Authors: Donna Lea Simpson
He immediately halted, laid down his fork, and grabbed the letter. He ripped it open and read it. “Tiresome wretch,” he said as he read. He threw the letter down with a deep sigh and began eating again.
“What does he say?”
Elizabeth, at sea and not knowing the source of tension concerning this Mikhail Davidovich, let her gaze alternate between Nikolas’s face and his sister’s. Nikolas finished chewing, slurped some coffee, and banged his cup down.
“I have to go.”
“Not yet! Tell me what is going on,” Adele demanded.
“That is what I mean. I must go to meet him. He is in Brandenburg, and he is in trouble.”
Adele said something rapidly in German, but it was colloquial and quick and Elizabeth didn’t understand it. She stood. “Count, if I am interfering in family business—”
“No, sit! Adele, English. Miss Stanwycke is to be trusted, I feel certain.” He turned to her.
“You will not repeat what you hear, will you?” He smiled.
“No, I won’t.”
“Good. I trust you, and I may need your help to keep Melisande calm through this; she seems to like you and feel comfortable with you, which is more than I can say for my sister, who frightens the poor girl, unfortunately.” He turned back to his sister, whose expression was stiff with fury. “You know you do, Adele.” He summoned his thoughts and said, “Mikhail is in Brandenburg, but the Russians are demanding he be held; he has sent me a plea to help, and for Melisande’s sake, I must go, for I fear he will be used as a political pawn. There is a tension right now, with the Russian action in Poland, and France pressing to the south and west.”
“What has Davidovich been doing?” Adele said, her tone icy.
Nikolas shook his head and said, “I am very much afraid he is up to his old tricks.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Mikhail Davidovich is… a troublesome sort. He is, by his own representation, something of an art dealer. But what that often means is—”
“He is a thief,” Adele said succinctly. “Do not be diplomatic, Nikolas, if you say you can trust her.” She rose and continued. “I suppose you will go and rescue Davidovich yet again. I think you would do Melisande no harm if you let her father rot in prison.”
“I cannot do that,” Nikolas said, his expression mild but his tone steely. “I have sworn to Maximillian to protect her no matter what, and that, of necessity, extends to her father.”
“Maximillian does not expect you to face danger—”
“Would you rather he go in my stead? I think not. There will be no danger for me in Brandenburg,” Nikolas said.
“There is danger everywhere lately,” Adele said, her voice harsh. “What we have heard from Mainz lately, about the French, and now Poland to the east is falling to the Russians.”
She shook her head. “We live in dangerous times, hemmed in, surrounded. I will go and instruct Heinrich to pack; you will take him with you, of course?”
“Yes. And Cesare will go, as well. I may need his diplomatic skills. And he speaks a little Russian, whereas I do not.”
“Just so you are back before”—Adele cast Elizabeth a swift look, and continued—“before too long.”
Elizabeth knew she referred to the next full of the moon and Countess Gerta’s unbalanced state. When she left the room, Elizabeth said, “Nik, must you go? Will it indeed be dangerous? Countess Adele seems to think—”
“Adele worries too much.” He stood behind her and massaged her shoulders, glanced around, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “What I will miss most is you.” He sat beside her and took her hands in his. “I had thought,” he said huskily, “that tonight we would continue where we left things this morning. Will you come to me tonight?”
“Of course, Nik,” she whispered, staring down at her plate.
A noise outside of the door sent them separate ways. Elizabeth waited for Charlotte in the yellow parlor, but when she did not come, she decided to go to the girl’s room and find out what was keeping her. She rapped and a maid answered. Elizabeth struggled to make her desires known in German and slipped past the girl at the door, crossing the dim room to the bed where Charlotte lay, curled into a ball.
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth murmured, touching her shoulder.
The girl moaned but did not answer.
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth said, shaking her shoulder. In German, she demanded of the maid,
“What is wrong with your mistress?”
The maid huffily answered that nothing was wrong, the young mistress was just tired. She was often like this and for a few days would do nothing. That was what had happened the last time she was ill.
Elizabeth gazed down at the girl’s pale, puffy face., So, when she had supposedly had a cold, she was just like this, in a state of lethargy. Her breathing was even and deep, her complexion waxy, but there seemed no danger of any sort. What could she do?
The house was charged with an energy as the master prepared for his trip to Brandenburg, a city some hundred miles to the east of Wolfbeck. It was unfortunate that he had been called away at such a time, for Elizabeth had hoped, over the following days, to be able to probe his mind and find the source of his resolution never to marry or have a family. They had taken a chance the night before, making love as they did, for though it was an unlikely time of the month for her to conceive, she knew it was not impossible. He was worth risking much for, but a child, when he had no intention of marrying? With the flush of passion waning, she fretted, and yet could not, in good conscience, accost him that day to question him.
The day wore on in tedious anxiety. Her worries piled one upon the other. Why, when he did not intend to marry, did he think it all right to risk conceiving a child with her? She knew him to be responsible; was he leaving that worry up to her? And what about Charlotte? Should Elizabeth mention to Nikolas her worries that the girl’s symptoms were so very much like what she had heard of Gerta’s first symptoms years before? Or had he already thought of that?
And why did he refuse to have Gerta attended by a physician, when a specialist might be able to do something for the poor woman?
In that fretful state of mind the day toiled on, until finally it was time for the drawing room assembly, which Nikolas had asked everyone to attend, though he would not be at dinner that night. And so they gathered. Countess Adele hovered over her sister, who was well-wrapped, sitting in a chair, though she looked cheerful enough and her bright eyes darted from face to face eagerly. Elizabeth watched her, haunted by the memory of the same woman in the midst of her delusion, snarling and snapping as she rent her clothes from her. It was a sight she would never forget for the rest of her life, and yet Countess Gerta seemed to have no memory of those dark times in her lucid periods. Perhaps that was a kindness.
Christoph was there, his sullen presence a dark blot near the calm beauty of Melisande Davidovich. Bartol Liebner and Count Delacroix played chess near the fire.
Nikolas entered, and all eyes were on him. He greeted everyone and then clapped his hands together as he paced near the fire. “I am forced by circumstances to go away for a week, perhaps ten days. I will be traveling to Brandenburg; Cesare will accompany me, of course. I expect you all, in my absence, to go on with your daily routine. Adele will be obeyed, please; consider her acting in my stead.”
Christoph snorted, and Melisande put one gentling hand over his.
Nikolas turned his gaze on his nephew. “Did you have something to say?”
“Would you listen if I did? I doubt it.”
“Say it,” Nikolas commanded, his tone steely and his gaze never leaving Christoph’s face.
“All right,” the younger man said, straightening and strolling out from the shadows. “I think as the next male in line I ought to be head of the household in your absence.”
“Do not be so absurd,” Countess Adele blurted out.
Nikolas put up one staying hand. He strolled to meet Christoph in the center of the room, for all as if it were a duel they were about to conduct. “Give me one reason why you believe I should trust you with the care of this family.”
Christoph, two patches of red burning on his pale cheeks, glared at his uncle. “I am your inheritor.”
“Only if I say you are.”
“But—”
“No! You have neither proved yourself nor earned my respect. You continue to act as a sulky child denied a toy, and I will not put the safety of this family in your inept hands. Adele will be in command. That is all.” He whirled on one heel and strode to the door.
“You are a pompous ass!” Christoph roared.
In the wake of his insolence, the room got deadly quiet. Bartol dropped a chess piece and the sound reverberated in the silence.
Nikolas turned slowly and gazed at his nephew with contempt on his face. It was an expression Elizabeth hated, for she felt that though the division between Nikolas and his nephew seemed wide, he was making no effort to bridge it. As well as she felt she knew him, in that moment she didn’t recognize her gentle, tender lover in the haughty, arrogant nobleman before them all.
“You will apologize to me now,” Nikolas said, strolling back towards his nephew.
Christoph sneered, but behind the defiance was fear. “For saying the truth?”
“For your disrespect, which knows no bounds.”
The hard stare between them was long, and Elizabeth could hear her own breathing. But finally, when it seemed one of them must flee or fight, Christoph broke his concentrated gaze, muttered a brief, “
Entshuldigung
,” and fled the room. Elizabeth watched Nikolas’s face and was grateful that there was no triumphant sneer, just a sad acceptance.
He bid them all good night, shared a long look with her, and then left the room.
Soon after, she excused herself for the evening and made her way upstairs to her room. But she did not long remain there, heading to Nikolas’s room by way of the secret passages.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, catching her to him and kissing her long and hard, then more softly.
They merely held each other for long minutes and then moved to the fire, he sitting down in a chair and she sitting in his lap, cradled against his chest. She warred in her mind with how to raise the multitude of topics about which she wished to speak with him, and whether to bring them up at all, considering he would be gone the next morning for a week or more. This night should be their farewell, not a discussion about serious matters. And yet, some things couldn’t wait.
“There is something on your mind, Liebchen,” he whispered in her ear as he stroked her back and shoulders.
She looked down into his eyes. “How do you know that?”
“How could I not? Even before we began, I watched you so often; I know the wrinkle of your brow, I know the pensive expression in the eyes, I know, too, the heart of you,” he said, touching her breast with one finger. “Did my trouble with Christoph disturb you?”
She thought. “Yes. You seem a different man than the one I know in your dealings with your nephew.”
“I am a different man. He is my heir. If something should happen to me, despite what I said, most would consider him the liege of this castle and of the people hereabouts. But he is weak, and I feel…” He shook his head and frowned, a dark lock of hair falling over his forehead.
She swept it back. “What is it, Nik?”
But he shook his head again. “I cannot say. It is all… dark suspicion, fear, worry. But not fair to share until I learn more from him. He does not trust me, and I do not understand what I have done to deserve his distrust.”
“Nik, you treat him as if he is a child still!”
“Because he behaves as one!”
She clung to his neck as he moved in agitation. “Calm, Nik, calm!”
He settled back in the chair. “I apologize, my sweet, but it is troublesome to me. It does not concern you, though, so do not worry about it, please. I have something of utmost importance to ask you.”
Her pulse throbbed. Something to ask her? “What… what is it, Nik?”
He touched her cheek tenderly, and his dark gaze caressed her. “This is very important to me, Liebchen. Will you keep a watch on my sister for me? I will be back well before the next full of the moon, but… what is it, Elizabeth?”
She had been expecting—or wishing for—something else and moved slightly in her disappointment, she realized, but she calmed her breathing and settled again. “You want me to watch Gerta? But she’ll be fine until you’re back, and Adele is here, after all.”
“But Adele… she will have much to concern her in looking after the household. Do not worry, but just watch. Other than you and Adele, only Uta and my aunt Liebner know of Gerta’s condition, and I wish to keep it that way. The rest just know she is often not well.”
“That is one thing I am concerned about, Nik. I was thinking… surely her condition is not incurable. Perhaps a physician—”
“Elizabeth, please stay out of those things which do not directly concern you.”
She was silent for a moment but then climbed from his lap, feeling undignified and that the position no longer reflected her closeness to him. Perhaps that closeness was an illusion fostered by their intense physical attraction to each other. She stood before him and gazed down at his shadowed face and troubled expression, the set of his jaw stubborn and impassive.
“Don’t push me away,” she whispered. “I say what I say because I care for you all.”
“I know, Elizabeth,” he said, holding out one hand and beckoning for her to come back to him. “But you have not been here all this time and you do not know—”
“Perhaps that’s why I see more man you do,” she said, keeping her distance. “That very fact that I have not been here long and so see things with a different eye. Haven’t you noticed Charlotte’s behavior of late? Doesn’t it remind you of Gerta’s as you have described it to me from a few years ago? And doesn’t that worry you?”
He pushed his bottom lip out and reflected, but then shook his head. “No, no it cannot be.
Impossible.”
“Cannot be, or you just aren’t willing to think it might be happening to your niece, too? Are not these kind of things hereditary? Isn’t that what worries you, Nik?”
His face darkened, a red flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. “Elizabeth, I warn you—”