful secret—” Alix broke off, cringing. “I’m sorry. That was heartless of me, given what you and Johann are going through. It’s far worse for you.”
“I know what you meant,” he assured her. “It is indeed awful—all the sneaking around, the lies, the stolen moments. Johann and I have kept our love a secret, but only because we have no other choice. You do.”
“Are you saying I should fight for Nicholas?” she asked. “Because we’ve tried that, and his parents never budged.”
“I meant that you can give him up, as you already did.” Ernie’s voice was infinitely gentle as he added, “I know it feels impossible, but you might love someone else someday, and marry that person. And it wouldn’t be a lie. Unlike my marriage to any woman on this earth.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that Nicholas and I are as hopeless as you and Johann,” Alix murmured. Because, of course, Ernie’s situation was far worse. At least she could tell people that she loved Nicholas without them calling her a sinner.
Ernie tossed a pillow at her. “It’s not a contest in suffering, Alix. We both love men who are forbidden to us, for one reason or another.”
A clock chimed in the hallway. The wind was still howling outside, whistling down the grate of Ernie’s fireplace.
Alix tipped her head onto her brother’s shoulder.
She still felt the pain of losing Nicholas, like a shard of ice wedged in her chest, freezing her and slicing her all at once.
But talking to Ernie had melted the ice, just a little.
After a while, Alix blurted out, “Which groom?”
“Hmm?” Ernie asked drowsily.
“You said you were”—she struggled to find the right word—“involved. With a groom, before Johann. Who was it?”
“Christoph, of course! Who did you think it was?” Ernie asked with a strangled laugh. “Anselm and Leopold are both as old as the hills!”
For the second time that night, Alix surprised herself by laughing. It was a ragged sort of laugh, torn unwillingly from her chest—the kind of laugh that verged on tears.
“It’s all right, Alix,” her brother murmured, rubbing her shoulder. “Everything will be all right.”
They both knew that Ernie was lying, that he had no way of knowing that anything would be right again. But he kept saying it anyway, and Alix pretended to believe him.