A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! If you like jealous Georg as much as I do, then buckle up. It's opera time!

Chapter 6

By the next morning, it was as if their strange encounter had been nothing more than an elusive dream - and for Georg especially, it was a rendezvous he rather hoped to put behind him. To liaise with his governess in the late hours of the night, no matter how innocently, was entirely inappropriate, as were the thoughts he'd then entertained about her later, when sleep had evaded him.

And, much to his chagrin, brooding about her had only brought to light another problem that he hadn't anticipated: it was the day of the opera, and he'd completely forgotten to arrange a suitable outfit for the Fraulein. As satisfactory as her handmade dresses were, they certainly wouldn't be deemed appropriate for the Palais Garnier. Even the lovely blue thing she'd worn the night of the puppet show would seem out of place amongst the ballgowns of the Parisian elite.

Rather sheepishly, he called her to a quiet corner of the lounge to tell her as much, trying unsuccessfully to force a couple of thousand Francs into her hand with the strict instruction to go out and find herself something suitable to wear.

"But I'm not coming to the opera, Captain!" She gawped at him in bewilderment.

"Oh yes you are," he retorted, waving the bank notes at her impatiently, "did you really think I would let my children run riot at the Palais Garnier without you there to mind them? And besides," he chuckled, "I'd have a mutiny on my hands if I told them you weren't coming."

She stared at the money as though it were the first time she'd ever seen any.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin, sir..."

He gave a hapless shrug, "You could take Leisl with you after breakfast. She'll be able to help."

"Really father?" The girl stepped forward eagerly after overhearing her name, beaming with pride at having been chosen for such a sophisticated task.

"Well, just this once," he answered her with a wink, "the rest of you can come with uncle Max, baroness Shraeder and I for crepes."

"Oh Fraulein, wouldn't that be wonderful?" Leisl exclaimed, with so much excitement that Maria hadn't the heart to refuse her. And just like that, the captain handed her the bank notes as if they were little more than mere scraps of paper. Of course, she knew that money ought to mean absolutely nothing to her, and yet his generosity left her clutching at the crisp bills like it was a sordid treasure, a personal gift from him to her.

Shortly after breakfast, she took heed of his advice and made her way out into the city with Leisl by her side, wondering what on Earth a postulant-cum-governess was supposed to wear to a night at the Parisian opera.

"Hurry up Fraulein, what's taking so long?" Maria heard Louisa's impatient call from out in the lounge where the girls were all waiting for her expectantly, already sporting their new dresses. Feeling unsure of herself, but knowing she had very little choice when it came to tonight's wardrobe selection, she stepped tentatively out of her bedroom and made her way into the open living space. Upon her arrival, the little ones gasped with glee and Leisl actually leapt out of her seat.

"Oh Fraulein!" the girl gushed dreamily, "oh, you look absolutely beautiful! I just knew we'd picked the right one!"

"I fear it's a little too much though, Leisl," Maria fussed, smoothing her hand down the skirts of the dress self-consciously, "don't you think?"

"That's just because you're used to wearing potato sacks," Brigitta shrugged honestly, receiving a sharp hiss of disapproval from her eldest sister.

"Well, this one is certainly no potato sack," Louisa agreed approvingly, "In fact, I wager Father and uncle Max won't know what's hit them!"

"Louisa!" Maria censured, utterly mortified. The girl only grinned slyly, and Maria suspected she hadn't actually meant anything by the scandalous remark. The very idea that her appearance would have any effect on the captain or Herr Detweiler whatsoever was highly inappropriate - and yet a forbidden sense of pride still quivered low in Maria's belly as she turned to face the mirror.

Instantly she did a double-take, stirred by the person she saw staring back at her - not a frightened young girl, not a cloistered innocent, but a woman. She hardly recognised herself - the sophisticated lady in the mirror couldn't possibly be her! There was a challenging glint in the mirrored woman's eye, as though she was daring Maria to take a chance. Vanity was a sin, she knew that well enough - but perhaps for just one night, she could let herself pretend.

"You look like a princess," Gretl giggled, and her governess rewarded her with a wide smile and a tap on the nose.

"And you, my darling- all of you, in fact," she looked upon the captain's daughters ranging from ages five to sixteen, "You'll make your father so proud tonight. You always do. Now, come on," she made to shepherd them outside towards the elevator, "let's go downstairs and meet the boys, we're already late!"

"If we don't leave soon I won't have any time to network before the performance starts," Max sulked, shooting his tuxedo cuff and checking his watch, his eyes darting back to the doorway every few seconds.

"You really are nothing if not persistent, Max," Georg rolled his eyes, taking a welcome swig of his whisky. They'd agreed to give the girls the run of the suite and so had donned their tailcoats quickly before retreating to the hotel's bar, with Friedrich and Kurt in tow. The boys certainly looked the part; fine young men with their hair combed back and shirts crisply pressed. The ladies though, had yet to make an appearance, despite having agreed to meet them downstairs at 7pm sharp. Max was right, they were running late.

"I'll order us another round," Georg muttered, draining his tumbler and turning to the bar, plonking the glass down atop the mahogany and gesturing for the attention of the waiter. He'd had his back turned for only a few seconds when the impresario suddenly began choking violently on his drink beside him.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Georg scowled at the man, perplexed. But the impresario only thumped his own chest and pointed mutely to the bar's doorway, his eyes wide.

"By jove," he spluttered in disbelief, "Is that... Fraulein Maria?"

Ah, good! Georg thought impatiently, turning to greet his girls and their governess, it's about dam ti—

He froze when his eyes found her, and he was so taken aback for a moment that he managed to upend his empty whisky tumbler with a clumsy elbow. The heavy glass rolled away unceremoniously down the bar behind him, but he was in no fit state to bother saving it. Fraulein Maria wore a floor-length, ruched dress in the colour of glowing ivory that, while modest in its simple elegance, still clung to her figure in a way that confirmed she was not the skinny, awkward thing he'd mistaken her for on the first day of their acquaintance. No - far from it. Instead she was all legs and soft curves and porcelain skin. It was a dress fitting of a maiden, to be sure - and yet the combination of innocence and sophistication was enough to make his mouth go dry.

He wondered briefly whether the Mother Abbess would approve, but then again he wouldn't have been able to pick the elderly woman out of a line up at this current moment. There really was no use in denying it: the fraulein looked lovely. More than lovely. Radiant, in fact. And any resolve he might've had in forgetting their little midnight encounter was immediately lost along with his whisky glass.

"I'd close your mouth if I were you, Georg," Max quipped with a knowing smirk, as the governess and her charges made their way over.

"Your drinks, monsieur," the barkeep announced from somewhere behind them, and Georg groped blindly along the bar until his palm made contact with the proffered glass, knocking the burning liquid back in one mouthful.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he rasped as the impresario only grinned wider. Luckily though, he was saved from having to explain himself by his eldest son, who chose that moment to make a great show of greeting his governess.

"Fraulein Maria, may I say you look wonderful," the boy offered gallantly, dropping into a low bow.

Much to her embarrassment, Maria felt her cheeks glow pink at the boy's gesture, "thank you Friedrich," she laughed lightly, "The credit lies solely with the couturier and Leisl, of course!"

Inwardly Georg frowned at the injustice she'd served herself. The magnificence lay not in the dress so much as in its wearer, anyone could see that.

"And may I say you look very dashing yourself," she added, before turning to the bar with a smile, "Good evening, Herr Detweiler.. Captain."

Up until now, Maria had completely avoided looking at her employer for fear that the sight of him in all his formal attire might cause that new, yet increasingly familiar, fluttering in her stomach. During their shopping spree that very morning, Leisl had informed her the captain would be wearing his full coat and tails to the opera, and most likely his Maria Theresa cross as well.

"His medals?!" Maria had rasped, remembering their talk by the Eiffel Tower.

"It is tradition, Fraulein! He must look his best at such a formal event."

As a result, she had spent most of the afternoon lost in thoughts of what a brooding sea captain might look like in formalwear. It turned out though, that her imagination had not done the man justice. Indeed, her young mind could never have conjured up the sharpness of his jaw outlined against the stiff white collar, nor the breadth of his shoulders draped in elegant black. She could never have imagined the way his crisp waistcoat might frame his chest, nor the power and height she might witness in his stance. Most of all, she could never have predicted the curious way that her body seemed to hum in response to it.

"Good evening, Fraulein!" the impresario beamed jovially, while the captain merely scowled into his whisky glass, "your dress really is magnificent!"

"Oh, I don't know about that.."

"Isn't it magnificent, Georg?" Herr Detweiler insisted, elbowing his friend in the ribs. But the captain barely looked up from his drink.

"Hmm.. yes, very nice, Fraulein," he muttered gruffly, turning back to the barkeep to order another beverage.

Inwardly, Maria's heart sank. Had she overstepped the mark by purchasing a dress that was too sophisticated for the likes of her? Had she forgotten her place as a mere governess? She wasn't sure what kind of reaction she had expected from her employer, but she knew deep down the kind of reaction she had hoped for. She supposed it served her right for entertaining such silly, fanciful thoughts.

Still, his indifference stung, especially after their private encounter, and it emphasised just how much she didn't belong in this alien, upper class world of his. There he stood, tall and arresting, effortlessly handsome, entirely unaffected - and yet he was a stranger in a waistcoat once again. Her self doubt only increased the second Baroness Shraeder entered the room, wearing a dazzling red number that sparkled like rubies as she moved.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, my darlings," she cooed, planting a light kiss on the captain's cheek for all to see.

"Oh-ho, only fashionably late my dear," the captain chuckled, all charm and flattery once again, "and for good reason, I see," he looked her up and down approvingly, "You look sensational."

There it was again, that odd sinking feeling in Maria's stomach.

"Oh, this old thing.." the baroness gushed, slipping her arm through the captain's. It was then that her eyes narrowed onto Maria, "and what a lovely little dress you have on, my dear," she smiled sweetly. It was meant to be a compliment, Maria was sure. But in reality, it made her feel as though she was wearing one of her infamous potato sacks.

God was testing him, he was certain of it. That was the only possible explanation for the torture he was being forced to endure this evening. The grand foyer of the Palais Garnier was absolutely teeming with people, a dense sea of tailcoats and glamorous women dressed to the nines in lavish ballgowns. Why then, did every other man in the vicinity deem it necessary to gawk at his governess? As if the snotty little twit at the macaron shop hadn't been enough!

It was most infuriating - she was there to do a job after all, not to pose as bait for their hungry gazes! In all her sheltered innocence, she had absolutely no idea that she was the subject of so many approving looks, but Georg did. And his hands itched to throttle every last man that so much as glanced in her direction. His anger was absolutely not to be mistaken for jealousy, however. No - the very assumption would be utterly absurd! He was merely concerned for the little governess' well-being amongst the many roues and cads of the french aristocracy.

"This really is most entertaining," Max muttered to his friend under his breath, while Elsa and the governess were busy checking the children's coats.

Georg frowned, "the performance hasn't even started yet?"

"I wasn't referring to the opera Georg, I was referring to your immensely amusing internal struggle every time the Fraulein happens to catch a young man's eye."

Instantly Georg's lips pressed into a thin line, "that's simply not true. And I'd warn you not to make such ridiculous assump-"

The words died on his lips when, at that precise moment, a young knave made the mistake of staring a little too long at the unsuspecting Fraulein's backside as she helped remove Gretl's jacket. It took Max a couple of seconds to realise that Georg was no longer by his side but was thundering towards the youth instead, his face a mask of undeniable anger.

"Oh for pity's sake.."

Tearing after him, the impresario managed to obstruct Georg's path just in the nick of time and the young man eventually disappeared into the throng, completely oblivious to the tongue lashing he'd almost received from Austria's greatest naval hero.

"Georg, what exactly are you playing at!" The impresario hissed, jabbing a finger into his friend's chest, "Have you completely forgotten yourself?!"

"Fraulein Maria is under my protection, Max," Georg gritted, the colour high in his cheeks, "and they're all just.. just leering at her like a bunch of hormone-driven sailors!"

Max rolled his eyes at the irony of such a statement, "You're exaggerating. She's turned a few heads, that's all. So have most of the other ladies in attendance tonight."

But Georg apparently couldn't care less about any of the other ladies in attendance.

"They wouldn't stare at her that way if they knew she was a postulant!"

"And yet it doesn't seem to stop you, does it?" Max remarked, receiving a look of complete astonishment by way of response. It seemed he'd hit the mark with scorching precision, because Georg could form no reply, "I'm sure it's all too easy to forget that a girl like that is promised to God," he added knowingly.

"It isn't like that..." Georg insisted, tugging uncomfortably at his collar. Was it just him, or was it becoming unbearably hot in this godforsaken place?

"Isn't it?" The impresario needled, "do tell me then, what is it like?"

All colour seemed to drain from his friend's face.

"I think it's about time we took our seats."

As the symbols clashed and the male soprano's voice reached an octave that Maria could only envy, she felt her heart swell with an intense wave of unexpected emotion. She'd never been so utterly captivated in all her life, everything about the performance was magical, from the costumes, to the orchestra, to the sheer magnificence of the voices and the pure feeling behind every note. Transfixed, she wrung her hands in her lap subconsciously, struggling to contain the fervour that seemed to grip her soul.

Oh, how she would dream of this night for the rest of her days, until she was an elderly nun with nought but her cherished memories. No matter how many years passed, she knew she would always treasure the summer she spent with the distinguished family of an Austrian sea captain who, quite unexpectedly, had made her feel more at home than she'd ever thought possible. And soon it would be coming to an end. The children would go back to school, she would return to the abbey, and the captain would marry his intended. She wasn't sure if it was the thought of September's rapid approach, or the swell of the music on stage, but suddenly she found herself fighting to hold back tears.

From his own seat, Georg gazed at his governess privately, unable to help himself. While she was enraptured by the performance, he was held spellbound by the sheer, unadulterated awe that lit up her face. Quite simply, she was deaf and blind to anything else, and he could tell she was deeply moved by what she was seeing, because her wide eyes shone with unshed tears in the warm glow of the stage's light. Never before had he seen such open emotion from anyone - and a quick glance around the rest of the audience confirmed that, sure enough, she was the only thing real amongst a sea of cardboard cutouts.

When a particularly heart-wrenching note broke through the room moments later, he saw her breath catch and a fidgeting hand flew to her throat. It was then that the most bizarre desire overcame him, a desire as crystal clear and powerful as the voices on stage. He wanted to take that small hand in his, to run his thumb across a knuckle, to press an open-mouthed kiss to the back of it and reassure her on a whisper that she wasn't the only one overwhelmed. Feeling his own throat constrict unexpectedly, he wrenched his eyes away from her, the moment too jarring to be trusted.

At intermission, he couldn't wait to get away, feigning a headache and escaping out onto the terrace alone in an attempt to catch his breath. What the hell are you doing! His mind screamed at him as he dashed moisture from his brow. Clearly he was just out of sorts tonight - the ivory dress had thrown him off balance and then Max's unwanted comments had only served to confuse him further. Yes.. that was it, he told himself. That's really all there was to it. To attribute his behaviour to anything else would be ludicrous, it would be...

"Georg?"

Whirling on the spot, he found Elsa on the steps leading down to the terrace, watching him curiously. Despite his frayed nerves and the untimely interruption, he was rather relieved to see her there. She was the perfect reminder of how things ought to be; his saviour, the woman he had every intention of marrying. This was the rightful course his ship was meant to sail, he decided firmly. And he would not allow any more fleeting moments of madness to come between him and his destination.

"Elsa," his smile was genuine, if not a little tight, "I'm feeling a lot better now. I think the heat just went to my head..."

"Yes, it was rather warm in there wasn't it.."

He chuckled nervously, ignoring the veiled meaning behind her words, "uh.. where are the children?" he enquired - a considerably safer topic of conversation.

"They're inside, with their governess I should expect," Elsa replied casually, "though she's so busy making friends I'm surprised she has any time to watch them at all!"

Making friends? What in God's name did that mean? Unwanted images of young knaves approaching his governess with a drink and a false smile flitted through Georg's head. It was very clever of Elsa, to try and provoke a reaction from him when they both knew full well the only appropriate response was indifference. Why then, did he suddenly feel so sick? He had no idea whether he succeeded in keeping his face impassive but he suspected his resulting silence was enough to appease Elsa, at least for now.

"Come, Georg," she reached a hand out to him and his blood ran cold when he felt no urgent desire to take it, "let's get another drink before the second act starts, shall we?"

A/N: I don't know why but again I was inspired by Pretty Woman in this chapter - the night Julia Roberts and Richard Gere go to the opera and she is moved to tears by the performance, while he's moved by her transformation in a gorgeous cocktail dress. Anyway, your thoughts, as always, mean the world!