The Paleys (1921-1927) - An Alternate Romanov Story

Chaperons

Gatchina, late June 1921

Natalia

The day had been a scorcher, the kind that left the air thick and heavy. Sweat had beaded on Natalia's forehead despite the shade of the sprawling oak tree at Gatchina. Now, as the late afternoon sun began its descent, the heat was finally starting to relinquish its grip. The ground, however, still radiated a relentless warmth that seeped through the thin fabric of her dress as she lay sprawled on the grass. The symphony of summer filled the air: the persistent buzz of cicadas harmonising with the chirping crickets, punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The sweet, intoxicating scent of freshly cut hay hung heavy in the air, a quintessential fragrance of a long, lazy summer afternoon.

Just a stone's throw away, Feodor and Irina were nestled against the comforting embrace of another towering tree, their hands tightly clasped. Their secret had been laid bare at Tata's birthday party and, after that, it seemed that neither of them was willing to pretend they didn't feel a deep affection for each other.

Irina was in raptures after it, climbing to bed next to Natalia to tell her that every detail of Feodor seemed etched in her memory – the way his strong jaw softened when he smiled, the flecks of gold that danced in his steely grey eyes, the wild blond curls that begged to be tamed (a rebellious urge she desperately fought). The physical attraction was undeniable. Butterflies erupted in her stomach whenever he was near, and she found herself captivated by his every word, every gesture. The urge to reach out, to touch his hand, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers, was a constant battle raging within her. But propriety kept her desires firmly in check. She felt as if every stolen glance, every whispered word, was being carefully scrutinized by the outside world, and she could not have been more right.

To pursue any kind of courtship, Feodor had, inevitably, to talk to her parents. The reaction had been mixed. Their mother had been ecstatic at the prospect, after all, Feodor's bloodlines were impeccable. He was a descendant of Tsars on both sides of his family, Alexei's first cousin, as well as first cousin to the Crown Princesses of Prussia and Denmark. A few years earlier, when they were being ostracized and living in exile, their mother could only have dreamed about such a match and she gave it her whole-hearted support.

Their father, however, had his reservations. Despite their mild disagreement over the University question earlier in the year, he adored his daughter fiercely. He believed she was too young for the complexities of courtship. However, under significant pressure from his wife, he eventually relented. Yet, his love manifested in the form of strict rules. Feodor's calls would be strictly timed, and a chaperone, an unwelcome third wheel, would be mandatory for every meeting.

Knowing the stifling whispers that could erupt in the drawing rooms of Petrograd and Tsarskoe Selo, Natalia's parents had subtly steered the young couple towards the secluded beauty of Gatchina for their meetings. "It was there that your father and I started our own courtship!" Her mother had confessed with a twinkle in her eyes.

On that particular afternoon, Natalia, somewhat begrudgingly, found herself as the chaperone. While the responsibility brought a touch of amusement, she quickly discovered that real-life romance was far less dramatic than the tales spun in novels. Feodor's every attempt to lean in for a kiss, and much to her horror, even Irina's reciprocating gesture, was met with a theatrical scoff from Natalia.

This constant intervention was a burden for everyone involved. Feodor and Irina, caught in the throes of new love, clearly resented the intrusion, while Natalia longed to simply lose herself in the golden hues of the evening and the sweet symphony of cicadas, leaving the young couple to their blossoming love story.

A gentle tap on her shoulder startled Natalia from her reverie. She fluttered her eyelids open, expecting to see Feodor's frustrated expression, only to be met with a pair of familiar blue eyes twinkling down at her with amusement. Alexei, his posture relaxed and a hint of a smile playing on his lips, was staring down at her.