Awaiting the Moon (13 page)

He gazed steadily at her, and it was clear from her skeptical gaze that she did not believe him.

However, there was an element of truth in what he said. Their safety was most important, and that could best be secured by marrying them to Englishmen. Any other reasons were immaterial and not necessary for her to know.

“What I want from you, Miss Stanwycke,” he said, sitting forward once again, “is to give to Charlotte your grace, your elegance, your charm. I see it in the way you walk, and in how you talk. I do not know why even my sisters do not quite have that, but it is so.”

She colored again, prettily, and he thought he should be bewitched if he stared too long, so he looked away and stared at the door. But her voice, when she spoke, was cool and betrayed not an iota of her embarrassment, if that was what had caused her blush. His thudding heart would have told him it was the attraction he felt for her answered from herself, and yet he dared not allow his thoughts to travel down that path.

“I will do what I can. It seems to me that what you wish me to teach her will benefit her no matter whom she marries or where she is to go in life.”

He looked back up at her as she stood. “I am pleased that you see it that way.” Tamping down the sweet and heady rush of pleasure just the sight of her invoked, his voice, when he spoke, was harsh and gruff. “Make it so and you will be well rewarded.”

She stiffened, nodded her head, and began toward the door.

“Miss Stanwycke!” he called out.

She turned and waited.

“Are you… comfortable here? I would have you be happy and comfortable while you live in my home.”

She smiled. “Everyone has been most kind.”

It wasn’t what he asked, but it would have to satisfy him. For now. “Good. Good.”

CHARLOTTE was sitting at the small oval table staring out the window when Elizabeth entered the parlor. There was that in her posture which would need to be corrected, for she slouched and lounged. That would never do.

“Good morning, once again, Countess.” Elizabeth took a seat opposite her pupil. When Charlotte did not respond, Elizabeth continued. “You seem very close to your brother. I find that admirable.”

She shrugged. Elizabeth let the silence lengthen, studying the girl. Charlotte was rounded and childish looking still, even though she was nineteen, past the age when many English girls were already married and mothers. Why she was so untutored in deportment when she had two aunts living with her constantly was impossible to guess, so Elizabeth didn’t even try.

They would begin now and see what could be accomplished. Though no teaching masters lived in the castle now, both Charlotte and Christoph had had the benefit of music and dancing lessons and art tutelage, but with no system of learning, Charlotte, at least, did not seem to have benefited all she could.

And yet before her was an example of all that could be learned in the embodiment of Melisande Davidovich, who was as graceful and well-bred as could be imagined, and the girls appeared to be fast friends. It was her task now to instill in Charlotte the desire to learn and become more ladylike.

“Charlotte,” Elizabeth finally said. “I suppose you love your home as much as anyone, but have you ever thought of traveling? There is so much to see in the world, so many places and people. If you were to leave home for that purpose, to travel and see the world, would you not enjoy it?”

“Miss Stanwycke, I am never leaving here. My uncle only wants me to leave here and go to England to marry some old man. He has a list, a
long
list, of suitable gentlemen. I’ve seen it, and I know who they are. The men are old and horrible… one is even over forty. That is close to dead!”

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud, for it wasn’t funny, truly, not in her pupil’s eyes. “Is that your only objection to your uncle’s plan? The age of the suitors?”

“No. I don’t want to leave. Why should I?”

Elizabeth sighed and clasped her hands on her lap. It was clear she couldn’t even begin to teach Charlotte anything if the girl had no wish to learn. Staring out at the crisp blanket of snow and the clear blue of the sky beyond the frosted panes, Elizabeth was stymied as to how to do so, how to revive any desire Charlotte had to learn how to deport herself in a manner befitting her status. Perhaps if she got to know the girl, she would better understand how to teach her.

“It looks so lovely out,” she mused. “Tell me, do the groundskeepers clear a way around the house?”

Charlotte nodded. “The stable boys will be out to clear around the house and the stable yard, and the way down to the village will be made better by using a sledge to pack the snow. We use a cutter, of course, to travel down to the village most times, but still, they will clear near the house.”

“The sun is shining and it looks lovely. I haven’t even seen the outside of the house yet.

Would you go with me for a walk? You could be my guide.”

With a shrug, Charlotte murmured her assent, and Elizabeth made a plan to meet near the front door in one half hour.

CHARLOTTE’S OUTDOOR attire was a charming cloak in palest blue velvet lined in blue silk, the hood drawn up against the cold. Within it, her blond hair sparkled like spun sugar nestled in pale blue tissue. If she would only smile, and if she had a more graceful air, she would be a very pretty young lady, Elizabeth thought, as the footmen held open the huge oaken doors for them.

It was the first time she had been outside since arriving two nights before, and the atmosphere was wholly different in the light of day. She breathed in deeply and coughed, the air was so fresh and crisp. All around them, as Charlotte led her down the front steps, a blanket of fresh snow piled like chipped sugar, coating bushes and shrubberies, stone walls and pillars, sparkling in the brilliant morning sun.

“How beautiful,” Elizabeth breathed, standing in one place and turning in a full circle. The front portion of the castle, the older section, was of gray stone, but the turrets on either corner had unusually enormous glass windows, stained glass for the chapel and clear glass for the conservatory. “How absolutely breathtaking is Wolfram Castle!”

Charlotte frowned and gazed up at the castle walls. “It is?” she said, her breath puffing out in steamy clouds.

“It is. Have you never noticed?”

“It is just my home.. I have never thought of it any other way.”

“If you were once away from it, you would see it differently when you came back. How large the castle is!” Elizabeth gazed up at the stone battlements of the main section and then at the timbered wings, stretching off on either side, the geometric puzzle of timbers filled between with pale cream plasterwork. Farmland belonging to the family was to the east of the castle, Charlotte said when asked, pointing out the blanket of snow stretching out in undulating waves. Behind the castle beyond the stables and other outbuildings was a steep hill that rose above, climbing toward the sky, blanketed in thick forests laden with crystalline snow; in fact, the forest hemmed them in on three sides—west, north, and south. In front, which was the north face of the castle, the lane descended toward the village of Wolfbeck through the dense forest, the impenetrable wall of conifers almost black where they lined the road. She glanced around and saw that there had been some attempt to shove snow away from the route to the front door and beyond, along the base of the castle. “May we walk the perimeter of the castle, at least? I badly need some exercise.”

Charlotte shrugged and began to lead the way. But as they rounded the first corner of the older section of the castle, three huge beasts loped toward them, gaining speed, mouths open as they howled in excitement.

“Wolves!” Elizabeth cried and stumbled backward. A rut in the cursed snow caught her heel and she felt herself falling backwards down to the ground, and the beasts, their fanged mouths open and slavering, leaped on her. She closed her eyes at the sight but could feel their hot breath and dripping saliva as she beat at them with closed fists, trying to roll away.

“Heinz, Margrit, Reinhardt, halt!” Count von Wolfram shouted.

He strode toward them from the stable area behind the castle and kicked at the animals as he shouted. The beasts instantly slunk away and lay down in the snow a few feet distant.

Shaking, her whole body quivering with fear, Elizabeth felt herself being hauled unceremoniously to her feet by the count. Gazing around, bewildered, she could see Charlotte, convulsed and shaking, holding her arms over her stomach. Count Nikolas gazed down at Elizabeth, his mouth split in a grin, his own white, strong teeth far too like the awful creatures’ for comfort.

“But.. th-those are w-wolves!” Elizabeth sheltered behind him, though the creatures seemed pacific enough now, she could see, as she peeked from behind the safe wall of the count’s body.

“No, they are dogs only,” he said, turning and sheltering her with his black cloak. “Or at least… they are mostly dog. And though I know you cannot fathom it in this moment, they were only trying to greet you. They would have licked your face if you had not been flailing at them. I kicked them away as much for their own good as yours, you know, for you are very fierce.”

He chuckled indulgently, and she felt like kicking him.

“Did Charlotte not warn you about my pack?” Nikolas’s voice was gentle as he pulled Elizabeth around to face the dogs; he put his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the animals, which were whining and crawling toward their master on their bellies.

“Dogs?” she repeated, stupidly. She swiveled her gaze toward Charlotte, who was unsuccessfully trying to stifle what Elizabeth now knew was laughter. Shaking with anger, now that her fear was gone, Elizabeth did her best to stifle the fiery temper that threatened to turn her into a shrieking fishwife in that moment. She would deal with Charlotte in her own way, but to react in anger now would be to allow the girl to set the tone of their association.

“No, she must have forgotten,” she said through gritted teeth.

Nikolas gazed down at her and then over at his niece, who was straightening and staring at them both with a challenging look. He gently dusted the snow from Elizabeth’s cloak, his hands lightly patting at her waist and down over her bottom. She shifted away, but he put his arm over her shoulders again.

“Look,” Nikolas said, crouching and pulling her down by him. The dogs bolted to him and groveled at his feet. He was clearly their master; their subservient behavior in his presence would have told Elizabeth that even if he hadn’t. They rolled on their backs, presenting their pale bellies trustingly to him.

“They look like wolves,” Elizabeth said, noting the brindled charcoal gray and white fur.

Their winter coat was thick, with ruffs around their large heads and thick shoulder muscles.

She crouched at Nikolas’s side and held out one hand. The smallest of the animals rolled back onto her belly and sniffed Elizabeth’s gloved hand curiously, the expression on her face oddly like a smile.

“That is Margrit, the lead bitch. They are part wolf,” Nikolas admitted. “Wolf and dog are so close together that they can breed, though in nature it would never happen, for the wolf would kill the dog as a competitor for food. My game master took pity and rescued a lame wolf once, several years ago. When it recovered, it would not leave his side, so devoted it had become. He bred the wolf with our female dogs, and this is the result. They are good hunters and like to be together, but also, unlike the wolves, they like humans. Wolves you will never see, for they shun mankind.”

“Except for the girl in the village,” Elizabeth pointed out, watching his face as he caressed one of the male dog’s muzzles. It licked the count’s hand and whined.

“There I am going now, to find out the truth.” He stood and gave his hand to Elizabeth, pulling her up. He threw a severe look at his niece, who was doing her best to appear innocent. He turned back to Elizabeth and gazed steadily down into her eyes. “I hope you were not hurt by this foolishness.”

“Only my pride,” she said, staring up into his dark eyes, shadowed though they were by thick black brows. His high pale forehead had one lock of hair carelessly drooped over it, the result of a prominent V of dark hair, a widow’s peak.

He touched her shoulder. “Charlotte should have warned you.”

“I think she was playing a trick,” Elizabeth admitted, glancing over at the girl, who was cavorting with one of the wolf dogs, which dashed about in the snow in a frenzy of joyousness, yipping and yodeling and leaping at her outstretched hand. “But she may just have forgotten.”

“You are very kind. I must go now, but shall we talk later?”

She nodded, and he strode away back toward the stables, his step energetic and powerful, the set of his shoulders straight and wide. The dogs followed him, bounding at his side.

“You like my uncle.”

Elizabeth turned at Charlotte’s words, finding that the girl was approaching her. She ignored her statement, though. “That was a clever trick, not telling me about the dogs. You must have known they would be out and that after Uta’s talk of wolves I would jump to the conclusion that that is what they were.”

The girl, her blue eyes wide, stared at her, neither admitting nor denying the charge.

Elizabeth thought for a moment, her gaze turned to where Nikolas had disappeared. Could the girl in the village have been attacked by these dogs? Though they were friendly enough in the light of day with Charlotte and Nikolas around, they were big and looked like wolves and with that blood in them were no doubt capable of attacking if provoked or threatened. And who knew what an animal would perceive as threatening?

How close was the girl to the castle when attacked? Supposedly, she was merely on the edge of von Wolfram property and had been stalked by the beast—or beasts—that attacked her, but Nikolas indicated that real wolves avoided humans, not hunted them. Could the girl have been on her way up to the castle, or near it, to meet someone when she was attacked? Could the wolf dogs have been responsible?

And was she the same girl, perhaps, that Elizabeth saw on the road? As she had already pondered, it was surely too great a coincidence that two women were out that same cold, moonlit night. But then, who was the man following her, and why did she not complain of that when she spoke of the wolf attack, if that was the case?