by Ursula Grey
“Yes, breathe, my love. I am here. You are safe. You are there no longer. When you awaken, you will forget the memory of that day and all others that are similar to it in this life. Your past struggles are no more..."
Chapter Nine
The clinking of glasses raised in toast, he did not hear. The brilliant light emanating from the crystal chandeliers, he did not see. His presence at the ball was meant to distract him. It was Fasching, the time of the Austrian carnival, when all of Vienna emerged from the doldrums of winter to engage and lose themselves in the gaiety of music and dance. In times past, he too would have fallen under the spell of the music of Strauss and the flurry of the waltz.
Hoping to meet his eye, the blue, green, and brown collective eyes of the single and not so single women flashed in his direction as they spun past him whilst in the arms of their lovers. Properly primped, coifed, and bound in gauzy finery, he found their attempts at seduction even less attractive than their dress. Bourgeois, specious, and dull, most reminded him of pretty cakes that look tempting but taste only of insipid sugar. However, he would not blame them for their deficiencies. They had been cut from the fabric of their society.
The only woman he could think of was her, the woman living under his roof. She was a captive by necessity (as she had not truly healed from her injuries), and captivating as well. He imagined keeping her safe from harm, but that would require keeping her within the proverbial gilded cage of his care. He knew that a bird such as herself would wither and lose spirit if kept too long against her will.
What if she were a tabula rasa? If truly amnesiac, might she grow to form her own opinions, conceive her own thoughts, develop a passion for life to match his own? If so, what an interesting experiment. What if she were allowed to develop an identity outside of the confines of what was expected? He knew this could only be possible if she could be released from the bitter burdens of her past.
Such a delicate creature! Haunted and enraged by those who would do her harm, he searched the faces of every man he saw, glancing at their hands and faces for any sign of bruising or scratches. Although months had passed since the incident, he knew he searched for an excuse to unleash his rage on any he'd even suspected of such an act. His indignation built as he imagined confronting the miscreant that would dare harm the fragile being who'd come into his care.
Before her, he had always known where to obtain the release his masculine constitution required. Now he had no taste for the genteel women of Viennese society. They were all here and he averted his eyes from those of his former favorites. His indifference did not deter them.
"Lukas, how wonderful to see you again. How long has it been?"
"Lukas, darling...You seem distracted. Is there anything I can do to help you to forget your cares? What is it? And where have you been? I have missed you so..."
Their faces blended together and he had difficulty remembering their names.
He'd long ago removed himself from this life. He'd hoped getting out would help him to forget both her and his work, if even for a short while. But all he wanted to do was to return to her.
What was it about her that captivated him so? Healing her affliction using this unconventional method could bring him fame and wealth, but he found the attainment of them becoming less and less important. It was the delicate nature of all her aspects juxtaposed with the steely strength of spirit he found most attractive.
Gazing into the crowd, he wondered if he'd made a mistake coming here tonight. He felt uncomfortably warm and closed in. Loosening his collar, he wiped away the beads of perspiration that formed on his brow. The people, the chatter of their voices, the movement of the couples on the dance floor, unsettled him. He longed for open space and fresh air.
The room began to spin and the floor seemed to shift beneath his feet. The scene before him faded and was replaced by a strange vision. Dressed only in a loincloth and sandals, he tried to make sense of his strange attire, but soon dismissed this curiosity. He found himself impelled forward through a stampeding crowd. Cries of fire rang through the narrow street. He fought to turn back against the wave but didn't know why. Taller than the others, he peered back over their heads. Immediately he understood why he couldn't leave. He saw her for an instant and then she vanished. It was Karolina, and yet it wasn't. He began to push his way back towards her. He must reach her.
"My friend, what is your hurry? Lukas, man, are you ill?"
Lukas shook his head and the vision faded. Before him stood his old friend, Victor. The eyes of the crowd that had been staring at them returned to the dance floor. He followed his friend to a table where they could sit.
"It's nothing," Lukas said. "I just needed some air. How are you, Victor? It has been much too long."
He hoped to steer the conversation onto another topic. Although the vision had lasted only a moment, he was inwardly reeling from the experience. Victor wouldn't believe it, nor would anyone else. The sleepless nights had taken their toll. Obviously, exhaustion had played havoc with his mind.
"Something has changed about you, Lukas. Tell me, my friend," said Victor. "What troubles you? You have always been single-minded in important matters but carefree in the pleasures of life—"
His friend nudged him companionably. "You could have any woman here. I have long been envious of the way they flock to you. Yet all this evening you have been impervious to their charms."
"I am beyond flirtations, Victor. I leave that to my younger days. I am a man, with the needs of a man." He little wanted to divulge the news of his patient to his friend and changed the subject. "A matter, strange and mysterious, consumes me. Try as I might to resolve it, I cannot."
"Aha!" cried Victor. "It is your work again. A strange fire burns behind your eyes, an intensity, if the truth be told, that frightens me. The way you've looked through people this evening...It is as though you are possessed, by someone or something, but you are not truly here, my friend." Victor clapped him on the back. "You need another drink."
He watched while his friend raised his hand and gestured to the server. He'd had enough, he supposed, but the drink had no effect on him this evening, and so he acceded to Victor's recommended cure for his supposed ills.
After the evening's entertainment he'd allowed Victor to convince him to join a game of cards and he gambled long into the night. He'd overindulged in cigars and spirits but won at the game. He smiled as he recalled roughhousing with Victor after he'd left his old friend without a coin in his pocket.
The coach left him at the entrance to the path leading to his home. He needed the walk to clear his head. When finally reaching the door, he went to the library instead of his room. Perhaps he could yet work into the remainder of the evening. The eerie vision returned to him. Could it be possible? He shook his head and unbuttoned his shirt. He sank into the chair at his desk and stared at the hearth. He watched as the flames cleansed the air of the damp chill of the approaching dawn.
Exhausted, he needed to rest his eyes for just a moment but instead fell fast asleep.
Hours later, the turn of the door handle caused his eyelids to flutter.
She slipped into the library. Upon discovering him, she stood and silently observed him. Through veiled lids, he watched as she tiptoed over to him, her simple white gown flowing behind her, until she was within arm's reach. He remained still for he did not wish to frighten her. Her tantalizing scent filled his nostrils and his heart beat faster as she reached for his hand and placed her fingertips upon his pulse. Once convinced that he was still of this world, he was curious to see what she might do next.
Her hand hesitated above his head and then glided gently over his hair. Her touch was almost imperceptible and yet a charge of impulse coursed through him. A low groan of need escaped his lips. At the sound, she jumped and rapidly withdrew her hand, but not before he caught her wrist.
Surprised, she drew in her breath and her eyes opened wide. "I'm sorry! I did not mean to disturb you."
Sh
e trembled slightly and he regretted startling her. He watched as her eyes moved over him. It was obvious by his dress that he'd been out for the evening. He thought a look of hurt passed across her face but it was immediately replaced by one of forced indifference.
"I thought perhaps you were unwell and came to check on you. Since I see that you are well, I'll leave you." She glanced at his hand still wrapped round her wrist.
"Wait," he said. "Don't leave. I do not need rest. I need—"
She tilted her head to one side as she waited for him to continue. Her blue eyes seemed to search his soul.
"What do you need?" she asked.
He rose and then raised her hand to his lips, sliding them across her satin skin. He gazed down upon her golden curls and sighed. Without waiting for a response, he placed her hand upon his shoulder and took her other hand in his. Wrapping his arm round her, he drew her to him.
Meeting his eyes, she drew herself upward. Poised and willing, she waited. He pressed her even closer and then stepped forward. Following a silent melody heard only to them, they danced across the room. They waltzed round tables, waltzed round the chairs, allowing nothing to hinder their progress.
She grew alive in his embrace. He felt the muscles of her back tighten as she turned and the press of her warm round breasts against his chest made his heart beat fast. Glancing down, he saw the bridge of her pert little nose and below it the full pink of her lips parted in a smile. Faster and faster they whirled until they seemed as one.
He was losing himself in the spell she cast. If he were not careful he would lose his soul to this woman, a woman he knew little of and yet more than she did of herself. He might take her right then if he did not stop. God help him, it was what he longed to do.
He stopped abruptly. The look of disappointment in her eyes sliced through him. He did not want to hurt her, but if he didn't leave now...He kissed the top of her head and then bowed formally. He felt her eyes bore into him as he walked away, leaving her standing alone.
Chapter Ten
Unable to finish her supper, she set down her napkin and stood. Lukas, engrossed in his work, did not join her this evening, nor had he the evening before. Perhaps he was growing tired of her? Without his support she would soon find herself once again on the street searching for another benefactor. Benefactor, she enunciated the word in her mind, drawing out the vowels and consonants so they would forever be impressed upon her memory.
Her mind kept returning to the other night when he'd held her in his arms. It seemed so long ago and she'd not seen him since. It was useless. Did she really believe she could compete with the fine ladies he'd probably kept company with all that long evening?
A farce, yes that's what she was, the shell of a woman, without means or letters, a failure. How cruelly life had treated her. Her resentment rose like bile in her throat and with one sweep of her hand, the fine china lay scattered, shattered into tiny shards.
Her life here had come to an end. She might be a fallen woman, but did she not still possess some modicum of pride? Her dear Papa...what would he think of the woman his little girl had become? Better she should die than shame the memory of his good name. It was over. She'd rather starve in the streets than give herself to another man whom she did not love. This one had been different though. I loved you, she whispered.
She hastened from the room, raced down the staircase and emerged into the brilliance of the winter morning. The cool air bit at her face and stung her lungs. She inhaled, gulping the frosty coolness. The tiny flakes glistened as they fell. She'd arrived at his home in early autumn; how long could she expect to remain in the warm comfort of the doctor's home?
He seemed impervious to her attempts at seduction. Was she not even good enough to warm his bed? But the way he looked at her told her otherwise. Her imagination, her hope that he might see her differently from the others who only looked through her, began to fade. Why had she ever imagined anything more could be between them?
She was what she was. The life that should have been hers was never to be.
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. A sharp wind cut through her. Her stomach knotted and she fell to her knees in a heap. Pitiful creature, she thought. What have you left to give the world? What is left to take from it? She was finished with the charade, with the façade. Life belonged to others, not to a creature such as herself.
The distant snow-covered caps called to her, the frozen lake cried out for companionship. "Karolina," called the wind, "Karolina." She sprang up and dashed forward, running as though the devil was on her heels. When she slipped she cried out, then lurched forward and fell.
The world turned black. She smiled as she sunk into the velvety darkness of sleep. Warmth like a blanket covered her. Once again she lay in the bed of her childhood, the short childhood before her world collapsed.
* * * *
Throughout the evening he'd heard her footsteps pacing the floor above him. The night had been difficult for her. She'd slept little, if at all. Although he was certain she had not remembered the memories dredged from their last session, perhaps her body had internalized the trauma he had forced her to relive.
This man Gerhard--if he ever encountered the coward, he would kill him. The pacing above him had long since been silenced. How he had longed to comfort her, to run to her side and take her into his arms. But it was against his ethical nature, against what his chosen profession had instilled in him. Still, he found himself less and less able to distance himself from this woman who had mysteriously entered his life.
What was she doing at this very moment? What was she thinking? The memory of the evening when he'd held her in his arms returned. How callous of him. How could he desert her as had all the other men in her life—lives?
Whenever ill or deep in thought, he'd run his finger along the upraised scar upon his chest. It was an odd habit but one that suddenly struck him mute. And what of his strange vision the night of the ball? It seemed he'd been possessed by a strange fever ever since. Could he be the men in Karolina's past? He stopped himself before he began to question all that he believed in. And yet it must be so, he thought.
He glimpsed at the clock. Damn it! He had never remained in bed until so late an hour. How could he have slept so long? Transcribing his notes into the small hours of the night, he surmised that exhaustion and the exhilaration at his findings had caused the lapse.
He bolted from his bed and threw on his clothing to go in search of her. Not in her room, perhaps she'd gone to the atelier to paint. Her work was remarkable. She had a talent for capturing the moment. Progressing from scenes of darkness, her paintings began to move toward happiness, both in scene and light. He entered the atelier but she wasn't there. Her latest painting was of a pup that he was certain was the little dog Mischa that she'd recalled during their first session. Perhaps he would gift her with one. It would keep her company while he was at his work. He recalled his childhood dog and the pleasure the beast had brought him. Why not? he asked himself.
But where had she gone? He walked over to the window and looked out onto the vast property that had been in his family for generations. The place was too quiet now. The sound of his mother's laughter had been silenced forever. He missed her kind and gentle ways. How many years had passed since she'd been gone? Lukas suddenly realized how lonely his life had become, but was no longer since the chance arrival of Karolina. He didn't care about her wayward past, but only that she was there.
With a start, he spied a small figure on the ground. It was covered in snow and appeared lifeless. No, he thought, it couldn't be.
"Karolina!" He called out but the figure did not move. Bolting from the room, he took the stairs three at a time, then raced across the snow-covered expanse until he could once again make out the tiny figure that lay crumpled in the snow.
When he reached her she was nearly covered in a shroud of white. Tiny flakes rested softly upon her eyelids. He knelt beside her and took her in his arms. As he lifted her he
ad he noticed the blood stained marks left by a gash in her forehead. Why had he not gone to her last night? Why had he left her to fight her demons alone? If she were dead, he would never forgive himself.
Something broke inside him. A flood of tears streamed from his eyes as he hugged the inert form to his chest. She was cold, too cold. A single teardrop fell upon her face and she moaned softly. Scooping her into his arms he carried her, racing against the great divide between death and life, between abandonment and love. He did not stop until he placed her gently in her bed. He was determined to save her, both body and soul.
He loved her. But would she have him?
Chapter Eleven
How many days had passed since he'd found her still and nearly lifeless body in the hushed snowfall of that winter day? How many nights had he spent at her bedside, nursing her back to health? He was beside her when she finally awoke.
Several weeks had passed. Although not yet fully recovered, her body was regaining its strength, and he could wait no longer to learn why she had come to him on that night so long ago. He would dare also to glimpse into her future.
Now it was time. She'd slipped into that dream-like state and lay like an angel before him. He took her hand in his and breathed deeply.
“Do you trust in me?”
“Yes,” she said, softly.
He was always touched by this response. Pale and weak, her fragility pained him.
"You are safe and no harm shall come to you. Karolina, tell me what it is that you want. Why did you come here? To me? What is it that will make you happy?”
She sighed and began to speak softly. “To love and be loved. To have a home and a family, but alas, that life is not for me. My life has been filled with pain. I do what I must to survive. I am the paramour of wealthy and not so wealthy men. I use them as they use me, but I grow tired of this futile and endless pursuit. A life of happiness, intelligent intercourse with a man, one who will accept me as I am, is impossible. It is not to be—I thought so at one time, but that was long ago...”