Later that day, I finally wrote a letter to my parents.
Dear Mother and Father,
George and I are married now, and living in France. We had to elope, as George's father would be very upset if he knew that George had married someone who wasn't royalty. George loves me so much that he decided that he simply had to have me, one way or another. I love him too, more than you could ever imagine.
Paris is a pleasant place to live, and I know that George and I will be very happy here. Please give everyone my love and tell them that I'm doing well.
Yours truly,
Bonnie Blue Butler Romanova
In contrast to Russia's typically frigid weather, Paris was warm, sunny, and bright. I found that I greatly enjoyed strolling its busy streets and visiting its colorful attractions. George and I spent many happy hours together, picnicking by the Seine, sailing, attending theater or ballet, or horseback riding. The more time I spent with my dear husband, the more I came to love him. How I wished that I could be a true wife to him! Yet every night, he kissed me good-night, and we went to separate beds. Sometimes I could feel the evidence of his desire pressing against me and had to move away quickly to avoid instinctively rubbing against it.
"It won't be very much longer, my love," George would whisper, softly caressing my cheek.
As she was such a tiny woman, Mathilde's pregnancy began to show very quickly, and I understood the reason for the haste in which we'd had to leave Russia. As summer commenced, her abdomen became swollen and rounded, and she looked so front-heavy that I couldn't understand how she could walk without constantly toppling forward. I thought about the baby inside, the son of a future Tsar whom I'd be responsible for raising as my own. Would I see Nicholas every time I looked at him? How successful would George and I turn out to be at keeping his true origins from him?
Spring and summer passed swiftly and delightfully, and in the fall, we received word that George's family had traveled to the Crimean imperial palace of Livadia and that his father was very ill.
"I must go there right away if I am ever to see Papa alive again," George told me.
"How I wish I could accompany you!" I cried.
"Yet it cannot be." George's voice was soft as he stared at the floor. A moment later, I felt his arms encircle me. "You'll be all right here. The servants will make sure that your every need is met."
The day he left for the Crimean, I stood on the platform and watched and waved as his face in the window of the train grew smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared from view. With a heavy sigh, I turned to go back to the hotel. It was the first time George and I had been separated since we'd met.
For several weeks, life seemed drab and listless, a mere shadow of what it had formerly been. Mathilde, now in quite an advanced stage of pregnancy, constantly complained of backaches and various other physical ailments. As the weather got colder, a general atmosphere of gloom settled over everyone, and even Rufus and Sadie seemed unusually grim and sober. In mid-November, I received a letter from George.
My dearest Bonnie,
Papa passed away on the first day of November. He lay in Mama's arms as he drew his final breath. We are all inconsolable. He had yet to reach his fiftieth birthday. This is the worst trial that I have ever been confronted with in my life. How I wish you were here to put your arms around me and comfort me, my love, as Alix now comforts Nicholas. She arrived from Darmstadt on October tenth and has been here ever since then. She and Nicholas are scheduled to wed next spring, but he is currently doing his best to push it forward to later this month. I do not know when I shall return to you, my love, as if my brother has his way, he shall certainly expect me to attend his wedding. However long it takes, I shall wait with patience for our reunion, saving all my love for when we can once again be together.
Your loving husband,
George A.
November drew to a close, and Mathilde went into labor. Rushed to a local hospital, where she registered under a false name, we anxiously waited hour after hour. At one point, the physician emerged and said that delivery through an abdominal incision may be the only way to save the baby but would probably cost Mathilde's life.
Oh, George, where are you? I paced back and forth like a caged animal. How I longed to hear his voice, to feel his touch!
Expecting at any minute to hear that one or both of them were gone, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the door open. Yet it was the door that led outside rather than the one that led to the inner recesses of the hospital.
I couldn't believe it at first. I had to blink and look again. Yet there he was, bundled warmly with melting snow dripping off his clothing to make small puddles on the floor. My feet seemed to have grown wings as I flew to him.
"George!"