Eventually, his guards led the way to the counter, and Gavriil once again announced, “His Imperial Highness, the Tsesarevich Pavel Alexandrovich Romanov!” Pasha grimaced.
Inside the pumpkin, Ludmila and a dark-haired girl were already curtseying. Had they been in that position since he was announced when the carriage arrived? He hoped not. That had been fifteen minutes ago.
“Bonjour, mesdames,” he said, remembering how he had greeted the women in the island bakery not too long ago. “Please rise.”
Ludmila perked up immediately at the sound of his voice, and when she stood, her face exploded in a gap-toothed grin. “It’s you!” But just as quickly, her mouth contorted. “Oh, heaven forgive me, Your Imperial Highness, the things I said the last time . . . I didn’t know . . . your appearance was so different . . . I—”
“Madame Fanina, I take no offense,” Pasha said in Russian. He reached across the counter and patted her hand. “It is I who deceived you. You are not at all to blame.”
The other girl in the pumpkin gaped at Pasha. He turned to her. She seemed familiar. “Are you one of the girls who works in the Zakrevsky household?” Pasha glanced down the street, where he could just make out the corner of the building in which Nikolai lived.
“Yes, Your Imperial Highness. My name is Renata Galygina.” She looked at her feet as she spoke. “When I saw Madame Fanina’s kiosk here, I, um, thought I could earn some additional wages. I have some free time, as Countess Zakrevskaya is away, and my services are not in high demand.”
Pasha nodded. This, he knew. Countess Zakrevskaya had declared a sudden trip abroad, and no one knew when she would return. It was not at all out of character, for she was rather . . . eccentric, to put it politely. Pasha hoped, for Nikolai’s sake, that the countess was gone a very long while.
“Well, it’s a lovely surprise to see you here,” Pasha said to Renata.
She curtsied.
“What may I get Your Imperial Highness this morning?” Ludmila asked.
“I liked it better when you called me Frenchie.”
“I will do no such thing, Your French Highness.” She winked.
Pasha laughed.
“You may have anything you see.” Ludmila spread her arms wide, showcasing not only the Russian staples—honey poppy-seed rolls, Tula gingerbread, walnut-shaped oreshki cookies filled with caramel—but also a special glass case behind her.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Madame Fanina.”
She curtsied, although it appeared more like an amiable bear bobbing than a proper curtsy. “I admit I had some help from another girl,” she said. “I made all the components, but the assembly . . . let’s say that girl has a magic touch.”
Pasha stood taller. “Magic touch, you say? Show me everything you have.”
Renata scooted out of the way, and Ludmila began to describe the confections on each shelf. “Here,” she said, pointing at the bottom row, “we have chocolate truffles filled not with ganache, but with steaming-hot cocoa that doesn’t cool until it touches your tongue.”
“Incredible.”
She dipped her head in gratitude. “Next, we have a pear pie, but as you can see, it’s no ordinary pie, for the pastry is shaped like the fruit itself.”
“Exquisite.” The pie was not merely shaped with pear-like curved edges. It looked truly like a three-dimensional pear, round and tall and narrowing at the stem, the kind you could pick off a tree and bite into. The large crystals of sugar on its “peel” even approximated morning dew. Magic, indeed. The laws of gravity would not allow such a pie to bake without falling.
“And finally”—Ludmila pointed at the top shelf—“we have cream puffs light as air.”
Pasha gasped because they were indeed as light as air, or even lighter, for the puffs floated and had to be tied to the shelf with colorful strings, like mini pate à choux balloons.
“If I may, I would like one of those,” Pasha said. Ludmila nodded so emphatically, all her chins wobbled. Renata opened the glass case and retrieved one on a violet ribbon and passed it to Pasha. He couldn’t stop smiling as he held the tiny balloon’s string between his fingers.
“Would Your Imperial Highness like something else?”
Pasha glanced at his guards, who stood at attention nearby, and at the line behind him. “I would like to buy something for every man, woman, and child here.” He motioned to Gavriil, who retrieved a stack of ruble notes from a hidden pocket and quietly passed it over the counter to Ludmila.
“You are too generous, Your Imperial Highness.”
“Well, I would like to ask another favor as well.”
“Anything.”
“There is to be a ball tomorrow evening in my honor. A masquerade, because, as you know, I’m rather fond of disguises. Invitations have been sent to all noblewomen in Saint Petersburg, but the problem is, I cannot seem to locate the one girl I wish to have attend. I thought you might be able to assist me in that endeavor.”
Ludmila touched her heart. “You’re still searching for Vika.”