Awaiting the Moon (5 page)

The count glanced over at her, his eyebrows knit tightly. “Pardon, but I fear I do not understand. If your mother was lady-in-waiting, that means she was of elevated… pardon my English, I’m not sure I am expressing right.”

But she understood him perfectly. She frowned down at her food and chose her words, as there was much in her life she had decided to conceal forevermore. “Yes, my mother was daughter of a viscount. I… both my parents died many years ago leaving little money, and a position as governess seemed my best chance at life. I lived with some distant family members and taught their daughters.”

“Do you have no close family to take care of you?”

Elizabeth was silent, slowly chewing a mouthful of food. How to answer that?

The count glanced at her as he cut his turbot and said, “I must apologize, Miss Stanwycke, for my intrusive and unbecoming question. A thousand pardons. It was unforgivable and mere concern on my part that such a gently bred lady as yourself should be left to fend in the world without someone to look after her.”

Elizabeth, hysteria bubbling up within her, laughed out loud at the notion of a family member being required to care for her, but she felt an awkward tear rise in one eye. She dashed it away, impatiently, and said, “Family does not always have one’s best interests at heart, sir.”

Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden silence, and when she looked up it was to see many pairs of eyes upon her. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice echoing. “I—”

“We were merely having an amusing exchange,” the count said with a flourish of one hand.

“And Miss Stanwycke was so polite as to laugh for my benefit.” His smooth manner sent everyone back to their meals and conversations, but there was still one pair of eyes locked on her. Elizabeth met them. Graf Nikolas von Wolfram was not persuaded.

She glanced away again and stared at her plate. Her position in the castle depended on concealing her past, and on the very first night she had been so foolish as to reveal that her relationship with her family was not all that it should be. She didn’t want to raise questions that she was not willing to answer, and she must learn to be circumspect. Timidity and reserve must be her subjects of study, for she was unnaturally bold and forthright, she had been told lately. It was unwomanly to be so independent.

Taking a deep breath, she finally dared to look up. She was still the object of scrutiny, but this time the one studying her was Charlotte, her future pupil, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but think that the expression on the girl’s face was one of profound resentment.

DINNER FINALLY drew to a close.

Servants, on some unspoken command from the hard-featured Gräfin, Adele, moved to take away the last remove. As Graf von Wolfram rose, the count stood, too, and murmured to Elizabeth, “Come, mademoiselle, we do not stand on English manners here. The gentlemen do not stay at the table to drink. Here, the company moves together into the hall once more for conversation. Unless you wish to excuse yourself? I will make your apologies to the rest.”

As the others rose, too, with a rumble of talking and the sound of many chairs being pulled back across the floor by footmen, Elizabeth stood and said, “No, thank you. I’m fine, really. I will go with the group, if that’s what is expected of me.”

She was answered as her employer approached her and bowed. “We now will remove to the drawing room, upstairs, Miss Stanwycke. It is customary for us to sit together after dinner; some play cards, some talk, the ladies embroider or read aloud.”

“She is weary after her journey,” Count Delacroix began.

But Elizabeth held up one hand as the Graf frowned. “No, thank you for your concern, sir, but I would be delighted to join the group.”

The Graf bowed gravely and said, “You must excuse yourself when you feel weary and wish to retire.”

He straightened and offered her his arm. Elizabeth took it, and he guided her from the dining room to the great hall. Together they crossed the broad expanse, then mounted the stone steps up to the gallery, and then to the drawing room, the rest falling in behind them. It was a long walk, and cold, but he said not a word on the way, and it seemed an awkward procession that the family made. She was relieved that it was not likely that she would be expected to dine with the family every night. As a tutor, she was employed by the Graf and would take her meals with others of her station or in her own room.

The drawing room was another large chamber warmed by two fireplaces, as the formal reception room had been, but this room was wood paneled and adorned with lavish carpets, comfortable furnishings, and thick, vivid tapestries of hunting scenes in crimson and gold and sapphire.

“How beautiful,” Elizabeth exclaimed and then glanced up at her companion.

His expression, habitually grave, softened with a faint smile. “It is by my sister’s account the most comfortable room in the whole of the castle. It is unchanged since my mother’s time.

Much of this place is ancient, as you have no doubt seen, so this room, though part of the old castle, appears very modern in contrast.”

He guided her to a chair by the fireplace and sat down near her in the matching armchair. She wished she could match his ease, but her exhaustion after a long and bewildering day left her full of tension.

“My sister, Adele, will speak to you of many things,” the Graf said, sitting back in his chair and crossing one long leg over the other, “but please ask me any questions for your immediate information.”

Elizabeth summoned her wits and clasped her hands in front of her. The others were clustered in tight knots, and conversation, mostly in German, buzzed, but she tried to shut out the distraction in this first important conversation with the master of the household. “Is your niece conversant with the reason I have been hired, and does she approve?”

“I am her guardian, and have decided for her best interest.”

Not the answer she had hoped to hear. And yet there was something daunting about the Graf that made her loath to contradict him or question him too closely; it was a hard tone in his voice that intimidated one, the expectation of instant and unquestioning obedience. But still…

she could not resist. “Is it in her best interest,” Elizabeth said, choosing her words carefully and frowning down at the burgundy figured carpet, “if she goes to marriage unhappy?” She glanced up at him to judge his expression. Perhaps it was foolish to venture even so much, but she had made the journey all the way there; he would surely not let her go for a mere question.

“Miss Stanwycke, my niece’s happiness is not your concern. You are merely to tutor her in all the finer points of life at court in your country, to improve her English—which is sadly lacking, I fear—and to teach her the etiquette of your people.”

His face, partially obscured by shadow, was hard to tear her glance from. His eyes were dark, a charcoal gray, and his hair, almost black, was flecked with silver at the temples, even though Elizabeth knew he was not above thirty-four or thirty-five.

“An unwilling pupil is unteachable.”

His expression calm but unyielding, a muscle flexing in his square jaw, he said, “Then you will have to make her willing.”

So, it was that clear cut. Elizabeth stared over at Charlotte, who sat with her brother Christoph, Gerta von Holtzen, and Bartol Liebner at a small card table several feet away. They appeared to be playing Silver Loo or Commerce, or some other simple game. Adele von Wolfram and Count Delacroix were sitting playing piquet at a table on the other side of the fireplace. Charlotte’s gaze was still down, and she fiddled nervously with the fringe of her shawl.

Tomorrow. She would meet her pupil on her own terms the next day and come to an understanding of the girl. That one hostile glance during dinner had left her worried, but she would not let that one impression taint her relationship with the young lady.

“Graf von Wolfram—”

“I would have you use English words, Miss Stanwycke,” he said, abruptly, tapping the arm of his chair. “Adele will speak to you of our decision, but we may as well start now. I am styled

‘Count’ in your language, and so it will be.”

“Yes, Count von Wolfram,” Elizabeth said. She stared at the paneling, tracing the odd pattern, while she tried to think of a way to introduce the subject she wanted to raise. “I would like to ask you… that is,” she hesitated, but could not keep quiet. It was impossible to stifle every natural urge within her, and this she had to say. She glanced sideways at the count but then returned her gaze to the paneling again. “I saw something on the way here, to the castle…”

“Yes?” he said when she stopped.

She braced herself, took a deep breath, and said, turning in her chair to stare into his face, “I saw a woman running across the road, and then a rider, a man on a horse ran after her.” She could not bring herself to mention the woman’s nakedness. She gazed up into his eyes.

He knit his dark brows. “Did you ask the driver to stop, Miss Stanwycke?”

“I… no, you see the carriage had already stopped, for the horses were shying at something and the driver was trying to regain control. I was on the road, having gotten out of the carriage to find out what was the matter.”

“And once he regained control, did you then say something of what you had seen?”

“Yes… er, no, I mean. I had followed, down the embankment… I was going to go into the forest to try to help the woman, but Frau Liebner shouted after me and told me there was danger in the woods. I tried to say something, to get the driver to help me follow the lady, but he didn’t understand my English and I couldn’t think of the German words. And then… the driver, he… he came after me,” she explained, gesturing with her hands to indicate the driver’s shocking behavior. “He hefted me over his shoulder and carried me like a sack of kindling back up to the road. Frau Liebner had been hurt when the carriage stopped abruptly, and so I… I felt it my duty to help her.” It sounded like a jumble, a fantastical confusion, but she had decided that she could not just let the incident go without saying something. It would tug at her conscience until she had done all she could.

The count twisted his lips and stared at the fire. “Where did this happen?”

“We had just begun the hill toward the castle,” Elizabeth eagerly explained, taking a deep breath, relieved to have told the story. “They crossed the road from our right to our left. There should still be visible marks in the snow from the horse galloping down the embankment.”

He called a footman over and spewed a string of German, then dismissed the man. Turning to Elizabeth, he said, “I have told him to send someone out to see if there is anything or anyone.”

“Frau Liebner said perhaps it was a… a domestic dispute… villagers.”

The count, his eyes narrowed, said, “It is too far from the village for a woman on foot, I think.

And I would allow no man in my village to treat his wife with such cruelty as you indicate.

No man should chase after his wife like an animal. I will find out, though, who it was.”

His autocratic manner and definite statement soothed Elizabeth, and she sighed, sitting back more comfortably in her chair. It was off her conscience, for she had done all she could.

“Thank you, sir. I’ve been worried.”

“But not worried enough to mention it earlier? I will quite possibly find nothing out at this late hour. If they are outsiders they will be long gone.”

“I… I’m a stranger in a foreign land, sir, and it behooves me to go carefully,” she answered, sitting up more correctly again. “I don’t understand the ways of your land, yet.”

“We are civilized, I assure you,” he said, stiffly, grinding out the words. “The English do not have a patent on good manners and gentility. We do not beat our wives daily.”

Silence was her only answer. As exhausted as she was, she could easily make a wrong answer or say something she would later wish she hadn’t. The count’s attention was taken by some question asked by his sister, Gerta, and Elizabeth appreciated his focus being taken away from her. Sitting by the warmth of the fire, with the murmur of conversation around her, Elizabeth felt an odd drifting sensation as she again relaxed back in the chair. It was pleasant, thoughtless, like being in a rowboat and letting the waves carry her. Quite, quite lovely.

“Miss Stanwycke. Miss Stanwycke!”

She looked up. Count von Wolfram was standing before her gazing down at her and it was so delightful, his eyes so lovely a gray, that she smiled up at him. The oddest urge to reach up and touch his face overwhelmed her, and if she could have moved she would have done it.

“Miss Stanwycke,” he said, gently. “You should retire, for you have been sleeping for a while now.”

Elizabeth shook herself awake and, mortified with embarrassment, sat bolt upright, clutching the arms of her chair. Sleeping in public, and on her first night there! “Oh, Count, I beg your pardon for such an impoliteness! It’s just the warmth of the fire and the wine from dinner and…”

He held out his hand to help her stand and offered just the faintest hint of a smile. The twist of his lips hinted that there could be a lighter side to his character than she had yet seen. “
Schoen
traewner
, Miss Stanwycke. That means, I wish you beautiful dreams. Retire, and no apologies. We will speak on the morrow.”

The others were watching with great curiosity. Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Elizabeth stood with his aid and summoned what dignity she could. She nodded to the company. “My apologies, everyone,” she said, her voice echoing off the high ceilings and long expanse of dark paneled wall. “I’m very weary, and will retire now. Thank you for such a wonderful welcome. Good night.”

Nikolas watched Miss Stanwycke go, the smile still lingering on his lips. She was a lovely young woman, perhaps too pretty to be a tutor. Her face in repose had revealed a sweetness of expression she must purposely conceal when awake, for she had appeared, before that, only cold and reserved. He wondered if she was as anxious as she seemed, and if it was only a desire to make a good impression or some other tension.