There were two pages covered in neat handwriting she did not recognize so she searched for the signature at the end: Dickie. It was her cousin, Prince Louis of Battenberg. They had been close playmates as children, when their families spent summer holidays together in Germany or in Russia. His mother, Princess Victoria, was the sister of her own mother, making them first cousins. The last time she had seen him was in 1913 when he joined them on the Shtandart for a Baltic cruise. Why was he writing to her? She sat on her bed to read.

My dearest Maria, he began. News filters through to me of the appalling way your family are being treated. It’s simply ghastly. I wish I could come straight to Russia and whisk you all to safety but I am currently serving in the Royal Navy. I must not tell you where, or which ship I am on, but it is one of the most powerful dreadnoughts and we are achieving considerable success against the Hun.

Maria mused how difficult this war must be for him. Both his parents were German-born—like her mother—yet he was fighting for Britain, the country in which he had been raised.

As soon as we are victorious, which I believe will not be much longer, I will come to Russia to help overthrow this evil dictator Lenin, so your family can be restored to its rightful position. I cannot divulge them here, but trust me when I say that plans are afoot.

Maria was overjoyed. For too long there had been no news from the outside world so it felt as though they had been forgotten by their European relatives. But it seemed they were not. Allied troops were coming. Dickie was coming.

During the long months at sea, he continued, I have had time to think about my future once all this is over and I have come to a very important decision—perhaps the most important a man can make. You must know that I have always had a soft spot for you, my beautiful, darling cousin. I have never met a girl like you, no matter where in the world I have traveled. Maria’s face blanched and her heart began to pound as she guessed what was coming. It would make me the happiest man in the world if you would agree to be my wife.

Maria put the letter down, her stomach churning. My goodness! It was all so unexpected. As children, she and Dickie had played tennis together, had swum in the sea, and had played hide and seek—but marry? She had simply never thought of him that way. He was handsome enough, with sleek dark hair above a high forehead, a long, thin nose, and penetrating eyes. He had already been tall, with distinguished bearing, when last she saw him, despite being just thirteen years of age. But marry?