“Dima?” Olga asked, her expression confused. “What’s wrong? You seem very far away.”
He wasn’t. His heart was here at Mirosa as it had always been. Now he merely needed a way to bring Natalia to him.
He turned an affectionate gaze to Olga. “You are a rare gem, Olga. You are meant for champagne and caviar, not apple cider and country living. I belong here, not in the glittering world of the city.”
Her pout was equal parts teasing and sorrowful. “And that will never change?”
“That will never change.”
She kissed him softly on the lips. It was their first kiss since he was nineteen years old, and it would be their last. Affectionate, gentle, and a little bittersweet.
“Farewell, my friend,” she said. “I will be off to Moscow in the morning.”
Memories of Olga haunted Dimitri the rest of the afternoon while he made cider vinegar with Pavel. He didn’t want to return to the house yet because things might still be awkward with Olga.
Just as the sun began to set, Ilya Komarov came down the path with his ancient nag pulling another cartload of apples. Dimitri didn’t want Ilya’s surly mood tainting one of the last fine evenings of the year, so he retreated back inside.
Even the awkwardness of dealing with Olga was easier than making peace with Ilya. It made Dimitri wonder if allowing the surly carpenter to use his mill had been a mistake.
It was time for Dimitri to confront Baron Freedericksz about the czar’s continuing silence on the Treaty of Aigun. Thanks to Felix, Dimitri had everything he needed to make his point blindingly clear to the baron, and hopefully to Czar Nicholas as well. Since his request for a private audience with the czar had been blatantly disrespected, it was time to confront the baron in public.
Before his elevation to the czar’s household, Baron Freedericksz had been commander of the Imperial Stables, a sprawling complex of manicured fields and stable blocks built in the Gothic Revival style. The buildings all featured pointed arches, mullioned windows, and turrets with crenellated towers. Perhaps Dimitri had spent too long with Maxim Tachenko and Liam Blackstone, but it seemed a shame that the czar’s horses lived in better quarters than most of the Russian people.
Baron Freedericksz still attended the weekly cavalry drill, and as expected, he was in attendance today. A group of cavalry officers had gathered near the review stand, all wearing jodhpurs and riding boots, but the sixty-year-old baron was easy to spot. Baron Freedericksz had been growing his mustache for decades, and it was waxed, groomed, and twisted to extend several inches from each side of his face, making him the most recognizable man in court.
Dimitri smiled thinly as he approached. He would project an aura of relaxed charm, but he and the baron would both know the truth.
Dimitri paused a few paces away from the group of cavalry officers. “Baron Freedericksz, we met a number of years ago at the Nevsky Regatta. Count Dimitri Sokolov, at your service.”
The officers paused their conversation, and the baron’s eyes grew cold. “Yes?” he drawled.
“I would like to arrange an audience with the czar.”
“My secretary already made arrangements for us to meet early next year,” the baron said dismissively, turning back to the junior officers. On the far side of the field, soldiers walked their horses out of the stable blocks, preparing for review.
“The matter is of considerable importance,” Dimitri said.
“Which is why I consented to meet with you early in the new year.”
Icicles dripped from the baron’s voice, but Dimitri had expected this. Baron Freedericksz was going to stall, delay, and belittle Dimitri in an effort to sweep everything under the carpetand out of sight, but Dimitri was ready to begin firing his ammunition.
He reached into the deep pocket of his overcoat for the slim volume from his library at Mirosa and presented it to the baron. “Please,” he said, pushing the book into the baron’s hands, “I have marked the chapter on the Treaty of Aigun, and I hope you will review it ahead of our meeting.”
“An old law book?” the baron asked.
“An old law book that is in four hundred libraries across the Russian Empire, two hundred in Europe, and seventy-five in the United States. The treaty is well known here, but I have sent copies to statesmen in the United States, Japan, and England to refresh their memories.” He reached into his pocket again for a copy of Tachenko’s album. “In case you prefer something more modern, here is a recording that has just been released in America. It’s called the ‘Waves of the Amur,’ performed by Maxim Tachenko.”
One of the junior officers scoffed. “Tachenko is a disgraced hothead of no consequence anywhere in Russia.”
“You should see the standing ovations he receives on his concert tours,” Dimitri said. “Nobody in America had even heard of the Amur River until Mr. Tachenko made the song famous. Now this album is being played in parlors across America. The people who commissioned the album would like to distribute them in Russia as well.”
They were fighting words, and the baron recognized the threat for what it was. “I shall prohibit any such recordings from entering the country.”
A junior officer gestured to the album. “At least one copy is already here.”
“Hundreds are already here,” Dimitri corrected, for Natalia had made good on her promise to have them shipped. “At the moment they are in a warehouse, but that might change.”
“Don’t push me,” Baron Freedericksz said. “What has been given can be taken away.”
