THE
LAST GRAND DUCHESS: A Novel of Olga Romanov, Imperial Russia, and Revolution
Author:
Bryn Turnbull
ISBN: 9780778311706
Publication
Date: February 8, 2022
Publisher:
MIRA Books
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Summary:
This
sweeping new novel from the internationally bestselling author of The
Woman Before Wallis takes readers behind palace walls to see the end
of Imperial Russia through the eyes of Olga Romanov, the first daughter of the
last Tsar.
Grand
Duchess Olga Romanov comes of age amid a shifting tide for the great dynasties
of Europe. But even as unrest simmers in the capital, Olga is content to live
within the confines of the sheltered life her parents have built for and her
three sisters: hiding from the world on account of their mother’s ill health,
their brother Alexei’s secret affliction, and rising controversy over Father
Grigori Rasputin, the priest on whom the Tsarina has come to rely. Olga’s only
escape from the seclusion of Alexander Palace comes from her aunt, who takes
pity on her and her sister Tatiana, inviting them to grand tea parties amid the
shadow court of Saint Petersburg. Finally, she glimpses a world beyond her
mother’s Victorian sensibilities—a world of opulent ballrooms, scandalous
flirtation, and whispered conversation.
March 1917
Tsarskoe Selo
Shots rang out across the twilit grounds of Alexander Park.
Sit-ting on the window ledge in her father’s study, Olga turned her head toward
the sound. She’d heard gunfire in the days and weeks since the riots had broken
out in Petrograd, though they’d never sounded so close, so final.
Incongruously, she thought not of advancing troops, but of her brother Alexei
and his cap-gun, firing at imagined enemies in the grounds where, at this very
moment, true monsters stalked between the trees.
Across the room, shrouded in the
darkness that had cloaked the palace since the electricity lines were cut days
before, Olga’s mother pulled a shawl across her shoulders. Candlelight sent
dark flames up the cavernous bookshelves that lined the walls, illuminating her
weary face.
“Abdicated?” she whispered.
Panic gripped her by the throat,
and Olga turned to face the window once more. In the deepening gloom, she
fancied she could see the orange glow of bonfires. “I don’t understand. In
favor of Alexei?” She glanced at Mamma: Alexei’s chronic poor health had always
made him seem older than his age, but at twelve, he was still very much a
child, and far too young to take on the heavy burden of ruling.
Standing in front of the tsarina,
Major General Resin, the commander who’d taken charge of the garrison of troops
that protected Olga’s family, cleared his throat. “No, Your Majesty. It’s more
complicated than that. We’re still receiving information from the front, but it
seems His Imperial Highness was most insistent on the matter. He offered the
crown to his brother, Grand Duke Mikhail, but the grand duke refused it. The
Duma has formed a provisional government to determine what will happen next,
but as I said, we will learn more once His Majesty returns.”
Olga turned her attention back to
Mamma, shutting out the continued rattle of gunfire—no closer to the palace
walls, but no further away, either. Having spent the last several weeks nursing
her siblings through a fierce bout of German measles, Olga had not had the time
nor the energy to keep abreast of political developments, but she’d heard
enough to know that unrest had been boiling in the capital. Protests in the
coal plants; riots in bread lines. Rolling blackouts, hitting tenements and palaces
alike; rallies and calls for change, growing ever louder as the war against the
Central Powers continued to leech provisions from households and businesses.
But abdication?
From within the white folds of the
Red Cross veil she’d worn since the start of the war, Mamma’s face fell, her
pale eyes darting around the room. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I simply
don’t understand.”
She reached out a thin hand, waving
her fingers insistently; recognizing the movement, Olga stepped forward and
took it, searching for a logical route through her own confusion. She could
hear a buzzing in her head: an insistent roar, the sound of surf crashing
against the hull of a ship. With Papa’s abdication, the situation had become
everything she’d feared, the sickening finality in the word itself enough to
keep it from passing her lips: revolution.
She squeezed Mamma’s hand, watching
as Resin’s fingers tightened on the flat brim of his cap. “Where is Papa?”
“He’s coming here, Grand Duchess,”
replied Resin, “but in the opinion of the Provisional Government, the palace is
not the safest place—not for His Imperial Majesty, and not for you, either. I’m
afraid they can no longer guarantee your welfare.”
Mamma looked up sharply. “We have
three hundred loyal Cossacks at the gate—the finest soldiers this country has
ever produced,” she said, sounding for a moment like her old, fierce self.
“They’re loyal to my husband. I fail to see the danger.”
Resin shifted his weight from one
foot to the other. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, Minister Rodzianko
disagrees. The barracks in Tsarskoe Selo have begun to riot; they’re singing
the ‘Marseillaise’ as we speak.”
Mamma paled. Olga recalled visiting
the garrison less than a year earlier, trotting on horseback past 40,000 troops
all sworn to protect the tsar and his family. How could 40,000 minds be so
easily turned?
“And what of my children?” Mamma
persisted. “Tatiana can hardly walk. Maria and Anastasia are delirious, and the
tsarevich is in a very delicate state—”
“With all due respect, Your
Majesty.” Resin met Mamma’s gaze directly. “When the house is in flames, one
carries out the children.”
The room fell silent. Despite her
attempt at composure, Olga began to shake, a thin, uncontrollable trembling,
which, given the darkness of the study, she hoped Resin couldn’t see.
Mamma gripped Olga’s fingers in a
silent plea to keep calm. Though her poor health would make it appear
otherwise, Mam-ma’s Victorian upbringing had given her a stiff upper lip which
Olga and her sisters lacked. She’d been instrumental in running the government
since Papa went to command the front, overseeing the distribution of relief aid
to soldiers’ families, orchestrating shipments of food and provisions, reining
in the government ministers whose political agendas risked the country’s
success at the front. Despite what people said about her—despite her Ger-man
roots—Mamma had led Russia through the worst of the war years, relying on her
faith in God and in Papa to make the decisions others would not.
How had things gone so wrong?
Mamma stood. “We will stay,” she
said finally, lifting her chin. “I won’t leave the palace without my husband.”
Excerpted from The Last
Grand Duchess by Bryn Turnbull, Copyright © 2022 by Bryn Turnbull. Published by arrangement
with Harlequin Books S.A.
Author
Bio:
Bryn Turnbull is the bestselling author of The Woman Before Wallis.
Equipped with a master's of letters in creative writing from the University of
St. Andrews, a master's of professional communication from Ryerson University
and a bachelor's degree in English literature from McGill University, Bryn
focuses on finding stories of women lost within the cracks of the historical
record. She lives in Toronto.
Social
Links:
Instagram: @brynturnbullwrites
Twitter: @brynturnbull
Facebook: @brynturnbullwrites
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