The Romanov Empress Read online

  I refused to be placated. At this particular moment, I wasn’t pleased to be compared with my mother, who had connived to upend our existence.

  “But before I met your mother, I tried to woo Victoria,” Papa added, with a grin.

  I was astounded. “You did?”

  “Not only me. Dozens of princes tried. She was the most eligible bride in Europe. And I was rather bold, despite my lack of means. I wrote her letters and offered to visit, hoping I might win her hand. Alas, she disdained me, and several others, to marry Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha instead.”

  “Who died,” I groused. “Leaving her a widow to meddle in our affairs.”

  “Now, now. You mustn’t blame the queen. It is true the tsar’s son expressed interest in your sister, but Alix didn’t want to live in Russia, where she doesn’t speak the language.”

  “They speak French at the Russian court. See? Alix doesn’t know anything! She hates rain, too, and I hear it rains all the time in England. Whatever will she do when she cannot step outside without getting wet?”

  “We’ll have to make sure she brings plenty of umbrellas.” Papa gave me another smile. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but casting doubts now will not reassure her.”

  I winced. Being too engrossed in my own feelings, I hadn’t given Alix’s feelings any thought. I moved closer to my father, seeking comfort as he slipped his arm about my waist and kissed my brow. “Again without a hat,” he said. “Your mother will be furious.”

  “Add it to her list of grievances,” I replied, and his laughter rumbled in his chest as he guided me along the path, his arm about me, enclosing me in a sense of safety that made me realize I feared losing him, too. I knew our king was ill and that hasty preparations to confirm Papa as crown prince were under way. What would our life be like, with him on the throne and Mama as queen, with hordes of retainers and officials surrounding us day and night?

  I shivered at the thought. He tightened his hold on me. “What else troubles you?”

  I felt foolish. Any other girl would welcome this rise in her station, the chance to call herself a princess and be the senior daughter, now that her sister was leaving. “Must we move to the Amalienborg Palace after we return from Alix’s wedding?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid so. King Frederick has granted me the immense honor of becoming his heir, but it was no simple task. It took months for everyone to reach agreement. His Majesty now insists we must live according to our rank.” He looked down at me, for I was short in stature, like my mother, while Alix was tall and willowy, like him. “Our yellow house isn’t suitable for a future king and his family. We’ll keep this palace for the summer and then you’ll have your own suite in the Amalienborg. Won’t that be nice? Apartments of your own, to do with as you like, after sharing a bedroom all these years?”

  “With Thyra there?” I referred to my nine-year-old sister, who followed me around in adoration whenever she wasn’t romping with our little brother. “She’ll move in with me the moment she can. I don’t mind,” I said. “I wouldn’t know what to do with an entire suite.”

  “More unwelcome change, eh? We’ll have to muddle through it as best we can.”

  I nodded glumly as he released me, searching his jacket. He was about to extract his cigar butt when he suddenly peered toward the palace. Following his gaze, I saw my mother waving at us from an upstairs window.

  “It seems they finished sooner than we thought,” said Papa. “Well. Let’s go behold your sister’s trousseau. Do be kind to her. Remember what I said; Alix isn’t like you. She doesn’t express herself easily, so find a time to speak with her alone. She needs your support more than ever. I don’t want you at odds when we depart for England.”

  “Yes, Papa,” I said.

  But I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what my sister might say. What if I discovered she wouldn’t miss me as much as I wanted her to?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Supper was held in the chandeliered hall. We now had liveried footmen with white-gloved hands to serve our soup, baked salmon, succulent greens, fresh-baked pies, and decanters of claret wine—a feast that could have fed our entire family for a week. I observed Mama instructing the servants with perfect poise from her chair, as if she’d been ordering legions about her entire life. My younger siblings, Valdemar and Thyra, scrubbed clean of their garden frolic and perched on gilded chairs at the huge linen-draped table, were uncharacteristically subdued, as if bewildered by the array of silver forks, spoons, and knives beside their plates.

  “The small fork is for the salad,” I whispered to Thyra, nudging the utensil. “The larger one for the meat and fish. You move from the outside in. See?”

  My sister nodded, a bow twined in her dark-gold curls. Like me, Thyra had large, expressive brown eyes and a snub nose; she took after our father, while little Valdemar was fair, with the gray-blue eyes and pale complexion of our mother and Alix.

  As we ate, Mother spoke in a low voice to Papa, no doubt about the trousseau and arrangements for the trip to England. I could barely hear her, though in the past at our yellow palace we’d engaged in rambunctious discussions over meals. It was yet another sign that our life was no longer the same, and when four-year-old Valdemar suddenly declared, “I want to go to England!” he plunged us into silence.

  I clutched my napkin to my mouth to suppress a giggle.

  “Children are not invited to weddings,” chided Mama. “You will stay here with Thyra and your governess until—”

  “No.” Valdemar thumped his fist on the table. “I want to go!”

  Mama glanced at Papa, who, like me, appeared as if he might burst out laughing. “Christian, my dear, please inform our son that such outbursts are not to be tolerated.”

  Papa composed himself. “Valdemar,” he said, trying to sound stern, “listen to your mother.”

  My brother’s expression crunched up. Alix patted his hand, murmuring. Valdemar looked at her, uncertain, before he echoed, “A new train?”

  Alix nodded. “I promise. I hear they make lovely toy trains in England.”

  I had to stop myself from retorting that they made lovely ones in Denmark, too. We had a train set left by my other brothers, which had worked wonderfully until Valdemar stomped on it one day in a tantrum. Then, to my astonishment, Alix turned to our parents. “I don’t see why he shouldn’t come with us. It is my wedding, after all. I’d like for our entire family to be there.”

  Who knew? I hadn’t heard her state an opinion this entire time. I sat more upright in my chair as Mama battled her own uncomfortable surprise.

  “But we’ve so much to attend to. Queen Victoria’s family will all be there, as well as other important guests. I cannot possibly look after the children.”

  “Minnie can look after them.” Alix shifted her gaze to me.

  I found myself assenting. “Yes. Of course I can.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled,” said Papa in audible relief, which earned him a tight-lipped look from Mama.

  Valdemar might have let out a triumphant whoop had Mama not given him a warning look. He busied himself with his plate, making a mess of the baked fish until Alix took up his fork to assist him; as she did, she gave me a quick, grateful smile. It melted away my hesitation. If she wanted all of us to be there, she must harbor doubts. I resolved to find time to speak with her.

  After supper, Valdemar and Thyra were sent protesting upstairs to bed, while we gathered in the drawing room. Papa served himself a cognac and Mama took up her embroidery. As she threaded her needle, she said, “Minnie, play something for us.” We had a large piano in the palace, not like the decrepit pianoforte in our yellow house, but as I sat on the stool and began to play, my fingers seemed to be all thumbs. I kept making mistakes, attuned to Alix where she sat by the window, looking out as twilight enveloped the grounds.

  “Minnie, is that Han
del you’re mutilating?” said Mama testily. My hands paused.

  Alix turned to the room with a sigh. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll retire.”

  “At this hour?” Mama said. “Why, it’s not even dark yet.”

  But Alix drifted over to her and Papa to kiss their cheeks. As she moved to the drawing room doors, I bolted to my feet. “I’ll go with you,” I announced, and before Mama could call me back, I followed Alix into the corridor.

  She didn’t seem to notice me trailing behind her until I touched her sleeve. She started, coming to a halt. In her wary look, I saw she knew what I was about to say.

  “Are you too tired to talk with me?” I said.

  She smiled. “I was wondering when you might ask.”

  “You might have asked instead,” I said, and then I bit my lip, not wanting to start out on a sour note. “I suppose you’ve been too busy.”

  “Entirely. I had no idea planning a wedding required so much effort. If I have to see one more dress or hat…” She met my eyes. “Shall we go upstairs to my room?”

  “No,” I said impulsively. She had her own bedroom now; I didn’t want to behold the piles of new things to be packed for England. “Let’s talk in the gallery.”

  The gallery was an airy black-and-white-tiled passage that ran the length of the garden side of the palace. We found it submerged in gloom, the plants like feathered beasts in their porcelain jardinière, crouched over the white wicker furniture I detested because bits of the framing always snagged my dress and—

  Alix broke into my hesitation. “You can sit down. If you pull a thread, you can have it fixed. No more sewing by candlelight; we now have others to do our mending.”

  I plopped onto the nearest chair in defiance. I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me. “I suppose you enjoy having servants.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” She perched opposite me. “It’s refreshing not to suffer broken fingernails and needle-pricked thumbs.” She met my stare. “Don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Servants talk. They have eyes and ears. I’d rather my every minute not become the subject of backstairs gossip.”

  She looked down, fiddling with the lace trim on her cuff. “You sound angry, Minnie.”

  “Do I?” I bristled at her echoing of what Papa had said. “Perhaps I have good reason.”

  She lifted her gaze. In the shadows of the gallery, her eyes seemed immense in her drawn face. “What reason?”

  I wanted to remonstrate that I was angry because she was marrying someone for whom she couldn’t possibly hold any affection, because I knew it was Mama’s fault, that she’d forced Alix to do her duty. Not knowing where to begin, I heard myself say, “Why did you say yes?”

  She went quiet, not looking away but with that distance once again surfacing in her gaze. It emboldened me to add, “You cannot possibly care for him. You hardly know him.”

  Her tone was measured. “Do you think I’d have agreed to marry him if I thought he were unsuitable? No,” she said. “I do not know him yet, nor do I know if he will make me happy. But he requested my hand and will make me Princess of Wales. I considered it very carefully before I gave my consent.”

  “Your consent? Or Mama’s consent? Alix, I always thought…”

  “What?” she said. “What did you always think?”

  I grappled with my words, taken aback by her gravity. “I…I don’t know. I just thought we’d both marry when we fell in love, like Papa and Mama did.”

  She smiled. It rent me, that subtle creasing of her mouth—so stoic and resigned, like when she faced one of our mounds of endless darning. “Minnie, we’re not children anymore, eager for Herr Grimm to tell us bedtime stories. Papa will be king. We must marry where we can do our country honor. Denmark might not be a powerful nation but we still have enemies, Prussia foremost among them. That devil Bismarck wasn’t pleased that Papa was chosen to succeed to the throne over his preferred candidate. The time is past for fairy tales.”

  “Fairy tales?” My voice lifted. I stopped, took a calming breath. My dutiful sister, who’d never paid attention to the world outside, was suddenly talking like a diplomat. “This isn’t about fairy tales. The tsarevich—don’t you think marrying him will do us honor? The Russian empire is more powerful, I daresay, than the British. And Nixa loves you.”

  “Loves me?” Mirth colored her voice. “Nixa Romanov does not love me.”

  “No? Well, he gave a very good impression of it. I saw how he looked at you at Rumpenheim, where you met stodgy Bertie of Wales. Nixa barely spoke to anyone but you the entire time. Papa told me he would have asked for your hand, but you said you couldn’t live in Russia because you don’t speak the language. Alix, they speak French at the Romanov court. Your French is much better than your English.”

  “I only said that to spare Nixa embarrassment. He was only going to propose to me because his father ordered it. Tsar Alexander doesn’t want his son to take a Prussian bride.”

  “You’re not Prussian.”

  “No. But Nixa didn’t want me.” She regarded me with unsettling candor. “Can it be that you truly have no idea?”

  Suddenly I found myself short of air; I almost flinched when her hand touched mine.

  “You were the one he couldn’t stop looking at when we were at Rumpenheim,” she went on. “He was enraptured. The entire time he spoke to me, all he did was ask about you. He wanted to pay suit for your hand, only Papa wouldn’t hear of it. The tsar had sent his son to woo me. I simply saved everyone the trouble by making it clear I wasn’t interested.”

  I stared at her, speechless for one of the few times in my life.

  She patted my hand. “Oh, Minnie. Are you so blind? Everyone noticed it. Even stodgy Bertie, as you call him, remarked that Nixa was behaving like a lovestruck swain.”

  My memory plunged back to our time in Rumpenheim. I recalled bracing morning horseback rides, idle lunches under pavilions on the castle lawn, dancing and games of whist in the evenings. Yet much as I tried, I couldn’t summon a solid recollection of the Russian heir; he was vague, a nondescript figure in polished boots. I had known his mother, the tsarina, for years. She’d been born a princess of Hesse-Darmstadt, from the ruling branch of my mother’s family, but I’d always found Empress Maria Alexandrovna rather forbidding, with her patrician mien and sad yet sharp eyes that seemed to pass unspoken judgment on our threadbare ways as she sat enveloped in sables we could never afford. She and Mama exchanged regular letters, however, and the empress made a point of summoning us whenever she came through Germany or Denmark on her way to her annual vacations in Nice. Thus, we had met her eldest son, Nicholas, or Nixa, as he was known, on those occasions when he accompanied her. He was just another boy to me: polite and privileged, not given to familiarity. In fact, I couldn’t remember him paying me any mind. And during our time in Rumpenheim, I’d been so focused on his interest in Alix, I’d apparently neglected to actually look at him. I didn’t like that I’d failed to notice what my sister now claimed everyone else had.

  “Don’t be absurd,” I said. “He wouldn’t ever want me if he could have you.”

  Alix withdrew her hand. “This isn’t a competition. He fell in love with you. He only left Rumpenheim without proposing because Papa wouldn’t have him turn your head unless the tsar first sanctioned the match. Nixa Romanov will never be my husband. However,” she said, as if stating an irrefutable fact, “he might be yours.”

  I was so unsettled, I didn’t know what to say.

  “You should consider it,” Alix said. “Nixa seemed determined and assured Papa the tsarina will support the match, as will Mama. And perhaps Tsar Alexander will approve, seeing as you’re not a Prussian princess, either.”

  “I’m not a princess at all! Papa hasn’t even been crowned yet.”

  “We’re already princesses in the eyes of the world.” Some
thing in her tone sent a shiver through me. “You must grow up now, Minnie. See the world as it is, not as you’d like it to be. As the daughters of the King of Denmark, we will be sought after as royal brides.”

  “Not you,” I reminded her. “You belong to Bertie of Wales now.”

  “I do.” She came to her feet in a rustle of gray silk. “My future is decided. Yours, on the other hand, is not. You must choose wisely. Listen to your heart, but also use your head. Love may conquer all in sonnets, but love isn’t necessarily what will keep us safe.”

  I gazed up at her, rooted to my seat. Of everything she might have said, this was the last thing I’d expected to hear. “Safe?” I breathed. “You chose Bertie for…safety?”

  “Among other things. Even if Nixa had proposed to me, I still would have said no. I really don’t want to live in Russia. I’m not like you; it’s not my nature to be adventurous.” She paused. “Are you still angry with me?”

  “I was never angry,” I whispered.

  She smiled again, only this time her smile was imbued with forbearance. “Oh, you were. Quite angry, I think. You mustn’t be. We are still sisters. I’ll always love you best.”

  I wanted to embrace her. I half-rose, tears stinging my eyes, overwhelmed by what she’d told me, by my own ignorance of the intrigues that sought to ensnare us like some invisible machine, grinding efficiently in secret, to wreak havoc on our lives.

  Before I could touch her, Alix stepped back. “Not now.” Her voice caught in her throat. “We’ll have plenty of time to say goodbye. Just not yet.”

  She walked from the gallery. As she disappeared into the palace, climbing the staircase to her room, I did not let myself surrender to the chill inside me.

  I was losing my sister to safety. In the immensity of this knowledge, I didn’t spare another thought to the revelation that the Romanov heir might seek to marry me.