Gunther gazed at her from out of the fire, and his expression was a mix of pride and sorrow. “Very well. I could not deny the justice of Hans wishing to remain in Romania. I cannot deny the justice of this. I will trust in the Good God to guide both of you.”
Rosa felt her throat close and her eyes grow hot and wet with tears. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, softly.
“Hear now!” the Count interjected. “No tears! I have not told you what else I have in mind! Such things are much more pleasant, and near to the heart of every female I have ever met!” He reached out and patted Rosa’s hand, silently placing a clean handkerchief into it so that she could dab surreptitiously at her eyes. “From all I have determined, Gunther, she counterfeited the fine lady very well on this journey back to you. She may need to do so again, in more discriminating company. I have no doubt she is an apt pupil; I intend to give her a few lessons, and the wardrobe of a lady of rank, as another weapon in her arsenal.” His eyes glittered again, but dangerously this time. “Durendal underestimated her because she was female. Many others will do the same, the more so if they think she is pampered and sheltered.”
Rosa and Gunther both nodded, and she was not at all averse to some polishing atop what she had already learned of how to conduct herself as a fine lady. Wardrobe, however? How could he manage that in a few days?
“Heinrich, I will be the last person in the world to attribute any weakness to my Rosa, but I am wearying, and I did not just spend the last day traveling and dispatching a foul magician,” Gunther said, interrupting her thoughts.
The Count applied the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Of course! How churlish of me! We will speak again tomorrow night, old friend. Meanwhile, I shall see to it that your protégée is properly tended to. Good night!”
“Good night, Heinrich. Rosa, trust my friend as you trust me. Meanwhile, rest well!” Her mentor smiled, and slowly his smiling face faded into the flames until there was nothing but the fire, dancing over the logs in the fireplace.
“Now, my dear, I shall ring for a maid to show you to your chamber,” the Count said, patting her hand and standing up. He pulled on a velvet bell cord, and a maidservant appeared almost as if she had been waiting outside for the summons. “Gretchen, take the lady to the Forest room.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey, and turned to go. “Run along after her, my dear, and I shall see you in the morning,” the Count said, and made a little shooing motion with his hands. Rosa chuckled, and followed the girl.
Fatigue descended on her like night over the forest, and Rosa realized as she followed in the girl’s wake that the energy that had sustained her all day was finally running out. She could not have retraced her steps back to the Count’s study if her life had depended on it as the girl led her down halls and up stairs, and it was a very good thing that the journey was relatively short. But when the maid opened the door on a bedchamber and Rosa stepped inside, she was so astonished by the chamber she stepped into that for a moment she completely forgot her fatigue.
If, as a child, she had been asked to create the perfect bedroom, it would have been something not unlike this. The carpet beneath her feet was as soft as moss, and was the color of moss, with a design of tiny flowers woven into it. The walls were covered with murals of a forest, with small creatures and birds scattered in and around the trees. The four posts of the bed had been artfully carved to look like tree trunks, and held up a canopy and curtains not unlike the sort of pavilion she had seen in her books of fairy tales as a child. The rest of the room was half-hidden in shadows, but from what she saw in the light from the lamp placed on a little table at the side of the bed, this was a room that had been tailor-made to please an Earth Mage.
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!”
The next several
days were quite the whirlwind of activity, but by the third one, Rosa knew exactly what was going on in the Graf’s mind. He was testing her, without being obvious about it. The “dancing lessons” in reality were tests of her physical stamina, agility, and ability to learn physical things quickly. The lessons in how to ape the great lady were similar tests—of how quick-witted she was, and how quickly she adapted to her surroundings. He took her shooting at targets; he took her out riding cross-country. And only when he was completely satisfied that she was everything that her “Papa Gunther” had claimed for her, did he admit to testing her. By that time, she felt she had earned that elegant wardrobe he was giving her.
“Why did you not test my magic?” she asked, finally, as they sat together in his study after a week of strenuous work. Truth to tell, she had enjoyed it. It was the first time in a very long time that she’d had her abilities tested without actually fighting for her life. Today had been particularly challenging, for once he admitted that he was testing her, the Graf had truly put her through her paces. She was pleasantly weary, and had enjoyed a hot bath before dinner. Oh the great advantage of the Graf’s fine house over the Bruderschaft Lodge!
He shrugged. “Anyone that Gunther made a Hunt Master is not someone whose magic I need to test,” he said candidly. “But a Hunt Master is more than magic.”
She stretched out her feet to the fire. “A Hunt Master is one who knows not only how to use magic, but when.”
The Graf smiled. She knew he had been discussing her privately with other Lodge Masters over the past several nights. She wondered if tonight was the night he was going to start introducing her to them.
She was not left to wait much longer.
“The Master of the White Lodge of Berlin wishes to see you for himself, if you are amenable tonight,” the Graf said, gesturing slightly at the fire.
“Will he be terribly scandalized by my breeches?” she asked, mischievously.
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