by Minda Webber
The conversation disintegrated from there, leaving the elderly Gelb to quickly agree to the baroness’s plan. Soon both sisters Grimm, their aunt, their uncle, Baron Schortz and Prince von Hanzen were all on their way (if not merrily) to an ornate, severely over decorated study. Everyone was pleased to see it was well stocked with brandy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beauty & the Beastly Baron
“Undone by a bug. I shall never live it down,” Fen whispered miserably.
“I think the roach had little to do with your downfall,” Rolpe replied. “The blame falls more squarely in your lap.”
Fen glanced down at his trousers. Fortunately the flag of his excitement had lowered to half-mast. He shook his head glumly.
Rolpe jested, “Who could foresee that a roach in the hand looks like one in the bush?”
Fen shot him a look of true displeasure. “I have never liked this cruel streak in you, Rolpe.” But that only caused the prince to laugh again.
Ahead, the weight of the world had settled upon Rae. She walked, eyes downcast. “My life is over.”
“It only appears so now. Tomorrow things will look better,” Greta said, taking her sister’s hand. “Surely the baron will be a good husband.”
Rae gave her sister the evil eye. “You marry him then.”
“I wasn’t caught with my skirts over my head.”
“Bloody fool bug. Bloody fool baron.”
The study remained heavily silent for a moment; then Baroness Snowe proceeded to suggest the arrangements necessary to save her niece’s tarnished reputation.
“Marry Baron Schortz? I can’t! I mustn’t!” Rae cried. “I should be marrying a prince at least. Certainly no less than a duke!”
The expressions in the room offered varying degrees of disgust. Even Greta looked appalled, which hurt terribly. But this was all so distressing to contemplate. Even if the others didn’t understand Rae’s position.
Her aunt, face red, trembling in rage, exclaimed, “Rae, you addle pated gel. Are you bent on ruining us? Your reputation is in tatters, and by association mine will be too. I’ll be dragged through the mud with you unless you wed the baron! Now, I won’t stand for any shilly-shallying. You will marry, and marry within the week, you ungrateful, spoiled child.” Then, recalling that Baron Schortz had not done the honors of asking for her niece’s hand, she reluctantly amended, “That is, if he should choose to honor such an undeserving gel with the option of being his wife.”
Fen nodded stiffly then turned to Rae, his expression as somber as hers. He would not balk at this jump, though he longed to do so and race headlong off into the night. But as a gentleman, he could not. He too understood he had tarnished her reputation, however unintentionally. As that was the case, he could not let her live in unmarried shame and ostracism.
“Miss Grimm, may I have your hand in marriage?”
Rae studied her aunt’s face, which was a rigid mask of fierce determination. Prince von Hanzen looked as if he had swallowed something repugnantly vile. Greta appeared sad, but gravely nodded.
Rae turned her attention to the baron. He did not look at all like a jovial man contemplating a lovely bride, a happy future and a fairy-tale wedding. In fact, he looked as if he had eaten something even more repugnantly vile than his friend had. Swallowing hard, Rae pleaded with tears in her eyes, knowing that when they wetted her eyelashes her eyes sparkled even more. If ever there were a time she needed all her feminine wiles, it was now.
“We can’t possibly marry,” she said.
“You can and will, you obstinate gel,” Baroness Snowe declared, her tone as harsh and cold as the winters in Russia. Her husband, the baron, took his wife’s side—as he always did to ensure peace in his house hold, whether he agreed with his temperamental spouse or not. But this time he did agree, wholeheartedly. Honor must be preserved.
“You will marry Baron Schortz without delay. I must say that it disgusts me to know that I’ve nursed a viper in my home. Baron Schortz is a noble man in every sense of the word, and for you to seduce him is shameful!” he proclaimed.
Rae’s tears dried up immediately. “I did not seduce anyone!”
Coming to her sister’s defense, Greta retorted, her blue eyes bright with anger, “How can you be so unfeeling? Rae would never have attempted to seduce a mere baron.” Then, realizing her defense was rather condemning, she quickly added, “Rae would never seduce anyone. She has too much good breeding!”
“Yes, and good breeding does tell,” their aunt replied. “How do you think your mother managed to get your father to the altar when it was me he was courting?”
The room grew silent as its occupants processed what Baroness Snowe had unwittingly revealed, each person having a different reaction. For Fen, he noted how quickly a woman’s tears could dry, leaving behind a hard brittleness. Such was the case with Rae. And as her mother had trapped her father, so now was the daughter following the same path. Blood would tell. Only, to be perfectly honest, he knew Rae had not intended for him to be this sort of victim.
Rolpe gritted his teeth in rage, feeling certain that the younger Grimm had deliberately set out to trap his friend.
Baron Snowe gazed in disgust at his wife, realizing that she still held a torch for the Grimm girls’ father.
But it was indeed the two Grimm sisters who were most shocked of all. Greta, feeling terribly embarrassed by this public announcement, also felt relief. It explained so much about her parents’ less-than-harmonious marriage. Rae felt as if the world were spinning wildly and she would fly off into the heavens. Her rather spoilt and shrewish mother had tricked their good-natured father into wedlock? The thought was detrimental to her entire sense of self-worth.
Observing her sister’s pale face and somber eyes, Greta leaned over and whispered, “Be glad. Can you imagine Aunt Vivian as our mother?”
Greta’s quick wit caused Rae to smile, and that smile Fen found rather enchanting. He did so in spite of his better judgment, but he had no choice. Just as he had no choice about his future: Honor did not care that he would be marrying a woman who would never offer him the slightest bit of affection, it simply demanded he make the little pea goose the offer. If she declined, then she would pay the price. She would no longer be accepted in polite society.
“Miss Grimm, will you marry me or not?”
Determined, Greta nudged her sister’s back. Rae managed to whisper an acceptance, albeit a breathless one. And just like that, her dreams of being a princess or duchess blew away like dust in the wind. Baron Schortz was not even on bended knee or begging for her most lovely hand! This time, the tears dotting her eyelashes were real.
Nodding abruptly at her reply, Fen announced coolly, “Then it is done. Baron Snowe, I will call on the morrow to discuss the particulars.”
“Yes, Fen, that will be agreeable. Come, Vivian, let us leave the betrothed coupled alone for a few minutes,” their uncle said.
As the others left the room, Fen shook his head, muttering, “Immer schlimmer.”
“I don’t know what you just said, but I don’t think I like the tone,” Rae snapped. The room appeared to shrink in size, as if some giant had entered the room and was breathing fire. Baron Schortz was so large and so very muscular.
Standing before the large mahogany shelving, he poured himself a stiff drink. “Bad to worse. Things have gone from bad to worse.” He threw the drink back, letting the burn slide down his throat. It eased the headache at the back of his eyes. Fate had been both kind and cruel to him. The irony was absurd. He had fallen head over heels for a beautiful vision who was all he’d wanted for a brief period in time. Now that he had her in hand, so to speak, or had her hand, he knew he would long live to regret being forced into this marriage. Honor was a grueling taskmaster at times, and the results could be devastating. He had a soon-to-be-bride who would be no wife. Who would be no stepmother to his brood. Yes, irony was at its best tonight, and at its most cruel.
Rae was not t
hinking clearly, or else she would have been even more insulted by her betrothed’s lack of response to his great good fortune in her accepting his suit. Embarrassment, shame and guilt made her feel quite unlike her normal self. “I should never have agreed to see the golden eggs and harp. But a golden harp and golden eggs—it all sounded so lovely.”
“Yes, your strofftriels—your love of material wealth has led up to this hideous farce!” Fen muttered harshly as he poured himself another drink. Swallowing it, he began to stalk the room like a hulking giant. “You, Rae Grimm, haven’t the good sense God gave a goose. Golden harps? Bah!”
Rae pouted very prettily, deciding to turn the other cheek, especially as that was her best side and she wanted to show it off to advantage. Seating herself gracefully on a slender Louis XIV chair, she held back any temper she might be feeling and did her best to hide her overwhelming shock at this marriage. After all, an innocent maiden needed all the help she could get in such a trying situation. Hence, she would look her best.
“I will have you know that I have more than ample intelligence, and certainly more than that of a vicious, fat bird. Now, as to your other charge, of course I love beautiful things. Most people love wealth; that doesn’t make us wicked or foolish. We just enjoy owning the rare and beautiful. Perhaps it’s not even about the owning, but the appreciation of that which is beyond the mundane. Although, you’ll soon own me. That must bring you some pleasure.” It brought Rae little.
“I weep for joy.” Standing with his back to her, staring morosely out the window, Fen searched for something.
Patience, perhaps.
Wisdom.
A call to arms in Russia.
Rae sniffed, her delicate feelings hurt deeply. “If you think I am happy about this, well…” She sighed dejectedly. “I can assure you that I’m not. If I were in Cornwall right now, I’d marry Timothy Sterne, even though I didn’t want to be a Sterne after being Grimm for so long. So there.” And with those words, she turned on her heel and started to leave the room.
Resolutely she stood tall and proud. She had a beautiful chin and would keep it held high, even though she felt like crying and screaming. Most of her life she had believed that she would marry well; her husband would adore her and grant her every whim. Now her dreams were gone. What she had long striven for and depended upon happening was no longer possible. What did a person do when their dreams died? How could she go on? Did she even want to carry forth, carry on, carry a load, and carry a tune in her heart? She thought hard. Yes, she did, she realized reluctantly. She was no quitter, and though her life’s journey was now a rugged one, she would face it proudly. Well, as proudly as she could with her broken heart and teary eyes. Still, she would persevere.
“I suppose we must make the best of a bad situation,” Fen mused dejectedly, causing her to pause in the doorway. “Marriage can last a lifetime. I’d prefer not to be constantly at sword’s length with my wife.”
“I’d prefer to marry a handsome prince and live in a fairy-tale castle,” Rae replied, and with that said she exited the room. To herself she whispered, “Whatever shall I do? I have hurt his pride again, and now he will shame me. Everyone will expect him to be deliriously happy at having the good luck to marry me; only he’s not deliriously happy. He’s miserable. Why did I ever open my big mouth to Greta in a place that we could be overheard? Foolish, foolish bird-wit! He did not deserve my words then…although he does now.”
Down the hall, Greta spoke heatedly with Prince von Hanzen, who in his utter arrogance had shown the gall to denounce Rae. Greta furiously defended her sister, and they’d taken their argument into the conservatory and out of the way of prying ears, but not so far in as to constitute impropriety.
“If we are to bicker like a couple of fishwives then let us do it here.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, his expression thunderous. “Undank ist der Welt Lohn,” he added.
Understanding the remark, Greta quoted it back to him, her scorn more than apparent by the lift of her chin and the tautness of her mouth. “‘Ingratitude is the world’s reward.’ You think my sister ungrateful?” His hair was as dark as endless night, she thought, as she watched him brush a lock off his forehead. Like a raven’s wings or the midnight hour when all grew quiet and witches flew.
“Not only do I think her ungrateful; I heard her remarks to Fen this night. Fen is a proud, generous man of great conviction and courage. He deserves so much better than a shallow, vain widgeon who cares only for herself and her clothing. I find it an utter tragedy that his good deed in saving your sister from nothing worse than a nasty little bug backfired. Verily, I say, Fen must now sacrifice his happiness for your sister’s worthless reputation.”
Seething, Greta gaped. “Veritas vos liberabit.” She narrowed her pretty gray-blue eyes at him and quoted, “The truth shall set you free. But do you know the truth? Or do you just assume you do?”
“You speak Latin as well as German. Unusual,” Rolpe remarked, studying her closer. She was an enigma, unpredictable, and that made him uneasy. She intrigued him, and he didn’t like that one bit. “But you also speak in riddles. Your sister is what she appears to be, no more and probably a great deal less than an ideal wife and stepmother to my good friend and his kinder.”
“There is more to Rae than meets the eye,” Greta replied. “Yes, she is vain, but that is not all her fault. Beaux have always flocked to Rae.”
“But did she keep them? And while many men prefer a lovely stupid wife, Fen does not number among them.”
The prince was shrewd, Greta would give him that. “It’s not Rae’s fault that for most of her life people have cosseted her and admired her beauty. But she is also brave, and loyal to those she loves, and fiercely protective of them. She does have a kind nature, even if at times it is buried beneath a shallow exterior.”
“Such a glowing recommendation from a loving sister,” Rolpe retorted. But he was fascinated as he watched her color mount. What a fine passion, he thought lustily. Her blush extended down the front of her chest and beneath the frothy green confection of a gown she was wearing.
Hands on her hips, Greta breathed deeply, her anger making her wish to slap the prince’s supercilious but handsome face. Although his resolve was daunting, she would not be intimidated by the fact he bestirred her heart unlike any other. In fact, he stirred her heart like a rip-roaring good fairy-tale prince could do. “I’m sure there will be difficulties, as with all newly wedded couples, but my sister has a good heart. If Baron Schortz is the intelligent man I think him to be, he will treat her with kindness. And she will return his kindness in kind.” And, having said her piece, Greta turned to leave.
Rolpe watched her go, her back stiff and her manner rigid. Her parting shot made him admire her more. She was angry with him for criticizing her shallow, selfish sister. Most women would have been jealous of such a beautiful sister, but Greta not only defended her sister, she genuinely cared about the younger Grimm’s happiness.
“We really must do this again sometime!” he called after her. He heard her footsteps rapping angrily down the hallway.
“What a little wildcat,” he muttered appreciatively. Greta Grimm was, he decided, an intelligent woman, well-learned, and with perhaps the most remarkable gray-blue eyes he had ever seen.
He shook his head. She was intriguing, but he should not be intrigued. Still, he would have to watch her carefully, since he had overheard more than one of her conversations tonight about the woodcutter’s mother, Frau Choplin. Miss Greta Grimm did fit her name, for she had an unhealthy and grim determination to ferret out the secrets of the Black Forest—and many of those secrets would love to get their teeth into her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Gushing Bride
Soon there would be a church. Soon there would be a steeple. Rae would open the door and see all the people staring at her, gossip running rampant; and worse, her husband, the hulking giant, would be there as well. Mayhap if she were lucky she would bre
ak out in measles. Perhaps if God were listening he might send a great flood and wash her out to sea.
Rae put her head down on her arms and moaned. Alas, there wasn’t a single rain cloud in the winter sky. Nonetheless, with nary a cloud in sight, Rae’s wedding day was a wet one. Not that it rained or snowed or even sleeted, but the sisters Grimm spent the early morning together crying.
Although Rae continued on, her tears soaking her nightgown, Greta finally managed to halt her crying long enough to dress; after all, she wasn’t marrying the big oaf. Rae’s tears remarkably dried up when the maid mentioned her eyes would be bloodshot and puffy at her ceremony. Cool cucumber compresses were then applied, to relieve the puffiness, and she rested for a bit, then the younger Grimm sister was ready to be dressed.
As the maid fussed about her, Rae managed to hold back the new tears that threatened to fall. This was her wedding day, a day she had dreamed about since she was a small child. She had known even at that young age that she would be a beautiful bride in a lovely gown with rows and rows of pearls. There would be hundreds of fragrant red roses, and her groom would worship her with his eyes as he pledged her his troth. And everyone who was anyone—and even those who weren’t anyone—would be envious of the happy couple.
Rae shook her head sadly. Reality was certainly nothing like her dreams. Her aunt had been writing letter after letter to their mother, letters of long length, each boasting of the grand success of marrying off a Grimm daughter to a Prussian baron in less than a month. The groom was minor nobility, it was true, but nobility nonetheless. After writing her dozen or so missives, Baroness Snowe had done her auntly duty and explained the wedding night to Rae: something about a man’s large pickle being shoved into a lady’s jar. Since Rae doubted that her groom would much relish his wedding night, Rae decided that her aunt’s advice was useless, and she wanted no part of it.