Chapter 10:
Teatime
Georg had found it ironically much easier to sleep, even with the knowledge that Agathe was only across the hall. Somehow just knowing that her presence was near to him was immensely comforting, even if he was barred from touching her physically.
It was a strange connection they possessed - they both knew that they each wanted the other very badly, but the game they played demanded that they both deny it. And so it went around in endless circles.
Georg had donned his armor and entered the battle zone, willing to play fairly, but that seemed impossible with Agathe as an opponent.
During a particularly hectic Wednesday morning, Agathe's parents had organized the inhabitants of the house to hunt down Agathe in hopes of forcing her to sing, Monica and Albrecht had taken to quarreling over the actual contents of petit fours, and Heinrich had somehow locked the cat in the bathroom. Staying cooped up inside with the endless insanity had become unbearable.
A fleeting summer storm had melted away just an hour after the break of dawn, and the weather following it had been ironically nothing short of glorious. Georg and Agathe escaped out the back door, and tore across the lawn to the fenced field of the home behind, where they watched the neighbor'sf horses gallop through the grass.
"I've always wanted to ride." Agathe confessed dreamily as her bright eyes followed a flawless white stallion.
"You've never ridden a horse?" Georg asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. There seemed to be many things that a young lady never had the chance to do.
"No," she sighed forlornly. She sauntered ahead of him, pulling her weight along by tugging the fence after each measured pace.
Georg took a moment to watch her from behind. She was looking more like the image of an Austrian country girl he had been used to before he moved in with his wealthy aunt and uncle - Dressed in a clean white blouse, an olive colored bodice and a flowing chartreuse skirt with a simple floral pattern, her hair woven into a casual braided knot that rested low by her neck. When she raised her foot to step over a stone, he could see the lace of her petticoat peeking out from under the hem of her dress.
"I'll show you how to ride someday." He said conversationally, noting with some interest that they had begun to remove the 'ifs' and 'maybes' from their sentences when they spoke of late. It seemed they had grown close enough now that days ahead would undoubtedly promise them time together - perhaps even a future together.
She turned abruptly to look hopefully at him. "You would?"
He smiled with the smallest hint of pride, "Of course."
She wrung her hands. "I don't own a horse. Our neighbor has at least eight or so, but he'd never let me ride them."
"What if your father bought one from him?"
"He refuses to give them away. You'd think they were his own children, really. He's far too attached to them."
Georg thought, then offered in a positive tone, "I'll give you one of mine."
She looked at him as if he had just sprouted antlers. "One of yours?"
"Oh, would you prefer a dozen?" He kidded, nudging her arm.
"How many do you have?" She pried curiously.
"We have fourteen back home," He answered modestly, "quite an impressive lot, actually - fast, fully trained, all different breeds."
"Oh my." She said, quietly impressed.
"Well, you would take your pick, of course." He implied, with exaggerated politeness.
She giggled and resumed walking, "Do you ride?"
"Oh yes, naturally. But I regret I haven't had the time for quite a few years now, being away so often." For some reason, he was finding himself increasingly uncomfortable with directly mentioning the Navy.
"Did you have a favorite?" She asked.
He succumbed to a reminiscent pause, thinking back to the times he would enter the stables at his uncle's estate - the horses lined up in the stalls, all different colors, staring back at him, as if knowing he was going to free one of them from their chamber...One in particular seemed to beg the most.
"Yes, I did have a favorite." He recalled thoughtfully, "I named her Rosaline - she was a beautiful, red mare... And I never let anyone else touch her - oh, no; she was mine."
Agathe coiled slightly at the way he said that, 'She was mine'...so possessively.
He turned to gaze wistfully out at the open field, his eyes as turbulent and unpredictable as the sea in the ever changing light. She watched in fascination, the way his eyes squinted in the sun and relaxed in the shade of the clouds. Her own gaze followed the curve of his ear, tracing a curious path along his hairline, across the definition of his jaw, to the perfectly bold column of his neck. He had a curious skin tone, she noticed. It wasn't completely tan, but it was undoubtedly sun-kissed, and he never seemed to look pale in any lighting. He looked so ideal, healthy, youthful, perfect...
"Hm," she murmured from behind a coy smile.
"Aggie! Aggie!" The distant calls of Agathe's mother echoed across the lawn, "Agathe, darling, where have you gone to?"
Agathe leaned heavily on the fence and groaned. "She wants me to serve the tea for her guests today."
Georg chuckled softly and mirrored her position against the wooden rail. "Not exactly a tragedy...I'm sure I'll find something entertaining enough without you." He grinned teasingly.
She gave him a pained glower, "It's not that...I'm just so -"
"Agathe Whitehead! I know you're out here! I will not say it again!" Her mother shouted, increasingly irritated.
"I'm sorry." Agathe said with a sheepish smile, quickly touching his hand. She reluctantly sprinted off in the direction of the house before her mother was forced to call her again. He found the way she lifted her skirt to run through the grass strangely endearing.
Georg felt slightly sorry for her. It made him feel lucky that he was not born a female. Women's duties were frightfully dull, in his opinion. Although he respected and appreciated a woman who did what was expected of her, he found conventionally useless rituals like teatime to be nothing more than a nuisance, especially when it took Agathe away from him.
He leaned back against the fence, just letting the sun wash over him and inhaling the sweet fragrance of edelweiss.
He straightened up as a tall grey horse approached him mildly. He reached up calmly to stroke the creature's nose as it nuzzled gruffly into his hand, and he smiled at the unexpected gesture. He had forgotten how much he liked horses.
Georg's earlier assumption that he would find ways to entertain himself in Agathe's absence turned out to be ironically challenging.
He ventured around the grounds for a while, once having the disfortune of running into Heinrich near the driveway.
"Georg, smell this new cologne I got - go on, tell me what you think," He ordered eagerly flinging his sleeve into Georg's face as he passed him.
"How cavalier," Georg mused, humoring him without so much as a whiff of the stuff, "Congratulations, you win the award of most aromatic aristocrat."
Apparently being close to the house was out of the question. From then on he reminded himself to stay within a safe distance so as to avoid his cousin and his annoying antics.
Eventually the afternoon sun had grown uncomfortably hot and he decided it best to go indoors.
As soon he opened the front door, Agathe's small orange cat scampered between his legs and fled down the steps into the driveway.
He stifled a yelp of surprise, and stood dumbfounded in the threshold, unsure of whether he should chase after it. A pampered house cat did not belong outside, he assumed.
Without a thought, he vainly made off after it. It sped up until he could barely see it and hopped into the hedge that separated the front lawn from the gardens. He knelt breathlessly in the grass at the spot it disappeared, leaning over to peer into the leaves. He swore under his breath, pawing at the twigs of the hedge in panicked movements. His actions deceased abruptly as he spotted the feline's yellow eyes staring spitefully at him from deep in the plants, concealed by the brush.
He bit his lip, considering his next move. Thinking fast, he searched his person for anything he could use to draw the cat's interest. No food, no yarn, no catnip...what the hell did cats like anyway? His fingers collided with something cold and blunt in his left pants pocket. He had completely forgotten Agathe's necklace, and until now, hadn't even noticed he had left it in this pair of pants. He had not worn them once since the day they arrived, which was nearly five days ago.
Pulling the chain from his pocket, he held it tauntingly up to the cat's hiding place so that it sparkled in the sunlight. "Come on kitty, here kitty." He said in the high pitched sort of voice he heard others use when talking to small animals. He winced at how foolish he must have looked, crouched in the grass, talking to an animal that could not even be seen, waving around a priceless necklace that belonged around the neck of the woman he was practically courting. He hoped to high heavens that no one was watching him.
The cat raised his head slightly in what Georg read as a gesture of slight interest. He scooted slowly closer to the animal, making the pendant on the necklace bounce up and down as he desperately clicked his tongue.
Cautiously, the cat slinked out from under the brush, showing its orange fur. It stared blankly at the necklace, its big emotionless eyes following the bouncing motion of the jewel.
Letting the necklace hang limply from his hand, he waited with bated breath as the cursed little beast made its way closer and closer to where he sat.
In the second he estimated it close enough, he sprung forward and trapped the cat in his arms, ignoring its screech of displeasure as he scooped it up and carried its struggling body back to the house. He waited until the door was securely closed behind him before letting the cat leap from his arms, and dart down the hallway, hissing mercilessly at him.
Now he understood what people meant when someone said they were not a cat person.
Georg trudged up the stairs to his room with the intention of changing. His clothes had gotten stained with grass and dirt from his incident with the cat and he was not about to let someone see him looking anything like he looked then. In the sanctuary of his room, he redressed rapidly into a different outfit, making sure he took the necklace out of his pocket. He laid it on the bed and stared at it for a few moments. Should he give it to her now? He had intended to present her with it at the moment of his arrival, but there had been an unexpected distraction that prevented him from doing so...
What did it matter when he gave it to her? He knew she liked him. But no, he was convinced that the timing had to be right for it to mean anything. Only when it came would he know for sure. Perhaps, then this meant he must keep it on his person at all times if he did not have a solid plan. He shook his head in resignation, cramming it into the pocket of the jacket he was wearing now, and stalked out the door.
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Odelle bidding farewell to her guests in the front door in the foyer.
That must mean Agathe was free. He walked down the hall, looking for her in the parlor, the dining room, the conservatory, the library -
She was there and she was alone. He entered confidently, seating himself behind a desk as she stood still with her back to him.
"What's wrong?" he asked briskly.
She slammed the book she was holding shut and turned so that he could see her profile but she did not look at him as she spoke, "Oh, nothing. Apparently my mother thinks I just disgraced myself in front of her friends."
He was unused to her bitter tone. It was odd to hear her normally soft voice sounding so forceful, so sardonic... Georg found it strangely attractive.
Unsure that it was appropriate to pry further on the subject, he asked tentatively, trying not to strike a nerve, "And just what could possibly lead her to think that?"
He casually placed his feet up on the edge of the desk, and busied himself with spinning the antique globe clockwise then counter-clockwise in a bored fashion.
Agathe opened her mouth to respond, but was blocked by a timely interruption from his aunt as she came marching in, saying flightily to her "Don't let all that nonsense get to you dear, I thought you did a marvelous job - you couldn't make a more perfect hostess at the tea table, truly."
Agathe blushed lightly at her comments and thanked her shyly.
Georg gave a less than charming huff of contempt at his aunt's incessant gushing.
Monica whipped her head around to stare at him. "You be quiet."
He rolled his eyes and she continued blathering on to Agathe about something concerning teapots and proper etiquette of a hostess. In attempt to cheer Agathe up, he brought two magnifying glasses up to his eyes, making them hilariously enlarged, from behind his aunt's back. Agathe granted him the stifled laughter he had anticipated from her and he quickly set them down as his aunt turned back to look at him, pretending to study a book with one of the glasses. He languidly leaned back into the chair and sighed with disinterest.
"Oh Georg, stop brooding, I thought you grew out of that." Monica commented flippantly, mistaking his behavior. She bustled out the door, leaving them alone again.
Georg stared at Agathe, the illusive trace of a proud smirk on his lips. "So...trouble at the tea table, then?"
He lazily walked the points of a drawing compass over an imaginary map on the surface of the desk.
She furrowed her brow at him, "It's so ridiculous, Georg, you have no idea."
"I know ridiculous, darling, try me." He noticed her slight change in composure at his use of the term of endearment, even if it was used in jest.
She smiled slightly, but still sounded distressed, "It's just that I have trouble remembering to - well, to refill the teacups of the guests." She threw her arms up in exasperation at the word 'refill' as if it were the most troublesome thing on earth.
He scoffed in understanding. He did not know much about tea himself, except that he despised the practice as well.
"I see. And this is what makes your mother believe you have ruined her afternoon?" He asked bitterly.
Agathe whirled around to face him, her hand against her forehead in a damsel-like gesture of abandonment. With the light wisps of hair that naturally framed her temples flying astray and her features contorted into a look of flushed dismay, she looked more like the eighteen-year-old that she was rather than the mature, womanly temptress he had seen on the stairs at the ball.
He grinned at the thought.
"It's not my fault, I can't remember - I mean, honestly - why can't they just refill their own damned cups themselves?" She raised her voice in annoyance; Georg privately found the sight of her angry rather amusing. Suddenly an idea came to him.
"I think I know a way to help with that." He said esoterically. Her eyes were puzzled as she stared back at him.
He sent her a dashing smile, twirling the drawing compass around his fingers.
"What's that, clever lad?"
"Show me your tea set."
"What do you need to see my tea set for?" Agathe asked confusedly as she led him into the unoccupied parlor.
"You'll see." He said cryptically, taking a teacup from the table and examining it thoughtfully.
"Georg..." She watched as he searched through the pockets of his pine green dinner jacket and extracted a Swiss army knife. He snapped open a blade and Agathe's eyes widened in alarm. After a second of reflection, he shook his head and closed it back up. Feeling around beneath the other side of his jacket, he smirked as he produced a small black fountain pen.
"What are you going to do with that?" She questioned warningly as he emptied the ink capsule from the pen and held the cup up to eye level, considering the inside of it.
Ignoring her question, he placed the metal tip of the pen inside and began scratching away, snickering as he carved something into the bottom of the polished china teacup.
"Georg! What on earth do you think you're doing?" Agathe hissed madly, trying vainly to snatch it out of his hand.
He just continued laughing, turning away from her as she swatted his back. "I swear, Georg, if you so much as -"
He turned back to her, and presented her the teacup with a mocking air of politeness.
Too curious to glare at him, she took it from his hand and stared down into the base inside of the cup. The scraggled but legible illustration of a jolly roger symbol stared hollowly back up at her.
"Wha...?" She didn't know whether to shout, to laugh, or to cry. A distinguished naval officer had just carved a depiction of the most notorious and offensive pirate symbol into her priceless china tea set. She gaped at him in disbelief.
"Now you wouldn't dare let your guests see the bottom of that teacup, would you?" He asked rhetorically, looking heavily pleased with his own cleverness.
She broke into a fit of delirious laughter, and before she even cared to stop him, he began scribbling away to ruin her next teacup.