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

A Birthday to Remember

Tsarskoe Selo, 21 December 1921

Irina pressed her nose against the chilly windowpane of the Paley Palace, her breath fogging the glass momentarily. Below, the expanse of the avenue stretched out, a pristine blanket of white under the soft glow of lampposts. Her eighteenth birthday party was about to start, but the quietude of the snow-covered avenue was deceptive; soon, the grand double doors would creak open, ushering in a wave of laughter and chatter as guests arrived for her long-awaited celebration.

It would not be a grand affair, certainly not as grand as Tata's party had been a few months earlier. She had only wanted her siblings, their families and some close friends. However, as she had invited Alexei and Tata, Grand Duke Michael and his wife would also be coming, which already gave the party a tone of importance she could do well without, but, still, she couldn't help but feel excited about it.

Eighteen. It wasn't independence, but a step. No more governess dictating her every move. Now, she could choose her own lady-in-waiting! Her university dreams might have been dashed, but her father followed through on his promise. New, demanding tutors were schooling her in an advanced study plan that rivalled any university. Sure, learning with classmates would have been ideal, but progress was progress.

"Don't you look gorgeous?"

Smiling, Irina turned as her mother entered, arms outstretched. Irina glanced at the mirror. She was wearing the latest style, a knee-length tubular dress in royal blue that matched her eyes. It wasn't as extravagant as Natalia's usual choices, but Irina felt beautiful, a rare sensation.

"Thank you, Mama," she said, returning the embrace.

Her mother's voice held a surprising tremor. "Time flies, doesn't it? It seems like yesterday you were a tiny baby in my arms, and now..."

"Now I'm just a number older, Mama," Irina chuckled, cutting her off. "It's not like I'm off to fight a war, you know."

A wistful smile played on her mother's lips. "There's more to it than that, my darling. Eighteen is a turning point. A time of possibilities and..." Her voice trailed off, a flicker of worry crossing her eyes.

Irina squeezed her mother's hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mama. I'll be careful, I promise. I'm just the same Irina as I always was."

After the tension was broken, her mother smiled warmly. "I know, darling, I know. Now, let's get you ready. The guests will be here any minute."

Irina nodded, allowing the maid to take over. With the ease of someone who knew what she was doing, the maid adjusted Irina's dress, fussed over the intricate hairstyle, and finally reached for the jewellery box. Irina took a moment to hold a simple sapphire bracelet, admiring the glint of the gem. It had arrived earlier that morning, a thoughtful gift from Feodor. The cool stones felt comforting against her skin and she sighed sadly, knowing he wouldn't be there.

As it always happened, Feodor's health didn't allow him to stay in Russia during the winter. They had said their goodbyes in late August, when Irina had to leave Biarritz with her family and he travelled south to Cannes, for his usual winter stay. Their encounters were mostly brief, dictated by the suffocating rules of propriety, but despite their limited interactions, a powerful connection had blossomed between them.

Feodor, like Irina, possessed a quiet shyness that melted away in each other's company. While he held little interest in the literary world that Irina cherished, his passion for art, particularly painting and architecture, was infectious. His knowledge of the imperial palaces was a constant source of fascination for Irina. He spoke of its hidden corners and artistic treasures with an enthusiasm that made her heart skip a beat. She ran a finger through the bracelet, thinking fondly of those summer days, before leaving the room.