Blood Red (9781101637890) (12 page)

She set her own cup aside. “Children can be tedious little things,” she observed with humor. “I know I certainly was.”

The Graf gave her a little quirk of a smile. “I have very little patience for them, I fear. Another reason why I never married. There's a blessing for you! Really, I am quite a lucky man, I have had all of the advantages of having a wife with none of the troubles and inconveniences. And when an inamorata gets tiresome, I get another, without having to be Bluebeard and conceal a room full of bodies!”

She had to laugh out loud at that. She was quite beyond being shocked by him saying such things. Truth to tell, she found it as funny as he did.

As he signaled to the servant waiting patiently behind them to pour them both another cup, she considered when she should return home. “Was there more testing of my skills you wished to do, Uncle?” she asked. “Or more lessons for me?” On the one hand, although she was really, truly enjoying the pleasures of the Graf's estate and wealth, on the other . . . she missed her “Papa.”

“Oh, you could use plenty of polishing, if only to make the manners of a great lady second nature rather than something you need to think about,” he replied. “But you could practice that all on your own. I am greatly enjoying your company, and . . .” he thought for a moment. “What would you say to inviting Gunther here, and having some of the others of my Lodge from the city join us for a time? I have not hosted a gathering that was merely social for far too long.”

She felt her eyes widening. “That would be—quite amazing, Uncle. I have never taken part in such a gathering.”

“Well, there will be all sorts of people here. The house can hold quite a number.” His eyes twinkled at the understatement. “If this were a ‘proper' gathering for someone of my rank, it would be nothing but boring members of my own class, but fortunately it will not be anything of the sort. I shall have tradesmen, professional folk, farmers, even an entertainer or two as my guests. You needn't try to be anything other than yourself, and they will all be mages, so there will be no need to watch your speech. I find these gatherings highly entertaining, and if it had not been that I had my—lady-friend—installed here, and it would have been impossible to for them to be at ease around her, or for her to restrain her shock at such a mixed and mismatched company, I would have had one long ago.”

Rosa beamed at him. “In that case, oh, please! I should like that above all things!”

“I hope you will, my dear.” There was something odd about the way he said that. She wondered what surprise he was about to spring on her this time.

It seemed that this, too, would be another test.

Rosa stood in front of the wardrobes and stared at the contents in dismay. Until now her clothing selection had been simple: either what she always wore, or her one good gown. And she had greatly enjoyed trying on all the wonderful things she had “inherited” for the fittings. But she was expected to tell her maid what she would want to wear to greet the incoming guests and she had absolutely no idea what to tell her.

The maid, Marie, who had been the lady's maid for the Graf's inamorata, entered the bedroom to find her still staring in confusion. Until now, she had not attended on Rosa; Rosa's few needs had been taken care of by one of the housemaids. And Rosa had been uncertain whether or not she was included in the Graf's “family” of servants—who were all aware by this time of what, exactly, she was.

But when Marie saw her standing in front of the open wardrobe doors Rosa felt a surge of familiar power from her—Earth energies—and Rosa turned to her in relief. Marie was one of them after all! “Marie!” she exclaimed, about to confess her problem. But Marie, it seemed, had already guessed. Rosa didn't need to get any further.

“We have plenty of time, my lady,” Marie said serenely—and with a faint French accent. “I realized that the Count is insufficiently educated in the finer points of Service and Fashion both, and would probably not be aware that you needed both assistance and education, if you will pardon my audacity. If I may be so bold as to explain the proper dress for every occasion?”

“Oh
please,
” she begged, sitting down on the bed.

What followed was an enlightening education on a fine lady's wardrobe, as Marie deftly reorganized the garments in their wardrobes by purpose. “These are morning gowns; they are to be worn to breakfast if you do not break your fast in your room, and for giving morning instruction to your servants—that is mostly the provenance of the lady of the house,” here her eyebrow raised, “which Madame Giselle was not. These are the gowns you would change into for luncheon. These are the ones you would change into to make calls or receive them. These are tea gowns; if you were serving tea at home, entertaining company at tea, or having tea in the garden, you would change into one of these. These are walking gowns. This is a tennis gown. You would wear a tea gown to play croquet, but not tennis or badminton. And these are dinner gowns. Madame Giselle did not hunt, so there is no hunting outfit, but there is a riding habit, here, which she never used.” A little smile. “This last is a ball gown, meant only for attending an elegant evening party or a ball. Madame Giselle had many ball gowns, but she only kept one here, as the Count did not have balls here.”

“I can see the differences now, now that you have organized them,” Rosa said with profound relief. The morning gowns were a more substantial version of a nightgown—more frothy than the dresses Mutti used to wear in the day, and more expensive by far. The luncheon gowns were similar, but the trimmings were more substantial and less frothy. Walking gowns were distinctly plain and sturdy, very like the gown Mutti had made for her. The riding habit was obvious. The tea gowns were all, universally, pale and lacy, but more elegant lace rather than frothy. The ball gown—well it was so incredible she hoped she would never be asked to wear it. Not only did it look horrifyingly expensive, she was certain she would look an utter fool in it. “But for this—this house party—”

“If this were the sort of house party that was not consisting of magicians, you would wear gowns in the order I showed you. But the people here will expect you to be yourself, and not change gowns as if that were your sole occupation during the day.
This—”
she pulled out one of the luncheon gowns “—will do during the day unless you go walking or riding, when you should wear whatever you wish.”

“You mean, my working garb?” she asked, surprised that it would be suitable. Marie didn't laugh, but her eyes did twinkle a little.

“I expect they would be disappointed if you did not,” she replied. “Then for dinner, this.” She reverently pulled out a gown of a sort that Rosa had never seen before. It was of a dyed and printed brown and green velvet and silk, and flowed and draped—and truth to tell, it looked a little like something from an ancient time.
“This,
” she said, in tones that Rosa would have reserved for worship, “is a gown by the great couturier, Fortuny. It is worth a fortune. Madame brought it back from Paris, then never wore it, because she deemed the company here in Munich too provincial. You would look magnificent in this gown, my lady.”

Rosa gazed on the dress with longing, but reservation. It was one that had not needed to be fitted to her as it was meant to hang loosely. “I doubt that anyone here could be called provincial, except for me . . .”

“Trust my judgment, my lady,” the maid said persuasively. “You are a Hunt Master. You must look like a queen.”

“No matter how I feel inside?” she asked, dryly.

“Especially if you do not feel like a queen,” Marie told her, firmly, and selected one of her ensembles from the Schwarzwald to meet the guests in. This one had, not breeches, but a cunning divided skirt. It was very difficult to tell that it was not a conventional walking skirt. The skirt was of deep green moleskin, and she wore her hunting jacket of loden-green wool, moleskin vest, and rather than her plain linen shirt, one of Madame's more delicate shirtwaists. Marie brushed out and put up her hair, and after several moments of consideration, pinned her loden hat on.

“There,” the maid said with great satisfaction. “Now, your role at this party is to be a sort of feted guest, rather than the Count's hostess. You should go to the veranda and make yourself comfortable there. The Count will bring the other guests to meet you, as you are the more notable. Or at least, you have the cachet of novelty.”

Rosa wasn't quite sure how to react to that last statement, so she just nodded, left Marie to tidy up and continue organizing the gowns, and adjourned to the veranda above the gardens.

But the first guest to arrive was not one to whom she was a novelty.

She sensed him approaching before he even entered the morning room, and was up and out of her chair, running in through the double doors, and into his arms before he could say her name. “Papa!” she exclaimed with glee, as he put his arms around her and gave her a bear hug. “How are Mutti and Vati?”

“Your father is proud of what you did in Romania,” Gunther chuckled, kissing her forehead before letting her go. “Your mother is beside herself to hear you are being entertained by a Count. The first and last thing she asked me was if he had any eligible sons or nephews.”

Rosa sighed, blushing. “It is a good thing you didn't tell her how Hans was my age, or she would have had me married to him in her mind.”

“She almost did even after I pretended he was a graybeard, like me,” Gunther rumbled with amusement. Rosa was glad that he was amused, because she was not. “Don't frown so, child. All mothers are like that. Mine was. When I finally settled down with my Bertha, she still was not content until we had produced grandchildren. She took it very personally, too. At least your mother only asks if there are young men your age about, she doesn't hunt down every boy she sees to discover his marital status and offer to introduce you. I was more afraid of her than anything I met in the woods, shape-shifters included.”

Rosa stared at her mentor; he was a tall, burly man, not unlike a graying bear, with a neatly trimmed beard and salt-and-pepper hair. Like her, he wore the most elegant version of his working clothes, a beautifully made loden-green jacket, vest, and trousers. He looked as important as the mayor, at least. She could not imagine him being so intimidated by his mother.

Then again . . .

“And you, Rosa?” he asked anxiously. “Are you still so pleased with Hans's choice to stay in Romania?”

“More than ever,” she replied firmly. “I do not like that he was living so much in my shadow. Now he will be the best Hunt Master in those parts for at least a generation. And I cannot help but think he will have a great deal more to do than he would at home. That is, more to do
besides
flirt with the pretty girls.”

Gunther laughed and they went out to the veranda and took chairs. “Were there that many, then?” he asked in amusement. “Or was it just that our handsome blond Hans attracted them like bees to honey?”

“That many,” she said, sobering. “The area has been dangerous, and I wonder at the number of ‘accidents.' There is some conscription as well to take away the young men, but the place is so remote that they can hide in the woods if they don't wish to go. I think that not all the wild animal attacks are truly wolves and bears, and not all the ‘accidents' when young men are farming or hunting are anything of the sort. As for the women, there is a reason why the
vampir
chose that place. With so many unmarried young women there, it was a fine place to find prey. Where there was one
vampir,
there is probably more. Hans will be busy for some time. You might want to send one or two of the Bruderschaft to join him.”

“I know just the ones.” Gunther nodded. “Ulrich Bernwald and Walther Vogel.”

Rosa smiled. Those were good choices, friends of Hans, also single young men and the sons of Lodge members who would be pleased to see them somewhere they would do more than merely patrol the forest for weeks and months on end. Like Hans, they were handsome, sturdy blond fellows who would be very attractive by reason of contrast to the dark Romanians. It would do Hans no end of good to have to compete for those young ladies too. “I like your plans, Papa,” she said. “Though Hans may like it less when the maidens see how handsome Ulrich and Walther are.”

Gunther might have said more, but at that moment the Graf appeared with another guest. This one was someone that Rosa was immediately comfortable with; he was dressed like a gentleman farmer, and Gunther greeted him heartily. They, too, were old friends, it seemed.

The more people that arrived, the more comfortable Rosa became, rather than more apprehensive. The “gentleman farmer” proved to have a title as well as a fine manor and a great deal of property, but he put on no airs at all. Then came a medical doctor and his wife and three lively children, a real farmer who was dressed no differently than the fellow with a title, a handful of professors and scholars, several also with titles, from the University in Munich, another family, this time of a lawyer, some artists, and some musicians, Fritz Bern from the train, and Rudolf Weiss, the Graf's secretary. Now she saw what Marie meant. None of these people were anything like the well-to-do aristocrats on the train. They were here because of what they all had in common; they were all members of the Graf's White Lodge.