Kiss an Angel(80)

Daisy felt sick. No wonder Alex couldn’t believe in love.

Her father leaned back on the couch. “Ironically, I had no idea who the child was at first. Sergey Markov was traveling with the old Curzon Circus at the time, and it was only a whim that made me decide to look him up when I learned he was going to be performing near Fort Lee. There’d been some rumors about the family connection. I’d been told it was authentic, but I’m always skeptical about stories like that, and I didn’t really believe it.”

Although she knew of her father’s passion for Russian history, she hadn’t known it extended to the circus. As the kettle began to whistle, she walked over to the stove. “The connection is authentic all right. The Markovs are one of the most famous circus families in history.”

He looked at her strangely as she began preparing the tea. “The Markovs?”

“For the most part they seem to trace their heritage through the women in the family. Don’t you think that’s unusual?”

“It’s hardly significant. The Markovs were peasants, Theodosia. Circus people.” His lips thinned with disdain. “I was only interested in looking up Sergey Markov because of the rumors about his sister Katya’s marriage—Alex’s mother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was Alex’s father’s family I was interested in. The family Katya Markov married into. For God’s sake, Theodosia, the Markovs are of no importance at all. Don’t you know anything about your husband?”

“Not much,” she conceded, carrying two earthenware mugs of tea over to the couch and handing him one. Her hands were tightly clenched around the mug as she took a seat at the other end of the couch.

“I thought he would have spoken about it, but he’s so secretive I suppose I should have known he wouldn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” She had been waiting for this, but now that the time had come, she wasn’t certain she wanted to know.

A distinct quiver of excitement ran through his voice. “Alex is a Romanov, Theodosia.”

“A Romanov?”

“On his father’s side.”

Her immediate reaction was amusement, but that faded as she realized her father was so obsessed with Russian history that he’d been taken in by circus hype. “Dad, that’s not true. Alex isn’t a Romanov. He’s Markov, through and through. The Romanov story is just part of his act, something he invented to make his performance more dramatic.”

“Credit me with some intelligence, Theodosia. I’d hardly be taken in by a show business stunt.” He crossed his legs. “You have no idea what I went through to verify Alex’s heritage. Once I’d done that, I had to get him away from Sergey Markov for good—the bastard didn’t die until ten years ago. Then there was the matter of arranging for Alex’s education, which had been abominable up to that point. I took care of his boarding school, but he insisted on putting himself through college, which made it impossible for me to keep him away from the circus. Do you think I would have put myself through all that if I hadn’t been absolutely certain who he was?”

A chill slithered along her spine. “Exactly who is he?”

Her father leaned back into the couch. “Alex is the great-grandson of Czar Nicholas II.”





16




Daisy stared at her father. “That’s impossible. I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, Daisy. Alex’s grandfather was the czar’s only son, Alexei Romanov.”

Daisy knew all about Alexei Romanov, the young son of Nicholas II. In 1918, at the age of fourteen, Alexei, along with his parents and four sisters, had been herded by the Bolsheviks into the basement of a mansion in Yekaterinburg and executed. She said as much to her father.

“All of them were murdered. Czar Nicholas, his wife Alexandra, the children. They found the remains of the family in a pit in the Ural Mountains in 1993. They did DNA tests.”

He picked up his mug. “The DNA tests identified the czar, Alexandra, and three of the four daughters. One daughter was missing—some people think it was Anastasia. And they didn’t find Crown Prince Alexei’s remains.”

Daisy tried to take it in. Throughout the century, there had been a number of people who had claimed to be the czar’s murdered children, but most of them had been women presenting themselves as the princess Anastasia. Her father had contemptuously dismissed all of them as impostors. He was a careful man and she couldn’t imagine him being taken in by any sort of scam, so why did he now believe the crown prince had escaped? Had his obsession with Russian history grown to the point where he wanted to believe this story so much that he’d lost his judgment?

She spoke carefully. “I can’t imagine how the crown prince could have survived such a terrible massacre.”

“He was rescued by some monks who hid him with a family in southern Russia for several years until a group loyal to the czar smuggled him out of the country. That was in 1920. He’d seen firsthand how violent the Bolsheviks could be, so it’s understandable that he lived quietly after that. Eventually, he married and had one child, who was Alex’s father Vasily. Vasily met Katya Markov when she was performing in Munich and, like a fool, he eloped with her. He was only a teenager; his father had just died; he was rebellious and undisciplined. Otherwise, he would never have married so far beneath him. He was only twenty when Alex was born. A little over two years later, he and Katya were killed in a circus train accident.”