Awaiting the Moon (10 page)

Elizabeth felt the first twinges of dislike for the countess, though she made an attempt to stifle those feelings. She was going to be resident in Wolfram Castle for quite a while, and she wished to get along with all of its inhabitants. She set aside the tea she did not want and cleared her throat. “Herr Liebner had some news that he imparted to Countess Adele and me as we approached the parlor; the girl’s injuries were sorely overstated in first reports. She sustained a wound to her arm, but she got away without further harm,” she said, “and is now convalescing at her father’s home. She is going to be fine.” In that moment it occurred to Elizabeth to wonder if the young woman was the same one she saw on von Wolfram property being chased by the cloaked man; if she made it a habit to be on the castle property, she may very well have been attacked by the wolves Elizabeth heard howling as she entered the castle.

It was far more than likely, in fact. To believe otherwise would mean that
two
young women were wandering that night, and how likely was that in the middle of January?

“What a wonderful piece of news!” the countess said, clapping her hands.

Watching her, Elizabeth was struck by the impression that the countess could not have cared less if the girl recovered; her sole reason for imparting the appalling news seemed to be for its terrible import.

Charlotte hesitantly asked about the incident, and Elizabeth delivered a brief explanation, making it seem the merest fright on the village girl’s part, not willing to dramatize things as the countess had. Countess von Holtzen snorted impolitely but had lost interest in the story and hummed under her breath.

“Could that have been who you saw on the road last night, Miss Stanwycke?” Charlotte asked.

“You saw a woman on the road on the way here last night?” the countess asked, her attention reclaimed.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth again told the abbreviated and expurgated version of the story. Feeling the weariness of her early rising and busy morning descend upon her, she made it brief and as uninteresting as possible, thinking there was entirely too much relish in horrible tales in this place.

“How odd,” the woman said, frowning. “Did Tante Katrina see this woman?”

“I… I don’t think so. But the driver must have.”

“Terribly troubling,” the countess said. “You must have been frightened.”

“I was… upset,” Elizabeth said, watching the other woman’s expression. Countess Gerta was clearly troubled by the story; at least it was a human and appropriate reaction, and Elizabeth’s early dislike was tempered by some sympathy. This was a woman who had lived a difficult life, it seemed, having lost her husband and borne twins so quickly after, albeit fifteen years had passed. Some people never recovered from such a tragedy. “But let’s not speak of such terrible things!”

She glanced around at the three women. She had not been in the household twenty-four hours yet, but already she had a sense there were undercurrents it would take her many months to fathom. Was that not true of every great household, though, where many people lived together? She had some experience of that and had no intention of being swirled into the eddy of controversy in this position.

It was her job to make this moment lighter, calmer. “What a diverse group of ladies we are!”

she exclaimed. “I am from England, the Devon coast, and Miss Davidovich… you are from France. What part of France, pray?” It was a risky subject, but the girl smiled.

“I am from the Artois region, mademoiselle… near Lille, and the Belgian border. Do you know it?”

“No. I know of it from geography books, but when we traveled we went directly to Ostend, in Belgium. We could not, of course, travel through France; our journey was perilous as we traversed Belgium, and we saw French forces even in the south of Germany. What is the countryside like in the Artois region?” Elizabeth guided the conversation through such innocuous subjects for some time as they sipped their tea. The countess was silent and lost in thought for some time. Elizabeth was pleased to see Charlotte drawn out by her friend’s conversation. She observed that Miss Davidovich was by far the more naturally poised of the two young ladies, and her goal would be to make Charlotte not appear so gauche when in company with young ladies of Miss Davidovich’s innate grace. Charlotte von Wolfram seemed a pleasant enough girl when engaged in a subject that interested her, and she was very pretty, but she too often sank into abstracted musing or sullen brooding. Whether her nature was to be depressed or if circumstances only had made her thus remained to be seen.

As the conversation lagged, Elizabeth said brightly to Charlotte, “What is your brother interested in, if I may ask?”

When Charlotte merely shrugged, Miss Davidovich said, “He is very talented at playing the violin, mademoiselle. He even writes music.”

“Is that so? And do you young ladies play any instruments?”

“Of course,” the young woman replied. “We both play piano.”

“You play, Meli; I stumble through,” Charlotte amended. “My music master, Herr Dortmunder, called me an ignorant girl and said he could teach me no more. Then he left and went back to Vienna.”

“Do you like music?” Elizabeth asked, touched by the woeful tone of her voice.

“I do, but I do not understand it.”

“Perhaps Herr Dortmunder was right to give up on you,” Countess von Holtzen said.

Melisande Davidovich gasped and Elizabeth was momentarily stunned by the casual cruelty of that statement, but the countess looked from one to the other of them. “What is wrong? Can she not enjoy music without having to play it? That is all I meant; perhaps she is not meant to be a great musician, but simply to listen well. Do musicians not require an audience of people who love to listen, though they do not play?”

Charlotte had sunk back into her sullen pout, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but think that the countess knew exactly what she was doing. She didn’t want to believe that though, for it would imply a mean-spiritedness that she would not lightly attribute to anyone. “I think that to play at all is a marvelous thing, and Countess Charlotte is to be congratulated for any musical learning she has attained.” Elizabeth watched the older woman carefully and then took a chance she was afraid she might regret; she did not want to alienate any of the members of the household, but Charlotte was the most important person to win over. “Tell me, Countess von Holtzen, do you play any instrument?”

The woman bridled visibly and her lips thinned. “I did not have time for such learning, for I…

I married young. I was a much sought-after beauty, you know.”

Though the woman had rallied, it was clear she was nettled by Elizabeth’s implication, that those who did not play at all should not criticize those who could play a little. When she glanced over, Elizabeth was surprised by the look of relieved gratitude on Charlotte’s face. It seemed such a small thing, to defend the girl to her aunt, and yet it had won some small victory. Elizabeth was under no illusion that the way was now clear; Charlotte clearly objected to the purported purpose of Elizabeth’s mission, so it would not be the end of resistance, but it was the beginning, she hoped, of some mutual regard.

AWOKEN JUST in time to have dinner, Nikolas was in as foul a mood as he had ever experienced. But at least he would be able to arrange things at the dinner table differently that night. He would make sure the lovely Miss Stanwycke was placed by him at dinner so he could have a chance to talk to her and get to know her a little. He had already spoken to his Aunt Katrina, and she said the young woman was everything she should be, but he preferred always his own evaluation of people.

His family and household members had already gathered and were seated at the table, though, and there was no room for Miss Stanwycke at his side. Nor had she arrived at the table yet.

He sat in his accustomed spot at the end of the table and gazed at the gathering, examining faces, as he always did, noting expressions, evaluating the general humor. At his arrival the signal had been given, and footmen brought dishes and began to serve.

“Where is Miss Stanwycke?” he asked Adele, who sat to his left.

“In her room, I suppose,” she said, darting him a swift glance.

He watched her face. It had not escaped his notice that his elder sister harbored a swiftly burgeoning jealousy for their niece’s tutor. That emotion was solely inspired by Count Delacroix’s gentle treatment and kindness toward the newest inhabitant of their household, and it must be just as swiftly defeated somehow, though he was certainly not the one to know how to deal with feminine intrigues and emotional turmoil.

“Did you not tell her she is to dine with us?”

“No. I thought she would be most happy eating alone. She appeared uncomfortable last night.”

He turned to his sister and said, his tone low and gruff, “She had just arrived! She was exhausted and had a frightening experience on the road. She did not know anyone. Of course she was uncomfortable. From now on she will eat with the family.”

“Nikolas, I will not—”

“No! Do not cross me in this, my sister.” He met her gaze calmly. Though intelligent, rational, and determined, he knew his sister to be far more emotional than she ever would have confessed. Only her duty to her family kept her from melancholy, he sometimes felt, for she exerted herself every day to take care of the household, when she would rather have been doing other things, pursuing other interests. He supposed if he had ever married, his wife would have assumed her burden of management of the castle, but it was not to be. He would never marry.

He seldom contradicted her decisions, but in this case he knew himself to be right, and he also felt she would sooner get over her irrational distaste for Miss Stanwycke if she was forced to interact socially with the young lady. Adele did not reply. Her face was set in a grim and angry expression that made her appear harsher than she even was.

“I will tell her tonight,” Nikolas said as a footman served him his soup. “I wish her to behave as a part of the family. How else is Charlotte supposed to learn, Adele?” He appealed to her rationality. “I wish our niece to be at ease at the table in an English household, and who here knows how that is? I have never been to England, nor have any of the rest but our Tante Katrina, and I will not place such an onerous burden on her, of teaching Charlotte.”

Tacitly admitting his point, Adele did not respond directly. Instead she mused, “I had pictured from Tante Katrina’s letters a rather frivolous society lady who would teach Charlotte to net a purse and sit up straight but…” She looked down at her lap and then at her brother. “Nikolas, she is far more intelligent than I expected.”

Responding to the worry in her tone and her gray eyes, Nikolas put one hand over hers on the table. “Do not concern yourself, sister. Soon we will be able to relax our vigilance for a few weeks and then we will plan for the immediate future.”

She nodded.

“I will find Miss Stanwycke after dinner and speak to her. She must come to dinner from now on, and to our family time after dinner.”

Adele nodded again, but there was distress in her expression, and her particular concern he could not calm. If Miss Stanwycke was on the lookout for a husband or lover, and if Maximillian was susceptible to her beauty—and who could blame him if he was—then there was nothing anyone could do.

As Nikolas caught the subject of conversation among the rest of the family and guests, he was displeased. They were chattering nonsense about wolves and the attack the previous night.

“Enough,” he growled, and all paused and gazed down the long table at him. He caught each person’s glance as he pushed his chair back and stood, using his physical presence as he sometimes had to, to command their attention and submission. In English he said, “There was, last night, as you all know, an unfortunate wolf attack on a village girl. But she will recover very well, I am told. Let it be a reminder to all that the woods are dangerous. Wolves are a part of our life, but if one is sensible one need not worry. Magda Brandt must have been foolish indeed to walk in the forest in the middle of the night, if that is what truly happened to her. No further discussion.”

He sat back down. “Now,” he said, in a more normal tone and his native tongue, “let us speak of something else. Christoph… how was your fencing lesson with Cesare this morning?”

With his nephew’s sulky reply, and his niece’s spirited defense of her brother’s sulkiness, talk assumed a more normal course. No one would speak of the wolf attack again in his presence, but Nikolas had no doubt the talk would continue outside of his sphere of influence. That he could not control.

When the company adjourned, he sent a footman to ask Fanny, the maid assigned to aid Miss Stanwycke, where the tutor might be, and he was pleased to hear that she was in the yellow parlor. So, she was making it ready, perhaps. And it was the perfect opportunity to speak to her of what he expected and wished.

Nikolas paused outside the room and heard her voice as she tried to make herself understood to a footman; the hair on the back of his neck and on his arms stood at the soft, clear tones and lilting accent. He could feel it like fingers stroking his neck, and he took a deep breath, quelling the physical urges that coursed through him. Familiarity would rid him of his unsuitable infatuation with the lovely young Englishwoman, he trusted.

As he entered, she was sighing in exasperation.

“No, I don’t want the table there, I want it over there, near the window! Oh, why did I not learn German on my way here?”

Nikolas chuckled and she whirled. He was pleased to see the pink rise to her cheeks. “What do you wish from the fellows?” he asked.

She told him how she wanted the furniture arranged for her purposes. He directed the men, giving her a few words to use as he did so. Elizabeth learned them quickly and practiced, though she fractured the grammar badly. Clearly she was trying to apply rules from English grammar to German, and since the two were so very different, it gave her sentence structure an odd and endearing backwardness. Perhaps she would like private lessons in his language…