The Gentleman’s Challenge Page 2

  Valeria chuckled. “We get them here in Yorkshire, too.”

  “Sometimes,” Ernst countered. “But not as many as in Wurttemburg. In the evenings, they used to howl in the forests. It sounded like the wind, but so loud and eerie.” His lilting voice rose and fell as he wove pictures of the tall, dark forests and the wolves of his distant homeland.

  They found a seat on the settle in the drawing-room, the fire warm in the grate behind them. Valeria looked at him, entranced. Ernst had lived in England for years now, but he still recalled his early childhood, and his accent still bore traces of his German heritage. His stories of his memories of home fascinated her. Thin and lean, with the pronounced cheekbones and defined chin of his fatherland, his face was softened by his wide dark eyes, heavy-lidded, and a sensitive, well-molded mouth. He was, Valeria thought with a slight clenching of her stomach, quite handsome.

  She tensed, realizing she was leaning against him and drawing shyly away.

  At sixteen, Valeria was the image of youth and loveliness just coming into its own. Lately her feelings had changed, inexplicably, toward many things. The part that puzzled her most was the change in her feelings toward Ernst. She had always considered him her close companion. It was perplexing how he was now so much more.

  Beside her, Ernst reached out and gently stroked the gold floss of her hair.

  Valeria tensed, and then softened, smiling shyly. She did not understand this newness, but it was not unpleasant.

  Ernst breathed out, finding his throat suddenly dry.

  Valeria was beautiful. He had always thought so. Since the winter day he had arrived, ten years ago, he had felt a special closeness to the impulsive but gentle-hearted girl. Now, though, his feelings were more than brotherly, and he could not quite explain why. He only knew that he was far from indifferent.

  Her face was porcelain-skinned: a pale oval with a thin, straight nose and a finely-carved, full mouth. She had a long, graceful neck and slender, narrow shoulders. All that was lovely, but it was her eyes that were exquisite: wide, long-lashed and solemn, they were pale slate gray, the color of a rain-washed sky.

  Now, fringed with tears, those great gray eyes looked up at him.

  Ernst coughed, suddenly forgetting his story, and looked down, shy.

  “Well? What?” Valeria asked, as if she had just asked him a question.

  “Uh?” He blinked. Lost in her looks, he had not heard her query.

  “Well? Do you think you will ever go back? To your father's seat in Germany?” she asked.

  “I...” Ernst continued to look down. He fumbled in his pocket, feeling awkward and suddenly sad. “I don't know. I do not wish that.” His voice was husky, and the sound of it touched something deep inside her.

  She sighed. “Good,” she whispered.

  At that moment, their eyes met.

  Neither looked away.

  Very deliberately, Ernst leaned closer.

  Their lips met.

  They kissed.

  It was a barest touching of flesh on flesh, the soft warmth of their skin exchanged in the cool air. But it thrilled them, warming their hearts like a fire.

  They breathed out.

  Valeria's eyes, wide and surprised, met his. He smiled, a flash of radiance in the cold afternoon.

  “Oh...” Valeria breathed.

  They looked at each other again, and this time they both smiled.

  Something momentous had occurred.

  Valeria breathed out, clearing her throat. “I feel...”

  “Wonderful,” Ernst finished.

  They both laughed.

  They sat together silently for a time.

  “Ernst...” Valeria began, voice hesitant.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you remember when you arrived here?”

  He chuckled, a throaty sound. “How could I forget?”

  “You were so solemn...so distressed.” Valeria grinned.

  “Well, everything was new,” he sighed. “It was terrifying. Then I saw you.”

  “You did?” Valeria asked, smiling.

  “You were like sunshine,” he said, sincerely. “My world was dark, and you walked into it like a bright flame.”

  Valeria sighed. “Truly?” Her eyes were damp again with sudden tears.

  “Truly.”

  He reached out a hand, and took hers. They sat together, very still, as if afraid that, if either of them moved, the moment would pass.

  Suddenly, Valeria giggled.

  “Mm?” he asked, smiling.

  “I would never have thought, then, that we would say such things, feel such things,” she sighed.

  “No,” he sighed, “nor I.”

  Valeria moved closer to him, her hand still on his. “I am glad for it,” she whispered, and nestled closer.

  Ernst von Aichelburg, first son of the Count von Aichelburg and his English wife, Lady Eliza Wilde, closed his eyes, feeling he might weep.

  “I, too, am glad,” he whispered.

  They sat together in the closeness and silence of a winter afternoon until the butler, Mr. Perry, arrived, to call them both downstairs for dinner.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SURPRISES

  SURPRISES

  The snow continued to fall; swirling, whirling flakes of it, drifting silent from high, dark clouds.

  In the library, curled up by the fire on the chaise-lounge, Valeria sat reading one of the new French novels that had been her father's gift. It was the day after her seventeenth birthday, and Valeria found herself feeling strangely sad.

  She ought not to have been. Her father and brother Henry had showered her with gifts – a new riding cloak and a saddle of Spanish leather being her favorites – and her father had planned a ball in her honor for the following evening. This was the part that saddened her.

  Setting the book aside a moment, Valeria looked out at the snow. The whirling, floating flakes blurred now as she saw them through her tears. She wept as she recalled her father's words. “You are a fair, lovely young woman, my dearest Valeria! It is time you found a husband, eh? Mayhap you shall meet someone tomorrow evening. I have been selfish and kept you to myself on this wasted moorland for far too long.”

  He had chuckled and kissed her brow, and Valeria's gray eyes had filled with tears. But, what about Ernst? She had not asked the question.

  She shook her head now, wiping away the tears with a lace-edged handkerchief. There was nothing to be gained in her dreaming. Despite her constant inner denial, Ernst would soon travel back to Germany to administer his father's lands. She had always known, deep within her, that his time with them was limited. She had dreamed, wildly, of accompanying him when he left, but knew she could not disgrace her father so.

  She sighed. If she could not wed Ernst, and not even her father seemed to consider him as a match for her, she did not wish to marry anyone.

  Stop being silly, Valeria! You don't even know how he feels.

  That, of course, was the other problem. Did Ernst truly feel as she did? He was her friend, her close companion, solicitous and tender. He had always been so. But Ernst was a sensitive person and had always been. Perhaps he was simply caring toward her because it was his nature to be so? Besides, even if he did return her affections, would he even consider marriage?

  Valeria sighed, her heart aching, and moved the slim, leather-bound novel from her knee. She lay back on the chaise-lounge, looking up at the moldings of leaves and flowers on the ceiling, as if somehow she could seek answers there.

  “Valeria...”

  A soft voice woke her. Valeria sat up with a start, surprised that she had fallen asleep. She smiled. She knew that voice.

  “Valeria?” Ernst stepped around the chaise-lounge to face her.

  “Yes?” She could not help that her stomach fluttered when she saw him, or that her mood soared simply from being in his company. Her only sadness was that she wished she knew if he felt as she did.

  “I am so glad I found you! I was looking for
you everywhere.” He smiled.

  “I was trying to find some peace away from all the endless preparations for the ball.” Valeria rolled her eyes.

  Ernst grinned. “May I sit down?” he asked, hesitant.

  Valeria looked a moment at the settle, which was big enough for two people, though their knees might touch, and smiled shyly. “Yes, of course.” She did not look up.

  When he was seated, Ernst turned toward her. He looked into her eyes, and his expression was inscrutable. “I...” He looked at his hands, and coughed, nervously.

  “Yes?”

  “I do not know if it is right, for me. I mean...” He sighed, running his long, tapered fingers through his hair a little desperately, and grinned. “Actually, there is no easy way to say this, so I shall simply do it. Valeria, may I present you with my gift?” He reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a small box.

  Valeria took it, fingers trembling. “Oh, Ernst!” She smiled. “You know I expected no gift from you. I did not give you one for your birthday this year! And...” She was opening the box as she was speaking, and, when she saw what was inside it, she stopped. “Oh...” she breathed. “Oh, Ernst! It's...you...”

  Beside her, Ernst grinned, his finely-carved mouth set in a lopsided smile.

  “It's beautiful,” she breathed.

  The box contained a ring. Wrought in gold, it was a delicate tracery of leaves, three fronded gold branches reaching out from a central point. Every branch bore a rose, its petals made from faceted garnets. The color of wine, of firelight, of damask roses and the last rays of sunset, they caught the fire's glow and winked at her, bleeding their rich red across her fingertips.

  “It was my mother's,” Ernst said, quietly. “I wished it to be yours.”

  “Oh...Ernst...” Valeria did not know what to say. She covered her face with her hands a moment, as her tears flowed. Ernst's mother had died when he was five years old. This ring was all he had remaining of her beloved presence. And he had given it to her.

  They looked into each other’s eyes.

  Slowly, they leaned closer in toward each other.

  The kiss was tentative at first, hesitant, as their lips traced against each other; a shared breath. Then he leaned forward, deepening it, his lips slowly caressing hers, their touch delicate and warm and tender.

  “Valeria,” Ernst breathed, as they moved apart.

  “Oh...” Her eyes were closed, her lips still slightly parted. She looked so beautiful! He could barely resist kissing her again.

  Her eyes opened. Gray and wide and beautiful, they brimmed with tears.

  “Valeria,” Ernst breathed, and reached a hand to touch her shoulder. “Why do you cry so?”

  Valeria looked up at him, smiling through her tears. “I cry because I am happy.” She grinned at him, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes damp.

  “Is that not contradictory?” He smiled at her, teasing.

  “Yes,” she sniffed, “and no...”

  They both laughed.

  She leaned back on the chaise-lounge, and looked up at the ceiling. He leaned back beside her, and they sat together, bodies touching, their warmth soaking through the clothing that separated them, warming each other further.

  “Oh, Ernst,” Valeria sighed. “I hope that we could always be.”

  Ernst turned to face her. His dark eyes were very wide, and very serious.

  “I am so very glad to hear you say that, for I wish that, too.” He paused. “Valeria,” he said, and his voice was husky with emotion, “know that, for me, it will always be thus. I will have no one, if I have not you. Though I may have to leave here, my heart is with you always.”

  Valeria looked at him, pale eyes wide. “Ernst,” she murmured.

  “What?” he breathed.

  Wordless, she embraced him. They held each other close, fiercely close. Valeria could feel his heart beating against hers through the thickness of his waistcoat.

  The tears that had flowed earlier flowed again now, and she ran her fingers through his dark hair and sobbed, holding him to her.

  “Oh, my dearest. My very dear man.” Her voice was choked with tears.

  Ernst said nothing, only returned her embrace, crushing her body close to his. His heart was pounding, slow steady beats that rocked through him, jolting through his body. He could not think, could not breathe. All the thought that held his mind was her. The scent of her filled his nostrils – rosewater and dried flowers and warmth – and her delicate, soft body was pressed against his chest. He closed his eyes, knowing himself in heaven.

  “Valeria,” he said. He placed a tender kiss upon her brow.

  The sky began to darken outside, and they knew they had to leave. They would need at least an hour to prepare for the ball, and even now their attendants were probably searching for them.

  “I should go,” Valeria sighed. She looked into his eyes, her mouth set in a sad smile. “I need to prepare for this wretched ball.”

  Ernst laughed, a warm sound that made her smile. “Wretched, indeed! It will not be that bad.”

  Valeria shot him a dark look. “If you say so.”

  “There will be dancing, and music, and warmth.”

  Valeria giggled, as he reeled off the list of the ball's meritorious features.

  “Oh, stop it, Ernst, dear, do! You have half-convinced me, I swear it!”

  “Good,” he said, simply.

  He wrapped his arm about her neck and fondly kissed the side of her head. “And, I shall see your new gown, in which, I am sure, you will look beautiful. You always do,” he said, looking shyly away.

  “Oh, Ernst!” Valeria breathed, and squeezed her arms tight around him.

  The two of them looked at each other, a long moment, and then Valeria stood, sighing, “I ought to go and make ready.”

  “Yes, I should, too.” Ernst sighed.

  They slowly left the safe warmth of the library, which had become their sanctuary.

  “I shall always remember today,” Ernst said as they left.

  Valeria looked into his eyes. “I, too,” she said.

  They kissed again – a brief, chaste tender touch of lips – and then parted at the library door.

  Valeria, eyes damp, climbed the staircase to her bedroom, the dark carpet of the stairs below her blurred through sudden tears.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHIFTS AND CONSTANCY

  SHIFTS AND CONSTANCY

  The sound of violins tuning up drifted up from the hall.

  Valeria, standing at the top of the high staircase, felt her stomach turn over with excitement.

  This was her party. Her birthday. Her night.

  “Valeria, my dear!” exclaimed her father, who stood at the foot of the stairs. With his white hair brushed and tied back with a velvet riband and in his dress uniform, he looked commanding.

  Valeria smiled at his look of surprise and love as he viewed her in the uncertain light of the candles.

  She stepped hesitantly down the stairs, the new satin slippers silent as she walked.

  Her gown was cream silk, the sleeves long and caught at the wrists, the bodice high-waisted and decorated with velvet ribbons in a pale ochre-gold. Her long, silvery-blonde hair was brushed back from her face, held back with a fillet of gold, part of it left loose to cascade down her back. The style emphasized the delicacy of her face, making her look ethereal and lovely.

  “The new gown fits me well, Father.” She smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” She kissed him on the nose, and he cleared his throat gruffly.

  “It is all the thanks I need, to see you thus, daughter! You look beautiful.”

  Valeria blushed pinkly and smiled up at her father.

  “Shall we enter?” her father asked. “The first guests have started to arrive.”

  Valeria drew in a breath when she entered the great hall. It had been years since a ball had been hosted here, and it was lit with a hundred candles, the room intensely bright. The air was warm, an
d the long tables were covered with white cotton cloths, the silverware gleaming discreetly on the trestles to the side. It was a beautiful confection of silver, white and the incandescence of the candles.

  “Upon my word!” Henry exclaimed, turning as Valeria arrived. He held his arms open and she embraced him, her brow lifting to see him in dress uniform, all red and gold and brass, his slender hands hidden under white silk gloves. He had been granted a commission in the King’s German Legion; both Valeria and Henry had had ample practice in the language through Ernst. It was strange for Valeria to see her brother join the army; he was a moderate man, fair in his views and supportive of negotiation over conflict. He did not usually wear his uniform, despite the commission having been acquired a year before – a quiet protest against militarism. This open wearing of it was something new.

  “Damn me, but you get prettier every year!” Henry grinned at her, and she blushed and turned where she stood, letting the delicate silk skirt sway and flow about her ankles.

  “I am glad you think it is becoming,” she said.

  “Well, all dressed and on parade duty.” He indicated the door, where they would stand to welcome the guests.

  Valeria pulled a face at him. “I suppose we really have to.”

  “Quite so.” Henry nodded.

  The two made their way to the door where they stood, with their father, to welcome the guests.

  Valeria felt her stomach tighten with excitement. Ernst would come down soon, and then they could dance, and dine. She hugged herself with excitement. It was her ball, and he was her heart's own.

  But first, she had to greet the guests.

  Mr. Perry opened the door, and the procession made their way through.

  Valeria’s arm soon ached from shaking hands and her neck, bizarrely, sore from all the inclining of her head. She felt confused, too. Where was Ernst? But the line of guests continued.

  “Good evening, Lady Gray! Congratulations on your birthday!”

  “Thank you, Lord Southampton.”

  “Good evening, Lady Gray.”

  “Cilla!” Valeria grinned with delight at the petite girl before her, her dark hair a mass of ringlets. She lifted her arms and the girls embraced spontaneously.