Blood Red (9781101637890) (10 page)

Her nightdress was already lying draped across the foot of the bed. “Let me help you with your gown, milady,” the maid said, putting down her candle, and reaching for the back of Rosa's dress.

Oh yes. Of course. I am supposed to be used to having a maid of my own, or several.
Mindful of the station she was supposed to be, Rosa tamely allowed herself to be undressed, then helped into her nightgown. After a moment or two of feeling very awkward, the experience became a pleasant one. It was
much
easier to get out of the gown and corsets and complicated underthings with someone to help. And it was lovely to have someone to brush her hair for her. When taken down, Rosa's hair reached to her knees, and when she was tired, it was tedious to brush.

When the maid was done with her hair, the girl turned down the covers of the bed, and Rosa all but fell into the featherbed. She was not even aware of the maid blowing out the lamp and leaving.

She was awakened the next morning at what she
knew
was a most unfashionably early hour by another maid with a breakfast tray. As she was used to eating, this was a proper breakfast; cheese, liverwurst and schlackwurst, jam and butter and warm rolls, a soft-boiled egg, fruit, and a pot of good strong coffee. Before she had finished the meal, the girl returned with one of her hunting outfits from her luggage, cleaned and brushed and smelling of lavender. When she was done, the girl took the tray and set it aside, and assisted her into the outfit. “The Graf awaits you in the morning room,” the girl said in a soft voice once Rosa was clothed and her hair brushed out and put up, with her hat nestled at a jaunty angle atop the crown of braids. “I am to show you the way.” She showed no sign whatsoever of shock that Rosa was wearing breeches, which Rosa took as a good sign.

She followed the girl, and now that she was properly awake, she was getting a good sense for where she was in the huge mansion. She recognized immediately that they were heading for the back of the building, and was not surprised when the “morning room” proved to give out onto a terrace that overlooked the gardens. The Graf was sitting out on that terrace, evidently enjoying the view and a cup of coffee. Another chair and a second cup awaited her arrival on the small table between them.

“Good morning, Count von Stahldorf,” she said politely as she came out on the terrace. The Graf stood, bowed a little to her with a twinkle in his eye, and gestured to her to take a seat, resuming his own as she did so. He poured a cup for her, and offered her cream and sugar. She took both, and they sat in companionable silence for a little while they both savored the view and the beverage.

The gardens were nowhere near as regimented as she would have expected. Oh, they were neat, and well tended—but they had been arranged in something like a bit of artificial wilderness, with ruined arches and columns among them. She liked it. She liked even more that she could sense, even if she could not see, that there were Earth and Water Elementals down there. He had gone out of his way to make his estate gardens into a home for them.

“Well, Rosa—I may call you Rosa, I hope?” he said.

“Papa said I am to trust you as I trust him, so you certainly should,” she responded. She had liked the Graf as soon as she met him, and that warm feeling was only growing the more time she spent in his company.

“And you—well, you may call me whatever you wish,” he told her. “Perhaps, as Gunther is your ‘Papa,' and we are like brothers, you might call me—Uncle Heinrich?”

She felt her cheeks warm a little, and smiled at him. “If that would not be too forward of me, that would suit me well, sir.” She flushed a little more, very much aware of the honor he was bestowing on her.

“Excellent.” He beamed at her. “We are about to engage on an adventure, one I would not place before you were I not certain you have a backbone of steel. But I promise you, the first part of this adventure will be quite pleasant, provided that your sensibilities are not delicate.”

She looked at him with her head tilted a little to the side. “And what will that be, sir?”

“As it happens, I have it within my means to outfit you in quite the extensive wardrobe in a remarkably short time, and I am reliably informed that the garments I am about to offer you are such that would gladden the heart of any woman,” he told her. “There is just one small fly in this particular pot of ointment, but I do not think that it is one that you will find distasteful—since I believe you are as practical a lady as your mentor is as practical a gentleman.”

“What ‘fly' might this be?” she asked, warily. If he was about to open to her the wardrobe of a dead woman—well, he would find that her sensibilities were, indeed, “not delicate.” Where she came from, one often inherited a wardrobe. After all, what use had the dead for clothing? And why waste it?

“Oh, not yet. First come and view the booty,” he said, setting his cup aside and rising, causing her to do the same.

She followed him back into the building, to yet another bedchamber—or rather, suite of rooms, one that was very near his study, if she had the layout of this palatial building correct. She thought it a little curious that this time they were accompanied by no servants—but then, again, there was something
exceedingly
peculiar about this entire “offer,” and perhaps he did not want any witnesses in case her reaction was not what he had anticipated.

The suite was—well “opulent” did not even begin to describe it. She was rather glad she had been given the room she had, because she could not imagine ever feeling comfortable in rooms like these. They had been fitted out in the fashion of Versailles, or at least,
her
notion of Versailles. Dainty furnishings, gilt and pink and white, cushions everywhere . . . not to her taste, not at all. But when the Graf flung open the doors of a gilt-and-white wardrobe to reveal the contents, she nearly lost her breath. Because the gowns inside were very much to her taste, and would have made her mother turn pale with envy. Even the faint perfume that came from the wardrobe, something rich and mellow, was something she would have worn.

She stepped forward, hesitantly, to take one gown out, a magnificent creation in brown silk twill with tasteful, restrained trimmings in a deep wheat-gold satin. And every feminine cell in her body yearned for it with lust.

Every article of clothing in that wardrobe, from the ball gowns to the most practical riding outfit, was one she wanted with all her heart. All of them were in colors she would have chosen for herself. And as near as she could tell, they would fit her with minor alterations, mostly taking in at the waist, bust and hips. As she held a handsome walking-dress against herself, she turned to the Graf.

“And what, exactly, is the defect in these wonderful garments?” she asked. “Because I cannot even begin to imagine what it might be.”

“For any other woman but one as practical as you are, Rosa,” the Graf said, without a hint of embarrassment, “The fact that they belonged to the mistress I discarded a week ago would be insurmountable—”

Her mouth fell open in surprise as she stared at him with wide eyes. And then—much to his evident relief—she began to laugh. A proper lady would have been shocked and appalled, of course. Or—to be more precise, a proper lady would have fainted dead away at the mere hint that “Uncle Heinrich” had a mistress. She was very glad that she was not a proper lady!

“One condition!” she chortled. “You must tell me the circumstances!”

He flushed and shook his head ruefully. “My dear ‘niece,' you are a cruel woman. But I shall. I found the lady in question disporting herself with someone else. I wished him good luck with her, and consigned her to the devil.”

“The more fool, she.” Rosa was not at all embarrassed at the revelation that the Graf had taken a mistress. She would have been more surprised to learn he had
no
women. Life with the Bruderschaft had long ago inured her to things that would have given most young ladies hysterics. She was just surprised that there was a woman foolish enough to have given so obviously generous a ‘keeper' cause to throw her over. “Well her being foolish is my good luck.”

“I have a seamstress coming to take your measurements later today,” the Graf said with satisfaction. “Come along, then, shameless child. I need to find out just how well you can learn to suit those gowns.”

By the time they sat down to luncheon, the Graf was pleased to discover that Rosa knew how to counterfeit the part of a lady quite well indeed. Partly, it was because she was very observant, and could pick up what others did very quickly. Partly, it was because every so often the ennobled and well-to-do came to the Schwarzwald to view the scenery or hunt, and she had paid very close attention how they conducted themselves in case she ever had occasion to need to fit in among them—either as a lady or as a servant. Gunther had impressed on her from the time she was old enough to understand that she could never be sure where a Hunt might take her, and that she must be ready for anything she could imagine.

“Just a little polish, is all, my dear,” the Graf assured her. “That is all you will need. To be honest, I know duchesses with the manners of a pig, and princesses who are barely literate.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “This will be amusing for both of us. And I shall teach you to dance, of course.”

“You will have to,” she admitted, and shook her head. “I can polka, of course, and do all the country dances, but I fear I romp like a hoyden.”

“Then romp we shall,” the Graf promised. “I greatly enjoy a good country dance. But you shall also learn to waltz elegantly, and hold your own with any lady in the room.” He turned to the manservant who had just presented him with the fish. “Berthold, tell the butler you are to play for us in the ballroom this afternoon.”

The servant bowed a little. “Very good, milord,” he said, and came to offer the fish to Rosa.

“And I shall need privacy so that Fraulein Rosa and I can speak with some of the other Masters tonight,” the Graf added, much to Rosa's shock—so much so that if Berthold had not reached out to steady her hand, she would have dropped her portion of the fish on the floor and not on her plate.

“It shall be done, milord,” Berthold said calmly. “Will you need any of us to maintain wards? Or is the Durendal matter successfully concluded?”

Rosa could only blink in astonishment.

“It is concluded,” the Graf told him, with great satisfaction. “But it will not do to drop our vigilance. I should like four volunteers to maintain wards.”

“Very good, milord,” said Berthold, and left with the remains of the fish.

The Graf turned to Rosa. “These people are not just my servants, they are my friends and some are fellow magicians. Those who do not
have
magic at least know of it. We have a bond of magical brotherhood, as well as that of master and loyal servant.”

“Like the village, and the Bruderschaft,” Rosa said aloud, realizing instantly what was going on. “Is this what you have modeled your estate after?”

“Exactly. Or rather, it is what my grandfather modeled our estate after.” He looked pleased that she had deduced that. “As a result, I make decisions that other masters would not. I would rather that the second parlor go undusted for a day than find that when I need Heidi to stand as Earth ward, she is too tired to do so.”

Well, that certainly went a long way toward explaining why she had felt so perfectly comfortable and safe here. This estate was protected in the same way that the great Lodge that the Bruderschaft shared was protected. It seemed a wise way to live.

“This is not the norm,” the Graf continued, his tone cautionary. “Most of us will find ourselves forced to conceal our nature from those around us.”

She shrugged politely. “Uncle Heinrich, I have done that outside of our village for most of my life. I find that is not such a difficult thing with only a little care. Most people see what they expect to see, and would rather
not
be aware that there is a world beyond the one they know.”

“Well put. And I will not lecture someone who has been trained by Gunther on the caution you must take around outsiders.” At that moment, Berthold entered with the next dish. “Now, let us finish our most excellent luncheon and speak of mere commonplaces. Tell me about this young man you left in Romania!”