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♛❞
I sigh in exhaustion through my nose as the now absence of Anthony's company in my life makes daytimes seem gloomier and considerably more slow-paced than they frankly are. I have fallen back into my former day-to-day routine; baking delicacies, brewing aromatic tea and coffee, and having no one to hold me as I slept. This routine did not accentuate the same excitement I dearly held onto, and I felt lonelier and lonelier as time went by without the accustomed presence of the cherished Viscount.
"Kira, my dear?"
I huff in a harsh breath when a familiar voice interrupted my glum train of thoughts and quickly turned to face Aleksandra Kalashnik, my precious old Russian mother. The wrinkles on her face indicate her sweet age, and her sun-kissed complexion illuminates her soft baby-blue eyes that everyone enjoys complimenting. Rich blond hair framed her delicate features as her eyebrows scrunched in concern when staring at me, her frail hands busy with a fresh batch of loaves she had just taken out of the oven.
"You have been rather quiet these past few days," she speaks with a serene tone -not wanting to disturb the few surrounding customers- while placing the bread inside the pantries, the heat slightly fogging the interior of the glass. Wiping the little crumbs on her hand with her apron, she brings her warm palm into my cheeks, transferring the warmth into my skin, "something been running inside that brain of yours lately? Have you—"
"Mother," I quickly interrupt as I place my palm over her hands with an acceptable smile to ease her worry, "Nothing bad has happened. I am merely tired from all the customers we have been welcoming recently."
She hums, undoubtedly unsatisfactory with my response by the single raised brow. At heart, I sigh in relief when she does not inquire further, "Indeed, our humble bakery has been bustling with people lately."
I silently nod in agreement at her words before resuming to wipe the wooden counter with the white rag, aggressively honing on a particularly strange black bump that would not remove from the surface. When having no success in clearing the spot, my lips tighten in frustration as I fling the cloth into a nearby bin— my mood now soured by the minor disappointment. Upon hearing the bell chiming from above the bakery door, my attention immediately falls on the entering individual, and much to my surprise, it is one with that I am relatively acquainted.
"Ah, Madame Delacroix! Welcome!" I greet the renowned modiste, the one most sought after by the Ton. Genevieve Delacroix and I maintain an amicable relationship, which originated when she accidentally stumbled into our bakery— soon becoming one of her favourite retreats when secreting away from the Ton.
"The usual, yes?" I ask, to which she nods when settling on the seat closest to the counter as I prepare her a fresh cup of calming tea with a plate of Bakewell tarts alongside traditional Russian tea cakes. I bring my focus back to Madame Delacroix as the bundle of leaf fuses with the piping hot liquor, "So, what gossip have you brought in for me today, dear friend?"
She giggles at my eagerness before articulating with equal enthusiasm, "Well, ma belle chérie, it appears that the Imperial House of Russia is attending this season to wed Grand Duke Matvey Romanov, their son! Of course, the appearance of Prince Frederich of Prussia created mayhem among the daughters. But the news of the Grand Duke had all the mamas come rushing to me for new exquisite garments."
"It is a shame they will never be able to hold a wedding for their daughter—" she expresses, then abruptly interrupted by the commotion of pans clattering against the wooden floor behind me. I immediately turned away from her and shifted my alert to the clangour, finding my dear mother to be the source of it and quickly rushed towards her as she was gathering the fallen pots and pans.
"Mother, are you alright?" I ask her urgently while lifting her from the squatted position and carrying her carefully to a nearby vacant chair. I squeezed her hands into mine as I spoke, "Did you hurt yourself? Are you feeling light-headed again? I have told you before not to overwork yourself!"
She gently shook her head, her light sandy hair swaying sideways, sweet ocean eyes boring into mine in consolation, saying, "I am fine, Kira. I thought I heard something unusual— but everything is alright."
"Are you certain?"
She only nods in response, tight-lipped, hands jittering on her lap. Her sudden change in demeanour appears unusual, quickly shifting from mellow to tense, but I suppose questioning her within the walls of our dwelling would be appropriate rather than in front of my friend. After glancing over her miniature hunched figure to ease my mind to some certain degree, I place the pastries and freshly brewed tea on the modiste's table.
"A daughter, you were saying?" I speak as I wave away Madame Delacroix's questioning gesture toward my mother, silently conveying not to concern herself with it. I then scrunched my nose in surprise at the matter, " I believe I have never heard of a daughter in the Imperial House of Russia, truthfully. Did something happen to her?"
"She disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Your mother should know of this."
My mother averts her eyes away from my curious stare, crumpling the skirt of her off-white striped dress with her fist, "Believe me, I— it is not exactly a pleasant memory, Kira. To have lost such a blessing so early on had anguished the entire population. In fact, I had some old friends who would assist the Empress in taking care of the young Grand Duchess and have grown especially fond of her. And, my, were they absolutely heartbroken when they learned of her sudden disappearance."
"And it is still one of the greatest mysteries of our time!" Madame Delacroix adds on after taking another bite out of the tart. "Her name was Vasilia Romanov— a year after her birth, on the day of her birthday, in fact, her crib was found empty! No one knows what happened to her. For years the family would search for her, but to no avail— they always returned empty-handed."
I lean against the wooden counter with my arms crossed just under my bosoms, "to believe such a thing could happen to an innocent child, I cannot fathom the Empress's grief, losing a child so soon after all the pain of childbirth."
The seamstress murmurs as she stirs her drink with her teaspoon, "it is frightening that no one knows of the Grand Duchess's whereabouts to this day."
Humming as a thought crossed my mind, "suppose if we unknowingly came across the Grand Duchess, spoke to her and went along with our day, not knowing who she truly is."
"Now, that is an impossible thought, mon amie," Madame Delacroix laughs, "there is no possibility of us ever seeing the Grand Duchess."
