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

Guests, guests, guests

During lunch, Irina found herself seated among Crimea's most important diplomats and politicians, a formidable assembly of men and women who held the most influence on the region's politics. She knew the significance of this moment—the first of many such meetings leading up to the wedding and which would, inevitably, be part of her life from now on. With her father's calm presence beside her, she drew on everything she had learned over the years, but especially over the last few months since she had become engaged to Feodor and had immersed herself in every book she could find about the Crimea.

She tried to navigate the conversations as best as she could, engaging in discussions about the current political climate, the local economy, and even Crimea's natural beauty. To her relief, the dignitaries seemed genuinely interested—or at least, they didn't appear bored. She managed to hold her own, offering polite responses and asking thoughtful questions. It was exhausting work, but necessary.

By the end of the meal, Irina felt drained. Her smile was still in place, but the energy it took to maintain the appearance of effortless charm was weighing on her. And this was only the beginning. Five more days of balls, receptions, meetings, and engagements lay ahead before the wedding. If things were this chaotic in Crimea, she could only imagine how overwhelming it would have been in Petrograd. Quietly, she sent a silent thank you to Feodor for choosing Ai-Todor for the wedding. Its relative simplicity, despite the crowds, was a blessing.

On the second day, Irina was finally introduced to Feodor's sister, Irina Alexandrovna, who had an unassuming yet magnetic presence. There was a simplicity to her that Irina hadn't expected, a genuine softness and shyness that made everyone feel immediately at ease around her. She had a warm smile and a light laugh, and, although she was a princess by birth, there was no air of grandeur in her manner.

"You must be overwhelmed," Irina Alexandrovna said as she took Irina's hand, with genuine kindness. "I remember how daunting it was before my own wedding."

Irina smiled, feeling a sense of relief at the understanding in her future sister-in-law's tone. "It's been a whirlwind, but I'm managing," she replied softly, glancing toward Feodor, who was speaking with his father a few feet away.

As they exchanged more pleasantries, Felix Yussupov, her husband, approached. Irina couldn't help but feel a tightening in her chest as he neared. Felix, known for his striking appearance and flamboyant personality, carried himself with a swagger that was hard to ignore. He had once been a great friend of her brother Dmitri, but they had parted ways after the traumatic murder of Rasputin. While Dmitri had vowed never to talk about it again and had been genuinely affected by what he had done, Felix had treated the whole affair as something heroic and was happy to retell the tale countless times to all who cared to listen.

When he greeted her, his eyes sparkled with mischief and he bowed with exaggerated elegance.

"So, you're the young bride," he said in a teasing tone as he straightened, his eyes darting between Irina and Feodor, who had quietly come to her side when he saw she was meeting Felix. "What a prize you are, so young and fresh. Feodor's a lucky man."

Irina stiffened, feeling uncomfortable with his words. There was something in his tone that bothered her, a hint of condescension masked as playfulness.

"Thank you," she replied, in as controlled a voice as she could manage. "I'm sure Feodor feels as fortunate as I do."

Felix raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by her poised response. "I do hope the Crimean sun isn't too much for you, my dear. It can be quite... overbearing, especially for someone who is not accustomed to the heat."

Irina met his gaze, refusing to let her irritation show. "I've always found that the key to handling any climate is preparation," she replied coolly. "I'm confident I'll adjust."

Felix chuckled, amused by her restraint. He glanced at Feodor as his smirk deepened. "She's clever too. You'll have your hands full, brother."

Feodor, who had sensed the tension, had come over to her side and placed a protective hand on Irina's back, but before he could respond, Irina Alexandrovna cut in with a light touch to her husband's arm.

"Felix, darling, stop teasing," she said gently, but with a sense of quiet authority. She turned to Irina apologetically. "You'll get used to his sense of humour, eventually."

Irina nodded, though inwardly, she felt her irritation boiling just beneath the surface. Felix, for all his charm, had a way of pushing boundaries that left her unsettled. Still, she took comfort in Irina Alexandrovna's calm presence and the reassuring touch of Feodor by her side.

On the third day, family and international guests began to stream into Ai-Todor, filling the estate with a mix of familiar faces and unfamiliar names. Feodor guided Irina through the throng, introducing her to a long list of relatives and distinguished visitors. Some of the names she recognized from stories or past encounters, but others were entirely new to her. It was at moments like these that she felt more grateful than ever for the photographic memory she had inherited from her mother. Each face, name, and title seemed to lock into place as she met them, ensuring she wouldn't forget anyone in the days to come.

Among the many introductions, Irina was presented to Feodor's uncles. She knew only Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovich well, a man she had always found captivating and kind. He was also Natalia's godfather, so he had been a frequent guest in Paris, where he entertained them with his quick wit and charming anecdotes. Seeing him here, in this different context, reminded her of the circles that connected so many of their lives.

Feodor also introduced her to his cousin, Cecile, now Empress of Germany. Cecile had ascended to her position when her father-in-law, Kaiser Wilhelm, abdicated after the war. Irina felt a brief moment of awe, realizing she was speaking to one of the most prominent figures in European royalty. Her regal bearing was immediately evident—tall and composed, Cecile seemed to radiate formality.

"Irina," Cecile greeted her, offering a graceful but restrained nod as they were introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

Irina curtsied slightly, feeling the formality between them. "The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty."

Cecile's eyes swept over Irina with the poised assessment of someone used to sizing up those who entered her sphere. Though her expression remained kind, there was no warmth, just an air of detached courtesy.

"I trust the preparations for the wedding have been smooth. Feodor has spoken highly of this place—quite secluded."

"Yes," Irina replied, maintaining her composure despite the coolness of the exchange. "Ai-Todor is lovely, and everything has been progressing well, thanks to the care of so many."

Cecile offered a slight smile but did not engage further, keeping the conversation clipped and formal. "I'm glad to hear it. I wish you both happiness."

As more guests came forward to greet her, Irina found herself reflecting on her earlier encounter with Cecile. Though she had found the Empress somewhat cold, the continued flow of greetings made her realize that Cecile had, in fact, been one of the kinder faces in the crowd. The older generation, particularly, seemed reluctant to accept her as one of their own. They offered smiles and polite conversation, but there was an unmistakable reserve, a coolness in their greetings that was nothing like the warmth they extended to Feodor.

Although she tried not to dwell on it, it was impossible not to feel the weight of their judgment. The divide had been clear from the very start, most notably when Feodor's grandmother, the Dowager Empress, had declined to attend the wedding entirely. But standing here, surrounded by figures from a world she was now stepping into, Irina felt the distance more acutely. Every greeting, every glance seemed to highlight the fact that she wasn't yet fully embraced by this elite circle.

Not for the first time in her life, she felt diminished amongst them, uncertain of her own worth, uncertain of her own value despite all she knew and could do. Her interaction with Felix Yussupov, especially, left her wondering if she'd ever learn the subtle game everyone seemed to play around her.

She loved Feodor, of that much she was certain, and she tried to focus on the good things that would come out of this marriage: her education, her independence, but, deep down, there was a shred of doubt whether she would ever truly fit in.