Awaiting the Moon (12 page)

A scuffle below! She peered through the spindles but could not see from that angle and so stood, staring down to the great hall below. Two men supported another figure, the moaning wafting up in uncanny drifts of sound.

Then another scuffle. The figure twisted and turned, and the larger of the two men bound the smaller figure in his arms, wrapping it, containing it with his strength. Elizabeth gasped and the tableaux froze. Then, in the dim light of the flaming torches, she saw a face turn up to her.

“Miss Stanwycke,” Count von Wolfram said, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing there?”

“I… I awoke at the sound. Can I… can I do something to aid you, sir?”

The figure had collapsed between the two who held it up.

“No, it is merely an ill servant. Go back to bed.”

Every nerve in her body, every instinct, screamed at her to listen, to obey, to heed the subtle warning in his voice. But some lingering stubbornness prodded her. “Are you sure I can do nothing?”

“I am sure,” he said, his voice gruff, his tone grating. “Go to bed.”

She retreated, but then tiptoed back to the gallery when she heard them scuffle off. But all she could see was the trailing remnant of a cloak, and a door closed behind them as they retreated into the servant’s quarters.

Slowly she made her way back to her room and to her bed. Slipping off her robe, she lay it over a chair but started back, trembling. Her curtain was open, and it had been closed when she left the room.

Or had it?

THE BREAKFAST table was well populated but silent when Elizabeth made her way there.

The breakfast room itself was much smaller than the dining room, of course, and less formal, with cheerful papered walls and a long oval table.

“Good morning, everyone. I’ve forgotten; how does one say that in German?” she asked, scanning the company.

“
Guten morgen
,” Bartol Liebner said, rising and bowing. “And how lovely a morning it will be, now that you have arrived, Miss Stanwycke.”

The French count and his niece were at the table, too, and he rose and bowed. Count Christoph von Wolfram, sulkily piling food into his mouth, did not rise. He appeared ill and tired, with dark circles under his pale eyes and his blond hair straggling over his forehead in choppy locks. Elizabeth took a seat by Melisande Davidovich and Charlotte. The only other person at the table was Countess Adele, but she was silent, her attention absorbed by a letter she was reading.

“I have been up to see Frau Liebner already this morning,” Elizabeth said to the two girls, trying to ignore the mood of grim silence that infused every person present—with the exception of the smiling Herr Liebner—with gloom. Charlotte did not reply. She was watching her brother, her lips set in a severe line. She too ate rapidly, scooping her food, her fork scraping the plate.

“She seems a very… kind lady,” Melisande replied, her hesitant gaze darting from face to face, finally flitting to and resting on Elizabeth with a sigh of relief. “And Countess Uta is pleased to have her back. She has been gone a great while, I understand, and the countess has missed her sorely.”

“Ten years she has been in England, to my understanding. I am so fortunate she was able to accompany me here, for the voyage would have been fearful indeed without her company. We encountered French forces along the way—I spent much time pretending to be mute so I would not reveal my English origin—but Frau Liebner defeated every obstacle placed in our path. It is kind of you, from what I understand, to spend much of your time with Countess Uta.”

“She is good-hearted beneath her gruff exterior. When I first came here, even though I knew no German and she little French, I felt how sympathetic she was.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Two years.” The girl’s voice broke and she bowed her head.

Two years. Elizabeth shivered as a footman brought her a plate with her requested breakfast.

Just a little over two years had passed since the awful news of the execution of the French king had shuddered through English society, and here was a girl who had suffered from the awful consequences, for her mother had perished in the madness. It was an awful reminder of how dangerous the times were, and how fortunate she had been to pass safely through to Wolfram Castle.

“This is a good place to be safe,” Elizabeth said gently.

Charlotte’s gaze swiveled to regard her solemnly. “You say so now. We shall see.”

Bartol Liebner, frowning, said, “I heard some noise last night. Did anyone else hear it?”

Countess Adele cleared her throat and folded her letter, laying it aside. “My apologies, everyone, for being so rude as to read my letter at the table, but it could not wait. Of what were we speaking?”

There was silence, and Elizabeth noticed that the countess’s kinsman ducked his head and did not repeat his question. The young Count Christoph pushed back his chair and strode from the room without a single word, and Countess Adele paled visibly at his rudeness.

“I apologize for my nephew,” she said. “That was unforgivably rude but…” She seemed about to excuse him, but then shook her head.

Bartol Liebner, ever the conciliator, it seemed to Elizabeth, said, “Ach, youth! Who would be young again, with so much pain and strife, eh, Maximillian?”

The French count smiled faintly but seemed perturbed mostly to be considered a contemporary by the older German. “Please, Countess,” he said, his cultured voice pacific in tone, “do not distress yourself unduly, for we all know Christoph to be occasionally thoughtless.”

“He is not thoughtless,” Charlotte cried, tossing down her fork and rising. “You do not understand him. No one does.”

“Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, putting out one hand, “I don’t think anyone meant he was thoughtless in the way of deliberately rude, but in the sense that he does things occasionally without thinking. Am I correct in that?” She glanced around, and the Frenchman at least nodded, as did Melisande.

Trembling, Charlotte collapsed back in her chair, and Elizabeth thought that everyone had had enough emotion for one morning. Whoever had told her the German people were stoic and unemotional certainly had never met this troubled and overwrought family. Whatever was distressing this household, it was not her affair, and she would have to sternly remind herself of that, for her curiosity was tugging at her like an impatient two-year-old. This morning was distinctly different from the morning before, with a thread of anxiety wending its way through the group and reeling them all in. Why was everyone so on edge? Had others heard the scuffle with the master of the house, as she had? She hadn’t seen anyone else from her gallery observation post, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t someone else in the shadows. An uneasiness prickled in her spine, but she shrugged it off. She must be resolute and not allow the gloom of this odd family to draw her in.

The French count seemed to be following her train of thought; changing the subject, he said,

“Miss Stanwycke, what do you think of the castle so far? Is it not magnificent? A gothic masterpiece.”

“I have been trying to take it all in, but it is difficult. I look forward to many more opportunities. I think there is much of the castle I have not yet seen.”

“There are some marvelous paintings you should see; Holbein, Tintoretto, Raphael. The gallery and art treasure room is a trove of wonders. That is the large room beyond the ballroom. Perhaps you have not yet seen it. I would be delighted to accompany you on any necessary exploration, mademoiselle,” the Frenchman said, bowing his head.

Countess Adele said harshly, “I have begun the tour, and I will finish it. Let me know what you wish to see, Miss Stanwycke, and I will show it to you.”

“Ah, but I was about to offer the same,” Bartol Liebner said, smiling. “I who have so little to do can at least offer my services for that.”

Elizabeth looked from one to the other and noted the expression of concern on the countess’s face as she glanced over at Count Delacroix. “Thank you, Countess Adele,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I will be pleased to accept your offer.”

Nikolas strode in just then, and Elizabeth happened to be looking in his direction. His expression was grim, but as he entered he assumed a mask of coolness, the harsh lines next to his mouth smoothing. There, at least, the overt emotionality of the family was ruthlessly subjugated to his strict self-discipline.

He greeted his family and guests and then approached Elizabeth. “Miss Stanwycke,” he said, bowing and taking her hand. He raised it to his lips.

Elizabeth heard a gasp from someone but could not tell from the various expressions around her where it had come from, nor why.

The gasp had not gone unnoticed, and Nikolas wished that he could take back the gallant gesture. It was out of character for him, though he couldn’t honestly regret it, nor the enthralling sensation of her cool, soft skin against his lips. Straightening, he glanced around the gathering, but still could not guess who was so surprised by the unconventional—for him

—act. The English tutor had colored a faint pink, which only made her more beautiful.

“Nephew, how gallant this morning!” Bartol said, a broad grin on his smooth, placid face.

Nikolas shrugged, took a seat, and waited for the footman to pile his plate with his customary breakfast. He had not, as usual, had nearly enough sleep, but he would snatch an hour later. It would have to do. He stole a glance at Elizabeth, but her gaze was fixed firmly on her plate as she finished her meal. How to explain to her what she saw the night before? There was no way, and he wouldn’t even try. She would have to learn not to be so inquisitive.

Elizabeth rose. “Excuse me, everyone.” She turned to Charlotte. “Shall we meet in the parlor in one hour?”

“Pardon, Miss Stanwycke,” Nikolas said, watching her. “I would like to see you first, briefly, in my library.”

Slowly, she turned to gaze at him. “Did we not establish what your wishes were last evening, Count?”

Charlotte snickered, and his sister cast her a quelling glance. Elizabeth colored, as she perhaps realized how challenging her tone sounded.

“Not at all. I became… distracted and did not express myself thoroughly. Come to me in my library in one half hour. Then you may meet Charlotte in the parlor.”

“Yes, Count,” she said, ducking her head in deference, though her eyes glittered with challenge.

That she was restraining herself from retort he could tell. Though he did not know her at all, there was much he could surmise, and part of that was that her very nature must make it difficult to retain her position as a subservient employee of a household.

“Nikolas,” Adele said. “I am perfectly capable of telling Miss Stanwycke—”

“I know you are,” he said to his sister in German. “But I have something in particular I wish to say to her.”

The tutor’s gaze slewed back and forth between them.

“One half hour. In my library. You wished to see it again,” he said with challenge in his own tone. “So meet me there.”

He finished his breakfast quickly and left the breakfast table, not one to linger when there was much to be done. When she rapped at the library door exactly half an hour later he called out a sharp, “Come in, Miss Stanwycke.”

She entered and he saw her examine the walls in as covert a fashion as she could manage.

“This is a beautiful room, sir,” she said.

“Sit, Miss Stanwycke.”

She took the seat in front of his desk and crossed her hands in her lap. That was what he wished for his niece. This young woman before him was out of her element, out, even, of her home country and dependent upon others for her comfort. She was mired in a very odd situation and with unexplained things going on around her, and yet mere was an indefinable air of calm about her. She appeared to belong, even if she didn’t feel she did.

“We have not truly spoken of what I wish from you.”

“I suppose that’s true. But you did mention that we would speak after I have an opportunity to evaluate Charlotte today.”

“Yes, but there is another topic of some importance to settle between us. I have the sense that you do not agree with my objectives.”

“Is that important? I am not her guardian. Count, nor is it my affair to decide on the merit of your plan for Countess Charlotte.”

“I am relieved you admit that, Miss Stanwycke.”

She raised her well-shaped eyebrows. “I would never say otherwise. I may disagree with your plan, or I may even abhor it, but it is not my place to contradict you.”

“But I would have you agree with me.”

“I wish that were as easy to command as my actions, but I’m afraid I cannot bend my opinion as easily as my will.”

“So you still think I am doing wrong in planning an English husband for my niece.”

“Perhaps if I understood better your reasoning…” She let her words trail and raised those elegant brows again.

He clasped his hands before him on the desk. “Your country… I think it a very civilized place.”

She nodded. “Is Germany not so as well?”

“These are tumultuous and confusing times; nothing is very settled, but yes, Germany is civilized. Are we not allied? Have we not provided for you your last three kings, and your queens, too?”

“Well, the first King George, anyway, and the queens. I would count the succession of Georges English. Certainly the Hanover line has been… er… productive and relatively stable.”

He grinned at her as she colored delicately. She had approached in as circular a fashion as possible the stupendous reproductive capacity of Queen Charlotte. “Yes. Productive indeed. I am related to them in some fashion; we are quite near Hanover, you know. They are just thirty miles or so north of us. Your crown prince is about to marry my cousin, Caroline, who is from Brunswick. That state, too, is nearby, about the same distance as Hanover, but to the east.”

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Enough of the geography lesson. After your journey here you must be aware of the state of affairs in my land. Though the Rhine is some ways away, it is said that all of the German states to the south and west of that river are now in French hands. Civilized or not, our country is not at peace. I fear the effects of the French problem, you know, and I hear that which concerns me gravely of their plans to push beyond the Rhine and toward us. My plan is to marry both Charlotte and Eva, her younger cousin, to English gentlemen, thereby ensuring their safety.”