The Secret Wife: A captivating story of romance, passion and mystery. Gill Paul

felt as though it was tempting fate to think so far ahead. What if the war continued to go badly for Russia? How many years might it be until they could marry? What if she fell for someone else before then? Was there a possibility that Tatiana could be forced into an arranged marriage as part of a peace treaty? He tortured himself with these imagined scenarios, and only relaxed during his afternoons with Tatiana when he felt the sureness of her love calming him.

      The weather in St Petersburg that June was magnificent: warm and cloudless, with just an occasional overnight shower to freshen the flower displays that bloomed profusely across the royal estates in both formal and informal gardens. At last the news from the front was encouraging: General Brusilov’s offensive had forced the Austro-Hungarian army to retreat and by the end of the month they had advanced sixty miles and taken 350,000 prisoners. It proved what the mighty Russian army could do when they had a decent leader at the helm, and gave them all succour.

      However, the picture changed in July when German troops were diverted from the Western Front to fight back and Russian casualties once more began to mount. On the 27th of August, Romania decided to declare war on Austro-Hungary, and as a result Brusilov had hundreds more miles of front line to defend, right down into the Balkans. Suddenly, there were whispers in the guardroom that all able-bodied men were to be called back to the front and Dmitri prayed fervently he would not be among them.

      One evening in early September he heard that a new influx of wounded officers had arrived at the Catherine Palace and among them was the man named Volodya, with whom Tatiana was rumoured to have formed an attachment in his absence. He had suffered a spinal injury, Dmitri heard, and could be there for some time. Jealousy gnawed his insides like a hungry rodent.

      He had never asked Tatiana about Volodya, partly because he was too proud but also because he feared that some tiny passing expression would give away the truth that she’d had feelings for him, and he couldn’t bear that. He considered visiting the hospital to catch sight of his rival but couldn’t face the anguish if he walked in and found Tatiana chatting to him, smiling at him.

      Then, as cruel fate would have it, the morning after Volodya’s arrival a letter came with fresh orders for Dmitri: he was to report to a post in Moldova by the 20th of September. He slumped to the ground, his heart beating rapidly. How could he leave Tsarskoe Selo when his rival was there and Tatiana would see him every day? Dmitri sat breathing hard, all kinds of crazy plans flashing through his mind. He would sneak into the ward by night and hold a pillow over Volodya’s face. He would ask Tatiana to elope with him and they would run off together to a country that was not involved in this bloody war.

      And then came an idea that was not quite so far-fetched. There was only one way he could return to the front with any kind of equanimity. It had to be worth a try.

       Chapter Fourteen

      Dmitri told Tatiana of his orders while they sat in the wildflower meadow just beyond the Llama House in the grounds of the Alexander Palace. She had woven a garland of camomile flowers and placed it around his neck, where it hung over his uniform, the white petals already drooping.

      Immediately she burst into tears. ‘Oh, Malama, I can’t bear it. How shall I live without you?’ She clutched his arm, distraught. ‘You have no idea how scared I was when you were at the front line before. I woke every morning with a lump in my throat, as if a stone were lodged there. And now we are so much closer, it will be unbearable …’ Her shoulders shook with sobbing.

      ‘Hush, angel.’ He put an arm around her, close to tears himself. Tatiana brought out a softness in him that he was not familiar with.

      She continued: ‘At least with Papa and Alexei, I know they will be kept out of danger. But you – you are the type who rushes out in the face of enemy fire. I can’t lose you, Dmitri, I simply can’t.’

      He kissed her hair, his insides melting at her anguish, then he leaned over so his forehead rested against hers. ‘Can you read my thoughts?’ he asked.

      She shook her head and a silky strand of hair tickled his cheek.

      ‘I have faced death many times during this war,’ he told her quietly, seriously, ‘but never when I had so much to lose. The strength of our love has grown so vast these past months that I find myself unable to risk losing you.’

      ‘You will never lose me,’ she replied huskily.

      He breathed hard, his forehead still resting on hers, and continued: ‘I’m going mad, Tatiana. I feel like banging my head against a wall with frustration that I must wait till this infernal war is over to marry you – and that I might die without ever knowing that sweet joy. The only thing that would make this parting bearable would be if you would marry me before I go.’

      She drew a quick surprised breath and he spoke hurriedly.

      ‘I know we can’t have an official state wedding but why not a secret ceremony, just for us? I am not asking that we lie together, much as the idea thrills me. I only want us to be united in God’s eyes so that if my time is up I will go to Heaven knowing that you truly loved me and that you will one day join me for all eternity.”

      Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t bear for you to die. Please don’t talk that way.’

      ‘Being married to you, I would have everything to live for. I would know for sure you’d be waiting for me on my return and that I could trust your love to be as strong as ever. I promise you, Tatiana, that if you do this for me, I will ensure I survive.”

      She leaned her head back to look him in the eyes. ‘But who would perform such a ceremony?’

      ‘A friend of mine, Father Oblonsky. He is a priest from my hometown. I have already asked if he would be willing to conduct a secret ceremony between me and the girl I love, and he has agreed. His chapel is a few miles down the Kuzminka River. We could go there by night to avoid being seen. No one need know.’ He waited for her to drink this in, grateful that at least she hadn’t ruled it out straight away.

      ‘But if we then married formally after the war, would it not be bigamous?’

      ‘Father Oblonsky says not.’ He had only half-listened to the old priest’s explanation about how it could work, overjoyed to hear that he was prepared to conduct a ceremony. He watched as love and duty wrestled in Tatiana’s mind.

      ‘My parents must never find out. And you must promise with all your heart that you will not make me a widow.’ Her eyes were sad, but she had a determined air. It was only then Dmitri realised with a start that she must love him almost as much as he loved her; otherwise she would not take such a risk.

      ‘I promise.’

      He touched her eyelashes with the tip of a finger to brush away a tear caught there.

      Three nights later they met at a side entrance of the Alexander Palace at midnight. Dmitri led two horses, and they jumped on horseback and rode to the riverbank, where he had moored a rowing boat. He lit a candle for Tatiana to hold as he rowed downstream, and her eyes were wide in the flickering light. Neither spoke, each lost in their own thoughts, with the lapping of the water against the edge of the boat and the hoot of an owl the only sounds.

      ‘Are you sure about this, angel?’ Dmitri asked as he helped her ashore at a little mooring.

      ‘I’m sure.’

      The door of the chapel was open and Father Oblonsky was waiting in his vestments of rich red and gold pattern, with a gold mitre on his head and a heavy gold cross around his neck. He ushered them in, quickly blessed the rings Dmitri handed over, then began the age-old rituals to bind them for life. They were each given a candle to hold. Tatiana’s hand was trembling and she looked dazed but incredibly beautiful in her chaste white gown with throat-hugging neckline. The sweet fog of incense rising from the censors, the priest’s deep lilting voice, the glittering gold icons of the chapel interior made it seem like a dream.