Alix’s blood ran cold. People were gossiping about her episodes?
“I put a stop to the rumor at once, of course,” Victoria was saying. “It’s nonsense. And I made it very clear that anyone who repeats it risks angering me.”
Well, that was one unmistakable perk of being queen. You could protect the people you cared about.Like Ernie,Alix thought, unbidden. Or her father.
“Thank you, Grandmama. I do occasionally need smelling salts, but that hasn’t happened in quite some time,” she said as calmly as possible.
Her mind whirled back to that night at the opera last year, when she’d dissolved into panic before Hélène d’Orléans. How stupid she’d been to assume that Hélène wouldn’t tell anyone.
Alix had spent her entire life hiding the ugly secret of her condition. If people found out, she might never marry; no man wanted a wife who came with unknown complications. And while Alix might not care so much about marriage herself, it would cast such shame upon her family, make things harder for Ernie—even for Ella, all the way in St.Petersburg.
Alix might be an idealist, but she was no fool. She knew that as much as society adored young women like her—beautiful, highborn princesses—it relished their destruction even more. If the truth became public, all the people who had once lifted her up would sharpen their knives, just as eager to tear her down.
“Marry Eddy, and you’ll have a powerful shield protecting you from all this nonsense,” Grandmama said urgently. “Besides, think of the life you can build here in Britain: coming to Balmoral every summer, spending your days surrounded by people you love! Married to Eddy you would hardly have a public role at all. This is England, not Russia,” she added disparagingly. “Our queen consort isn’t like the tsarina, who takes part in all their ceremonial proceedings. Look at what a quiet life your aunt Alexandra leads. You could have that, too.”
It sounded like Grandmama realized there was truth to the rumors. Alix should have focused on that, but her mind snagged on the reference to Russia.
“What do you mean, it’s not like being the tsarina?”
Her grandmother made an exasperatedpshhhnoise. “You think I don’t know about you and Nicholas?”
“There’s nothing to know,” Alix said quickly.
Her grandmother didn’t seem to have heard. “I’m sure that St.Petersburg seemed very glamorous when you visited,that Nicholas was dashing and handsome in his regimental uniform—”
“Please, we don’t need to—”
“Did I ever tell you that the Tsar Alexander came to court me when I was a new queen?”
Nicholas’sgrandfatherhad wooed Victoria? Alix had never heard this story.
“I was your age, just nineteen. Alexander came to London for the Season and squired me about to balls, to the theater, on carriage rides. It was really quite scandalous; he took such liberties when he danced.” The queen sighed wistfully, then blinked as if emerging from a trance. “And now he’s dead, smashed into pieces by an anarchist’s bomb!”
“It was tragic,” Alix said cautiously.
“Tragic? It would never have happened in England! My dear, this is precisely why you need to steer clear of Russia!”
“It’s not an issue!” Inadvertently, Alix had raised her voice. “Nicholas has no romantic intentions toward me, of that I can assure you.”
If Victoria heard the implied subtext—that Alix had romantic intentions towardhim—she was too tactful to reveal it.
“I see,” the queen said simply, with deliberate calm.
For a long moment they just stared at each other, grandmother and granddaughter, each strong-willed and stubborn. Then Victoria sighed.
“Why don’t you take a moment to collect yourself. I’ll be waiting at the carriage.”
As the queen walked off, admirably steady without her cane, Alix wrapped her arms around her torso and stared at the horizon. She thought of something her mother used to say: that when you have a question, it’s always best to ask inthe morning light, because that’s when answers are easiest to find. She realized now that her mother had likely said that to stop Alix’s endless questions at bedtime. Still, it was hard to shake the old belief.
This still counted as morning light, even if was gray and Scottish and damp.
“Mother,” Alix whispered, her eyes stinging with tears. “Please, tell me what to do.”
THE LETTER WAS WAITING INAlix’s bedroom when they arrived back at Balmoral.
She recognized the seal at once, a double-headed eagle clutching a shield in its talons. Still, she didn’t really believe it was from him until she opened it and saw his signature at the bottom of the page—Nicholas.
Alix let out an actual yelp, dropping the letter as if it had burned her fingers, then scrambled to pick it back up. The note had been forwarded from London and was dated several weeks ago.
