Chapter Twenty-Seven Alix
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alix
Alix knelt in the middle of a sitting room downstairs, which had recently transformed into her command center for reorganizing the house.
She hadn’t realized that their home was in such an appalling state, items tucked haphazardly into closets, fine linens moth-eaten and mismatched.
Well, she was determined to fix all that before Ducky came to live here.
It would be an embarrassment if a new mistress took over a home in such a state.
Because that’s what Ducky would be soon enough—the new mistress of their estate in Darmstadt. Once Ernie got married, Alix would be in the way. Ducky would take over all the responsibilities of hostess, all the charitable works and social obligations, that had been Alix’s since her mother died.
When the cousins were departing for Potsdam, Ducky had pulled Alix into an embrace. “I promise, you’ll always be welcome here,” she’d murmured into her future sister-in-law’s ear. It had thrown Alix wildly off-balance.
In all her worries about whether Ernie was making a mistake by getting engaged, she’d hardly considered what his marriage would mean for her. That she would be extraneous. Unneeded. An awkward third party, always hovering around the dinner table, trying not to disrupt her brother and his wife.
Alix sighed and reached for another trunk that the footmen had fetched from an upstairs closet. As she opened the lid, a fine sheen of dust floated into the air.
Her eyes stung when she saw what lay inside. These were her mother’s old things.
So many of Alice’s possessions had been burned after her death—to prevent the spread of smallpox, the doctors had said. But here were a few items that must have escaped the blaze. Alix pulled out a Bible, its spine creased from frequent use; a polished silver hand mirror emblazoned with roses.
Underneath, wrapped in tissue that crinkled pleasantly, was a white gown. Alix’s breath fragmented in her chest as she unwrapped it.
The gown was lovely, reams of satin unfurling as Alix lifted the bodice. The lace veil beneath was yellowing with age, its stitching painfully delicate.
Outside in the driveway, hoofbeats sounded. Alix ignored them.
Would she ever get the chance to wear this veil? Once, she had dreamed of wearing it as she walked down an aisle toward Nicholas. She should probably offer it to Ducky, she realized; but wouldn’t Ducky want to wear the Coburg veil?
She held the lace up to the light, studying its delicate pattern. Were those petals or leaves? It was hard to make out, her vision blurry—from tears? No, it was a haziness that seemed to have invaded her vision, making the world fade into black at the edges.
Not again.
It had been so long since one of Alix’s episodes, but the old familiar panic settled over her now, like a heavy blanket of smoke, suffocating her. She set down the veil and fumbled to close the trunk, but her hands had frozen into claws, her fingers stiff and useless.
All her worries—about Ernie, about doors closing, about being lonely or foolish or not good enough, about Nicholas—they all seemed to turn into blades, slicing wildly at her chest. Alix looked down, expecting to see blood seeping through the bodice of her gown, but there was nothing there.
“Alix?” She heard Maximilian’s voice as if from a great distance. “Alix, are you all right?”
“I get like this sometimes.” She tried to say more, but her throat felt like it was closing. She struggled valiantly to swallow. “Maximilian, when did you…?”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you that I was coming. I left Potsdam early. Missy and Ferdinand…” Maximilian trailed off at the look on Alix’s face. “You are unwell. I’ll fetch Ernie or your father—”
“Please, don’t. I can’t let them worry….”
Maximilian didn’t hesitate. He scooped Alix up in his arms, the way one would carry a child, and held her against his chest as he started upstairs. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, too, but her hands were still frozen, immobile.
Alix didn’t question how he knew which room was hers, though there were no brass plaques on the doors here, as there were at Balmoral and Osborne. Of course Maximilian knew. In her overheated mind, it felt natural that he would have been paying attention to her movements.
He set her on the rug before the hearth, then grabbed the bedcovers from her bed—a bit scandalous, Alix thought faintly, though she didn’t mind—and wrapped them tight around her, tucking them under her chin.
Once he’d stoked the fire, coaxing it to a pleasant crackle, he sat on the rug next to Alix and tugged her hands free.
“I’m here,” he kept saying over and over, like a mantra, as he massaged her hands.
His thumbs felt scratchy with calluses, the hands of a man who rode without gloves, who was too impatient for the proprieties.
“I’m here, you’re not alone, you are safe, it’s okay.
” His words repeated on a loop, soothing and soft.
Eventually, Alix felt her frozen hands unclench. Her chest loosened; her breathing steadied. She looked down at the coverlet wrapped around her, playing with its stitching to avoid meeting Maximilian’s gaze.
“I’m sorry,” she forced herself to say. “You weren’t supposed to see that. Those episodes…I suppose you could say they are my cross to bear. My dark secret.”
“Dark secret?” Maximilian repeated, frowning.
Alix flushed from shame. “This has happened to me ever since my brother Frittie died. Not very often, but once it begins, I cannot stop it. My body goes into a state of shock, or perhaps it is panic. I don’t know what causes it,” she added miserably.
“Your suprarenal glands.” Maximilian’s tone was so reasonable, so conversational, that she looked up.
“My what?”
“Your suprarenal glands. The ones that control your fear,” Maximilian explained. “They can malfunction when your body or mind is under stress. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he added gently.
Alix stared at him. “How do you know all this? Have you seen these episodes before?”
“No, I’ve only read about them. I like to keep up with the latest medical journals.” Maximilian blew out a breath. “I keep hoping that someone, somewhere, will find a cure for my uncle.”
Once again, his thoughtfulness—his unbearable goodness—struck her to the core.
“Let me know if you encounter a cure for me in one of those journals,” she said darkly.
“You don’t need a cure; you need treatment.
There’s a difference.” Maximilian looked steadily at Alix.
“These attacks are a symptom of your anxiety. When your life is calmer, when you feel steady and safe, they will start coming less and less frequently. And perhaps someday you’ll look up and realize that you don’t have them anymore at all. ”
“You’re quite the doctor,” she observed.
Maximilian smiled shyly. “Not a doctor. Just a man armed with logic and observation.”
Alix shrugged tighter into the coverlet.
The warmth of it felt so good around her, as if it were anchoring her in place.
“Please, don’t tell Ernie. He’ll think it was his fault,” she murmured.
At Maximilian’s confused look, she added, “This usually happens when I’m worried, or upset, and Ernie…
he knows I have concerns about him and Ducky.
” She shouldn’t have said that, she realized.
It was just so easy to talk to Maximilian.
“You don’t approve of her?”
“They don’t love each other!” Alix exclaimed. “And I’m upset for my own reasons, too, because of—because I—”
She broke off and met Maximilian’s gaze. He did not interrupt or ask questions; he just waited patiently, giving her the space to elaborate if she wanted.
“Remember how I told you that I didn’t wish to be courted because I was in love with someone else?” Alix asked.
His eyes flashed, as if he’d noticed her use of the past tense. “I remember,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Well, that young man and I—we are done.”
“I’m sorry.” Maximilian seemed to mean it. “Of course I am here, if you need a friend.”
It must have been the aftereffects of that gland Maximilian had spoken of, the panic ebbing from Alix’s system like a poison.
Or perhaps it was the instinctive way he’d carried her, letting her lean on his strength, his warmth.
Whatever it was, Alix heard herself say, “If I need a friend, I’ll turn to Hélène or to my cousins.
I have no use for another friend, Maximilian. ”
He shifted slightly toward her. “Are you saying…?”
“I don’t know if you even wish to court me, but if you’d like to, there are no more obstacles. Unless you were frightened off by all this.” She gestured ruefully to the blanket, indicating the whole awful episode that had just happened.
Maximilian’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Alix of Hesse, I have wanted to court you for a very long time.”
“I— All right, then,” she said, suddenly nervous.
“All right, then,” he repeated evenly.
Perhaps he had more experience in courting than she did; because even though she’d been forced into those awkward interactions with Eddy two years before, even though she and Nicholas had slept together, Alix felt suddenly uncertain.
She’d never been truly courted by a young man—not like this, with everything done by the book, in the proper order.
Maximilian reached over and took one of her hands in his. “And please, stop feeling so ashamed about these episodes, as you call them.”
Her fingers laced around his. Then they both seemed to realize at the same moment the situation they were in—a man and a woman, alone, in her bedroom.
“I’ll check on you later, if that’s all right,” he said, standing. Then he leaned over to drop a quick, eager kiss on her mouth.
Alix lifted a hand to her lips, startled, as he walked out the door.
Maximilian had seen her. He knew her most shameful secret, and instead of being repelled by it, or disgusted, he had stayed with her through it. Had fought it with calm rationality.
He had walked right into the darkness at the core of her, and he hadn’t run off. He’d just lit a torch and started burning the darkness away.