The Romanov Bride
to ask. Actually, both Sergei and I valued such treasures by their real worth-design and color-and this suite was extraordinary, one of Fabergé’s most original. And yet as my maids settled upon my head the exquisite headpiece and fashioned upon me all the rest-the necklace, stomacher, bracelet, and rings-I felt a distinct sense of unease. This blaze of fine stone simply seemed too brilliant, too jubilant, for this evening, particularly surrounded by the shimmering collar of my dress. In fact, I could almost hear my grandmother, Queen Victoria of England, hissing with disapproval.
    “It’s not safe there in Russia, I tell you!” Grandmama had sternly warned upon hearing of my marriage proposal more than twenty years earlier. “There is such excess there, so much vulgar show. Really, my dear, the government does so little to improve the well-being of the common people-it’s shameful! Truly, I will be sick with worry for you, my dear child.”
    And yet I could not tread against the formidable will of my husband, so I had no choice but to wear such riches that evening. I only hoped that tonight’s gala event, a benefit for my charities, would be a success.
    As I gazed into the triple mirror and admired and adjusted the veritable cascade of diamonds and such, I heard the sound of quick footsteps, and knew immediately who it was, my young niece, the Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna, herself all of fifteen years. Against my own will, my spine tightened.
    “Why, Auntie, you look beautiful this evening,” said Maria, rushing up and kissing me on the hand.
    It was true, the child was a spoilt one, just as it was true she’d had more than enough trouble in her short life, for her dear mother had died giving birth to her brother. And that was how the two young ones came to us, for after Maria’s mother had passed so sadly from this world and her father banished for his morganatic marriage, the Emperor had placed the two children under our guardianship. Sergei, who insisted that he was their father now, adored them both, but I was not at ease with them, particularly the girl, for, to be brutally forthright, they were painful reminders of my own failures in marriage.
    At this child’s kiss, I couldn’t help but stiffen and even physically retract, pulling away quickly from the girl. Wondering what she’d done wrong, Maria looked up at me, her new mother, in confusion. As a granddaughter of the Tsar-Liberator Aleksander II, this child had her own jewels, her own furs, her own servants, and of course a most substantial income, yet what she did not have-the soft touch of a warm mother-was what she needed most.
    I turned to my maid, and even I was surprised by the words that came out of my mouth as I said, “Varya, please inform my young niece that it’s rude to make such personal remarks in front of a servant.”
    Maria couldn’t hide her shock, and tears welled up in her eyes, but I pretended not to notice. Yes, I thought, I mustn’t be touched like that. Sergei didn’t, and neither must the children.
    Less than an hour later, looking every bit a Grand Duchess of The House of Romanov, I descended one side of the double grand staircase of the Nikolaevski Palace. I wore long kid gloves that came up over my elbows-it had taken both maids to put them on-and a long sable cloak that trailed the floor. Behind me, a puffy frown on her face, traipsed Maria, who had been dressed in finery appropriate her age, complete with a mink coat, and her younger brother, the forever sad but forever sweet Dmitri. He was wearing a mock uniform of sorts. And behind the two children came my gowned Starshiye Freilini, the ladies-in -waiting of my own court who would attend me that eve.
    No sooner had I set foot on the ground floor than a uniformed guard opened a large side door, through which my husband and his aide-de-camp promptly stepped. With the exception of the Emperor, who took after his petite Danish mother in stature, Romanovs tended to be

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