Nothing Like A Yesterday

Chapter 1

Just before they turned onto the main road for Vienna, they passed a broad clearing, where a noisy mob of children had gathered. Clustered like bees, they tumbled and wrestled and chased each other as clouds of dust rose around them, so that it was impossible to discern, in the midst of the chaos, how many of them there were, or even whether they were boys or girls.

Georg smiled at the memory: it had been an early summer afternoon, just three months ago, when Elsa Schrader had pointed out a different, and disturbingly familiar, pack of local urchins, who were climbing trees by this very roadside. Now, summer had turned to autumn, Elsa was back in Vienna where she belonged, her tree-climbing urchins had thoroughly wormed their way back into his heart, and, despite the looming German threat, it was impossible not to feel optimistic about the future.

Glancing over at his companion, he felt himself fully relax for the first time a long while, perhaps even since that magical night in the gazebo. In the immediate aftermath of that evening, he had been so astonished at the remarkable turn of events his life had taken, and caught up in the elation that swept through his family and his household - not to mention completely blinded beyond reason by newly discovered passion – that he'd been inexcusably slow to see the perilous path that lay ahead of them, and until this moment, he hadn't forgiven himself for it.

For the first few weeks had been surprisingly difficult indeed. He'd been a fool not to anticipate the impact on Maria: the swell of unkind gossip and whispers that followed her everywhere, her bewilderment at being catapulted, first from postulant to governess and then to baroness and lady of the manor. He nearly gave in to her pleas for a quick wedding, seeing how overwhelmed she was by the enterprise, with no mother or sisters to help. He certainly couldn't help her, and even the children's love and every ounce of encouragement he could muster weren't enough.

Then he'd hit upon the solution that had changed everything. One telephone call to his sister was all it took, and Hede was in Salzburg a day later, capably taking over the wedding arrangements. One round of calls on the neighbors, and Maria – bolstered by Hede's unique mix of sophisticated charm and ruthless bullying - had all of Salzburg eating out of her hand. Hede patiently walked the bride-to-be through the details of running an aristocratic household, organized shopping trips for a wedding dress and trousseau, and for a bonus, entertained his family with embarrassing stories of his childhood he'd rather not have had shared. By the time his sister returned to Vienna two weeks later, things were back in order again, just the way Georg liked them.

He couldn't resist another look in Maria's direction. Dressed in a slim shift the color of ripe apricots, her cheeks glowing and hair blown about by the wind, she looked utterly delicious. More important, she looked confident and relaxed.

"You look awfully happy to be getting away. I thought you liked my children," he chided her.

"Oh, of course I do, Georg darling. I adore them, you know that. I loved them before I loved you! But you do realize that since coming to the villa, I've spent every single day with them?"

"Except for your mysterious flight to the Abbey," he reminded her.

"Oh, come now. I was only gone for a few days, a few very confused days full of heartache, if I may remind you. While you had already managed to spend a month in Vienna, waltzing and soaking yourself in champagne, at least to hear you tell it," she teased. "I think it's high time I see for myself what all the fuss is about, don't you?"

They had both been looking forward to this weekend away, notwithstanding the continued presence of Max Detweiler, charming sponge and necessarily evil, who was at this moment snoring gently in the back seat. Max took his duties as chaperon seriously, but as long as the car was moving, he could be forgiven for relaxing his vigilance just a bit. Georg was certain that, should the car's speed drop, Max would snap awake and, while he was at it, issue a reminder that he was only there in response to Georg's panicked invitation, delivered by telephone the very first morning after Maria had accepted his proposal of marriage.

That morning, Georg had spoken to Max of the need for propriety, to safeguard Maria's reputation, to mollify the Reverend Mother, who was not entirely comfortable allowing her ex-postulant to remain at the villa until the wedding. But the real, if unspoken, reason for Georg's urgent appeal, was that it had already become apparent he was not going to be able to keep his hands off of his bride.

Of course, he'd been attracted to Maria for weeks. When had it started? The night they'd danced in the garden, their bodies effortlessly moving together, as they became lost in each other's eyes? No, before that: the evening she'd greeted him after the puppet show, arms thrown wide, her flushed face and wide open gaze; he'd been so disarmed he let her coax him into taking a guitar in his arms for the first time in four years, though he'd rather have had her there. No, before that: something had stirred to life within that day she'd confronted him by the lake. Or even though he didn't like to admit it, the very first moment he'd caught her unawares in his ballroom.

To be fair, his proposal of marriage had come from his heart, and not the stupider muscle lower down that had taken over shortly thereafter. Standing on that balcony, watching Maria make her way to the gazebo, it was as though after four years wandering through a fog of despair, he'd suddenly found himself sailing under clear skies toward a certain destination.

No, it was only after she'd accepted his proposal and given him her soft mouth, that the force of his desire for her roared to life, sweeping all thoughts of decency and restraint from its path. He'd been shocked himself, at how quickly a middle aged man, the sharp edges of desire worn away by grief and nearly twenty years of marriage before that, could revert to a randy, besotted youth.

Within minutes of their first kiss, Georg had led her from the gazebo to his study, where she'd perched in his lap, squirming, returning his kisses with clumsy enthusiasm while he ran his hands hungrily over her slender frame and managed to get her halfway out of her dress. When his mouth found her breast, she'd made a sound – a small, euphoric sound, a sigh of joy and surprise that nearly undid him. That sound had echoed through his dreams for weeks.

Much to his surprise, despite having spent the last three years in Nonnberg Abbey – or perhaps because of it – Maria had welcomed his advances. She might be an innocent, but her passionate responses to him that first night were clearly pure instinct. The same girl who slid down convent bannisters, climbed trees and had fearlessly defied him at every turn, was not one for limits. When he'd fumbled his way through his explanation for summoning Max and slowing things down, she'd only grinned.

"Of course, darling. We both know discipline is your department," she'd teased.

He'd had to bite back a laugh at the unintended double-entendre: let her joke about his naval background, and discover the rest of it after they were safely married.

Lust thrummed in his veins day and night, a raging hunger he feared was insatiable. If it had been up to him, he'd simply have allowed nature to take its course and made nightly visits to the governess' room in the few weeks left until the wedding and their departure for Paris.

But.

Despite a colorful past in the years before his first marriage, and dozens of encounters with women in every corner of the globe, Georg had only very limited experience with innocent virgins, and what little he had was not encouraging. With a heart full of love, he'd taken his patient, gentle time with Agathe, but it had still taken the better part of their three-week wedding trip to the Greek isles, before their lovemaking ended in rapture rather than tears and frustration. This time, although the first signs with Maria were promising, he had prepared for the worst: he had doubled the length of the honeymoon and was resigned to taking things slowly. Georg was a man trained to wait, patiently, until the circumstances were ripe for victory; still, he was finding the wait for Maria nearly intolerable.

He glanced over at her once more. Seeing her face, bright with excitement at the weekend ahead, was surely worth the minor trouble of arranging this trip. While Frau Schmidt held down the fort at home, he would drive the three of them to Vienna, leaving Maria to visit with Hede. Georg would occupy himself with certain business manners, while Max would take advantage of the break in his chaperon duties to make a brief trip south. In three days' time, they would all meet back at Hede's apartment in Vienna and return to Salzburg for the last two weeks' preparation for the wedding.

With a quick glance back at a still-slumbering Max, Georg reached over to squeeze Maria's knee, and was rewarded by an uncertain smile and a charming blush. As the wedding approached, his bride's mood was a jumble of delighted anticipation and growing apprehension. The latter became clearer each time he conferred with her about their trip to Paris, asking her preference about which opera to see, or whether to spend a weekend in the French countryside, or warning her that the evenings might be quite cool. It was a bit of a mystery, given her ardent responses to him that first night: the closer the wedding drew, the way his casual touches, or any reference to their honeymoon, obviously stirred her, but also seemed to put her on edge.

He wasn't worried, exactly, but it was the last such conversation with Maria, one week ago, that had given him the idea for this trip to Vienna. He'd taken out a map of Paris and had tried to show her the basics – the location of their hotel, the major sights, and so on. She was politely attentive for a minute or two, but quickly became distracted, tapping her foot and twisting at her engagement ring.

"Maria," he'd asked gently. "About Paris. Are you – nervous?"

"No," she said, but he could see the shadow cross her face, "of course not. What would I be nervous about?"

"It's perfectly understandable, you know. Everyone is a little nervous about certain things the first time, and I just thought – that is – if you have any questions, or there's any information you need, you could always – ehrm – ask me."

She didn't answer him, not for the longest time, but then finally, and surprisingly:

"All right." She dug the toe of her shoe in the carpet. "Before you were married. The first time, of course. Did you - is it true what people say? That you-?"

"Yes, darling," he said hastily. "I had quite a reputation, but that was all long ago. Young men do foolish things. It has nothing to do with you. Or us, I can assure you."

She was tracing wide circles with her shoe now.

"But what if I-"

"Maria. Darling. You have no idea, do you? How utterly desirable you are?"

"That's not what I – what I meant to say is, what if we get to Paris and things aren't-"

Heart overflowing with love, he'd swept her into his arms.

"Maria, love. Why are you so scared? I'm not that fearsome, am I?" he added, trying to make a joke of it. "Trust me. Everything will turn out fine. Better than fine. It's going to be-"

But then Max had interrupted them.

His little Fraulein surely was a bit of a puzzle, but perhaps that was to be expected. Georg had no expertise in matters of bridal nerves; that had been Agathe's mother's department. And so he'd planned this weekend, in part, with the thought that perhaps Hede – a worldly veteran of countless love affairs - might be encouraged to speak with Maria, reassure her about the wedding night and what would come after.

He gave her knee a last pat and returned his attention to the road.

Maria couldn't help giving a happy little bounce of anticipation. It wasn't very dignified for a baroness-to-be, perhaps, but who could blame her? The day was bright with promise. After a week of rain and dreary skies, fine weather had returned, with the autumn sun setting the woods all around them all aglow, and there was a crisp, hopeful edge to the air. Maria did love the children, but it was a novel experience to be seated next to her handsome and noble Captain, in a luxurious car speeding toward Vienna, a city she'd visited only once or twice in her life. She couldn't wait to see Hede, who had promised a weekend full of shopping, beauty treatments and the kind of fun that mountain girls and postulants from Nonnberg Abbey never had.

She pushed away the unnerving thought that her next trip with Georg would be to Paris. The die was cast; she had put herself in his hands, and there was no point in agonizing about it now. What was going to happen was going to happen. And meanwhile, she was tired of the worries chasing around in her head, with no one to confide in: no mother, no sisters, only a pack of virginal nuns and a few girls from her days in the village who wouldn't possibly understand. Not like Hede. Maria was terribly fond of Hede, and for the first time, the thought occurred to her -

They rode in silence for a while, and then she turned to him.

"Georg?"

"Hm?"

"Why isn't Hede married?"

He laughed. "She likes men too much."

"So she-"

Georg smirked. "She has, and she does, and she will. Women can be just as wicked as men, you know. Don't let her give you any ideas about what you'll be missing, marrying right out of the Abbey."

"I'm quite certain I won't miss a thing," Maria said faintly.

"How would you know?" he shook his head, smiling, but when he glanced her way, she was looking out the window, biting her lip.

It was nearly lunchtime by the time they pulled up outside Hede's building, which sat in a charming neighborhood of elegant apartment buildings interspersed with small shops and cafes, set on wide boulevards flanked by leafy trees. Max, in a hurry to make a train to Budapest, asked them to convey his best wishes to Hede and disappeared into a taxi.

Maria had never seen an apartment building like this, with its bowing doormen, brightly lit lobby and wide, lushly carpeted hallways that didn't smell like cooking or damp laundry. They rode up to Hede's apartment in a gleaming brass lift, and approached an imposing set of double doors set at the very end of a long hallway. When the first ring of the bell got no response, Georg leaned on the buzzer again and then again, until at last, the doors opened a crack and a sliver of someone's face showed through.

"Ah. Jane. There you are! Maria, this is Jane, Hede's maid," Georg began, "and Jane, this is my fiancée, Ma-"

The door opened a tiny bit more, just enough for Maria to take in a tall, wiry woman with steel gray hair pulled into a severe bun, an austere face, and a crisp black uniform.

"Go away, Captain!" the woman hissed.

Georg gave a startled blink.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, Captain von Trapp, but Fraulein Hede has got the fever," the woman said in a frantic whisper. "The doctor was just here. He says she's as strong as an ox and she'll be just fine, but she's terribly contagious."

"Oh, poor Hede!' Maria pushed past Georg. "May I see her, Jane?"

"No, Fraulein," the old woman exclaimed, lodging a hip against firmly against the door, "you mustn't come in here. She asked me to tell you that she is terribly disappointed about your plans for the weekend, but the best thing for her now is to rest. She would not want you to get sick, of course."

"But perhaps - -if I can be of some help?" Maria begged.

"I'll be here taking care of her the whole time, I assure you, but for now you must go!"

"At least let me say hello," Maria asked, surging forward, until a hand clamped around her wrist with surprising force.

"Maria, come away from that door at once!" Georg barked, and he nearly dragged her to stand behind him. "Little fool!"

His tone was so unkind, even harsh, that she felt tears sting her eyes, as though she were a six-year-old who had been reprimanded. Cheeks burning with humiliation, she waited while Georg spoke a last few words to Jane and then took her arm and steered her firmly toward the lift. On the way down, she stole a look at his face, which wore a hard expression, his blue eyes turned to ice and his mouth drawn into a thin line. He stood staring straight ahead, motionless except for the nervous twitch of his fingers by his side. She hadn't seen this Captain in months, and the very sight of him made her feel like she was once again a novice governess, filled with doubts and fears.

When they were back out on the street, he took her elbow and propelled her firmly down the sidewalk, moving so fast that she nearly stumbled over her own feet. By the time he had steered her into a small restaurant, past a bowing maître-d and into a booth, her shame was turning to anger. How dare he order her around like she was just another errant von Trapp child?

He ordered a whiskey for himself and a glass of wine for her.

"I don't want any wine," Maria said sullenly. She rather felt like a child, in fact, now that all the joy had drained out of the day.

He shrugged and, with one efficient motion, drained his whiskey and motioned the waiter for another.

"How dare you," she began, but at the same moment,

"How dare you," he snapped.

She slammed her palms flat against the table, stunning him into silence, and then the words poured out of her, borne on a furious tide.

"You have no right to speak to me that way. We are not on a submarine, and I am not one of the men under your command. I'm going to be your wife, and I will not be treated like – Despite my background, as you like to call it, Georg, I'm quite certain that is not the way a man who is in love with his wife-"

The look on his face, soft and stricken, stopped her cold. Maria looked down at the table, where her fists were clenched in readiness, steeling herself for his reply. But there was no chilly, tight-lipped retort, no shouted rage. Instead, he picked up her hand, studied her palm intently, and said quietly, "You're wrong."

"What?"

"A man who is in love with his wife protects her from harm, first and foremost." He dropped her hand and sat back. "Has it occurred to you that I've already lost one wife to the fever? It's not going to happen again," he said gravely.

"Georg-" She felt the anger drain from her, leaving only regret behind.

"A kind-hearted impulse toward others, I can understand it, even admire it, Maria. But not at my expense. It was a mistake to allow it the last time, when Agathe insisted on nursing Louisa. I simply won't make that mistake again."

She reached across the table to touch his hand.

"Georg, darling. I am so sorry." The shame she felt now was a thousand times worse than what had come before. "I can never think before I act, or speak. Another one of my many faults."

He felt the flush of self-righteous anger recede in the face of something more urgent – the purely carnal instinct that sparked where she touched him. The slightest touch of her hand, and he was as aroused as a teenager. It happened anywhere and everywhere, so much so that he'd learned to keep his hands off of her entirely. Where was Max when you needed him? He glanced around the corner of the booth to survey the half-empty restaurant before turning back to see the hurt that lingered in her wide blue eyes.

"No," Georg said slowly, "I'm the one who ought to apologize. I should not have spoken to you that way, and I'll make it up to you if you'll come over here." He patted the seat next to him.

"Here?" she whispered uncertainly.

From the start, by unspoken agreement, they had avoided any public display of affection, no hand-holding, no chaste kisses, no gentle guiding hand at her back, no contact at all when they were out and about in Salzburg. Maria wasn't sure why, exactly, it was this way between them: was it that her fiancée was too old to act like a lovesick boy? Whatever the reason for his restraint, she was grateful for it, knowing that any gesture of affection would only feed the gossip-mongers.

Anyway, there was no mistaking his devotion to her. She knew Georg loved her – from the way he asked for her the moment he entered the villa, by the weight of his gaze on her, following her around the room, in his the warmth of his voice over the telephone. And in the fervent kisses and caresses they'd shared the night of their engagement, before he'd recruited Max Detweiler as chaperon.

No one could have been more shocked than Maria was at the force of her – desire, she supposed, or passion, or even lust – but these had just been words on a page to her until she'd met her Captain. In fact, she'd let Elsa Schrader chase her back to Nonnberg in part because she was frightened, not only by the tender yearning in his eyes when she broke away from their dance, but by the jolt of desire that had hit her that night, before settling in her belly as a relentless hunger that burned there still.

And while Maria would forever treasure her memories of those magical minutes in the gazebo, lately, she felt nearly haunted by thoughts of what had happened next, in the study, the passionate kisses and other thrilling liberties she'd barely gotten a taste of when Max Detweiler set up shop as resident chaperon. She had been left to crave intimacies that now happened only in her dreams, shameful dreams that left her frustrated and on edge.

She longed to be close to her Captain, but once Max had arrived, Georg, though unfailingly warm and affectionate, appeared firmly in control, as though his needs had been buttoned away beneath jacket, shirt and tie. Now she'd had a glimpse of the fire burning beneath that cool, reserved, exterior, she wondered sometimes - although it would be far too humiliating to ask - did Georg have the same dreams? Had she gotten under his skin the way he'd gotten under hers? Did he burn at the memory of his mouth and fingers against her skin?

There was precious little opportunity to talk with Georg about things, not with Max lurking everywhere. The one or two times she'd mustered up the courage to talk to her Captain about what lay ahead in Paris, the words had stuck in her throat, and he'd dismissed her with a chuckle and a few reassuring words, the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head.

But here in the restaurant, there was no Max Detweiler in sight, and so, in a matter of moments, she was around the table and comfortably nestled against him. When she laced her fingers into his and lifted her face, she was rewarded with a kiss – a kiss that, at first, was perfectly appropriate for an engaged couple in a restaurant, at least until the end, when he bit gently at her lower lip.

"Your mouth," Georg murmured, and she squeezed his hand, hard, in reply.

His entire body stiffened in instant response, and when he glanced down at her hand, wrapped around his own, his imagination substituted another part of his body for his hand, as though she had squeezed – he shook away the image, violently, and blurted -

"Harder. I mean – ehrm – hard. It's hard, isn't it? Disappointing, that is. The way things worked out with Hede."

Maria let her head drop onto his shoulder and sighed deeply.

"It is disappointing. I was so looking forward to swanning about with Hede."

"I can take you shopping, come to that," he offered, easing his hand from hers and gulping down the last of his whiskey.

"It's not the same thing, darling. And haven't you got some business to conduct?"

Georg had forgotten all about the cottage.

"Ah! Yes, but it won't be possible now. I was going to take a look at a property that's been in the family for years. It's an hour from here, but in the opposite direction from Salzburg. A little cottage my father used to use on hunting trips. Hede doesn't want it, and," he lowered his voice, "it's exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to sell off."

Maria nodded, remembering how he'd explained it all to her, emphasizing the need for secrecy: he was liquidating all the assets he could without attracting notice, and sending the proceeds to England and America, to keep his money away from the Nazis.

"I was planning to spend the next few nights up there, for old times' sake," he continued. "I called ahead and had the steward straighten the place up, and leave some supplies. There are good memories there, so one last visit, and then I thought that if all was in order, I'd tell my solicitor to put it on the market. But that will have to wait until we're back from Paris."

But even as he spoke, his mind had already raced ahead: no successful military strategist could overlook an opportunity like the one that now presented itself: an afternoon alone with Maria, in the countryside she loved, with no Max Detweiler in sight. Another hour alone – or two, possibly, if they made good time – might remind her of the strong connection they'd already established, and take the edge off her bridal nerves. It wouldn't hurt him either, not a bit.

"On second thought, here's what we'll do," Georg motioned to the waiter for the check. "We'll drive up to the cottage, take a quick look around, and then we'll come back to Vienna and take some rooms for the night. We can drive back to Salzburg in the morning."

He could hardly manage to look her in the eye.

"All right, Maria, darling?"

She graced him with an angelic smile and not a moment's hesitation.

"All right, Captain."

^#^#^#^#^#

Welcome to my new story! As usual, bits of backstory from other stories will pop up here. I got the idea for it from a reviewer who complained, at some point last year, that I kept writing stories that left M&G in various romantic and deliciously compromising situations, but then never followed through. So this story is going to follow through, which means that in the next chapter or two, it's going to turn quite explicitly M-rated and disappear from the main page of fanfiction updates. If you are under 18, or don't like that kind of thing, then enjoy this chapter, leave me a review, and so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye, and adieu! If you want to know what happens next, you might want to follow the story (after leaving me a review, of course). Don't own TSOM or the characters, it's all for love.