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Chapter Thirty-One


Alice Roosevelt

Alice Roosevelt



Washington D.C., USA

An exultant Teddy Roosevelt exclaimed, “My dear, that was a triumph. An absolute triumph!”

Anastasia dragged in a shaky breath and nodded, then closed her eyes and focused on inhaling and exhaling for a few minutes. Fine tremors started in her hands and worked their way up her arms and through the trunk of her body. She felt Alice’s slender arms come around her shoulders and hold her close. Alice hadn’t been in the chambers when she addressed Congress, but she had waited for them in the anteroom outside.

Now they were back at the Roosevelts’ townhouse in Washington, and Anastasia felt the control that had sustained her throughout the performance drain away, leaving her reeling.

“Come, my dear, have some wine,” Roosevelt said.

“Just give her a moment, Papa,” Alice murmured over the top of Anastasia’s head. “That cannot have been easy for her to do.”

“No, I suppose not.” Anastasia heard the sound of Roosevelt’s cane as he limped away, then the sound of a decanter clinking against glasses. “But I must admit, she was magnificent!”

“Was I?” Anastasia asked, her voice muffled against Alice’s shoulder. “I hardly know. I feel so . . . I don’t even know what to call it.”

“That’s how you know it’s a good speech,” Roosevelt said with a chuckle in his words. “And yes. Magnificent. Superb. That bit with the sapphire at the end . . . masterful, my dear. Simply masterful. I will be amazed if you do not get a vote tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.”

“Do you think they will vote to send aid?”

“I think it’s likely. There are some hardline isolationist holdouts still, but you certainly made their task more difficult. Either way, my dear, you have done something extraordinary today. I am proud to know you.”

Anastasia straightened up at that, and met Alice’s questioning eyes with a tremulous smile. “Thank you,” she said, speaking to both father and daughter. “Thank you both, for everything.”

“Oh, my darling friend,” Alice said. “Thank you! You’ve brought such color and . . . and purpose into my life! You’ve become part of our family, and I couldn’t love you more if you were my own sister.”

Anastasia smiled at her friend, content for the moment to bask in their love.

But somewhere, deep inside her mind, Alice’s words sparked an idea.


The following day, they departed for Sagamore Hill. Anastasia would have preferred to stay and await the vote in Congress, but contrary to Roosevelt’s optimistic prediction, there seemed to be yet more wrangling to be done.

And Roosevelt himself had fallen ill.

“It happens,” Alice had said grimly. “More often than I’d like. It’s a legacy of his dratted Amazon expedition. The only thing for it is rest at home.”

“Then we should take him home,” Anastasia had said. “It’s not as if we can do anything from here other than wait anyway.”

“That’s what I think, too.”

So, they left early and arrived in mid-afternoon. The sight of the Queen Anne-style house gladdened Anastasia’s heart, easing a pressure she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying in her chest. She found herself smiling, her shoulders relaxing as she stepped up onto the porch.

“Welcome home, Father, Sister . . . Princess.”

“Q!” Alice shrieked, wrapping her arms around her brother’s neck as he strode out of the house and onto the porch to greet them. He hugged Alice, and then his father, whom he helped to navigate the steps up and into the house where Mrs. Roosevelt waited.

Anastasia followed them in, returning Ethel Roosevelt’s smile. She didn’t say hello, though, as she didn’t want to interrupt the woman as she was busy trying to make her sick husband comfortable.

Quentin and his mother took Roosevelt back to his room, and Anastasia followed Alice back to the guest room she’d been assigned when she’d first come here. What a strange place this had seemed back then. She could hardly believe it had only been a few months ago.

It didn’t take Anastasia long to settle her belongings and wash her face and hands. She thought about lying down to rest after the journey, but a wild kind of restlessness jangled along her nerves. So instead, she ventured back out onto the porch to watch the evening sky darken.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?”

Anastasia turned with a smile as Quentin stepped out to join her.

“It is,” she said. “I understand why you all love it here so much. There’s such a sense of peace and serenity. How is your father?”

“He will be fine, the tough old bird. He just needs to rest.”

“I am glad to hear it. He is a very special man.”

“Yes,” Quentin said, clasping his hands behind his back as he came to stand beside her at the porch rail. “He is.”

They stood in silence for a while, side by side, watching dark silhouettes of birds as they hunted in the growing night. Gradually, the light from the windows seemed to glow brighter and brighter as the gloom deepened, until Anastasia felt hidden in the dark.

“Do you think they will send aid to your sister?” Quentin asked, his voice soft.

“I do not know. I hope they will. I hope that everything your family has done for me will not be in vain.”

Quentin let out a short chuckle. “Anastasia, it would not have been in vain! Alice has loved having you here, and Father—he loves you, you know. Just as if you were one of us.”

“I love him too,” Anastasia said softly. “Though it feels terribly disloyal to my own father to say so. There could not be two more different men and yet . . . both absolutely devoted to their children.”

“What was he like?” Quentin asked. “Your father. The Tsar.”

Anastasia smiled, even though she knew her face was in shadow and Quentin likely could not see.

“He was very kind,” she said. “And incredibly loving. I think my mother and our family was his entire world, and that’s what led to his downfall. He could not see beyond his love for us.”

“That sounds like a good quality.”

“Not in the ruler of an empire, it is not.”

“Not much of a romantic, are you?” Quentin said, that dry humor of his clear in his tone. Anastasia’s smile grew and she shook her head.

“I cannot afford to be,” she said. “For I am my sister’s heir. I wasn’t supposed to say that but, nonetheless, I am.”

“That seems a harsh sentence, though. A life without love.”

“I never said I would not love,” Anastasia protested, angling her upper body to face him. “Just that I cannot afford to be romantic. I have always known that I would choose my marriage partner from a pool of politically suitable candidates. Nothing has changed in that respect.

“But I will be able to make that choice. My sister has given her word that she will not compel either me or Maria to marry anyone we do not wish to wed. But she also cannot afford to let us marry where it would be a liability to our cause. This is just reality.”

“That sounds pretty loveless and cold.”

“On the contrary! Why should I not grow into love with the man I choose?”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

Anastasia chuckled. “I am beginning to think that you are the romantic here, Lieutenant!”

“Not me,” he sighed. “I don’t believe in love at first sight either. Once, maybe. There was a girl . . . but her father didn’t find mewhat was it you said?‘politically suitable’? And so, she broke it off when I was in France.”

Anastasia put her hand over his. “I am sorry, my friend. That must have been hard, especially while you were so far from home.”

Quentin nodded; she could just make out the motion. “It was. Thank you.”

“What a strange thing, too, that he should find you politically unsuitable. Here I have been thinking that you are quite the opposite.”

Quentin froze. Then he, too, turned so that the light from the windows would more clearly let him see Anastasia’s face.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Anastasia’s pulse began to race. It wasn’t exactly the same feeling as she’d had before speaking to Congress . . . but it wasn’t too far different, either.

“I mean,” she said slowly. “If we could work out the details . . . I think you would be an admirable consort for a Tsesarevna.”

“Are you proposing marriage to me, Princess?” Anastasia thought she heard a hint of a smile in his tone, but his eyes stared intently at her.

“I suppose I am,” she said, ignoring the flutter of nerves in her stomach. “If you are interested. We already know that we work well together in a partnership. And the press would love it! The American people would be over the moon if I married an American man!”

“Gee, you really know how to make a fella feel good about himself,” Quentin said, still laughing.

Anastasia shook her head. “I will not apologize for keeping our cause first and foremost in my mind,” she said, allowing a hint of frost into her tone. “Not when failure to do so could spell disaster for what remains of my family, and my entire nation.”

“No, no, you’re right, of course,” Quentin said, the laughter draining away from his words as he reached out to take her hands. “It’s just . . . this is very much not the way I saw myself becoming engaged.”

“But would you? Like to become engaged? To me?”

He looked at her, his smile softening. “I think . . . I would. If, as you say, we can work out the details. I assume your sister must agree.”

“She already has,” Anastasia said quietly.

“She has? How long have you been planning this?”

“Not long, but when I wrote to tell her I was staying with your family rather than continuing to London with Maria and Grandmama, her reply reminded me that I was supposed to be looking for a consort. Then she said that ‘in a pinch, the son of an American President might do, but make sure he is rich, and of noble character.’”

“Did she truly?” Quentin threw back his head and laughed. “What a gas! Well, do my financial and character qualifications meet the Empress’s standards?”

“I am confident that they will,” Anastasia said. “Especially if you bring American aid with you as a bride price.”

That would be fine indeed.” Quentin’s smile faded. “Congress just has to pass the bill. It’s just the right thing to do.”

“I think you and I both know that people don’t always do the right thing,” Anastasia said.

“No, they don’t . . . but that doesn’t mean we can’t stack the deck in our favor. I think you’re right. If we announce an engagement this week, maybe with our old friend Sam from The Times, the resulting outpouring of popular support very well may have an impact.”

“But only if you want to marry me,” Anastasia said. “With everything that entails.”

“What would it entail?”

“Leaving America, eventually. Becoming a Russian citizen, and a prince. Converting to the Russian Orthodox church, performing duties such as my sister will require . . . and changing your name.”

“My name?”

“Well, not your name precisely. You will be known as Quentin Teodorovich. But you will be a part of the House of Romanov, and our children must be Romanovs.”

“Roosevelt Romanovs, surely?”

“That is not our way, Quentin.”

“I beg to differ, Anastasia. Is that not how ‘cadet branches’ of royal houses are formed? But it doesn’t matter. I have three brothers to carry on the Roosevelt name if necessary. I suppose I can become a Romanov.”

The fluttering of nerves became a slow tingle of excitement that spread throughout Anastasia’s body.

“Do you mean it, truly?”

“I do, if you can answer one question for me.”

“Ask.”

“You said you hoped that you would grow to love the man you chose. Can you promise me, on your honor, that you will actively seek to love me? Because you are right. To my chagrin, I suppose I am a bit of a romantic. And I do not see how a marriage without love can endure.”

Anastasia found herself once more smiling in the dark. “I give you my word,” she said. “I will actively seek to grow more in love with you every day. Will you promise me the same?”

“I will,” he said. And for the first time, Quentin reached up and trailed his fingertips across her cheek as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I am half in love with you already, you know.”

“I am, too,” she admitted. “We do seem to fit rather well.”

“I agree. So, if you’re going to propose, you should probably be about it.”

Anastasia laughed again and leaned into his caress.

“Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband and consort?”

“Why yes, Your Highness. Yes, I will.”


AMERICAN PRINCESS!

Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov to marry Quentin Roosevelt, son of former U. S. President Theodore Roosevelt! The couple announced their intention to wed in the spring in two ceremonies. One to be held in New York, and one in Russia!

(see pg 6 for more)



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