The Mistress
They made an attractive couple. With her cap of golden hair and her slim figure, she was like an enchanting sprite, sparkling with joy, laughing easily and often, and chattering in an animated fashion to her companion. She showed a lively interest in everything, from the restaurant's tasteful décor, to the waiter who rushed to serve them, to the plates of food that soon appeared. Her wide blue gaze was completely captivating, and she greeted anyone who approached them with a lovely smile. But when spoken to, she didn't reply; she would bite her lip and look beseechingly to the man for help.
He was more formidable: twenty years her senior, probably, broad-shouldered and strikingly handsome, with a confident demeanor just short of arrogance. He smiled rarely and said very little, but when he spoke – in perfect French - it was with complete authority, and the people around him quickly moved to do his bidding. Unlike his companion, his attention never wavered; he remained completely focused on her. After the waiter took their plates away, she rose from her seat, murmuring quietly to him. He nodded briefly, and his eyes remained fixed on her as she crossed the room and disappeared into the lounge.
"Georg? Is that you? Georg von Trapp?" A stocky, middle aged man made his way across the restaurant to the couple's table. The man looked momentarily puzzled and then a smile spread over his face.
"Fritz? Fritz Reichl? Is that you?"
The two men embraced heartily. "How long has it been?" Reichl asked.
"Oh, ten years at least. Let's see. It was around the time my younger son was born," said von Trapp. "What brings you here to Paris?"
The two men fell into conversation, and didn't notice the young woman making her way back to the table, her face bright with curiosity.
"And Agathe?" Reichl asked, "Is she well? Your children?"
A shadow crossed von Trapp's face. "Well, actually, Fritz," He cleared his throat, but before he could say anything else, the young woman joined them and looped her arm through her companion's.
"Georg? Who's this?" she smiled. Without waiting for an introduction, she turned to the stranger. "I'm Maria. How do you do?"
Reichl's reaction was immediate and unmistakable. He seemed unable to look directly at the young woman at all, or return her greeting. Instead, he turned uncomfortably toward his long-lost friend. "Georg. I can see I interrupted something. I wouldn't have thought…" he coughed delicately. "Well. It is Paris, after all. Anyway. Good to run into you. I've really got to be going."
The expression on von Trapp's face rapidly changed from puzzlement to comprehension to anger. "Now see here, Fritz. It's not what you think-" but Reichl was already halfway across the restaurant, his back firmly turned to the couple.
She tried to laugh the incident off, but his face remained clouded. They returned to their table in silence as he took care of the check.
" I can't imagine why you're so upset," Maria ventured. "If he thinks I'm your – ehrm - mistress, shouldn't I be the one feeling insulted? "
He shook his head. "It is an insult to you, Maria, but to me as well. What kind of man does he think I am? And to imply that you are…" He didn't finish his sentence, but from the set of his shoulders and the way his fingers twitched at his side, she knew how disturbed he was. And she thought she knew why.
They sat in uneasy silence for several long minutes before Maria spoke, hesitantly, weighing her words carefully. "Georg. Does it ever bother you, the difference in our ages?"
Her question hung in the air for a long, tense moment. But then, to her relief, he smiled reluctantly, as though he couldn't resist the opportunity. "Not at all, Maria. If I were the kind of man who kept a mistress, I assure you, I'd have no trouble attracting women your age." He paused and the smile became a grin. "Or younger."
"That's more like it, " she laughed. "My arrogant Captain. My reformed rake. It was just a misunderstanding, Georg. I really don't understand why it upset you so."
"My mistress," he said distastefully, shaking his head. "You coming from Nonnberg Abbey. And unlike the rest of them, I am not the kind of man who takes a mistress. Everyone knows that. The very idea." Rising from the table, he tucked her arm firmly into his and led her out into the crowded Parisian street.
"Did everyone else - were you really the exception?" she asked, her eyes widening at the thought.
" I suppose I was. Am. At least in the circles of Austrian aristocracy. People marry for position, or money. They take their pleasure elsewhere, and consider themselves lucky to find love wherever they can."
"You must love me then, or at least you want me, since you certainly didn't marry me for money or position," Maria said, ducking her head shyly.
"It's probably better that way," he chuckled. "You'd make a terrible mistress! You haven't got it in you."
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled away from him in mock anger, swatting his arm. "Haven't got it in me? You have a short memory, Captain. Why just last night, if I recall, you heaped extravagant praises on the way I …"
"That's not what I meant," he interrupted hastily. "I only mean that you are not demanding enough."
She raised her eyebrows in a wordless challenge. She'd admit to inexperience. Or even innocence. But from the beginning, she hadn't been shy about making her needs known. Hadn't he encouraged her to be that way?
"That is also not what I mean and you know it," he smirked. "I mean – that is to say, you are demanding in a way, asking questions all the time, never taking no for an answer. Telling me what you – ehrm – need. But you don't like things very much, Maria. Gifts. Furs. Jewelry. That kind of thing."
"But that sounds so mercenary, Georg! Didn't you just tell me that men marry for business reasons and keep mistresses for love? It sounds terribly romantic. Like Jane Eyre."
It was one of her favorite novels, so he'd heard the story before. "Ah, your Mr. Rochester. But if I recall, she refuses to live in sin with him. That's my point. When it comes to a man and his mistress, well, you can talk about love all you want, but there's always a whiff of the business transaction about it."
"Anyway, you can't be anyone's mistress now. It's too late. You're married to me," he pointed out smugly. "And it's a shame, because you're just beginning to show some potential . Now that I've put some curves on you with all this French food, and taught you a thing or two."
Even as she laughed, she turned toward the nearest shop window before he could notice the way her cheeks had turned red and tease her any more. And there she saw them: the long rope of pearls, glowing in the sunlit window of an elegant jewelry shop. Cool, elegant and simple against black velvet, they seemed to stand apart from the glittering displays that crowded the case.
"You have good taste," he commented. "Come, let's take a look."
Maria hung back for a moment. He was always trying to buy her things she didn't want. Throughout their engagement, she resisted almost every effort he'd made to buy her gifts. She'd agreed to a lavish trousseau, and even an engagement ring, but only to please his daughters and mollify his sister.
"Oh, no, Georg, I don't want anything like that." But she felt herself weaken. "They are beautiful, aren't they?"
He took her hand and led her into the shop. As soon as a clerk approached them, Georg gestured toward the window and gave instructions in rapid French. The man shook his head vigorously and some kind of dispute followed before at last, the clerk threw his hands up in the air and went to fetch the pearls.
They were even more beautiful close up, with an creamy, ethereal glow. He insisted on fastening the long strand around her neck, showing her the way it could wrap once, twice, three times around her neck, or hang down below her waist. "They're perfect for you," he said.
"Are they terribly expensive?" she asked.
After another discussion-debate with the clerk, he answered. "They are expensive, yes, but not compared to the other pieces they have here. That's what he's arguing with me about. He thinks I ought to buy you diamonds. Sapphires, because of your eyes. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to buy sapphires for you, but the pearls – they are right for you. I have to agree."
"Oh, Georg, really. No." A lifetime of frugality, of going without, had left her unable to allow herself this kind of luxury. Still, she couldn't take her eyes off herself in the mirror, couldn't stop letting the long, heavy rope slide through her fingers until he removed them gently and gave them to the clerk to box up.
While waiting for their package, Maria wandered aimlessly through the store. At first, she didn't notice when another clerk, who was quite elderly, approached her. "Fraulein?"
"You speak German?" she smiled. "How lovely! I get so starved for conversation sometimes."
"Fraulein," the old man said with some urgency. "I just wanted to give you some advice. About your purchase. You're making a mistake, you know. You ought to let him buy you something – ah – more substantial. Sapphires, blue like your eyes. Rubies. Diamonds. Something set in gold. We have some very expensive pieces here. Those pearls-" he waved a dismissive hand.
"Thank you, Monsieur," she said politely. "But I love the pearls the best, you see."
"Yes, yes, Fraulein, I understand. But you need to be – prudent. The others, the gems. They are much more valuable, you see. You'll be able to sell them for a good price," he whispered knowingly.
"Sell them?" she asked, puzzled.
"Afterward. When things are over between the two of you, do you understand? I hope you do not mind my speaking so directly to you about such matters, but when I see a young woman like yourself, so vulnerable, and a man treating her well but at the same time he is taking advantage, I can't help but feel protective. You don't want to find yourself with only those pearls to sell in a month or two."
Maria didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Twice in one day! She had barely begun to protest, "Sir, but you see, he's not my – that is, he's my-" when they were interrupted.
"Excuse me." Georg's voice was cold fury. "You are mistaken, sir, and so, apparently, were we. My wife and I. No purchases for us today." His arm around her waist was like iron as he propelled her out in to the street and, within moments, into a taxi.
"I'm sorry about the pearls," he scowled.
Maria burst into laughter. "I'm so sorry, Georg. Not about the pearls. I know it bothers you , but it kind of tickles me to have people think that I..." She could see he wasn't convinced, and she reached over to take his hand.
"Georg. Do you remember the first time we actually managed to leave the hotel for a meal ?" The memory still stirred her; the first few days in Paris, they'd been so absorbed in each other and their newly-discovered passion that they survived on room service, when they bothered to eat at all.
"Remember how I asked you if other people could tell what we'd been doing? You told me – what did you say? – something like it was beyond anyone's wildest imagination. Apparently you were wrong," she teased.
But he didn't look the least bit amused. His fingers twitched by his side again as they rode the elevator and returned to their rooms in an awkward silence. He'd told her many times that she simply had to learn to wait out his occasional black moods, but she couldn't bear it, couldn't help but want to make whatever was bothering him right.
"Come, Georg," she coaxed him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Don't be cross. It's an honor being your wife. Of course it is! But don't you see? I was a skinny, awkward girl without a family, a friend or a penny or a decent dress to her name. I never thought of myself as someone worthy of, well, you know…" she spread her arms wide again and twirled around the room. "Passion. Love. Romance."
Her heart lifted a little bit to see the teasing smile cross his face.
"What exactly has gotten into you, Maria? Had I known the kind of woman that lurked inside, I would have chased you from my ballroom and sent you back to Nonnberg Abbey that very first day. Four months out of the Abbey, and now you are defending infidelity? What happened to the young woman in the white gown and veil I greeted at the altar? You know, the one whose marriage to me was blessed by the Archbishop? Who was promised to me before God, as I recall."
"Georg. You know perfectly well now seriously I take those vows! I thank God every day for you, and the children. It's just – kind of thrilling, you know, to have gone in just a few weeks from being such an innocent, to having people think I'm some kind of wanton. It's one thing for you. Everyone knows you sowed your wild oats for years. Women think of you as desirable, and don't bother trying to deny it, I heard plenty about your past when we were engaged. But people looked at me like I was some kind of child. I could practically hear them wondering, 'Her? Why her?'"
He settled into a wing chair by the fireplace.
"You would be miserable, Maria, living as someone's mistress. You deserve so much more. Not to wait in the shadows for a man who always has somewhere more important to be. Being second best, worrying and wondering how long it will last. Without that promise to God, there's really no other promise a man can make to keep a woman safe if something comes between them."
"But that's just it," she said dreamily. "Love that can't be denied , that survives impossible challenges. The urgency. The anticipation. The longing. There's something kind of beautiful about it, sad but beautiful, don't you think? Not knowing if you will be together again, or when or where.''
"The only people who think suffering for love is beautiful haven't experienced it," he commented, his voice the least bit unsteady.
She needed to chase the bad thoughts away from her Captain. Impulsively, she crossed the room and dropped into his lap. She pressed her lips to his forehead, wanting to kiss away the frown she saw there, and then added, "It's your fault, you know. Making me feel so wicked. Do you think-" and she felt herself flush, but she forced the words out, "-it feels different? To kiss your mistress? Or to, ehrm, do other things?"
"I wouldn't know, remember?" he said reproachfully , but something flickered in his midnight eyes.
She brought her face close to his again and pulled at his tie. "Let's pretend, shall we?"
The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable now. "Do you mean to tell me, Fraulein," he purred, pausing to nibble gently on her lower lip, but then breaking away before she could return the favor, "that you are already bored with marriage? That you think you're missing out on something? If so, you are sadly mistaken, and it's my fault. I obviously have been derelict in my duties if you believe there are greater delights to be had outside the marriage bed."
"Well, you would know, given your colorful past," she teased him, and then undertook to capture his mouth, but he caught her face in his hands and held her still.
"Ah, Maria, but that's just the thing. That's why I know there is no substitute for married love. A wife can love without shame or reservation. Can a mistress do the same, when she is haunted by the fear of losing everything?"
How many times in the last few weeks had he whispered to her in the dark, "Trust me, Maria"? And she had. The memories made her shiver.
His hands were busy elsewhere, now, and the armchair was feeling awfully crowded. "And anyway," he went on. "I've laid my claim to you forever. I need a lifetime with you. To find all the ways I can give you pleasure."
"You seem to have done quite well with that in only a few weeks," she gasped. And then, finally, at last, her mouth found his.
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The dream began the way they all had, with the illusion of his mouth on hers, the heat spreading into every part of her body, while a warm velvet voice whispered to her in the darkness about secret desires she hadn't even known she had. How quickly she had become addicted to that voice and the feelings it stirred deep within! But then Maria's dream turned against her as it never had before. It turned cold and dark, and something rough and untamed bit at her.
She came awake with a gasp, and it took her a moment to remember where she was and who she was with. It was just after dawn and the damp, chilly air that poured through the open window was a reminder that autumn was coming and behind it, winter. No wonder she was cold!
"What," she said drowsily, "are you doing?"
"Trying to wake you up," he murmured from behind her. His mouth returned to the back of her neck.
"By stealing the quilt?"
"It worked, didn't it? It's almost time for breakfast and – he took another nip at her – I'm hungry. I want you to stop sleeping." He peered over her shoulder, a devilish gleam in his eyes. She loved this morning-disheveled Captain, but she didn't like the way his stubble felt against her skin.
"Well, whose fault is that?" she asked. "You kept me awake half the night and you haven't shaved and – oh!"
"What's wrong?," he asked.
"I am so stiff. And sore," she groaned, turning slowly to face him. "It seems like just yesterday I could run half-way up the Untersberg without stopping, and now look at me. And it's all your fault!"
"My, my," he crowed. "Three weeks of married life and you are already exhausted! Is it the delights of Paris? The rigors of serving as the Baroness von Trapp? Or could it be that you have had the misfortune of marrying me? " he grinned wickedly.
Maria shook her head in disbelief. "I don't know what got into you. Last night." She touched his cheek gently. "Georg. Tell me the truth. Was it bothering you, what happened yesterday? In the restaurant. And then the jewelry store. Because last night - it's almost like you were trying to prove something."
He turned his head to smile against her fingers. "Hm? Oh, that. I'd forgotten all about it until you mentioned it, as a matter of fact," he said evasively. "Now, come, Baroness. I hear the waiter laying our breakfast out in the sitting room. Another day in Paris awaits you."
"You go ahead," she waved toward the door. "I'd rather take a bath first."
"All right, then," he replied, rising from the bed and pulling on a robe. He was halfway out the bedroom door when he paused. "And just for the record. I should be the one asking what got into you. Especially that second time. Waking me up in the middle of the night like that. " He stopped and looked at her with curiosity. "What exactly was that all about, anyway?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said airily, rising from the bed and gathering her own soft robe about her as though it could protect her from his questions. But he closed the door again and was back by her side, blocking her way, and shaking a finger in her face.
"O-ho, Fraulein, now I see it clearly. Not that it's difficult; your face is like a window. You're trying to keep a secret from me. You know you'll fail, though, so why don't you save us both the effort of trying? Out with it."
"N-nothing, it's nothing," she said weakly, trying to push past him, but he clamped a gentle hand around her wrist.
"I'm trained, you know," he whispered. "In interrogation. Now that you've got me interested, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me about last night. When you woke me like that. Why you were so-"
"I can't. You'll laugh at me," she blushed.
"You know that's not true," he coaxed, and she knew he was right. One reason she'd so quickly become comfortable with their intimacy is that he answered even her silliest questions honestly and respectfully. He'd held nothing back from her, either.
"All right." She looked down at the floor. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to be your mistress. How I love you so much, and how it would be between us if we'd been apart for weeks, or if we didn't know when we'd see each other again. How urgent it would feel, the delicious secrecy and anticipation, how…"
The look on his face mingled horror and amusement. "Let me get this straight. You lured me out of my sleep in the middle of the night because you were – er- fantasizing about an adulterous relationship? with me? your husband?"
"You told me everyone pretends that way sometimes. What about that time we were – well, you know, and you were telling me what it would be like on your boat?"
"Yacht," he corrected her, laughing. "And that was both of us, pretending together! Not one of us with some highly improbable fantasy."
"It is not improbable," she retorted, surprising herself with the emotion in her voice. She hesitated before continuing. "I considered it, actually. For real. I was ready to do it, if that was the only way."
"Maria? What are you talking about?" he asked warily. She hadn't noticed that her hands were shaking until he took them firmly in his.
"The day I came back from the Abbey. Came back because I loved you, and I knew that you loved me. I was certain of it. But then I learned you were getting married. I went up to my room and cried, of course, but then I had to make a plan. For what to do next, where to go. And I realized," she swallowed back a sob that rose in her throat at the memory, "that I was never going to be able to leave you. I needed you. You-" she gave a shaky laugh, "you needed me. I already understood that. And I decided that I would stay. That I didn't know how to go about it, but that somehow, I would, you know…"
"Offer yourself to me, is that what you're saying?" He didn't sound angry, but he didn't sound amused anymore, either. More baffled than anything else.
"Try to understand," she pleaded. "We belonged together. I knew it. You knew it too. And I trusted you. You are the most honorable man I know. Probably the most honorable man in the world, for that matter!"
"So you trusted me to dishonor you in an honorable kind of way?" The words were lighthearted, but his voice was strained.
"It doesn't matter, anyway, does it? You came and found me in the gazebo, and everything worked out fine." She peeked over at him "Don't be angry at me, Georg. Or disappointed in me. You said we should tell each other everything, didn't you?"
"If I had wanted you only in my bed, Maria, you would have been there much sooner," he said tightly. There was a long moment of silence, and then he dropped her hands and strode briskly back over to the door. Her heart dropped: she had really hurt him. Or worse, let him down. He opened the door, said a few words to the waiter who lingered there, and then closed the door and returned to her side.
"What-" she asked.
"I told him to go away."
"I thought you were hungry?"
"I don't need breakfast." He gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, like he'd never let her go. "I need my wife." Her arms went around his neck, but he pulled back from her and raised an admonishing finger. "But this time, Maria? No pretending. This time, I want my wife. Only my wife," he repeated.
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A long while later, she lay in his arms, breathless. Her head rested against his chest where she could hear his heart, thundering at first, then slowly returning to normal.
"It probably wouldn't have worked out, anyway," she joked, tentatively. "Being your mistress, I mean. For one thing, what would I have called you? I could hardly have called you by your first name in front of everyone, and 'Captain' seems just a bit too formal for the circumstances, don't you think?" She tucked a leg more firmly between his to underscore her point. "Oh, Captain! Oh, Captain!" she trilled, mocking the sound of her own voice in passion.
She felt the rumble of his laugh, but in the next moment, he rolled her gently off of him so he could look her in the face.
"Maria. Love. Do something for me. No more talk of mistresses. I can be as wicked as the next man, but it bothers me terribly."
"All right, Georg," she agreed, "but I just don't understand what it is that disturbs you so much. It's not only that someone thinks you're capable of acting dishonorably. Or that I am, for that matter."
But Maria's husband was not much given to introspection. "When I figure it out, I'll let you know," he shrugged, and went off to have his breakfast.
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By the time she joined him at the table, he had finished breakfast and was sliding an envelope into his pocket.
"Maria. I have something to ask you. It's a little awkward, but," he paused. "I had a note just now from Willem Englander. A distant cousin of Agathe's. I haven't seen him in years. He's staying on the outskirts of Paris and proposed to meet for lunch."
"That's fine," she said, "where shall we meet him?"
"That's just it," Georg explained awkwardly. "I think I really ought to go alone. He's - well, he's not a very nice fellow. A terrible lecher, and a cranky old snob too. I'm only doing it out of respect for her parents, you know."
Maria was a little taken aback. Georg hadn't shrunk from introducing her, proudly, to the cream of Austrian society, and to Agathe's parents as well. She couldn't help feeling there was more to the story, but then again, it might be pleasant to have a day to herself, and it would be only one day out of six weeks' honeymoon in Paris.
"You go ahead, then, darling," she smiled, "just be back by six, so you have time to change for dinner and the opera." She'd been looking forward to this evening for weeks.
Maria had a pleasant day. She took herself to lunch at a nearby café, and even ventured into a few of the shops to bravely try her few words of French. By teatime, dark storm clouds were threatening, so she returned to the hotel, where a package awaited addressed to her. "Maria von Trapp." It still thrilled her to see her name written out so.
As soon as she was back in their room, she tore the package open. There was a note, unsigned: "Wear this for me," and within, a frothy confection of creamy lace and the sheerest possible apricot silk. Her heart skipped a beat.
It felt strange, and a little wicked, to be changing into scandalous lingerie in the afternoon, but if his plan was to spend some romantic time together before dinner, she was wholeheartedly in favor of it. It had begun to rain, so she closed the windows and drew the blinds. Humming a little scrap of song, Maria happily changed into her new acquisition, and settled into the armchair by the fireplace to wait for him.
By now, a ferocious summer storm was pounding away at the windows. Loud bursts of thunder filled the air, making Maria smile at the memory of her first evening at the villa. After an hour spent finishing a book and writing a postcard to the children, she was still waiting for her husband , and was starting to feel a little foolish for the way she was dressed. If he wasn't back soon, there wouldn't be any private time for them before dinner anyway. Should she change into her evening clothes? Perhaps she'd just curl up in the armchair and close her eyes for a few minutes, enjoying the sound of the rain against the windows.
The next thing she knew, she awakened to the sound of a key in the lock, and the rustle of his presence as he entered the suite. In the late summer evening gloom, she could barely see him as he entered leaned over her. He was soaking wet, and his lips felt cold against her neck. "My wife. I missed you terribly," he whispered.
"Hold on!" Maria shook herself out of sleep. "Where have you been? And what time is it?"
"It's after seven."
"Seven? " she cried. "But our plans!"
"No opera tonight," he growled. His fingers traced the place where lace met skin. "Just us. I see you liked my gift."
Pushing him away, she jumped out of the chair and turned toward where he stood in the gloom. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
"Maria?" he made a good show of sounding baffled. "Are you well? You're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"
"I know what you're up to. You made this whole thing with the cousin up!"
"Maria. Why would I make it up? Leave you alone for a whole day like that?"
"To teach me a lesson, that's why, " she flared. "To show me what life would be like if we weren't married. If I were your mistress, waiting for you, waiting to give you pleasure ," she gestured disdainfully toward the filmy skirt that swirled around her. "To keep me hidden away, out of public sight. You made a joke out of it, out of something I wanted to offer you out of love. And now we're too late to go to the opera and I was so looking forward to it!"
He put a gentle arm on hers. "Maria. Come here."
"I don't want to come anywhere near you at the moment," she fumed, jerking her arm away from his.
She heard him move toward the window. When he drew the blinds open, the room barely lightened at all. "All right then, forget about me. Look out the window. What do you see?"
She glanced over toward the window. "Rain. Just rain, and what does that have to do with anything?"
"Look more closely."
Grudgingly, she moved closer to the window. Where Paris at night usually laid beneath their window like a glittering carpet, there was … nothing. Well, almost nothing. Tiny pinpricks of light stood in long lines, marking the headlights of cars and buses. But the streetlights and signals, the Eiffel Tower, the buildings, all were as dark as though Paris had become a forest once again.
"The storm," he explained. "It knocked out power to the whole city. The opera is cancelled. I should have been back sooner, but first, I was late for lunch. Because I stopped on the way to send you that gift. I thought perhaps you wanted some more – I don't know – excitement?"
She felt ashamed, that he had found such a gesture necessary. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he went on.
"…and I had another errand to run besides. I rushed Willem through our meeting and tried to get back just as the storm started. It was impossible to get a taxi. Traffic is at a standstill, with all the signals knocked out. I walked across Paris in the pouring rain and up five flights of stairs and this is not the welcome I expected."
"Really? Oh, Georg." She placed a tentative hand on his cheek, half-expecting him an angry retort, but she felt his face relax into a smile.
"Surely you don't think I had the whole city blacked out as an alibi, do you? Yes, really. And now what I need is a hot shower, if the hotel still has hot water. And a change of clothes. And a drink. And you. Possibly not in that order. And possibly not one at a time."
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Several hours later, the storm let up at last. She threw open the windows to let in the fresh, damp air and then returned to the bed, to the shelter of his arms and his warm, solid strength. They lay in silence for a while before he sighed deeply.
"Maria. I had a great deal of time to think during that long, long walk, and I must tell you something. I wasn't entirely honest with you. When I told you that it didn't bother me. That I'm - that you're so much younger than I am."
"Not feeling so confident after all, are we? About all those younger women?" she teased.
"Oh, no, I was right about that," he said carelessly. "It's something else. You should have had a chance to build a life with a young man. Not be forced to fit into another person's life, especially one as complicated as mine. Seven slightly used children. A way of life that's encrusted with tradition. The enemies I'm bound to make if I don't go along with them."
"But I love those children, Georg! I love you! I don't want anyone else!"
"That's not the worst of it, Maria. What happens if - when - you are left alone? When you are my age, I'll be in my sixties. I won't live forever."
Her heart sank a little. It seemed an odd conversation to have on one's honeymoon, and just after making love at that. "Georg. You of all people should know that we none of us can be sure about…"
"I suppose. " He sighed again. "But it troubles me."
There was a long pause before he spoke again, in a lighter tone. "And now, Fraulein. It's your turn for the confessional."
"What do you mean?"
"My colorful past. It bothers you, doesn't it?"
"Of course not," she braved, waving her hand in the air. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss before he continued.
"It's just that you mention it rather frequently, Maria. Since we got to Paris. More than you did before we were married."
"It doesn't bother me that you were married before, if that's what you mean," Maria said uneasily. "She gave birth to those children. And you loved her. And if you hadn't loved her and lost her, you wouldn't be the man I love. Do you see?"
"I do see, and I'm touched, but that's not what I meant. I meant the women who came before I was married. I happen to know you got an earful about it before the wedding, but only now does it seem to bother you."
Because now I understand what you were doing with them, Maria thought to herself, but she asked only, "How many of them were there?"
"A dozen? Ehrm, two dozen, perhaps. I don't really know. Does it matter?"
"It doesn't make me feel jealous, if that's what you mean. After all, you were happily married for a long time after that. And I do notice how women watch you everywhere we go, but, well," she said shyly, "you always seem to be watching me."
He laughed.
"It's just that," she said tentatively, "it's just hard to think about the man I love behaving that way. I can't even imagine what it would be like with another person. To do the things we do." She felt her face turn red.
"Let's keep it that way," he said, kissing the top of her head. "You do mention it frequently, though, you know. My rakish past. I'm not proud of it. And I hate the idea that you think less of me for it. But it was different then, Maria. I was different then. When I got married – well, I didn't really know what to expect."
"That reminds me, Georg." She lifted herself on one elbow to address him. "To ask you about something you said the other day. You said that, in that world, people marry for practical reasons, not love. But you loved her from the start, didn't you? You didn't marry her for position. Or money."
He was silent for a long time. "Well. I wanted her. And marrying her was the only way I was going to have her. But love? I was as surprised as anyone the way it worked out."
Maria held her breath. For a moment, it was almost like he had forgotten that he was answering her question, or that she was even there. It was as though he was working something out for himself.
"I found that there was a freedom in it. With the others, the women who came before, I was always holding back. You're both holding back. Not wanting any entanglements or emotions. No messes. Including children, of course. But when you are sealed to someone for eternity, there are no limits. You give yourself to each other completely. In a way that is…" and he groped for the word, "fearless."
His attention shifted back to her for a moment, and he leaned over to leave a string of kisses along her collarbone. "That's how I want you. Need you to have me. Fearless. Trusting each other completely. Taking each other far beyond our wildest dreams."
"So that's why you don't like all the talk of mistresses," she murmured. His words had stirred her, and she ran her hand along his body in a tentative caress. "Because it's better this way?"
"That is not the reason I married you," he said with a little huff of amusement. "For what happens in bed. Not the only reason, anyway." He pulled her closer and went on.
"There was another surprise, being married. For all everyone says about my courage, how tough I am. When we lost the war and my command was gone? The only way I survived was Agathe. I had never needed anyone that way the way I came to need her. Her counsel. Her companionship. She was everything to me. Of course I was bitter when she died! Surrounded by men who barely knew their wives, but would have them for decades to come. While I…" His voice thickened. "I didn't expect I could ever have that again. Not when most men don't even have it once, don't even know what they're missing."
"Maria." He sighed deeply. "I don't want a mistress. I want a wife. I married you because you scolded me that day by the lake. Because the week before the wedding, when I came back from that encounter with Zeller, you didn't ask a single question. You just put my head in your lap and rubbed the back of my neck for an hour and talked to me about your childhood on the mountain. You give me faith that we will make it through whatever lies ahead. And I needed to marry you, anyway, to spend the rest of my life making it up to you for the way you looked up at me from the bottom of those stairs, the day you came back."
"You don't have to make anything up to me," she said unsteadily. "And those things I said about being your mistress. I just wanted you to understand how much I loved you. That even if you hadn't given me all of this…" and she gestured vaguely toward the luxury that surrounded them. "And you definitely did not need to buy me lingerie to keep me interested, for heaven's sake."
"Wait! That reminds me!" he said, and he left the bed and went into the sitting room, only to return a moment later. As he slid back into bed, he pressed a long, slender package into her hands. "This was my other errand."
Even in the shadowy dark, she knew what he'd done. "The pearls? Oh, Georg, you didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he assured her. He pulled the box from her hands and opened it, draping the long strand around her neck. The pearls felt cool and smooth, sliding against the heat of her skin.
But then he lifted the other end of the rope of pearls around his own neck and tugged gently where the strands hung between them, bringing her face closer to his. "I know what it would have cost you," he whispered. "To do that for me. For you to make that sacrifice, just as I would sacrifice myself for you. But this is how it is, Maria. We belong to each other forever now, no matter what happens." His lips grazed her forehead like a blessing.
"There will never be an end to us."
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She woke suddenly, momentarily unsure where she was, pushing at the warm weight of something that held her down in the dark. But then she recognized his scent, and relaxed at the sound of the familiar rasp of his breath. He had curled half-on top of her and had been sleeping with his face buried between her breasts. Tears came to her eyes at this new intimacy, the way he had sought comfort in the cradle of her body.
Maria's thoughts wandered to that magical night in the gazebo. "Can this be happening to me?" she'd asked herself in disbelief. She'd been exhausted from weeks of pushing away her feelings for him, and the enormous audacity of admitting to them just hours before. The fresh bruise of the day's heartbreak hadn't begun to heal. When he'd told her, "I love you," she was so relieved, she hadn't stopped to think why he loved her. She knew, of course, that he treasured the love that had grown between her and his children. But, very quickly, she'd been swept along by new and different feelings– desire and passion - - that completely consumed her for weeks before the wedding and the first days of their honeymoon. She knew he wanted her, and slowly, in the past few weeks, her confidence in her ability to satisfy him had grown. But she hadn't really understood, until now, how vast his love for her really was.
Maybe he was right that the difference in their ages mattered, because, apparently, she'd been too young to understand marriage after all. She felt him stir in his sleep, then, and he lifted his head to mutter a sleepy apology, as though to move away from her.
"No, no," she soothed him. "You stay right there. I'm not going anywhere." Her hands skated gently across his shoulders, so lightly, he would hardly feel her touch. He was asleep again in moments.
THE END
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Some time ago, lemacd gave me a prompt involving situations where Maria is mistaken for Georg's mistress – a theme that's turned up in quite a number of our stories since! It's taken me a while, and some contributions from her which I gratefully acknowledge, but this story is the result. I took a little detour with the recent story, "With Your Whole Heart," which engendered some interesting discussion, with most of us agreeing that mistress-hood would not bring Maria (or Georg) happiness in the end. I hope this story makes the same point in a more positive way. Please leave me a review. I don't own anything about TSOM or the characters, I just love them.