Angelica Faust is a poor governess to the spoiled daughter of a new-money family near Hamburg, Germany. She is caught in a world where money and ancestry matter more than honor and dignity.
When she becomes the object of forbidden desire and her father’s murderer stalks her, bent on revenge, she finds herself alone and undefended. She must choose between her desire to be loved and protected and her need to be true to herself. She can’t have it both ways—but if her father’s murderer finds her first, she may not get the chance to choose.
Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
~Alexander Pope
Chapter One: A Walk in the Dark
“I DON’T BELONG HERE,” Angelica whispered, brushing her blonde ringlet behind her shoulder.
Stars twinkled overhead as she glanced up at the ornate doorway of Immerholz Manor—the palatial residence of the Schmitt family, the oldest landed gentry in Hamburg, Germany. The blazing light belching forth from the open heavy wooden doors did little to make her feel welcome.
“Me neither,” Hanna Becker muttered, slouching in her off-the-shoulder gown, making it pucker over her underdeveloped bosom. When her mother, Countess Margrit Becker, tried to adjust it, Hanna swatted her hand away.
“Nonsense,” Frau Becker chided with a scowl. “We were invited by the duke himself.” She tapped the small of Hanna’s back with her fan, signaling for the girl to stand up straight. Hanna huffed but stretched her neck and raised her chin.
“Stille. Be quiet, both of you,” Count Heinrich Becker said. “Do not make a scene.”
A butler approached and ushered them through the marble hallway and into the ballroom. Angelica couldn’t help raising her gaze to the ceiling, where candles flickered in a crystal chandelier, casting rainbowed light about the room and highlighting the gilded moldings of leaves and scrolls outlining the perimeter. The gaudy interior clashed with her plain, high-collared blue gown. Angelica clasped her hands, wishing they would stop shaking. She was the most underdressed woman in the room. The guests gawked at her and the Beckers as though they were exotic animals on display in a menagerie.
Most of the guests descended from the old-titled elites—families with land but no money. The Beckers belonged to a new class of nobles who had purchased their titles but had no land to establish their legitimacy among the landed nobility. For a full minute, a kind of class tug-of-war took place with the guests and the Beckers staring each other down, daring one another to cross some imaginary line before Duke Karl Schmitt broke off his conversation and stepped up to greet them.
“Welcome, Herr Heinrich,” he boomed. He eyed Angelica with obvious suspicion before raising an eyebrow at Heinrich. “I see you’ve brought your lovely family—and your help.”
The countess winced at the duke’s offensive use of “Herr” rather than “Count.” Nonetheless, her husband leaned toward the duke and whispered, “She is here to chaperone our daughter, Hanna. Tonight is her first ball.”
“I see,” Duke Schmitt said, sneering at Angelica as though she were a clump of manure on the bottom of his shoe.
It was clear he didn’t like the idea of a mere governess invading his party. Servants were supposed to be neither seen nor heard. Angelica squeezed her hands even more tightly and tried to smile.
The Beckers would have to get used to this sort of thing if they insisted on parading their daughter before the nobility in an attempt to hook some nobleman’s title and land. But Angelica hoped she would not be dragged along every time they trotted their daughter out. She had only been with the Beckers for four months, but in that time, she’d come to see that the Beckers were both envied and hated by the landed elite, who needed cash to preserve and rebuild their crumbling estates. The lure of the Beckers’ large bank account was the only thing that compelled the old gentry to tolerate them. On the other hand, the elite owed Angelica, a mere governess with no family or wealth, no such respect.
Angelica had argued—an uncharacteristic act on her part—that it would appear awkward and inappropriate for her to attend, and she had been right, as the duke had just proven. Still, neither of the Beckers wanted to be bothered with Hanna. Angelica’s job tonight was to act as Hanna’s companion, shepherding the girl through the evening’s events and keeping her out of mischief. Hanna was, after all, only fourteen and full young to be out. But her parents were determined to find her a good catch from Germany’s wealthiest landowners.
Herr Becker had moved up the ranks of the civil service system, excelling in his military capacity as well as his mercantile industry. The titles of count and countess had been bestowed on him and his wife in a strictly honorary way. Now, they wanted only land to meld completely with the old-elite families and thus make a permanent place for themselves in German high society.
“We must start now, while there is still land to be gotten,” Count Becker had said. “And a portion of Immerholz estate would be quite the prize.”
Immerholz mansion was imposing. Its rich rococo style oppressed her with all its swirls and gilding and theatrical ornamentation, so different from the simple, elegant woodlands surrounding the manor. Perhaps that was the point—to jar the senses beyond all hope of tranquility.
As the Beckers and Angelica started down the reception line, the count and countess exchanged greetings with their hosts, the Schmitts. They sidled from person to person, with Count Becker shaking hands and the ladies curtsying as they were introduced.
As they neared the end of the line of dignitaries, a woman near Angelica dropped her silk, lace-edged fan. The husband of the woman stood with his back to the Beckers, discussing something with the duke in a loud, animated fashion. The skirt of the woman’s gown fanned out like an overturned full rose in blossom, making it impossible for her to retrieve her fan. She glanced around, her cheeks reddening. Angelica stooped to pick up the fan since her narrow-hooped skirt offered no such restraint. When she straightened, the woman’s husband, a man with bushy blonde eyebrows, loomed over her. The scent of brandy and nutmeg wafted off him.
Angelica gasped in recognition and stumbled back a step. She found herself face-to-face with Klaus von Adler, the very man who had murdered her father during the 1848 revolt.
Angelica’s mouth dropped open, and she gripped the fan in front of her in white-knuckled terror. Von Adler narrowed his cold ice-blue eyes. The ends of his waxed mustache turned up like the horns of an enraged bull. And it was impossible to dismiss the brutal scar that ran down the length of his left cheek—the scar her father had given him with the broken leg of a kitchen chair.
“Don’t I know you?” Klaus von Adler’s voice was gruff. His gaze bored into Angelica. Fear clawed at her insides. An uncomfortable warmth spread up her neck and across her face. She tried to look away, but his ferocious scar drew her attention, forcing her to remember the night he’d received it. The fear. The blood. The pain. Von Adler had certainly earned his ugly trophy.
Recognition played on his face, he snarled. “You are Theodore Kaufman’s niece, are you not?” He bent to whisper something to his wife. Angelica caught the last of his words,“…that imbecile reformist. Made me look like a fool.”
Angelica pinched her lips tight, afraid she might lash out at his impertinence. This vicious animal was willfully not remembering her father, Nikolaus Faust, the poor but perfect man whom he had struck down as he ransacked their home in search of Uncle Theo. Or perhaps he didn’t dare mention her father in front of everyone. He murdered him, after all, and had gotten away with it. He had been a military leader charged with putting down the revolt by whatever means necessary, and his junior officer was not bold enough to challenge his authority. Angelica’s breaths came quick and painful as her pulse beat against her eardrums. She had long dreamt of avenging her father’s death, and now she stood face-to-face with the monster of her nightmares. Her trembling fingers fumbled Frau von Adler’s fan, and she dropped it.
“Let me get that for you,” a man at the end of the receiving line said. He snatched it from the floor and held it out to Frau von Adler. “Slippery things, these fans.”
Thankful for his intervention, Angelica let out her breath. Who was this young man? His dark hair and hazel eyes gave him a dreamy appearance.
“Much obliged, Lord Rolf,” Frau von Adler said as her gaze flicked from her husband to Angelica. She accepted the fan with a gracious smile before turning her nose up at Angelica.
Her husband leaned toward Lord Rolf and growled, “What is your father playing at? Is this a ball for reformists?”
So, the young man was the son of their host, Duke Schmitt.
Lord Rolf looked taken aback. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Von Adler blew out his air, ruffling his whitening mustache. “This girl is the niece of that rabble-rouser Kaufman.”
“Who?” Lord Rolf wrinkled his brow, obviously confused.
“Blast it, man, one of the rebels. Kaufman got away. What do they call them now? The wandering Forty-Eighters? As if they were some sort of heroes.”
Lord Rolf studied Angelica now with one raised eyebrow, and she was sure he was going to make a scene. Why had she let the Beckers drag her here?
“This thing,” von Adler gestured to her with a sinewy hand, “is one of their spawn.”
Angelica’s eyes widened. Would this man have her ejected from the ball? Uncle Theo had, indeed, participated in the revolt of 1848, fighting for the rights of the common man. Had even gone to prison for it. But he was in no way a bad man. A naïve visionary perhaps, but not evil. She had no idea if what von Adler said—that her uncle had escaped—was true. Knowing von Adler’s reputation, he probably executed Uncle Theo in the dead of night, buried his body in an unmarked grave in the woods, and then spread word that he had escaped.
Lord Rolf gave von Adler a shrewd glance. “Those days are past. Our country is changing. We must not blame the sins of your generation on one so lovely.”
“Sins of my generation!” von Adler spluttered.
Angelica cringed away from his outburst, wishing she were anywhere else.
“Come, Leonora,” von Adler ordered and stalked off, gripping his wife’s arm like a vice, dragging her behind him.
Lord Rolf’s smile was all benevolence as Angelica raised her gaze to his. He was a handsome young man with a friendly demeanor, and he had just shown her a kindness she would not have expected from a man of his station. She blinked rapidly to dispel her tears and endeavored to smile. His blue eyes displayed true merriment. This was a man who knew how to put others at ease or get a rascal’s back up—whichever was called for at the moment—a quality that intrigued her.
“Are you all right, Fräulein?” he asked.
Angelica nodded, hoping he would soon forget her presence altogether. She would not soon forget his.
Herr Becker cleared his throat, drawing Lord Rolf’s attention back to his family. “As I was saying, this is my wife, Margrit, and my daughter, Hanna.” The two ladies curtsied. In an offhanded way, Herr Becker added, “And that is Fräulein Faust, our governess. She is here to accompany our daughter, Hanna, and see her through her first ball.”
“We had no idea she came from such stock as the reformers,” the countess said, glowering at Angelica. “Had we known, we would never have hired her.”
When Lord Rolf’s gaze wandered back to Angelica and lingered there, her face grew hot.
“Like I told Herr von Adler, you cannot hold her accountable for the sins of the older generation.”
Frau Becker frowned at Angelica for a moment before her lips curved into a simpering smile and she turned to face Lord Rolf. “I do hope you’ll indulge me and dance with my daughter tonight. It would make her first ball so memorable.”
Glancing at Frau Becker, Lord Rolf said, “Please, call me Rolf. Such formalities need not exist between friends.”
A sly smile crept across Frau Becker’s face as she blushed like a schoolgirl. She smoothed her dress and fluttered her fan. He bowed to her, and she curtsied. Angelica once again had witnessed his finesse as he banished Frau Becker’s irritation with practiced skill.
Rolf maintained his flow of pleasantries. “And nothing would give me more pleasure than to dance with your daughter, Countess Becker. Let me introduce my sister Dora.”
At his use of the word “countess,” Frau Becker positively beamed at him. Angelica, too, had learned the power this word had in soothing Frau Becker’s injured pride. She had used this method herself many times over the past few months.
Dora joined them, and the whole family bowed or curtsied.
Angelica shivered at the feeling of someone’s stare boring into her from behind. She glanced around, only to find Klaus von Adler studying her with a villainous expression. She turned away and blew out a slow breath as she tried to calm her racing heart and banish the sting of tears. How would she make it through the night with that murderer haunting the place? And why couldn’t the son of their host find someone else to stare at? There was a whole room of glamorous women available. Angelica wasn’t there to dance but to chaperone only, being forced to serve the needs of her immature and spoiled charge.
Beside her, Hanna giggled as she watched Lord Rolf and his sister return to their places in the reception line. Angelica squeezed Hanna’s hand and gave a slight shake of the head. Giggling was decidedly childish and would not win her much admiration in this crowd. Hanna yanked her hand away and assumed a sulky expression. Frau Becker linked arms with Hanna and marched her off to the side of the room nearest the outer doors. Angelica followed in Frau Becker’s voluminous wake, feeling like an obedient terrier chasing its mistress. When they neared some huge Corinthian pillars, Hanna jerked free of her mother’s grasp.
Frau Becker dragged her husband behind one of the blue marbled columns, where they commenced a whispered argument as crowds of people strolled past in a promenade about the newly renovated Immerholz ballroom. The place had been severely damaged in the uprisings of 1848, when reformists—like her uncle—demanded the right to vote and other basic human rights, and yet, the grounds and woods surrounding it still flourished.
“I knew it was a mistake to bring her,” Frau Becker huffed. “She continually draws attention to herself wherever she goes.”
Angelica stiffened and tried not to blush.
Herr Becker gave Angelica a sideways glance before rolling his eyes. “Margrit, that is not true, and you know it. Angelica is not a flirt. She came highly recommended by Frau Müller—the best graduate of her finishing school. And she can’t help that her looks draw men’s notice.”
“But you saw how von Adler reacted to her, and even Lord Rolf went out of his way to shield her. She’s a distraction we don’t need.”
Angelica was used to hearing Frau Becker’s backbiting, but the fact that Angelica had attracted and held a murderer’s notice made her skin crawl.
Herr Becker sighed. “Remember why we are here. Tonight, you must mingle with the society women.”
Frau Becker clicked her tongue in disgust. “Women who won’t even refer to me by my title? Even that fledgling son of the duke knew enough to call me ‘Countess Becker.’”
“Hush, Margrit. Someone might overhear you.” He glanced over at Hanna, who was pouting and plucking petals from a flower she had snatched from one of the vases, scattering the refuse about her feet. “How are we to get into their good graces if you are stuck chasing a moody twelve-year-old all night?”
Hanna’s eyes flashed. “I’m not twelve—I’m fourteen.”
“I will wait in the carriage, if you wish, Countess,” Angelica said in a low tone, hoping they would agree. “I do not want to cause trouble.”
“Remain where you are,” Herr Becker ordered. His raised black eyebrow was as commanding as his voice.
His wife pursed her lips. “And how is Hanna supposed to attract the attention of Rolf Schmitt with her hovering around?” She made a backhanded swatting motion at Angelica.
“I don’t want Rolf Schmitt’s attention,” Hanna interrupted. “He’s too old.” She turned to look at Lord Rolf, who stood across the room still gazing in their direction. “Why, he’s almost twice my age!”
“Hush!” Herr Becker snapped. “People are listening.” Then out of the side of his mouth, he added, “This may not even work. I overheard Duke Schmitt currying that Rivera fellow’s favor.” He pointed with his chin to a swarthy-complected man with large brown eyes. “See how his daughter eyes young Rolf? There must be some kind of understanding between the families already.”
A trumpet sounded, signaling for couples to ready themselves for the commencement of dancing. Angelica glimpsed Lord Rolf whisper something to his sister before breaking away from the reception line. A dark-haired maiden in line scowled as he walked toward the Becker family, disappointment playing across her features. Lord Rolf’s gaze never left Angelica as he drew near.
Angelica glanced around, seeking some route of escape. If he asked her to dance and not Hanna, the countess would have a terrible fit and probably toss Angelica out into the streets, despite the count’s protestations.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She clasped her hands, trying in vain to stop them from shaking. Noting the open French doors about ten feet behind, she took a step toward them. When she turned back to tell her mistress she needed some air, Lord Rolf was there, bowing to Hanna.
“Would you give me the pleasure of your company for the opening of the ball, Fräulein Becker?” he asked.
Angelica exhaled with relief and let her hands fall to her sides.
“With…with pleasure, sir,” Hanna spluttered.
Lord Rolf offered his arm to the astonished girl. He smiled at the Beckers and gave a courteous nod to Angelica. Hanna timidly accepted his arm and followed him to the dance floor. She threw one look of misery at Angelica, who mouthed to her, “Remember what we practiced.”
Whatever Rolf Schmitt’s temperament, he was no fool. He knew whom and how to please. The Beckers smirked with satisfaction, undoubtedly feeling honored that he bestowed his attention upon their daughter. But why did Duke Schmitt appear so disappointed? This dance would surely bring his estate that much closer to rescue from penury.
Frau Becker tossed a victorious sneer Angelica’s way before she and her husband split up to find partners for the Grand March. Far from feeling offended at being left alone, Angelica rejoiced to have a few minutes to herself. She slipped through the immediate side door into an orangery, breathing in the calming fragrance of the trees. Ripening green-orange globes dangled from the potted trees, causing their branches to bow before her as she meandered through the conservatory. Torches flickered at intervals outside its glass walls, making the shadows of the trees dance, much like the couples in the ballroom.
Such beautiful surroundings did little to lift Angelica’s mood. She hoped to have a home of her own someday, a place to dwell without fear of being thrown into the streets. But she was no fool. Her chances of doing so were slim. A governess seldom had the opportunity to meet men of her own social class—and even if she did, she could never find the time to be courted. For now, her position at the Beckers offered her a small semblance of permanence.
A movement in the doorway caught her attention as von Adler and his wife promenaded past. At the sight of that man, Angelica’s pulse quickened, and she retreated into the garden’s interior in a vain attempt to escape her memories from ten years before when she was but twelve.
An abrupt pounding on the door had brought her father, Nikolaus, to his feet. The designs for his current stonemasonry project slid from the rough table to the floor.
“Not again,” he growled. “I just got the house put back together from their last visit.”
Angelica’s mother grabbed her and drew her into a darkened corner of the sitting room, where the two of them huddled. Her father peered out the window.
“There are two of them,” he whispered. A wild gleam of fear flashed in his eyes. “Stay hidden, Greta, no matter what happens.”
“Why will they not leave us alone?” her mother murmured.
This was the third time today soldiers had come in search of Uncle Theo. The whole town was in an uproar since protesters had surged through the streets, chanting about the right to vote and demanding improved working and living conditions. It wasn’t as though Uncle Theo was seeking to hurt anyone. He only wanted to help secure a few basic rights for his fellow countrymen. German soldiers were out in force to put them down and harshly punish any reformists they found. Angelica’s parents had forced her to remain inside so she wouldn’t have to witness the cruelty of men being clubbed to death or dragged away to jail, leaving behind grizzly trails of blood.
The pounding commenced once again, and Nikolaus opened the door and stood his ground.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I want Theodore Kaufman,” Klaus von Adler said. “This is his residence, is it not?”
“Why do you want him?” Angelica’s father asked.
“He led the uprising in the square today,” von Adler spat. “I saw him.”
“Theo is not here.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Von Adler’s upper lip lifted in a sneer, making his waxed mustache tilt at an odd angle. “Out of my way. We’ll find that reformist weasel and tan his miserable hide.” He struck Nikolaus across the face with his baton, sending him stumbling against the table. Nikolaus broke a chair with his fall.
Angelica yelped as her father sprawled on the floor, apparently unconscious. A cold hand clamped firmly over Angelica’s mouth, and her mother drew her deeper into the shadows. She could feel her mother’s breath brush the back of her neck in short, ragged gasps.
Von Adler stormed into the dim room, his blazing blue eyes searching for the source of the muffled cry. When his gaze focused on Angelica and her mother cowering in the corner, a wicked grin smoldered on his face.
“What have we here?” he sniggered and snapped his baton against the palm of his gloved hand. “Two lovelies.” He smirked at his companion. “One for each of us.” Von Adler kicked aside another chair and had just grabbed hold of Angelica’s arm when his companion let out a cry and crashed to the floor.
Before von Adler could react, Nikolaus bellowed in fury as he slammed the jagged edge of a broken chair leg into von Adler’s face, slicing a deep gash into his left cheek.
Angelica screamed as his warm blood sprayed her face and arms and dribbled onto his uniform. He bellowed like a mad bull and launched himself at her father, unsheathing a knife from his belt as he flew. Angelica stared in paralyzed horror as von Adler plunged his knife into her father’s chest over and over again until his junior officer hauled von Adler off and dragged him from the house.
“Swine! Dung!” von Adler screamed as they staggered out into the street. Silence. Agonizing, penetrating silence hovered over the awful scene. Nikolaus Faust lay dead in a pool of gore. Angelica’s life would never be the same.
“You like oranges?”
Angelica whipped around, dragged from her morbid reveries, to find Rolf Schmitt smiling down at her. She gulped for air as her shaking hand flew to her throat.
“Sorry to have startled you, Fräulein Faust.” He touched her shoulder to steady her.
“Is the Grand March over already?” she asked. “I must get back to Fräulein Becker. Please excuse me.”
She edged past him, but he grabbed her elbow. Images of Frau Becker’s sneer and her finger pointing to the street flashed through Angelica’s mind, along with Herr Becker’s slow, reluctant nod. Angelica could not let this happen. She had to get away from here—away from Lord Rolf.
“Dear little Hanna doesn’t need you right now,” Lord Rolf said. “Young Henri von Bissing asked her to join him for a waltz, which made her quite happy. So you have a few more moments of freedom.” He gazed out through the tall glass windows. “Perhaps we might take a turn around the parterre?” He motioned toward the formal garden just beyond the terrace. It resembled a large work of ornate embroidery, with flowers planted inside the centers of hedges sculpted into elegant scrolls and swirls.
“I can’t,” Angelica said, wriggling out of his grasp. “The countess would not approve.”
“Frau Becker is currently occupied with Herr Neumann. What she doesn’t know can do her no harm.”
Angelica sniffed. It was amazing how much harm could crash down upon a mere governess at the slightest provocation. She dithered over what to do—accompany him through the gardens or return to the ball where she did not belong and had no role to play. She glanced toward the door to the ballroom, and, sure enough, Frau Becker glided past in the arms of a plump, middle-aged man. She was laughing and seemed to be enjoying herself. And what of Herr Becker? Where was he? She searched the crowds of people visible through the large picture window.
Lord Rolf raised an eyebrow. “As the son of your host, I insist.”
Angelica gave him a weak smile. It was hardly fair of him to put his request in such terms, making it impossible for her to decline without displaying outright rudeness. Had she been in different circumstances, she might have rejoiced at being the object of such a handsome, eligible man’s interest. But with her mother’s death the previous year, she was now an orphan. A governess. Fitting in nowhere and belonging to no one. With no family to protect her. No safe refuge to which she could retreat. All she had were her wits, which were telling her to get as far away from this man as possible. But how? She bit her lip and finally gave in.
“Since you insist,” she said, “but I cannot go far.”
He grinned and gestured toward the garden. Torches danced in the gentle wind as they cast a warm glow about the parterre. A chilly October breeze fingered the long sleeves and high neckline of her gown, tickling her throat. Angelica drew her shawl closer as she walked, keeping her gaze low to study the designs of the garden plots.
The two of them strolled along without speaking. She kept her mouth clamped shut, unwilling to break the silence, unsure of what he wanted from her. Butterflies fluttered within her—partly from fear, partly from flattery. She cast a wary glance at Lord Rolf, but he appeared to be innocently taking in the beauty of their surroundings.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained. “What a relief to get away from that mob. My father is trying to reinvigorate an old relationship with a Spanish nobleman—Rivera is his name. Probably sealing the bargain right now to have me marry the man’s daughter, Celeste.”
“That may disappoint a fair number of ladies here.”
“Yourself included?”
What sort of remark was that? This young man had a healthy ego—one which Angelica refused to feed.
When she did not answer, he changed the subject. “And how do you like being a governess for the Beckers?”
Angelica stifled a snort. How did she like it? How would anyone like it? The countess rarely spoke to her but to deliver a reprimand or jibe for some imagined offense. Herr Becker was forever having to defend Angelica from his wife’s frivolous attacks. She dreaded the day when he would finally give up the fight and toss her into the street with nowhere to go and no references with which to acquire another position. But she could not say any of that. For all she knew, Lord Rolf was testing her. Maybe he had even been sent by Frau Becker herself. Prudence demanded a little white lie.
“The Beckers are very good to me.” She hoped this would suffice, that she would not have to think up another fib. After all, this was mostly true. Hanna was painfully honest, if a bit immature, and Herr Becker treated Angelica with respect. “I am thankful to have my position.”
“Prettily spoken,” Lord Rolf laughed. “You could be a diplomat.” They rounded the far end of the central oval and made their way back toward the house. “Where are your parents?”
“My mother passed away a year ago.” Angelica cringed at the tremor in her voice. That loss was still very raw. Pneumonia was a merciful killer when she had witnessed the general decline of her mother’s spirits after the loss of her father.
“I am sorry,” Lord Rolf said. “But what of your father?”
Angelica hesitated. How much did he already know? Had von Adler told him something? Perhaps she could lie her way out of this, but Lord Rolf’s genuine empathy drew her interest. Surely he would surely find out if she were untruthful. And he hadn’t seemed to agree with von Adler about the reformists. Still, it was best to be cautious.
“Dead.” Angelica swallowed. “Ten years ago.”
“How?”
Angelica scoffed and then instantly regretted it when she glanced at Lord Rolf and saw that she had roused his interest.
“Did he die in the revolution?” Lord Rolf prompted.
Eyeing a gap in the hedge, she longed to bolt through it, to disappear into the forest beyond. To reveal that his killer was inside the ballroom right now could be dangerous.
Lord Rolf studied her expression and read the truth in her wide-eyed silence. His mouth dropped open in a display of surprise. “It was von Adler, wasn’t it? That’s why he singled you out for attack earlier tonight.”
Angelica lowered her gaze to the walkway of crushed, white seashells. With hesitation, she nodded. “How did you know?”
“He takes pride in his brutal repression of the revolt. I’ve heard him boast of it many times. What happened?”
“He came looking for my Uncle Theo after the revolt and stabbed my father to death during the scuffle that ensued.” Tears clung to her lashes, and she blinked to dispel them. “His junior officer would probably never admit that von Adler killed my father, but it happened all the same.”
Lord Rolf stopped and stared at her for a moment. “I am sorry for your loss. Von Adler is quite powerful. King Friedrich did just about anything he asked. Perhaps King Wilhelm will be different.” Lord Rolf removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Angelica.
She dabbed at her eyes in silence and fought to breathe normally. If she broke down here, Frau Becker would assume she was sulking at the slights she’d received and reprimand her. Or worse, she’d think Angelica was trying to draw Lord Rolf’s attention away from Hanna. They rounded the curve of a reflection pool and headed toward the stairs leading back to the orangery.
Lord Rolf sauntered along beside her with his hands clasped behind him. “Do you blame your uncle for what happened?”
She glared over at Lord Rolf. “Von Adler is to blame,” she blurted. Regretting her outburst, she swallowed, choosing her next words carefully. “One day, I asked my mother much the same question about Uncle Theo. Her answer was no. She said her brother was attempting to bring about a positive change in our country. Her favorite saying was something I’ll never forget—right is right, no matter the cost.”
Lord Rolf nodded. “A very wise woman, your mother. I suppose there are times when we must give up everything to be true to ourselves.”
Angelica nodded in agreement. “Though that may be true, it doesn’t make life any easier.”
“No, but it does give it some purpose.”
Angelica struggled to understand what purpose her life had. She was just living. Waiting. Surviving until some new opportunity came her way.
Strauss’s waltz Tales from the Vienna Woods was drawing to an end. Angelica sped up as they approached the fountain that poured from the wall between two stairways.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Lord Rolf asked, chasing after her. “Did I frighten you?”
“I mustn’t be found here with you, Lord Rolf,” Angelica said.
“Please call me Rolf. I want to be known for who I am rather than for my title.”
“All right, Rolf,” Angelica answered, “I must go. Frau Becker would not like my being here alone with you.”
“Perhaps I’ll turn up tomorrow at the Beckers’ for a visit. What do you say to that?”
Angelica stopped in her tracks and whirled to face him. “Oh no, you mustn’t! Please. Frau Becker would surely dismiss me.”
“Who cares? That shriveled old prune would have quite a time replacing a woman like you.”
“Spoken like a man who has never known want,” Angelica countered. “And I care.” She set off again, this time almost running.
Leaping in front of her, he grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop. “You think I would allow you to be thrown out into the street?”
“I don’t know the first thing about you.” Angelica broke free from him with frantic energy. “I must go.” Gathering her skirts, she bounded up the terrace stairs. This was not the first time her beauty had inspired unwanted gallantry.
“I would care for you,” Rolf called after her.
Turning back, Angelica huffed. “With what? Isn’t that why you must marry someone like Celeste Rivera or Hanna Becker? Because you have all of this,” she gave a sweeping gesture of her hand, “but no money?”
Rolf’s face fell before he pinched his lips together, and he started toward her.
Angelica spun and fled to the ballroom. What exactly was he suggesting? That she marry him? Or simply be his plaything? Were all men this brazen? She barely even knew Rolf, and he had already weaseled some of her most painful secrets out of her. Von Adler’s presence had rattled her. And now, Rolf Schmitt, the son of a duke, had taken an interest in her. She needed to regain control of the situation.
Chapter Two: The Formidable Opponent
“THESE MEASURES ARE played legato,” Angelica said to Hanna. “Though most of the song is lively, this part is smooth and flowing, not staccato.”
Hanna harrumphed and pounded both hands on the piano’s keys a few times, making Angelica wince at the discordant chaos. “I hate this song.” Hanna glared at the sheet music of Mozart’s Turkish March.
“Nevertheless, your mother insists that you learn to play.” Angelica spoke in a soothing tone, but she, too, was beginning to wish Mozart had never composed a single note—not if Hanna was going to play it. They had arrived home from the ball early in the morning, and Hanna’s strained emotions kept bubbling to the surface and overflowing. Admittedly, Hanna was sleep-deprived, having not gone to bed until five o’clock in the morning. But then, piano lessons routinely brought this sort of response even when she wasn’t tired.
Being the shepherd of such an obstinate, often straying, ill-tempered lamb was not an enjoyable task. Perhaps that is why the rich families hired someone else to do it—to avoid this agony of adolescent anguish.
Hanna’s lip protruded in a pout. “Mother’s on the hunt, wanting me to marry some noble fox so we can gain a real title.” She slouched and folded her arms in a huff. “A wedding ring may as well be a pair of shackles. All the joy in life flies out the window, and a woman’s left with nothing to do but pop out babies, scrounge for money, and flaunt her title.”
Angelica slid onto the bench beside her, struggling to control the wry smile that threatened to curl her lips. Hanna had a way with words. “Someday, you will find a good man to marry. I know it.” She gave the girl a half-hug. “Now, I’ll show you how these measures go.”
Her fingers glided over the smooth ivory keys, sending her pent-up emotions flowing through her fingers. She had almost finished the page of music when the door opened.
Angelica glanced up from the music. Lord Rolf entered, followed closely by Lorenz, the butler. Angelica’s mouth dropped open. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Rolf had given her fair warning the night before.
Lorenz cleared his throat loudly and said, “Lord Rolf and Lady Dora Schmitt.”
Panic flooded into Angelica, making her heart rate increase. The cut of his suit emphasized his muscular physique.
“Guten tag.” Rolf, proud as a peacock, grinned at them. His sister, Dora, sailed in behind him like a regal black swan. Dark ringlets framed her narrow face. Her expressive blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled and curtsied.
Angelica frowned. She had expressly asked—no, begged—Rolf not to come. At least he had the sense to bring his sister.
Angelica and Hanna scooted off opposite sides of the bench, rose to their feet, and curtsied with a swish of their skirts.
“You’ve met Dora, my sister, have you not?” Rolf puffed out his chest with exaggerated pride and bowed to Hanna. “We come bearing an invitation for the count and countess. Are they at home?”
These antics earned him a laugh from Hanna, but when he tried and failed to catch Angelica’s eye, he visibly deflated.
Angelica didn’t miss his use of their titles rather than “Frau” and “Herr.” He was a sly one.
“Unfortunately not, Lord Rolf,” Hanna said, not sounding at all sorry. “They should be back soon. My father had business in Hamburg this morning, and my mother traveled with him to meet with her dressmaker.”
“Please, call me Rolf. I detest so much pomp.”
“Then you must call me Hanna. Won’t you please sit down?” she asked, motioning to the sofa.
At least the girl was remembering the manners Angelica had been pounding into her.
Dora moved to sit on a chair-backed settee and surveyed the room with open interest. When her gaze reached Angelica, she gave a kind bob of her head before turning to smile with radiance at her brother. It was as if she were giving her approval of something—of what Angelica could only guess.
One part of Angelica wanted Rolf and his sister to turn around and go home, while another was glad of the reprieve from music lessons and Hanna’s moaning. She decided to welcome the diversion, for now. Their happy countenances lit up the somber room, and Angelica couldn’t help but feel her spirits lighten.
Lorenz bowed and withdrew with a quiet click of the door, leaving Rolf and Dora alone with Hanna and Angelica.
“What do you say, Hanna?” Rolf said with a sly grin. “Should we play a game of backgammon while Fräulein Faust continues practicing the piano for you? I heard her miss a few notes.”
“You heard no such thing,” Hanna contradicted. “She never makes mistakes.”
Rolf made a straight face. “My apologies,” he said with a quick glance at Angelica. “Must have been my faulty musical ears.” He tapped his right ear and winked.
Angelica nodded to him, though she knew full well he was being a tease. “Apology accepted.” She fought to keep her smile buried. It wouldn’t do to let anyone know they had spent time alone in the garden last night. Try as she might, she couldn’t forget how he had come to her rescue and offered a listening ear.
“That being said, some music might be entertaining.” He motioned to the piano. “Please, Fräulein Faust. Humor me. Dora can turn the pages for you.”
“Very well, if you insist.”
“I do.”
“You must forgive my brother’s officious manner,” Dora said as she and Angelica riffled through some sheet music. “I’m afraid he is used to having his own way, and he is an insufferable tease.” She pulled out a few sheets and handed them to Angelica.
“We’ll see about that,” Angelica whispered under her breath. She couldn’t help but feel drawn in by his infectious grin.
Rolf watched Hanna set up the backgammon board. His gaze frequently flicked to Angelica. His expression contained a little of the longing she had seen the night before. She refocused on her music. The last thing she wanted was to encourage this dangerous nonsense.
She sat at the piano with Dora beside her. She and Dora were slender enough, but their hoopskirts made for a tight fit. Angelica played Mendelssohn’s Spring Song, fingering the keys with a light touch so she could overhear Rolf and Hanna’s discussion as they began their game. More often than was comfortable, she could feel Rolf’s gaze lingering on her, making him neglect his game with Hanna.
After a few moments of play, Rolf clicked his tongue. “Again? You’re a cruel strategist, Hanna.”
Angelica glanced up from her music to see Rolf grabbing fistfuls of his hair and spluttering as Hanna set his piece on the bar that ran down the center of the board. Angelica couldn’t help but smile. His exaggerated bluster certainly entertained Hanna.
Hanna gave him a triumphant grin. “Angelica says if I begin the game with low rolls of the dice, I’m better off attacking my opponent’s vulnerable men and sending them to the bar.”
Rolf grunted. “Well, if Angelica said it, it must be a successful tactic.”
Angelica winced at his free use of her first name in front of Hanna and thanked her lucky stars that Frau Becker hadn’t heard him. She gave Dora a quick glance to see if she noticed, but Dora was following along with the music. Maybe she was used to him breaking social conventions like this. Maybe she was a rebel, too.
“Now what are you doing?” Rolf scowled as he studied the board.
Hanna smirked. “Occupying consecutive spaces so you can’t get through my blockade.”
“Another of Angelica’s strategies?” Rolf sniffed. “She’s a dangerous opponent.”
“She plays to win.”
“Is that so?” A shrewd expression crept across his face. He studied Hanna for a moment before swiveling to stare at Angelica. “Time will tell.”
A wild gleam flashed in his hazel eyes, like that of a mischievous boy before he drops a spider down the back of his sister’s dress.
What could he mean by it? Angelica wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
“You play this piece with perfect execution,” Dora said, making Angelica start. “With much more grace than I can manage.”
Another outburst from Rolf prevented Angelica’s reply.
“Not again!” Rolf teased and rolled the dice. “A one and a three! Unbelievable! At least let me get my man off the bar.”
Hanna shook her head and snickered. “He’s in prison—where he must remain.”
Dora laughed. “Looks like you’ve met your match, dear brother.”
Hanna giggled with delight, but the thwomp of the heavy front door closing swept the grin from her face in an instant. After a moment’s silence where all of their gazes strayed to the door, the snap of heeled boots reverberated down the hall, adding a discordant percussion to Angelica’s melody.
Frau Becker’s voice echoed down the hall, blaring over the gentle tinkling of the piano keys. “Angelica, why are you playing during Hanna’s practice time? Exhibiting, as usual?” Frau Becker scowled at her from the doorway until she noticed Lady Dora sitting beside her.
“I asked her to play,” Rolf said, rising from his chair, “while Miss Becker and I shared a game of backgammon.”
Frau Becker’s eyes widened, and her face flushed as red as a poppy. “Lord Rolf! I had no idea you and Lady Dora were here.”
“That’s obvious,” Rolf mumbled before adding in a louder voice, “Countess, I hope my sister and I are not an unwelcome surprise.”
Frau Becker’s red face darkened to a deep puce. She glared at Angelica as if she was the one responsible for her blunder.
Angelica lowered her gaze to the piano keys, struggling to hide her enjoyment of the woman’s well-earned humiliation.
“No, not at all,” Frau Becker sputtered. “I cannot think of anything more delightful than your company.” She whipped out her fan and started to flutter it before her face.
Rolf gave her a deep bow. “My parents wish to invite you and your husband to dinner tomorrow. They send their sincere apologies at the invitation’s abruptness.” He glanced at Angelica and then at Hanna. “When we found you were out, I challenged Hanna to a game of backgammon while we awaited your return. Your daughter is a formidable opponent.”
From across the room, Angelica noted the fleeting smirk slip across Frau Becker’s face at the mention of Hanna’s prowess. “Wonderful to have you here.” She strutted across the floor and regally sank onto the sofa. “Well, play on, Angelica, if that is what Lord Rolf wishes.”
Angelica sighed and resumed her song. What she wouldn’t give to silence Frau Becker’s nagging. It was exhausting to be constantly battered by her acid tongue and trapped between her and her feuding husband.
Dora leaned in to whisper, “Is she always like this?”
It was best to ignore this question. Answering could bring her no good. Angelica glanced over her music at Frau Becker, who snatched her innocent embroidery from a basket beside her and gave it a vicious jab with her needle as Rolf and Hanna resumed their game. By the time the song ended, Lord Rolf and Hanna had finished.
“Don’t look so downhearted, Rolf,” Hanna said. “You nearly won.”
“I didn’t have a skilled tactician to teach me like you’ve had. But I thank you for the lesson.” He stood, straightened his waistcoat, and held out a hand to his sister, who joined him. “I’m afraid we must be off now that our errand is completed.” Rolf bowed, and Dora curtsied. He turned to Frau Becker. “Shall I tell my father you accept his invitation?”
“Of course, my lord,” she said. “Heinrich and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Very good, my dear Lady.” Rolf and Dora stepped to the door. “Guter tag.” Before they exited, Rolf threw Angelica a brief frown while Frau Becker briefly examined her stitches.
Everyone in the drawing room remained frozen with properly stiff backs and false smiles until the front door had opened and banged shut. Then Frau Becker rounded on Angelica. “How dare you let me go on like that in front of Lord Rolf and Lady Dora. I’ve never been so humiliated.”
Angelica clamped her mouth shut. She knew better than to argue or defend herself. It was like being a tightrope walker in a circus—balancing on a thin wire with Frau Becker threatening to twang the line and fling Angelica to the ground at every step. The woman was ridiculous.
“Mama,” Hanna chided, “you can hardly hold Angelica responsible for the words that come out of your mouth. You can’t expect her to mother me and you as well.” She snickered for a moment before erupting into a full-blown guffaw. “You should have seen your face when you discovered we had visitors.” Hanna mimicked her mother’s horrified expression.
“Oh hush, girl!” Frau Becker snapped before storming from the room like a ship under sail.
As she went, Hanna continued to chuckle. “And she calls me a spoiled child.”
If life with the Beckers continued like this, things would reach a crisis point before long. Foolish boy, that Rolf. With his attempt to have things his own way, he’d antagonized the one woman Angelica had to please if she was to keep her position. Well, Angelica would show him. Next time he stormed in unannounced, she would stay as far away from him as possible.
Chapter Three: Two Letters and a Package
“COULD YOU LEAN A bit closer to your mother?” Angelica asked Hanna as she sketched the two women for what was to be a gift to Herr Becker—a charcoal drawing of a loving mother and dutiful daughter to a beloved husband. Funnily enough, this “gift of love,” as Frau Becker called it, was being produced by Angelica’s labor and not Frau Becker’s.
“I don’t want to move any closer,” Hanna whined. “You’re the artist with the magic pencil. Just sketch us closer.”
“Oh, would you stop complaining?” Frau Becker scowled at her daughter before adding, “Can’t you work any faster, Angelica?”
“I’m doing my best, Countess,” Angelica mumbled.
This constant struggle between mother and daughter left Angelica caught in the middle like a ball of yarn being batted about by two hissing cats. Peevishness was Hanna’s magnum opus. She had perfected it to a T. But she came by it honestly, having inherited it from her mother. Frau Becker could hold her own in the category of irascibility. Today’s session had started the moment Herr Becker had departed earlier that morning on a trip to Berlin. He had offered to let Hanna accompany him, but his wife declared it to be impossible, what with Rolf making regular visits.
His visits had become an almost daily ordeal since Herr and Frau Becker had dined with the Schmitts the week before. Sometimes he came just to chat. Sometimes to meander with the ladies through their manicured garden. Each time, Angelica distanced herself from him, saying as little as possible. He tried to draw her into their conversations, even asked her to take his arm, but she snubbed him every time. Frau Becker watched Rolf like a hawk, and even one mistake would have cost Angelica a tongue-lashing at the very least. So far, her strategy was working.
“You don’t want to miss having your daughter preferred over that Spanish nobleman’s, do you?” Frau Becker had said to her husband.
He couldn’t argue with her on that point, and his invitation to his daughter was withdrawn.
Marriage might have been the last thing on Hanna’s mind, but at times like this, Angelica thought Hanna’s marrying early would be a perfect escape from the Becker household. The downside to having Hanna marry young, of course, was that Angelica had nowhere else to go at present. This was her first position as a governess, and she doubted she would receive a positive reference from the Beckers.
Frau Becker checked her watch brooch and sighed. “Almost one o’clock. Perhaps he’s not coming today.” One might have almost thought she were the one Rolf was wooing and not Hanna.
As if on cue, the smart rap of a walking stick sounded at the front door, sending Frau Becker all aflutter as she bounded to her feet. Angelica blew out her air and set down her sketch. Neither mother nor daughter would sit long enough for her to capture an accurate likeness. The drawing was a hopeless jumble of shadowy outlines. She may as well toss it into the fire. Had Angelica inherited her mother’s deft hand, she would have finished by now.
Lorenz, the butler, strutted out with his accustomed pomp to answer the door. Straightaway, Rolf rounded the corner, clothed in his riding cloak.
“How do, ladies?” he said as he entered the room. “Fancy a ride through the countryside today? It’s a beautiful afternoon.” He flashed a toothy grin at Hanna and Angelica. Frau Becker noticed this and pursed her lips in a sulk before narrowing her eyes. Had Frau Becker also seen the one time Rolf had managed to touch Angelica’s hand on his last visit?
“I’m afraid Angelica is unavailable today,” Frau Becker announced. “I need her to run a few errands in town for me.”
“We could give her a ride,” Rolf said.
“No, we could not.” She gave Rolf a simpering smile. “Angelica does not get nearly enough exercise. Fritz has the day off, so Angelica must walk to the post office to fetch our mail.”
Rolf’s gaze traveled between Frau Becker and Angelica as if putting together a jigsaw puzzle in his mind. He remained silent for a few moments as the muscles in his jaw flexed. Frau Becker bustled about the room, gathering her gloves and fastening her hat in place with more enthusiasm than her schoolgirl daughter, who gave a little pout.
“Must you come, Mother?” Hanna said in a loud whisper.
“Yes, dear. We must keep everything respectable and above board.”
Hanna rolled her eyes.
Rolf bowed to Angelica and said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Savor your walk, Fräulein Faust. I fear it won’t be as enjoyable as our ride.”
Frau Becker tilted her raised head with an air of superiority. “Yes, enjoy yourself, girl.”
Though she would have enjoyed a ride through the countryside, Angelica was grateful for Frau Becker’s denial. At last, she could enjoy a few hours to herself—to think whatever she wanted and amble to the village post office in solitude without having to rein in Hanna’s exuberance, endure Frau Becker’s sharp tongue over some trifle, or evade Rolf’s attention. After draping the cloak over her shoulders, Angelica followed them to the front gate.
Rolf and Hanna set off for their drive with Frau Becker sitting on the seat behind them. Rolf handled two black horses with expert skill. He nodded to Angelica as they passed, and his jaw tensed as he tapped his horses’ rumps with the reins.
Angelica sighed and pulled her woolen cloak around her. The crispness of the autumn air filled her lungs, along with the balsam-like scent of the asters that lined the lane. When she exhaled, her breaths hung like small clouds, briefly obscuring her vision. The carriage crunched on the gravel as it jounced along ahead of her.
He was definitely growing on her. Though she hadn’t known many men, Rolf’s keen sense of humor and eagerness for adventure drew her interest. He was always solicitous of her welfare and didn’t sneer at her the way most of his class did. If the world did not revolve around wealth and position in society, Angelica might have allowed his attentions—even enjoyed them. She laughed at the sight of his carriage bouncing along with Frau Becker clutching the side in a death grip. They rounded the bend, and she was alone. Deliciously alone.
The last of the leaves had fallen from the trees. Only a few stragglers rattled in the breeze. A squirrel leaped from a high branch, sailing through the air before landing on an extended branch from the neighboring tree. Angelica wished she were up there with him.
She crossed an arched stone bridge and sauntered along the peaceful country lane. Before she knew it, she had reached the post office. A bell attached to the top of the door jingled as she entered.
“Fräulein Faust.” Oskar Winter, the postmaster, beamed at her. “You look lovely today. Here for the Beckers’ mail?” He paused. A playful smile twitched his mustache. “And yours, too.”
Angelica frowned. “Mine?” Had she heard him correctly? “I don’t get mail.” In fact, she knew no one who would send her anything.
“Then today’s your lucky day. I received a package addressed to you just this morning.” His eyes twinkled, and he retreated to the back room to fetch the parcel. He returned holding a few letters addressed to the Beckers and a packet wrapped in brown paper. “You received a note as well.”
His eyes twinkled as he handed them to her.
“Danke.” She searched both the letter and the package for a return address. Neither had one. Herr Winter cast her an inquisitive glance, leaning forward as if he wished her to open them right there.
“I can’t imagine who these are from,” she said, hugging them to her chest. She itched with curiosity but did not dare open anything for fear one might be from Rolf. The thought made heat rise in her face. It was the kind of prank he might play. “Danke, Herr Winter.” She stepped toward the door and curtsied to the postmaster. His lips pinched tight in disappointment, and she rushed out the door before he could say anything else.
So much for a leisurely stroll. Surprise, tinged with worry, gnawed at her insides. She all but ran the half-mile home. After racing into the house and dropping the Beckers’ mail on the hall table, she took the stairs two at a time and flopped, breathless, onto her bed. She had never received mail before, much less a package and a letter.
After breaking the wax seal, Angelica unfolded the letter, expecting that it would announce who had sent the package. Bold words were scrawled across the page—You will not escape like your uncle.
Her heart raced, feeling like it would explode. She dropped the poisonous letter and scrambled away from it like it was a snake coiling to strike. Alarmed, she crossed to her window and searched the woods surrounding the house. Could the villain be watching her even now? Seeing no one, she sank onto the corner of her bed. Her hands shook, and an icy chill swept through her.
It could only be from Klaus von Adler. Who else would write this? She had broken no law. Why send a note like this after so many years? To threaten her? She was a nobody. He probably wanted to torture her existence simply because he could. Men of his ilk liked to play with their victims.
She picked up the note with a still-trembling hand and studied the script—spiked, decisive strokes. One thing was certain—she would refuse to go anywhere alone from now on. She would not give him the opportunity to attack her. Crossing the room, she opened the door of the tiny pot belly stove and stuffed the letter inside. Flames licked the paper, making it turn black and curl in on itself.
Angelica swiveled to stare at the brown paper package summoning the courage to open it. All her giddy anticipation had crumbled to ash, like the letter. What if von Adler had sent her a dead rat in a box—or something worse? She studied the parcel for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she drew it toward her. To know was better than to fear.
The string securing the package was tied with an intricate knot, so she rummaged in her sewing bag for a pair of scissors. With one quick snip, the string fell away, and she peeled back the brown paper to reveal two leatherbound books. She sighed in relief. The book on top was a volume of poetry by Alexander Pope, from which a folded paper protruded. Beneath it was a novel called Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope. Both books were originals in English, rather than a translation to German.
Such a treasure! Angelica only had two books, and she was rarely allowed to read from the Beckers’ extensive library. She pulled the sheet of paper from the book of poetry, almost fearful to discover the sender. If these were from Rolf, she would have no choice but to return them. She unfolded the crisp letter and read—
My dearest niece—
Angelica gasped and lowered the paper. To receive a note from her only uncle on the very day she had received one from his mortal enemy! Uncle Theo had been silenced—permanently—or so she had thought. The Prussian military quashed the rebellion by slaughtering many of its leaders. But here she sat, holding a letter from Uncle Theo. This was incredible! Was it some trick? Something von Adler cooked up to traumatize her? She chewed her bottom lip.
I hope this letter finds you well and happy. Hearsay informs me that you are employed as a governess for a wealthy family—the Beckers—on the outskirts of Hamburg. I believe it is customary nowadays to teach the young folk to speak and read English. I hope these books will assist you in this task and make it more enjoyable. Trollope’s Doctor Thorne is quite popular in New York City right now.
Friends have also informed me of your mother’s death. To you, I express my sincere apologies. Greta was not only my sister but also my best friend—the one person in the world who believed in me. Before I fled, I knew it was the last time I would see her. Greta forgave my thoughtless venture, saying she felt I was fighting for the right cause. She told me “right is right, no matter the cost.” I’ve never forgotten those words, and I try to live by them. I did truly believe the revolution would make your life better. All I seem to have achieved was getting your father killed, being thrown in prison myself, and having to flee for my life and leave your mother and yourself defenseless.
I currently work as an itinerant artist painting portraits of wealthy elites in America. Life in New York is not all I hoped it would be, but at least I am free. At present, I earn little more than I need to support myself. However, if you desire it, come to live with me. Together, we can make things work. That is, if you can forgive me.
I enclose herein a locket of your mother’s. She gave it to me when I left, and I feel it should be yours.
Ever your loving uncle,
Theodore Kaufman
P.S. If you need me, send word to this address and they can find me:
141 Barrow Street
Manhattan, NY
U.S.A.
He had enclosed her mother’s locket! Angelica rifled through the brown paper but found nothing. She noticed the book of poetry bulged a bit and picked it up. A pocket had been pasted to the inside cover. From it, she fished out a silver chain and locket with swirling filigree that she recognized. Her mother had worn this locket every day. Angelica clicked it open. Inside was her mother’s portrait in miniature with the words “For Theo” scribbled in the lower left corner. A sob escaped Angelica, and she brought a hand to her throat. Her lovely mother had suffered a general and continuous decline in her last years, leaving Angelica to shift for herself.
Angelica clasped the locket to her chest and slumped back onto her pillows. Her eyes burned as tears slid down her cheeks. She was not alone in the world after all. Her uncle still lived. Could she forgive his part in her father’s death? Yes. There was no way he could have foreseen that outcome. Did she blame him? No. He had been fighting for the rights of commoners, the class of people to which she belonged.
Smiling through her tears, she stroked the spine of the poetry book. Uncle Theo had invited her to join him in New York. She sat up and read that portion of the letter again. He earns but little. Her hands dropped to her lap. She longed to escape the Beckers, and for the first time in her life there was another option. But her uncle clearly could not support her. For now, she had a position that clothed, housed, and fed her. She could not add to his financial distress, no matter how tempting his offer. Still, she would keep his address and his letter safe, just in case.
After opening the drawer of her nightstand, she placed the letter inside and closed it.
“Dear God, I thank thee for this locket. And for my uncle’s kind note,” she murmured.
Her mother would be forever with her now. After slipping the chain over her head, she tucked the locket next to her heart beneath her shirtwaist, corset, and camisole.
She perched on the window seat staring out at the naked trees. Her past memories collided with her future prospects until the sound of a carriage and Hanna’s delirious cackles drew her attention. From her bird’s eye perspective, she could see the merriment in Rolf and Hanna’s faces on the front bench of the carriage and the snarl on Frau Becker’s in the back. Hanna clutched Rolf’s arm, squealing with glee, her hair flying wildly behind her. Frau Becker had one hand clamped on her hat and the other gripping the rail of the carriage as they thundered past to the portico.
By the time Angelica made it down the two flights of stairs, Frau Becker’s voice was already ringing in the hall.
“Thank you for the pleasant ride, Lord Rolf.”
Angelica rounded the corner in time to see that Frau Becker’s expression did not match her tone.
“I had a wonderful time, Rolf,” Hanna said. “I do hope you come again soon.”
Rolf winked at Hanna, who blushed a crimson red. His gaze drifted down the hallway to Angelica, and he bowed to her before he left, closing the door behind him. His exit set off Hanna’s snickers once again.
“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” Frau Becker snapped at Angelica.
The woman might be acidic, but she could not banish Angelica’s new source of happiness. Her mother’s locket acted as a talisman against Frau Becker’s insolent desire to wound her.
“I did, thank you. How was your drive?”
“As pleasurable as any rutted, overgrown trail might be to a sophisticated woman on a hard wagon seat.” Frau Becker pulled a twig from her rumpled hair. “I believe Lord Rolf took us there with the express intention of dumping me on the ground.”
Hanna guffawed. “You nearly tumbled from the carriage twice, Mother. The look on your face. Funniest thing I ever saw!” She gasped for breath and wiped her eyes. “Priceless. Absolutely priceless.”
“Yes,” her mother sneered, “and there you two were, hooting and howling like two monkeys in a menagerie. You needed your governess today.” She scowled at Angelica.
This set Hanna off again. She hugged herself as she giggled.
When the sides of Angelica’s mouth twitched, Frau Becker shook her finger at her. “This is your fault. Next time Lord Rolf fancies a drive through the countryside, you will be the one accompanying Hanna, not me. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.” She rubbed her bottom and muttered, “My backside is so bruised I feel like I’ve been beaten with a board. Lord Rolf took his carriage on footpaths rather than roads. He and Hanna seemed to think it a good joke.” She glared at Hanna—who was red and puffing for air amid her shrieks of laughter—before clicking her tongue in disgust.
Rolf and Hanna had enjoyed themselves at Frau Becker’s expense. That much was evident. If only Angelica could have witnessed Rolf’s humbling of the countess.
“I’m going to lie down,” Frau Becker growled and hobbled from the room.
Being hard-pressed to keep Hanna occupied for the rest of the afternoon, Angelica suspected that a true partiality was developing between Hanna and Rolf—at least on Hanna’s part. This suspicion made Rolf’s small acts of kindness toward herself all the more unwelcome. Despite Angelica’s best efforts, this gave her a pang of regret. She wished she could accept his attentions. It would be nice to cherish the affection of a wealthy, good-natured man. But since this was not an option, Angelica would have to do everything she could to keep her distance from him—physically and emotionally.
Angelica and Hanna did not see Frau Becker until dinner, where she fumed and brooded, unnoticed by her husband. He kept his nose conveniently buried in the newspaper. She was peeved so often that perhaps he had ceased to care.
When Angelica was at last allowed to retire to her room for the night, she snatched up the books on her bed and thumbed through them. These would definitely liven up her English lessons. Hanna’s ability to concentrate was miniscule even on the best of days and nonexistent on the others. Maybe reading poetry or a novel would provide enough mental stimulation to hold the girl’s attention.
While Angelica read Alexander Pope’s An Essay on Man, a few lines stood out—
Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
A profound tranquility filled her as she reread those lines. Honor did not originate from one’s birth or social position but rather from how one acted in response to that condition. She could hold on for a while longer, never giving into the temptation to put Frau Becker in her place. She would not allow that woman to lower her own sense of dignity. She would act well her part and prove to Rolf and the Beckers that, though poor, she was a woman of honor and goodness.
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Angelica opened it to find Karla, a timid housemaid, cowering there. From her skirt pocket, she pulled a sealed note.
“Excuse the interruption, Fräulein, but Lord Rolf asked that I deliver this to you in secret.”
Angelica’s heart skipped a beat, and she glanced down the hall, seeing no one, as the girl slipped it to her.
“Danke,” she whispered.
At that moment, Frau Becker rounded the far corner. “Karla, what are you doing up here?” Her words made the housemaid jump as they echoed down the corridor. “Get down to the kitchen and stop loitering around Fräulein Faust’s room. If she wants something from the kitchen, she can fetch it herself.”
Karla’s eyes widened. “Yes, your ladyship.” She curtsied and fled down the back stairs to the kitchen. Angelica smiled at Frau Becker and closed her door, her heart racing.
Irritation itched at Angelica. What was Rolf up to? Such a move was dangerous. Very dangerous. What if it had been intercepted? Perhaps he wanted Angelica to be dismissed. Either that or he was unaware of the precariousness of her plight. Her position as Hanna’s governess teetered on a knife’s edge as it was. Angelica had half a mind to toss the note into the fire unread, but curiosity got the better of her. She broke the seal and read the note.
Dear Angelica,
I cannot tell you how disappointed I was that you were not allowed to accompany us today. Had you been there, Frau Becker would have enjoyed a much smoother drive. But women like her must be taught charm and courtesy. I think she’ll not forbid your participation in our future outings.
Know that I will forever look out for your welfare.
Ever Yours,
Rolf
Angelica gasped at his audacity. What was he thinking? It appeared he wasn’t thinking at all. To send her such a note—and in the hands of a frightened housemaid, no less—was dangerous and foolhardy at best. It had been a close call indeed.
His addressing her by her first name sent her heart fluttering. Visions of his roguish smile and his mild flirtations filled her mind. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of attraction whenever he was near. Yet these girlish fancies were impossible. He was a handsome, fun-loving man from an old and titled family, but he was also spoiled by nature, used to having things his way. And he was extremely dangerous to Angelica’s position in the Becker household.
In one thing he was right—Frau Becker’s constant needling and flighty whims were intolerable. Perhaps Rolf was trying to soothe her injured feelings, but in so doing, he was endangering her very position as governess. If he kept this up, if the countess ever found out, Angelica would be on the street before she could so much as snap her fingers. Despite her personal longings, she had to find a way to stop this before it went too far.
Rising, she strode to the stove and tossed the letter inside, letting it burn like von Adler’s. She would have to keep her wits about her if she wanted to come through this unscathed.
Chapter Four: The Rape of the Lock
THE NEXT MORNING dawned bright and clear. However, by the end of breakfast, a fearful squall sent ice-cold sleet dancing through the valley, forcing Angelica, Hanna, and Frau Becker to retire to the library. All Angelica’s hopes of entertaining Hanna with a vigorous walk were washed down the drainpipe. Tiny hailstones clicked against the windows, and the rising gale forced the naked trees to bow away from it.
Angelica brought down her two new books, and she and Hanna commenced Doctor Thorne, with Angelica reading aloud in carefully enunciated English—
Before the reader is introduced to the modest country medical practitioner who is to be the chief personage of the following tale, it will be well that he—
“What are you reading?” Frau Becker barked from the other side of the room. When Angelica showed her the book’s cover, Frau Becker curled her upper lip. “Must you read books about the English? Such a tasteless, insipid, unstable society. And I absolutely detest physicians.”
Angelica cleared her throat. How could she put this delicately? “I thought Hanna might enjoy a break from our routine. She has grown a bit…restless…with our regular lessons.” What she’d really wanted to say was that the girl was a fractious, self-absorbed brat who didn’t like to listen to anyone but herself. But that truth could never be voiced—at least not by her.
“I want Angelica to read the novel, Mother,” Hanna fretted. “I’m sick to death of flashcards and endless declensions. If I must learn English, can’t I at least have a bit of fun while I’m at it? How am I ever supposed to learn to speak it if I never hear the words used in intelligent—”
“Enough whining, Hanna!” Frau Becker shouted over her. As an aside to Angelica, she added, “I do not know how you stand to work with her every day. Such theatrics and constant carping get on my nerves.” She wrinkled her nose at Hanna before rounding on Angelica. “You spoil the girl, that’s what.” She huffed with annoyance and waved a hand at them to shoo them from the room. “Why don’t you go to the nursery for your lessons?”
“Because it’s freezing up there,” Hanna snapped, refusing to budge. “You should leave if you don’t want to listen. We are in the library, after all.” When Frau Becker clicked her tongue, Hanna said, “You are so stuffy, Mother.”
Frau Becker’s eyes flashed, and Angelica was certain that, had she not been there, the countess would have slapped Hanna for her insolence.
In an evident effort to maintain some dignity, Frau Becker drew herself up to her full height, flaring her nostrils as she glowered down her nose at Hanna. “You deserve none of my notice.” Then, as an aside to Angelica, she said, “Do what you can with her, Fräulein Faust. I have little hope of her ever securing a noble match.” She stormed from the room.
Hanna stuck out her tongue at her retreating figure.
Angelica frowned and waited until Frau Becker was out of earshot before she whispered, “Don’t take her words to heart, Hanna. There’s no need to rush into marriage.”
She reached out to pat the girl’s shoulder, but Frau Becker’s barb did not appear to have phased Hanna. She probably only said what she did to antagonize her mother enough to get rid of her. The girl had never shown the least interest in literature of any type. However, Angelica could not reprimand Hanna. It seemed hypocritical to chide her for orchestrating such a delightful result.
Angelica and Hanna had only read for a quarter of an hour when Lorenz appeared at the doorway. “Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat. “Lord Rolf is here.”
He showed Rolf into the library. Rolf removed his hat and gloves and tossed them at the butler. Lorenz fumbled them and glared at him for a moment before bowing out of the room.
Rolf brought with him the citrusy aroma of his orangery, taking Angelica back to the night they first met. He had been so gentlemanly and sympathetic then, but she did not approve of his treatment of Lorenz.
Angelica rose and curtsied, giving Rolf an icy glare. Hanna merely waved.
“And how are you two ladies this fine day?” Rolf asked, his grin faltering under Angelica’s stern gaze.
“Fine day?” Hanna scoffed. She sat straighter, thrusting her shoulders back to emphasize her small bosom. “The rain is turning to sleet, and we don’t have anything to do but read a dumb book about some English doctor and his illegitimate niece. This world is truly a cruel place.”
“We could go back to the flashcards and declensions if you like,” Angelica suggested with a sly grin. “Or perhaps you could practice the piano?”
“No, thank you.” Hanna yawned. “I appreciate your efforts, but this story moves as slow as the hands of a broken clock.”
Rolf chuckled. He flopped onto the sofa and grabbed Angelica’s book of poetry—The Works of Alexander Pope. Shuffling through the introductory pages, he stopped at the first poem, and his lips twitched as he read the title aloud. “‘The Rape of the Lock.’ Hmm, sounds quite interesting. What do you think, Hanna?”
Hanna’s eyes grew large, and she nodded in eagerness. “Deliciously scandalous.”
At this, a laugh escaped Angelica. “That is what Pope termed a heroi-comic poem. And the word ‘rape’ does not refer to sexual violence, but rather the forceful stealing of Belinda’s lock of hair.”
“Sounds better than Doctor Thorne any day.” Hanna scooted over beside Rolf, keen to begin the poem.
“Did you hear that, Angelica? Hanna’s wish is my command.”
The corners of Angelica’s mouth twitched, though she hoped Frau Becker would stay far away for fear of her thinking the poem improper.
Rolf began, and after reading a few lines, his gaze flicked up to Angelica from over the top of the book. “What an interesting beginning.” He repeated the four lines—
Say what strange motive, goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle?
O, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
Again, his expectant look arrested her. Angelica’s insides began to churn. Rolf’s gaze referred, no doubt, to the offer he made the first night they met. She saw real longing in his expression. So often she had wanted to marry a kind, handsome man. To rise above her present poverty. To finally feel secure. The temptation to return his entreating smile mounted. Angelica forced herself to turn away and peer out the window instead of into those intense, blue eyes.
Rolf cleared his throat and read on, while Hanna peppered him with questions and comments throughout the poem.
“So much blather about getting ready for a party,” Hanna said. “Not me. I just call Lotte, and she tells me what to wear and, for pity’s sake, to remain still while she arranges my hair—pulls it, more like.”
“Don’t you see?” Rolf said. “Lotte acts as your sylph, your guardian spirit, giving you the best chance of surviving the evening and coming off conqueror.”
Angelica remained silent, studying the delicate snowflakes collecting on the windowsill and layering the bushes in a veil of icy white. She saw a shadow move near the bushes on the edge of the property—a large shadow in the shape of a man. Her heart rate quickened. Who was out there? And why?
“Angelica must have a sylph too,” Rolf said, coaxing Angelica’s attention back to him. “All women possess at least one.”
Hanna laughed. “Not Angelica. She needs nobody. She is a force unto herself.”
Angelica moved out of the line of sight from the grounds. She glanced over her shoulder at Hanna, sensing a bit of grudging admiration amidst her teasing. “My sylph left me a year ago. My mother. My greatest protector and guide.”
She swallowed at the lump in her throat and fixed her gaze out the window again. Blinking rapidly, she banished her tears. Now was no time for emotion. The shadow moved again. It was bulky and ominous. A chill swept through Angelica. Perhaps she was letting von Adler’s threat get to her.
Hanna sniffed. “Not more about your dying mother. If you want one so badly, you can have mine. I don’t want her.” She giggled. Rolf did not join in.
“No, seriously,” Rolf said. “Everyone needs somebody, be they wealthy nobles or poor unprotected young women.”
“Enough about Angelica,” Hanna said. “Won’t you finish the poem, Rolf? Please?”
Angelica fixated on the hunching shadow.
Rolf stood and joined her at the window. “What has you so absorbed?”
“A shadow. There. Below the willow.” She pointed out the window.
Rolf squinted. “I don’t see anybody.”
“He’s crouching, like he knows we can see him.”
Rolf looked again. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Rolf, come read the rest to me,” Hanna said, patting the sofa next to her.
Rolf sighed and rolled his eyes before returning to the sofa.
Angelica’s attention never left the trees. The shadow stepped out from his hiding place and stalked toward the road. The distance made it impossible for Angelica to recognize him. She gave an involuntary shudder before walking over to the desk chair behind them, out of Rolf’s direct vision—and away from the window.
Rolf read on, doggedly ignoring most of Hanna’s inane chitchat, until he came to the lines—
But Heav’n reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn’d by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can.
Beware of all, but most beware of man!
“How delightful!” Hanna said. “Are you a man of whom I need beware?” She leaned toward him with her lips parted and her chest thrust out with an air of attempted seduction.
Angelica blushed for the girl.
“What?” Rolf asked, his eyes growing wide. He glanced over his shoulder at Angelica. For once, Hanna had unnerved him. “No, indeed. I assure you. I am a gentleman. You have no need whatsoever to fear.”
Hanna blew out her air and slouched, folding her arms in a huff. Her lips protruded in their characteristic pout. “Where’s the fun in that?” she huffed.
These antics might have worked when the countess used them on Hanna’s father, but Angelica doubted they would work on Rolf. The girl had no idea how to flirt with grace. Rolf raised an eyebrow at Angelica and sped through the second canto and on into the third.
Fate urg’d the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain,
(But airy substance soon unites again).
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!
“What does dissever mean?” Hanna interjected.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” Rolf said.
They both turned to stare at Angelica.
“It means to disunite. To sever from,” Angelica said.
“You mean he cut her hair? Go on, go on,” Hanna urged, becoming more engrossed in the poem.
Rolf read the next stanza with gusto.
Then flash’d the living lightning from her eyes,
And screams of horror rend th’ affrighted skies.
Hanna laughed. “What is she screaming about? The man snipped off a curl. So what?” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I think it would be romantic to give a lock of hair to a man.” She sighed and looked dreamily at Rolf, batting her eyelashes. When she received no reaction, she shrugged. “People are forever overreacting.”
Rolf continued to read through the fourth canto before clearing his throat. “Hanna, I find my throat is rather parched from all this reading. Would you be a dear and order some tea?”
“I’ll just ring for it,” she said. When she approached the table beside the door, she stopped. “Where is that stupid bell?” She made a quick glance around. “I’ll have to see Karla about this.” She stormed off toward the kitchen.
As soon as she left the room, Rolf leaped to his feet, drawing from his jacket pocket the handbell used to ring for service. He laid it on the floor beside the table and strode to the desk where Angelica sat.
“What on earth?” Angelica gasped and came to her feet.
“I had to contrive a way to speak to you alone. I know you’ve been putting me off because you’re afraid of losing your position. But I could get you away from that fussy, snot-nosed girl and offer you real luxury and ease. I think I love you, Angelica.”
He laid his hand over hers. His grasp grew tense as he awaited her response. He stared at her with a boyish intensity.
He loved her? Impossible. No one had loved her since her mother died. Besides, he barely knew her. She opened her mouth and then closed it. She dared not answer, fearing she might agree to his entreaty. To escape Hanna and Frau Becker would be a victory indeed. But escape to what?
Rolf leaned in and, taking her face in his hands, kissed her. The forbidden, lingering kiss tingled on her lips. Fire stirred in her belly. She yearned to wrap her arms around him, to accept his offer. He was rich, kind, and handsome. What more did she have a right to hope for? But something deep inside would not let her. It was as if her mother’s locket burned against her skin. Even from beyond the grave, her mother still acted as her sylph.
Rolf released her. He stared into her eyes, his breath hot against her cheeks. She remained frozen, uncertain what to do, teetering on the edge of an abyss whose bottom she could not see. Rolf drew back with a scowl and jammed his hands into his pockets. “You torment me with your silence.”
“I can’t…I…” She began, before retreating across the room to the window. Her heart thumped so hard she thought it might burst. She traced her lips with her finger, remembering the lingering gentleness of the kiss and the fire that simmered in her belly. Rolf paced his side of the room. To be desired by such a man, perhaps even loved, was beyond anything she had imagined. And yet…
The patter of Hanna’s slippers reached their ears, and Rolf bounded over the back of the sofa with a quiet curse and sat back onto it. He snatched up Pope’s poetry and riffled through it like it was the most intriguing thing in the world. Angelica sat back down at the desk.
The tell-tale swishing of skirts announced Hanna’s return. Out of the corner of her eye, Angelica watched the girl’s entrance and hoped she would not detect the energy crackling in the room.
Hanna set a tray laden with tea, fruit, cakes, and bonbons on the coffee table in front of Rolf. She cast a sideways glance at Angelica as she pulled something from her dress pocket. Afraid the girl would notice her blush, Angelica rose to gaze out the window but heard Hanna’s whispers to Rolf all the same.
“You can make use of these if you want. Take as much as you like.”
What on earth was Hanna talking about? Angelica wished she hadn’t turned away. How could she be on her guard if she didn’t know what those two were scheming?
A pause followed, and Angelica glanced over her shoulder to investigate. All she could see were the backs of their heads jutting above the sofa with a respectable distance between them.
Rolf murmured, “Thank you. I will at just the right moment.”
“I look forward to it,” Hanna whispered before clearing her throat. “I’ve brought tea, Angelica. Want to join us?”
What Angelica wanted was to flee to her room, to abandon this cauldron of boiling emotions. How could she maintain her decorum after that passionate kiss and the desire that still burned inside her? She sighed. It would be improper to leave such a young girl unchaperoned with Rolf.
Angelica circled the sofa and perched on the settee opposite them. When Hanna just sat there staring at her, Angelica rounded the sofa and picked up a plate. She placed a piece of cake, some grapes, and a bonbon on it. She handed it to Rolf and then did the same for Hanna. The girl popped an entire bonbon into her mouth and grinned at Rolf. When Angelica leaned forward to pour a cup of tea for Rolf, one of her blonde ringlets slipped off her shoulder to dangle in front of her. She saw a sudden flash of silver as Rolf grabbed the ringlet and—SNIP—cut it off in one fell swoop.
Several things happened in quick succession. Angelica gasped as Rolf dropped the scissors onto the coffee table and pressed the curl to his lips. Hanna shrieked, dribbling chocolate saliva down her chin. She lunged to her feet, sending her china plate and its contents crashing onto the coffee table, shattering it into a million tiny shards. With wild eyes, Hanna screamed and stomped her feet, crushing her grapes, while Angelica and Rolf cowered before her.
Hanna’s eyes bulged with rage. “How dare you!” she screeched at Rolf. Then she rounded on Angelica, baring her teeth. “And you are nothing but a scarlet woman!” She threw herself down on the sofa and yowled like a wounded beast.
It seemed that Umbriel from Pope’s poem had, indeed, descended to the “Cave of Spleen” and returned armed with a bucket of tears filled to the brim and a bagful of accusations and shrieks.
“Calm down, girl,” Rolf said, trying to shush her. She batted his hand away.
Angelica glared at Rolf in shock. “What have you done?” She knelt beside Hanna and attempted to stroke her hair. “Hanna, dear, try to get ahold of yourself.”
“Don’t touch me!” Hanna shrieked. “You’ve been trying to steal him from me ever since he started coming here.”
Rolf cleared his throat. “But you gave me the scissors.” He held up the ringlet, dangling it before her face, extracting another yowl from Hanna in the process. “You said to take as much as I wanted.” He glanced at Angelica and shrugged helplessly.
Angelica gaped at him. “Just because Hanna gave her consent doesn’t mean I did.” She certainly would have denied him any such impropriety—kiss or no kiss. These two were nothing more than spoiled children. She heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead. She had been so stupid to believe that Rolf loved her. What a nightmare. How was she going to get out of this mess?
“You brainless oaf!” Hanna screamed at Rolf. “I meant for you to use the scissors on MY hair! And you had to go and ruin everything!” She let out another howl of misery.
Shakespeare knew what he was talking about when he stated that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
With a fiendish growl, Hanna made a grab for the golden ringlet, but Rolf jerked it high above his head and backed away from the deranged girl. Unable to reach the curl, Hanna snatched up the scissors, holding them like a dagger in her hand. A snarl curled her lips.
“Hanna! Put. Those. Down. Now!” Herr Becker boomed from the doorway. He held a fountain pen in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other.
His wife sprang into the room behind him, blowing like a winded horse.
When Hanna spun and saw her mother, she dropped the scissors, sending them clattering to the floor, and flung herself into her arms. She clung to her mother, sobbing into her shoulder. One would never have believed that the two of them had been hurling insults at one another not an hour before.
Frau Becker eyed Angelica with suspicion. “What have you done now?”
“I have done nothing,” Angelica answered. Unbidden tears stung her eyes. Breathing became difficult. She clasped her hands in front of her in an attempt to hold in her pent-up emotions.
“Liar!” Hanna managed only a few words between her sobs. “She gave Rolf…a lock of her hair…when it was supposed to be me.”
“What?!” Herr Becker and his wife both shouted and rounded on Rolf, who still clutched the offending ringlet.
Rolf’s eyes grew large, and he gulped. “Uh, sir…I…uh…I took liberties with the scissors Hanna provided me, and…I…uh…snipped off Fräulein Faust’s curl…without her consent.” Then, he added lamely, “Like in the poem.” He pointed to the discarded book that lay open on the coffee table.
Confusion morphed into anger on Frau Becker’s face. “What are you talking about? This is not the first time Angelica has sought to draw attention to herself. You are not the only man to be seduced by her, and I am certain you will not be the last.”
Angelica stared aghast at Frau Becker. “Seduced? How dare you utter such poisonous falsehoods about me.”
“I saw you that night at the ball, prancing around like a show horse, leaving all the men salivating like wolves. Poor Rolf was taken in. That is all.”
Rolf adjusted his jacket and came out of his slouch. “Frau Becker, what you say is utterly untrue. An outright lie. Fräulein Faust has never sought my notice and is guilty of nothing but being the unfortunate victim of my thoughtlessness. I demand you take back your false accusations about her.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” Frau Becker’s tone was venomous. She stroked her sobbing daughter’s hair. “Hanna has suffered much at her hand. Having such a woman here has been totally unfair to a girl like my daughter.”
Herr Becker rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I am afraid jealousy has always been a strong deterrent to friendship. I am sorry indeed, Fräulein Faust.”
“You see?” Frau Becker snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Angelica. “She has my husband wrapped around her little finger as well.” She shook her finger at Angelica. “You will not remain even one more night under this roof! Take your filthy English novels or poetry or what have you away with you.”
Herr Becker glared at his wife for a moment before turning toward Angelica. He offered up a defeated shrug and a shake of his head.
His wife scowled at this and added, “You must leave tonight and take Karla with you. I know for a fact you’ve been using her to deliver secret love letters to Rolf.”
“Again, you malign her,” Rolf shouted. “She has done nothing of the sort! It was I who sent notes to her. It was not Angelica or Karla’s fault.”
“The maid still took orders from someone who was not her mistress,” Frau Becker hissed.
The icy hand of terror seized Angelica’s throat and slowly squeezed the breath from her. The room started to spin. She refused to endure any more abuse. After snatching up her books, she raced from the room, leaving behind her the sounds of a shouting match between Rolf and Herr Becker against his wife and Hanna.
Angelica’s jangled nerves made her stumble on the stairs, banging her shins in the process. She limped up the remaining flight of stairs to her room and fell back against the door and locked it. Despair overcame her as she sank to the floor in tears. Much contention sounded from below. Rolf had stolen far more than her lock of hair. He had demolished her reputation and her livelihood. Alexander Pope’s ridiculous poem was not so far from reality after all. The human race was truly bizarre.
She raised a shaking hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. What was she going to do? She had no money. No family nearby. No place to go. Finding herself in such a predicament was terrifying—and not only for what Rolf might persuade her to do. Somewhere out there, a shadow lurked, waiting for a chance to pounce.
Angelica shifted to a comfortable position, and in doing so, the locket around her neck pressed warm against her chest. She pulled it out and clicked it open.
“Mother, what shall I do?” she wept. “Please guide my steps.”
After indulging in a good cry, Angelica opened her trunk and set to packing. Within an hour, she had finished and sat on the bed to rest. All she owned in the world fit inside the wooden trunk at the foot of her bed. Admittedly, it was more than she had had when she started working in the Becker house. She fingered the blue gown she had worn to the ball at Immerholz. Rolf had been so charming. So understanding. And now, he claimed to love her.
Would it be so bad to accept the affection of a wealthy handsome man, fool that he was? The alternative before her was a short, bitter life on the streets with no one to protect her. Yet, she had no delusions what accepting Rolf would mean. Duke Schmitt would never sanction his son marrying her, an impoverished orphan and now disgraced governess. Could she settle for being nothing but a man’s mistress—his plaything? To be envied and ridiculed in equal measure by every flippant girl? Despised and shunned by decent society? Her throat constricted as despair settled over her and forced the tears from her eyes. What was she going to do?
The house had grown unnaturally quiet. Darkness fell as Angelica placed her books and papers on top of the clothing in her trunk. She closed it with a thud. That thud had an air of finality that made her shiver.
Someone tapped on her door, making her jump. With trepidation, she opened it, hoping it wasn’t Hanna or the countess. Herr Becker stood there, his shoulders drooping.
Angelica curtsied to him. What would he say? Would he toss her into the street and expect her to drag her own trunk to some hotel?
“I have ordered the carriage for you,” he said and handed her an envelope. “This is a letter of recommendation from me. I hope it will be useful to you in finding future employment.” Then he fished a pouch of money from his pocket. “Here is what we owe you for your time served, plus a bit more. I apologize for the inconvenience this uproar has thrust upon you.” The coins jingled as he placed the pouch in her hand.
She willed her voice to remain calm, though it quavered with emotion. “Danke, Herr Becker.”
He, at least, was not going to abuse her. And perhaps his letter might help her secure a new position in a town far from here. No doubt Frau Becker would spread vicious lies and make life in Hamburg and the region roundabout unbearable.
Herr Becker sighed and shook his head. “I am sorry. You have much to offer the world, Fräulein Faust. I’m afraid Margrit’s jealousy overcame what heart she possesses. Emotions have always ruled her judgment.”
“You’ve been very kind to me.” Fear clenched Angelica’s insides in a tight fist. She gripped the door handle for support. “What will happen to Karla?”
“Lord Rolf asked me to send her to his father’s home to work.” Herr Becker patted Angelica’s shoulder. His frown of concern touched her. “I hope you find happiness. I will send Fritz up for your trunk and order the carriage to take you into town.” He bowed to her before trudging down the hall and around the corner.
Angelica remained standing in the doorway, poised on the edge of a new world. What was she going to do? Where would she find an agent willing to represent her after being dismissed in such a fashion by this powerful family? All this trouble over a lock of purloined hair.
Chapter Five: Into the Night
ANGELICA LATCHED THE front gate and took one last look at the baroque-style manor house. She couldn’t help but feel she had failed. All the months of patient coaching on deportment had been wasted here. At a second floor window she spied Hanna, who set a candle on the windowsill and stuck out her tongue at Angelica before whipping around and disappearing from view.
Poor Hanna. To be left under the guidance of a mother even more ill-natured and immature than herself. What would become of the girl?
“Up you go, miss,” Fritz said, holding the door of the carriage. “I envy your departure.” His last whispered sentence was barely discernable.
“Danke, Fritz,” Angelica said, though she doubted he would envy being a poor young woman with no family and no prospects.
With a snap of the whip, the carriage set off down the road toward Hamburg. Angelica gazed out the curtained window at the familiar scenery flashing by. Once again, an enormous shifting shadow in the bushes caught her attention, and a shiver swept through her. It was a man on horseback. She was sure of it. And now he was chasing her carriage. A dark foreboding wriggled in her stomach. She was beset by demons.
They had only traveled about half a mile when Angelica leaned out the window to see if the lone horseman was following. He was—and coming at a gallop. Was it the specter from the woods? Would he overtake the carriage? Angelica’s breaths came quick and shallow, and her fingers closed around the handle of her parasol, ready to whack him with it.
“Hold up a moment. I need a brief word with your passenger.” The sound of Rolf’s voice set Angelica’s pounding heart at ease. Whatever his words or pleas, she would not make any decision tonight. She needed time to think. To plan. To consider her options.
The coachman yanked the horses to a stop. The door of the carriage opened, and Rolf climbed inside. Before she knew what had happened, he enfolded her in his arms.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Everything is going to be fine.” He brushed a tear from her cheek and kissed the top of her head.
Angelica hugged him back, finally feeling safe for the first time that day. It felt so good to be in his strong arms, to be wanted by someone, to be more that an ornament to sit in the corner and collect scowls from everyone around her.
He held her out to look into her eyes. After a moment’s silence, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. She responded, savoring her momentary relief. At length, they broke apart.
“Forgive me,” Rolf said. “I didn’t mean to get you dismissed. I never dreamed that Hanna would think I’d want a lock of her hair. The simpleton.”
Angelica sat back, extricating herself from Rolf’s grasp. His apology seemed anything but sincere. Did he not realize that her dismissal was all due to his self-indulgent, reckless behavior?
When Angelica remained silent, he went on. “Don’t you see? This makes everything easier. Now you can come away with me. I’ll find a place in a quiet village where we can be happy.”
His optimism rankled her. How did her dismissal make her life any easier? Had Rolf convinced his father to let him choose his own future?
“As your wife?” she asked, hoping against hope to hear a definite “yes.”
Rolf frowned. “Well, no. Father has decreed that I must marry Celeste Rivera. He’ll be even more convinced of it when he gets wind of tonight’s fiasco.” He shrugged and laughed. “Who cares what the old man thinks?” He grasped her hands. “Our hearts will belong to each other. Surely there can be no great sin so long as that is the case. We’ll be so happy together.”
Happy? A pang of jealousy swept through Angelica. He was to marry another woman, and she was supposed be happy with that? How could he be so flippant? Her chest grew uncomfortably warm. She didn’t like the thought of being the other woman. It seemed so dirty. So debasing.
She pulled her hands from his, his smile fading as she did so.
Angelica looked into Rolf’s eyes. She must make him see sense. “I fail to see how that arrangement would contribute to my happiness.”
Rolf’s voice shook as he spoke. “You would never want for money or protection ever again.” He searched her scowl. “I would adore you, and you could prove to these upstarts that you are ten times the woman they took you for. No one will push you around or overlook you ever again.” Rolf tried to kiss her, but she pushed him back with her palm planted solidly on his chest.
What good was power without integrity or virtue? And if she accepted, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
“Angelica, please. I can’t lose you.” Rolf stroked her cheek and lips with his thumb. His touch made her skin tingle.
Angelica flinched away and turned to gaze out the coach’s window.
Rolf clicked his tongue in disgust. “You think this is easy for me?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “I can’t be who I want to be. Or be with the only woman I’ve ever loved. I am nothing but a puppet, and my father is my puppeteer. Without you in my life, I’ll never be happy.”
Angelica swallowed back a sob.
Rolf slumped back against the upholstered seat. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” He patted her hand. “You don’t have to decide right now. I’ve reserved a room for you at Hotel Städten in Hamburg tonight. Perhaps you’ll even sleep in the room that Napoleon occupied. The perfect place to plan your conquest.” When she made no reaction to his joke, he sighed. “I’ll drop by tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll discuss this further and make the necessary arrangements.”
He leaned in for one more kiss, but Angelica turned her face away. His kiss glanced off her cheekbone.
Rolf’s smile faltered before a tear, glistening with moonlight, ran down his cheek. He did not wipe it away but narrowed his eyes in a determined expression. “See you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep. I’m sure you will see things as clearly as I do in the morning.”
He exited the carriage and galloped into the gathering gloom. Fog roiled in to smudge out the stars and moon, much like the declaration of his impending marriage had done to Angelica’s hope. She and Rolf were both trapped in separate worlds with no escape from either.
By the time the carriage reached the hotel, Angelica was physically ill. Her head ached so badly she could hardly stay upright. The coachman lugged her trunk into the hotel’s lobby before setting off with a tip of his hat.
A large chandelier hung suspended over the vestibule. Dark polished wooden beams supported a vaulted ceiling. Plush crimson carpets ran down the staircases. Full of apprehension, Angelica approached the lobby counter, gripping it with a trembling hand.
“Guten Abend,” the clerk said while scribbling a note. When he finally looked up at her, he gaped for a moment, his face reddening. “May…may I help you?”
“I am Angelica Faust.” She swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry.
“Ah, yes. Lord Schmitt told me to watch for you.” He gave her a lopsided grin and raised an eyebrow. “He’s already paid for your room.”
Why did this young man have to speak so loudly? He may as well have stood on his counter and announced it to the entire room. Angelica closed her eyes and endeavored to summon patience. Her stomach clenched. If she remained with Rolf in Hamburg, she would have to get accustomed to this kind of treatment from everyone who met her and knew that she was a kept woman. A man’s plaything.
At the clerk’s words “Lord Schmitt,” one of three redheaded women who sat at a table nearest to the dining room door let out a soft gasp.
“Must be his fiancée,” one of the girls said in a loud whisper.
“She doesn’t look Spanish,” the younger one answered.
“But she is beautiful.”
“Hush girls,” the older woman scolded. “She might hear you.”
Warmth crept into Angelica’s face.
The clerk consulted his register and lifted a skeleton key from its hook on the wall. “Will you be joining us for dinner, Fräulein Faust?” He motioned to the nearby dining room.
“No, I’ll just take a bowl of soup in my room, if I may.”
“Very well.” The clerk snapped his fingers, and two porters immediately approached.
“Let me show you to your room,” one of them said, snatching the key from the desk clerk. The other hefted her trunk and followed them up the stairs. The carpeted halls smelled of cigar smoke and cologne. She had become used to rich surroundings while living with the Beckers, but somehow this place felt alien, oppressive. She did not belong here.
Once she was safe in her own room, Angelica closed her green velvet curtains and glanced around at the lavish decor. Steam rose from the porcelain pitcher that rested in a larger bowl on the bedside table. A tray of pastries and chocolates had been placed on the coffee table before a small settee.
This was just a taste of what life would be like for her if she became Rolf’s mistress. What luxuries she would enjoy—with servants at her beck and call. No more pinching every inch of life from each coin in her purse. No more worries about the von Adlers and Beckers of the world. Rolf would keep them all at bay. But at what cost? She’d become a social pariah who received nothing but the scornful acceptance of the countryside women, forever denied the right to mingle with appropriate company with ease. Her name would tickle the tongue of every gossip in Germany and tug at the ears of every socialite. And what about Celeste Rivera’s feelings?
She sank down onto the settee and stared into the flames that licked the logs in the fireplace, feeling very cold inside regardless of the warmth it radiated. Despite all the accusations that had been leveled at her at the Beckers’ home, at least she could honestly say she was not to blame. However, if she gave into Rolf’s entreaties, she would no longer be able to console herself with that bitter sop. Her virtue, self-respect, and dignity had suddenly become pearls of great worth, cherished above all physical comforts.
She began to unbutton her shirtwaist when her fingers brushed her locket. What would her mother think of all this? A woman who had loved fiercely and died of a broken heart. Would she approve of a daughter who chose ease over dignity?
No, she would not. Determined to follow her conscience, Angelica vowed that she would not willingly put on the manacles of mistress-hood. It would be too much like assuming a sort of indentured servitude. Instead, she would take the risk of being free. Free to be herself. Free to make her own choices. Free from a life of shame. Certainly, she would be poor. She might go hungry. To be honest, she might even die. But at least she would perish with her integrity intact.
Rolf would probably arrive earlier than scheduled and tempt—or perhaps even force—her to stay. So she must flee at first light and be gone by the time he arrived. But where to? Perhaps to Bremen or Cologne. Would that be far enough? Or would Rolf discover her there?
A tap at the door brought her from her reveries. She refastened her buttons and answered the door. A steward rolled in her dinner tray. She thanked him, giving him a small coin for his trouble.
After eating a bowl of soup and a slice of buttered bread, she changed into her nightgown and robe and tiptoed down the hall to the water closet. The same two girls from the foyer were there, awaiting a turn.
As Angelica approached, the mother exited and said to her daughters, “Hurry along, girls. The Zephyr leaves at ten o’clock tomorrow. You’ll need to be up bright and early.” She nodded to Angelica and smiled as she passed.
The eldest daughter went next, leaving Angelica alone with the youngest. The girl gazed at Angelica and curtsied.
“I’m Lily Shaw,” the girl said. “That was my sister Rose.” She pointed to the powder room door.
Returning the curtsy, Angelica said, “Angelica Faust.”
“I don’t much fancy the steamship ride home,” Lily admitted. “I got seasick on the way over two months ago. Mother took us on a European tour. Are you German?”
“Yes.”
“You speak English quite well. I couldn’t help but overhear the desk clerk mention Lord Schmitt when you arrived.” Then, as if unable to resist the impulse, she asked, “Was he referring to the duke or his son?”
“His son, Lord Rolf.”
Lily clasped her hands under her chin and bobbed up and down on her toes. “He is so handsome, don’t you think?”
Angelica couldn’t help but nod. This girl had to be about fifteen and was much more pleasant than Hanna. Angelica did not dare give away too much about herself, no matter how nice the girl appeared.
“Are you going to marry him?”
Angelica struggled not to show any emotion and gave a little shake of her head. “We are just friends.” Eager to change the subject, she said, “Your mother mentioned the Zephyr. Is that the steamship you’re taking?”
Lily nodded. “Father expects us home in New York in two weeks.” She sighed. “I suppose all good things must come to an end. I only pray for fine weather so I can stroll the deck rather than stay cooped up in the cabin or the saloon below deck. It gets so smoky there with all the men puffing away on their cigars. I don’t feel nearly as seasick if I can see the horizon.”
The door opened, and Rose exited.
“It was nice to meet you, Angelica,” Lily said. “I must hurry now, or Mother will accuse me of dawdling again.”
Rose smiled at Angelica. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Her gaze ran over Angelica as if deciding what to make of her. “Are you traveling?”
Angelica nodded as an idea began to form in her mind. “I must leave Hamburg tomorrow.”
“Have you no family with you?” Rose asked.
“My uncle lives in New York City.” But there was no way she could join him. The money from Herr Becker would never be enough for her passage—not after paying for a night’s stay in this hotel, which she was determined to do. She would not be indebted to Rolf. Her uncle had invited her to join him—should she have need, which she did. Urgent need.
“In what part of New York?”
Angelica had no idea. Did it matter? How big could New York possibly be? “I don’t know his exact address. It’s in my trunk.”
“Is he well-known? What’s his name? Perhaps I can help you.”
“Theodore Kaufman.”
“The Theodore Kaufman?” Rose’s eyes widened. “The portrait artist?” When Angelica nodded with hesitation, Rose shook her head with obvious wonder. “Mother is not going to believe this. First the duke’s son—yes, I overheard you tell Lily—and now, Theodore Kaufman. He is in such demand, especially among the new-money families. He’s really quite good. He moves from one patron’s house to the next, painting portraits. Mother has been trying to get him to paint Father’s portrait for over a year, but he is always too busy.”
Angelica pinched her lips tight. She knew even less about her uncle than this girl did.
At that moment, Lily exited the water closet.
“Good luck on your travels,” Rose said and grabbed Lily’s hand. “It was nice meeting you.” The two girls scurried down the hall, both whispering to the other with excitement.
When Angelica returned to her room, she breathed a profound sigh. She felt slightly better after talking with the two Shaw sisters, but her path still seemed muddled and confused. If only she could travel with them to New York. But Uncle Theo had told her he barely managed to support himself. How would he react if she just showed up? Who knew how long it would take her to find work in America?
She tiptoed across the creaky floorboards in an attempt to avoid disturbing those in the room below her. Opening her trunk, she folded her gown from that night to stow it away. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her curtain shift. A shiver swept through her. The night being cold, she had definitely not opened her window. The odor of stale brandy and nutmeg drifted toward her. She had smelled that combination once before at Immerholz.
Her stomach tightened.
Von Adler!
Chapter Six: A Frightful Encounter
Before she could react, an enormous man bounded from behind the curtains, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed. Angelica screamed and tried to yank her arm free.
He was too strong.
Beds squeaked in the room next door, followed by the thud of feet.
Angelica screamed again. Someone had to hear her.
Von Adler grit his teeth as he clamped a hand over her mouth. His angry scar danced in the candlelight. His eyes burned with a crazed fire. “Where is Uncle Theodore?” He shook her violently. The stink of his breath filled her nostrils.
Angelica trembled in his grasp. She wasn’t about to tell him anything about her uncle.
Von Adler pulled her close. A lurid smile curled his lips. “He ruined my name. You will pay for his stupidity.”
She writhed in his grip, seeking some means of escape.
Oh help me!
Surely someone heard her shrieks through these paper-thin walls. As von Adler gripped her mouth, one of his filthy fingers brushed against her teeth. She bit down on it as hard as she could, making him curse and loosen his grip. It was enough. Reaching down, she caught hold of the fire poker and made a one-handed swing at his head.
The poker glanced off his cheekbone, tearing a jagged gash along it.
Von Adler bellowed.
Fists pounded on the door before it finally burst open. Thank heaven Angelica had forgotten to lock it. The Shaw sisters, clothed in white nightgowns, both screamed loud and long at the sight of von Adler and his now blood-covered face.
“You’ll never hide where I can’t find you,” he growled before giving Angelica a shove that sent her sprawling onto her backside. He bounded past the two girls and into the hallway.
A second later, Mrs. Shaw raced into the room, the ties of her robe flapping behind her. She gasped at the scene.
Angelica dropped the bloody poker. Her body shook with such violence that she couldn’t stand. Lily and Rose sprang to her side and heaved her to her feet. They hovered over her like guardian angels sent to protect her.
“Who was that devil?” Mrs. Shaw gulped.
Angelica collapsed onto the settee, too shocked to say anything.
The women clustered around her, massaging her red wrist. It was a few moments before Angelica was capable of anything but trembling where she sat.
“Who was that man?” Mrs. Shaw repeated, giving her a gentle shake.
“Klaus von Adler.” His name came out in a whisper, too filthy to be spoken aloud. Her hands shook violently as she reached for Mrs. Shaw’s. She swallowed. “Thank you…for coming when you did.” She knew exactly what would have happened to her had they not.
“You’ve got blood on your nightgown.” Lily gave a shiver.
Angelica glanced down at her arm, as if from a great height. Droplets of von Adler’s blood had sprinkled the length of her sleeve.
More running feet thudded down the hall.
“What goes on here?” the desk clerk demanded. He stopped short when he saw the four ladies in their nightgowns.
His words sounded tinny, like they were echoing down a long tunnel. The room began to spin. Angelica slumped where she sat, breathing hard, trying to maintain consciousness.
“You let some fiend from hell slink into the hotel and attack this girl,” Mrs. Shaw boomed. “That’s what.”
“That man who ran past me in the hall?” the clerk spluttered. “Nein. He…he did not enter through the front door.”
“Well, see to it that he is gone from the premises,” Mrs. Shaw ordered and pointed to the hallway. “And you had better exercise more discretion than you did earlier tonight when Fräulein Faust arrived, or I will see to it that you are relieved of your position. Understand?”
The clerk stood there, his mouth working, apparently unable to take in Angelica and the bloody poker lying on the floor.
“Schnell! Get moving man!” Mrs. Shaw commanded. “Don’t just stand there gawking.”
He made a quick bow and took off after von Adler.
Mrs. Shaw huffed as she watched him go. “What sort of establishment is this?”
“Quick, Rose,” Lily said. “Get her some water. I think she’s going to faint.”
Lily sat beside Angelica and put an arm around her while Rose held a glass to Angelica’s trembling lips. Mrs. Shaw drew up a chair and plopped down on it.
When Angelica revived a bit, Mrs. Shaw folded her arms. “All right, Miss Faust. Who was that man, and why was he after you?”
Angelica gave them an abridged version of her uncle’s rebellion, her father’s murder, and her encounter with von Adler at the Schmitt’s ball. She told them how someone, presumably von Adler, had been spying on her.
“Some men are such animals.” Mrs. Shaw sniffed. “If their honor is questioned—even as a result of their own actions—they seek revenge. Absolutely pitiful.”
“Yes,” Angelica agreed. “And that is why I must leave this place.”
A clatter sounded on the stairs. Quick as a flash, Mrs. Shaw grabbed the brass fireplace shovel and wielding it like a bat, whirled to face the doorway. She was obviously as unnerved by the attack as Angelica had been.
The desk clerk barged through the open doorway without knocking and, upon seeing Mrs. Shaw ready for battle, shied away with a yelp. “Madame!” he huffed. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Mrs. Shaw lowered the shovel and put her hands on her hips. “Well?” she demanded. Her fiery red hair flashed in the firelight. “Did you catch him?”
He shook his head. “By the time I reached the front door, he was already down the street. I doubt he’ll be back.”
“I expect you to post a footman outside this door until morning.” Mrs. Shaw meant business. “This will not happen again. Not if you want to keep your job, young man. Do you understand me?” The threatening finality in her tone made the clerk’s face blanch. “I mean, look at the state of this girl.” She motioned to Angelica.
Heat rushed into Angelica’s face. She knew she must be a mess with her blood-speckled nightgown, her snarled hair, and her petrified expression. Though embarrassed, she was thankful for this woman’s protection.
Rose fetched a clean nightgown for Angelica, and the clerk left to find the night footman.
In no time, a burly young man was stationed on a chair to the side of Angelica’s door.
“No one is to cross this threshold except me or my daughters,” Mrs. Shaw said to the uniformed footman. “If anything happens to this girl, I will hold you personally responsible. Understand?”
“Bolt your door—and your window,” was Mrs. Shaw’s last instruction to Angelica.
With everything now situated, she dragged her girls off to their suite of rooms, leaving Angelica alone.
Angelica slid the lock into place before changing into Rose’s spare nightgown. After trying—and failing—to wash von Adler’s blood from it, she tossed it aside and threw herself onto her bed, fearing what the morrow might bring. Too frightened even to cry, she massaged her sore wrist. What was she going to do? Where could she run? It was apparent that von Adler would never leave her alone. If she were to remain in Germany at all, her only hope was to flee to Rolf.
He would care for her, protect her. She traced her lips with her forefinger, remembering the brush of his lips on hers and his strong embrace. And though he’d made bumbling attempts to woo her, he did have a good heart. Her position in society had been precarious at best for years. Could accepting Rolf’s offer to become his mistress make things any worse than they already were? Would she ever receive such a proposal again? And with his societal position and power, Rolf would surely be able to fend off von Adler—maybe even have him imprisoned if he continued to harass her.
But her parents would never have wished for such a life for her. What did that matter now? Her father had given his life to defend her virtue. They were both in a place where Angelica’s choice could not hurt them. Right?
Angelica sat up and physically shook herself. How could she even entertain such notions? She could never endure the humiliation of living under the protection of a man as his mistress. And Rolf, being a nobleman, would likely tire of her eventually. Then where would she be? On the streets with a sullied reputation, quite possibly with a whole troop of children.
Was this what she wanted? No. She had to escape. America. She could flee to America, and though it might take every bit of money she possessed, she would do it. She would make a new beginning with Uncle Theo. If he could do it and succeed, so could she.
She slipped out of bed and lit a candle. She opened the drawer of the tiny writing table and withdrew a fountain pen and a piece of paper. Her note to Rolf would need to be generic in case anyone were to read it and yet definitive so he would see that her mind was made up.
She wrote—
Dear Lord Rolf,
Thank you for your kindness. I feel deep down that I am doing what is right. Though we will never meet again, I wish you a life of goodness and grace and that you may find an abundance of happiness in your future.
Best wishes,
Fräulein Faust
Angelica poured the wax from her candle to seal the note. She flipped it over and wrote “Lord Rolf Schmitt” on the outside. A tear dripped on her hand. This note would hurt Rolf, but she had no other choice.
She examined her wrist. Bruises were forming in the shape of von Adler’s meaty fingers. Tomorrow, if she managed to board the Zephyr without further incident, she would be truly free for the first time in her life.
Chapter Seven: The Zephyr
“I INSIST,” ANGELICA said, gazing up at the insolent clerk. “I will pay it myself.”
The clerk cocked his head to the side. “But Lord Rolf already paid us. You owe nothing.”
“As I just said, I insist. Give me the bill and reimburse Lord Rolf what he paid you.”
The clerk sighed and handed Angelica the invoice for her horrible night’s stay.
“That much?” Angelica gasped. That much to pay for her attack at Hotel Städten. Did this have anything to do with the footman stationed outside her door during the night?
“As I said,” the clerk sighed, “you owe nothing.”
Angelica had arisen early and awakened the footman, who had nodded off in his chair and was snoring so loudly she doubted he would have noticed had anyone beaten down her door.
“Please carry my trunk downstairs,” she had said, shaking him awake.
With a grunt, he had wiped the slobber from his chin, hefted the trunk onto his shoulder, and followed her downstairs.
“Get yourself cleaned up, man,” the clerk had snarled with disgust.
The footman had excused himself and entered a back room, closing the door behind him.
Now Angelica stared at the bill. If things kept up at this rate, she would not have enough money to purchase passage to New York. However, she would not be in Rolf’s debt for her night’s fare. To do so would make her vulnerable. She closed her eyes for a moment, praying she would magically find enough money to make it to New York.
Loosening the strings on her purse, she withdrew a few of her precious coins and handed them to the clerk.
He rolled his eyes. “As you wish.” After accepting her money, he put it in an envelope, wrote Rolf’s name on it, and sealed it with wax. “I’ll see that he gets it.” He placed it beside Angelica’s note to Rolf.
“You had better.” Angelica doubted the clerk’s sincerity.
Angelica opened her trunk, which sat beside the front desk, and removed her books before snapping it shut and locking it. “See that my trunk is taken to the docks. I’ll be traveling on the Zephyr.” She laid another of her precious coins on the counter. She prayed she might find enough to purchase the ticket.
The clerk nodded and snapped his fingers for a porter.
Tears blurred her vision as she peered through the hotel windows. Neither Rolf nor von Adler were anywhere to be seen.
Hugging her precious books to her chest, she dashed to the curiosity shop that sat opposite the hotel. A jingling bell announced her entrance. The pungent scent of cigar smoke made her wrinkle her nose as she glanced around. Candies, books, sketches, tiny glass and porcelain figurines, and last-minute incidentals covered the walls of the shop. A little man with beady eyes and a grizzled goatee came in from the back room.
“May I help you?” His voice was raspy, and he hobbled toward her, wincing with each step. When he reached the counter, he eased himself onto a stool.
Angelica mustered a smile. “I would like to sell these books—if you will take them.” She set them on the counter. “As you can see, they are in excellent condition.” Angelica flipped through the pages, and her uncle’s note fluttered to the floor. She scooped it up and tucked it into her purse. What if she’d left that behind? Without it, she had no chance of finding Uncle Theo.
“Let me take a look,” the man said, thumbing through them. “Lots of English tourists would like these. They’re always looking for books to pass the time on their voyages.” He opened his till, grabbed a few coins, and dumped them into her hand.
Angelica could not hide her disappointment. So little for new leatherbound books? What choice did she have? She would only make herself a pathetic figure if she marched back out of the store and tried to hawk the books to tourists on the docks. Or worse, she would draw attention to herself, making it harder to hide.
“Not enough for you?” the old man chuckled. “I need to make a profit, too, fräulein. But I doubt you’d get—”
The man stopped talking. His abrupt silence made Angelica look up at him. He was eyeing the silver locket that hung around her neck. “Now that’s a nice piece of neckwear. Would look mighty pretty around my wife’s neck.” He reached out to finger it, but Angelica backed away, clutching it in her fist.
“This is not for sale,” she said. The locket was all she had left to remind her of her mother—and also her father, who had given it to her in the first place. On the other hand, Angelica didn’t have enough money for the passage to New York—even with the few coins she’d gotten for her books. Herr Becker had paid her what was owed, but nothing near the amount she would need for a voyage.
“Well, I’m sure a good looker like you could find a way to make some fast money,” the little man sneered. “All you’d have to do is scamper down to the docks.”
His ugly suggestion made her shiver.
“How dare you say such a thing to me,” she snapped.
He smirked.
Money for passage to New York was what she needed, not sordid hints from some old skinflint. There was nothing else to do but sell the cherished locket.
Holding it up so the light from the window made it gleam, she said, “I need enough for passage and food on the Zephyr.”
“I’ll give you enough for steerage.”
“First class.” No way was she going in steerage. She’d heard the horror stories of what happened below deck—especially to unprotected young women.
He clicked his tongue in disgust. “Second class.”
At least in second class, she would only be in quarters with other women. “You have yourself a deal.” Angelica pried the locket’s frame open with her fingernails and removed the tiny portrait of her mother.
The little man again opened his till from which he counted out enough coinage for her passage and meals.
Angelica struggled to keep the tears back. Her parents would certainly have understood her need. Still, it hurt to let it go.
The man poured a handful of silver coins into her hand and seized her beloved necklace.
“Where do I go to purchase the ticket?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.
“Right next door,” he said. Holding up the chain, he grinned, delighted with his purchase. “My wife will love it.”
Though she’d only had the locket for a few days, she would miss its friendly weight about her neck. It was a small reminder of home, of love, of security.
As she dumped the coins into her coin purse, the old man said, “A wise choice, my dear. I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you manhandled by some sailor or dockhand.”
Angelica forced a laugh. “You almost sound as though you cared.” She left him to mull that over.
She entered the building next door and purchased a second-class ticket on the Zephyr—the last one available. Grasping the doorknob, she was about to leave the building when Rolf galloped past on the same dapple-gray gelding he had ridden the night before. Angelica ducked behind a stone pillar in the room’s interior. Her heart raced. What on earth was he doing here so early? She crept nearer the door and peeked out through its glass pane. Perhaps Rolf had come early to prevent her from escaping. Thank heaven she’d already left the hotel. She stepped aside so the people behind her could exit.
The cuckoo clock on the wall struck nine. One hour until the Zephyr would be leaving. Rolf would ride to the hotel, get the note, and come hunting for her. By that time, she needed to be ensconced aboard the ship.
Angelica watched as he dismounted and strolled into the hotel. Then she bolted from the office, rushing headlong into a big man, who grabbed her arm to keep her from tumbling into the street. She looked up into the narrowing, angry eyes of Klaus von Adler.
“You!” von Adler spat. Someone had stitched the gash on his cheek in a clumsy fashion. It would be an ugly scar to match the one from her father. His breath still reeked of stale brandy, and his lips lifted in a sneer. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He tightened his grip on her arm until Angelica gasped with pain. “Thought you could escape me?” His wolfish gaze looked her up and down.
Angelica couldn’t breathe. The man was insane, unable to give up on his obsession to punish her family. She had only a moment before Rolf would be handed her note. She needed to disappear.
With an almighty jerk, she wrenched her arm free of von Adler’s grasp, throwing him off-balance. Lifting her skirt, she kicked him in the groin before racing for the docks, not knowing if he was chasing her. Her only hope was to lose herself in the throng of people.
The Zephyr blew its whistle, signaling that its passengers could begin to board.
At the bottom of the ramp, she dove into the crowd, tightly clutching her handbag and shouldering her way to its center.
A jostling flow of humanity streamed down the dock toward a steamship with a smokestack that belched out great clouds of black smoke.
The press of people was suffocating. The noxious mix of men’s cologne, ladies’ perfume, human sweat, and fish guts assaulted her nostrils. She covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief.
Large cranes hoisted wooden crates overhead and dockhands shouted as they filled the cargo holds. The crowd carried her along. As the throng neared the ramp spanning the distance between dock and ship, she glanced at the railing along the street above and found Rolf leaning over it, grasping it with both hands, searching the crowd with a frantic expression. The clerk must have told him he sent her trunk to the Zephyr. Down the railing a ways, von Adler shaded his eyes, searching for her.
“Blazes,” Angelica breathed.
Wishing she could melt into the rancid cobblestones at her feet, she fought for control as her heart thundered in her chest. Breathless, she ducked behind some large wooden crates to be loaded into the hold. If either man saw her on the ramp, they would come charging down to the dock to pluck her off the ship. She would simply have to huddle there until the docks cleared and then board the ship right before they withdrew the gangplank.
Angelica hunched in the enormous boat’s shadow as the dockhands scurried around, hitching crates and hoisting them high in the air. The minutes ticked by. One wooden crate after another was taken, constantly diminishing her supply of cover. Up above, passengers leaned on the ship’s railing, waving farewell to loved ones or taking one last look at Hamburg’s docks and the Hotel Städten beyond. One girl, Lily Shaw, stared down at Angelica with a worried expression.
Angelica waved to her and raised a finger to her lips before leaning to peer around her hiding place. Von Adler scowled from his vantage point, his gaze roving over the near-empty dock. He withdrew the cigar from his mouth and threw it down. Angelica’s gaze flitted to Rolf, who gripped the railing in front of him, squinting as he scanned the dock. She drew back and pointed their way. Lily nodded and scowled as she searched the crowd.
“Out of the way, miss,” one of the dockhands said. “We’ve got to load this crate now.”
Angelica cast about for another hiding place as the dockhand secured the sling around the crate. Her gaze lit upon an old, holey mackintosh coat stuffed into a barrel. She yanked it out and draped it over her shoulders. It went nearly to the ground and reeked of fish. This would have to do. Rolf would never be looking for some tramp in an old mackintosh.
“He’s coming,” Lily called from above. “He’s coming. You’ve got to come now!” She gesticulated wildly.
Two short blasts sounded from the ship’s whistle. The boat was about to leave.
Angelica cast one last look at Rolf and saw him racing along the railing and down onto the dock. It was now or never. She drew her ticket from her purse and scampered to the gangplank. A purser with a bushy walrus mustache took her ticket without comment, though he scowled at her odd attire. She had barely stepped onto the wooden bridge when someone grabbed her by the wrist. She whipped around. Von Adler had her and jerked her toward him with a savage snarl. From the other side, Lily came hustling down the gangplank and sprang to grab her other wrist. A battle between girl and man commenced with Angelica as their prize.
“What’s going on?” the purser demanded. “Unhand that girl.”
Von Adler punched the purser with his free hand, sending him sprawling. He yanked Angelica’s arm, dragging both girls down the gangplank. Angelica tripped on the mackintosh, making it slip from her shoulders, and fell to her knees. Lily refused to relinquish her grip.
“Let go of me,” Angelica cried in pain as von Adler and Lily yanked her between them like some grotesque tug of war. Lily was putting all her weight into pulling Angelica back up the ramp. It felt as if both her arms would be torn from her body.
Then Rolf came pounding up and hurled himself onto von Adler with a roar. Von Adler’s grip slipped free, and the two girls nearly toppled into the water below. Angelica caught a support post and held on for dear life. Lily flopped on her backside with a thud onto the ramp. She struggled to her feet and extended a hand to Angelica.
“Come on,” Lily gasped. “Now’s your chance.”
While Rolf and von Adler brawled on the dock, the purser scrambled up and hauled Angelica onto the ramp.
“Ernie Campbell,” an officer bellowed from above, “get those two women on board or you’ll miss the launch.”
Ernie saluted. “You’d best hurry, miss.” He cast a nervous glance at the two men.
Lily and Angelica staggered up the gangplank as it was being pulled along the dock. They barely made it on board before the ship lurched beneath them and the tugboat towed it away from the dock. The ship’s crew drew up the unwieldy gangplank and stored it along the railing on deck.
Desperate to know if Rolf was all right, Angelica ignored Lily’s questions concerning her welfare and shoved her way to the railing.
Rolf slammed his fist into von Adler’s face, making the back of his head thump against the boardwalk. Rolf punched him again and again before leaping to his feet to gaze at the departing ship. Eventually, he caught sight of Angelica and pointed at her. His mouth hung open for a moment before his cry of agony rose above the shouts of the crowd and smote her to the heart. His hands bawled into fists.
Von Adler staggered to his feet, blood gushing from his crooked nose. He shook his fist at her. “Never come back, you—”
The ship’s horn cut off his bellowed curse. He stormed away, leaving Rolf alone on the dock with a bleeding lip and a purpling eye.
Angelica kissed her hand and waved goodbye. “Danke,” she mouthed to him before touching her heart. Privately, she continued, Thank you for letting me go.
Under different circumstances, she would have encouraged his affection, immersed herself in it, spent her life trying to deserve it. But not here and not now. Not for what it would have cost her.
Slowly, Rolf picked up his top hat and raised it high into the air before bowing low to her. The surrounding passengers cheered at his gallantry. Then he turned away. With head down and shoulders slumped, he trudged toward the hotel.
Tears stung Angelica’s eyes, and she let out a sigh of relief. She hoped she’d made the right choice and that she wasn’t simply escaping one bad situation to something even more horrific. She knew nothing of America, and worse, had no idea how to find her uncle.
Fear clenched her gut, and a lump formed in her throat. Swallowing hard, she watched the mainland grow smaller and smaller until it winked out of sight. Leaving her motherland—perhaps forever—sent a pang of longing through her. She prayed her American dream would not become a nightmare.
She jumped with surprise when two girls came up from behind and stood shoulder to shoulder on each side of her. Lily and Rose Shaw each squeezed one of her hands.
“Come on,” Lily said. “Mother says you’re to travel with us.”
Angelica smiled at them, fighting back tears of relief. She straightened. The wind blew through her curls. Come what may, she would face her future with head held high and shoulders back.
The End.
To find out more about Angelica’s experiences in America, check out Pearls & Steel, A Gilded Age Romance, by J. B. Wadsworth at Amazon.com.