Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Apologies for how long it's been between updates but first, school started and has kept me insanely busy and, second, Maria appears to be the Captain's muse because once she left, he suddenly became very taciturn and didn't want to be written about! I also have to admit that I found it very hard to write about the Captain's proposing to the Baroness because, if I'd had my way, he never would have done it in the first place.
Something Good
Chapter 11
Things were no better the next morning, his children greeting him in the morning quietly and even his announcing with almost exaggerated cheer that they could have another holiday from their studies did not do much to noticeably lift their spirits. And breakfast was, again, another very silent meal except for the few, light comments he exchanged with Max and with Elsa.
He watched his children file out of the dining room with a frown of concern. He could not bear to see his children look so depressed and suddenly felt a surge of helplessness. What could he do? He knew quite well that there was nothing he could do to comfort them and the knowledge depressed him even more than the knowledge that Fraulein Maria was truly gone had.
"I'm sure the children will feel better soon, Georg."
He almost started at the sound of Elsa's voice, having almost forgotten her presence in his worry over his children, looking up at her. "Yes, I hope so," he replied.
"It might be easier for them, perhaps, if a new governess were to come to help distract them," she suggested with more diffidence than he'd ever seen her show before.
But the fact that she had thought about it, the fact that she cared enough to suggest it, warmed his heart and he gave her a quick smile. "You are probably right, darling. I will look into it."
She returned his smile with a soft smile of her own.
A new governess. He stared blankly at the sheet of paper in front of him where he was intending to write out the notice requesting a new governess—but could not bring himself to write it.
A new governess. Never before had he hesitated in requesting a new governess, had gotten quite accustomed to doing so, given how brief a time most of the governesses had stayed. 12 times already, he had written to request a new governess. But now, suddenly, he could not do it, did not want to do it.
A new governess would, he didn't doubt, bring more order and discipline to his children's life. (He tried not to think that the word, discipline, suddenly seemed so very dreary.) A new governess would teach them their lessons and supervise their games, would ensure that his children conducted themselves with the utmost orderliness and decorum, as he had told Fraulein Maria that first afternoon. He should want that, shouldn't he? It would be healthier for his children than this idleness was.
A new governess, who would only supervise his children's games and would no doubt sooner think of jumping into the lake fully clothed than she would of participating in the games. A new governess, who would treat him with the detached respect due to an employer and nothing more, who would never dream of confronting him or contradicting him.
He grimaced. No! He did not want that again.
He wanted… wanted laughter and singing and teasing. Wanted affection and honesty and warmth. He wanted to know his children were loved and cared for by someone other than himself, wanted his daughters to have a woman's influence and wisdom… Liesl, Louisa, even Brigitta, were all at an age where they needed a mother to talk to, to teach them how to grow into women. And Marta and Gretl were still young enough that they needed a woman's tenderness and care, the softness of a woman's presence that he could not give them, no matter how much he loved his children.
He wanted his children to have a mother, not a governess, he thought.
His children needed a mother.
It was far from the first time he had thought it but the thought had an urgency which it hadn't had before.
Fraulein Maria had, he thought, ruined his children—and himself—for another governess.
He could not imagine, somehow, having another governess. Could not imagine replacing Fraulein Maria—she could not be replaced.
And a new governess was not what his children needed. He knew that. They needed a mother…
He sighed, heavily, acknowledging this and in that moment, he made up his mind, the decision he had been wavering over for weeks and months now, made.
He would ask Elsa to marry him. He would marry Elsa.
Usually, making up his mind gave him some ease, some comfort, the comfort of certainty, of knowing his course of action—but today, somehow, his decision only left him feeling a little hollow.
He sighed and on an impulse, stood up, his swift steps taking him into his bedroom, to his bedside, where he sat down, picking up the small portrait of Agathe.
Agathe's dear, familiar face smiled out from the portrait and he had a sudden flash of memory of the brilliant smile she'd given him after she'd accepted his proposal—just before he had bent his head and kissed her—not for the first time since he had stolen a few, very chaste kisses before his proposal and yet, for all that, it had felt like the first time. A kiss that still lingered in his memory as the sweetest thing he had ever felt. He remembered the heady rush of joy he'd felt that day, remembered how confident he had been, in the arrogance of youth, so certain that nothing too terrible could ever happen to him, so certain that he and Agathe would spend a lifetime together.
And now… Agathe was gone and he was going to marry again.
Marry! The enormity of it, of the decision he'd made, suddenly struck him with a force that nearly left him dizzy.
To marry Elsa—to spend every day and every night with her…
"Ah, Agathe, you do understand, don't you?" he found himself speaking aloud, addressing the portrait as he sometimes found himself doing. "Our children need a mother and Elsa is a good woman, a fine lady. I am fond of her, truly, and I believe we will be very happy together…" He trailed off, wondering why he felt as if he were trying to convince himself of the rightness of his decision.
It was the right decision. He had been thinking of it, considering it, for months now and he knew very well that a large part of his reason for inviting Elsa and Max to the villa this summer had been for Elsa to get to know his children and his home.
His children needed a mother and Elsa could provide that. She would do her duty, would no doubt, be as efficient a mother as she was a hostess. She might not have the touch of gaiety that Agathe had had, might not show her affection with the exuberance of… of Fraulein Maria—his mind abruptly shied away from that comparison but it lingered in his mind-- but she would be a good mother, he believed.
And now he only needed to ask her.
He was not given an opportunity during the day.
He spent a few hours with his children, trying to encourage them into laughter with limited success, and then there was always the persistent presence of Max.
It wasn't until that evening, after the children had gone to bed, that he accepted that now was the time.
He gave Max a pointed look—or rather, he directed several pointed looks at Max before Max chose to respond.
Max stood, stretching in a rather exaggerated fashion, as he said, "I believe I will seek out my bed. Good night, Elsa, Georg."
"Good night, Max," Elsa smiled.
Georg swallowed. Now that the moment he had been half-planning for all day was here, he found his mouth was suddenly dry and he was feeling decidedly nervous and unsure of himself. Not that he doubted her answer, but because he could not think of how to phrase this question he had somehow never really imagined he would ask any woman again.
He stood and deliberately moved to sit next to her, hesitated and then reached out to take her hand lightly in his.
She looked up and gave him a quick, soft smile.
"Ah, Elsa," he began, "have you been enjoying your stay here?"
Her smile didn't falter or change. "Of course, Georg. You have a lovely home and you have been quite the charming host," she said lightly.
He smiled slightly and then sobered, forging ahead. "Do you think you could live here, at the villa?"
"Why, Georg, I…"
He continued on, taking advantage of her pause. "I have been thinking about us, Elsa, about our relationship, and I believe we could be happy together. Will you marry me, my dear? Will you be a mother to my children?"
She gave him a brilliant smile. "Oh, Georg, of course I will."
He smiled at her. There was none of the elation he had felt when Agathe had accepted his proposal; now, oddly, he felt only relief, relief that the question had been asked, that his dilemma had been settled. "Thank you, Elsa. You have made me very happy," he added, almost as a second thought, the conventional words coming to his lips automatically.
He hesitated and then leaned forward to brush his lips lightly against hers. It was a very chaste kiss.
Elsa smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "I'm sure we will be very happy, darling. I do love you, Georg."
"Yes, we will be happy," he answered, returning her smile. He knew he should return her words and tell her he loved her but he could not say the words, not when he knew they were not true. Agathe was the only woman whom he had ever said those words to, was the only woman he could imagine saying those words to. So he settled for smiling and then raising the hand he still held to his lips.
Elsa gave a soft laugh. "Oh, Max will be pleased when he hears our news."
"I'm sure he will be. He is always so delighted to know other people's business," he answered lightly.
"Max is like a curious child in some ways but you must admit, he is an amusing companion."
"Oh yes, he is definitely that," Georg agreed before he stood, keeping Elsa's hand in his. "Come, my dear, let me walk you to your room."
She stood up with her usual grace as they walked together through the now-silent house, until they stopped at Elsa's door.
He lifted her hand to his lips again. "Good night, Elsa."
She smiled, leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek in a fleeting kiss. "Good night, Georg. I will see you in the morning."
He nodded and stepped back, releasing her hand. "Good night," he said again.
She smiled at him and then vanished inside her room, leaving him to walk slowly towards his own room.
Well, it was done. He and Elsa were engaged. And now, they would only need to tell Max and then the children.
The children. He tried to picture their reactions but could not quite manage it. He did not think Liesl, at least, and possibly Friedrich would be surprised but he imagined that Marta and Gretl, especially, would be surprised, even confused, at this dramatic change in their lives.
They would be happy, he told himself firmly, as he prepared for bed. They were all going to be very happy. His children would have a mother again; their family would be complete once more.
Yes, he had made the right decision. He knew he had.
(And tried not to feel as if he were trying to convince himself of the rightness of it.)
And yet…
He sighed as he sank down onto his bed, picking up the picture of Agathe almost without conscious thought, letting one finger touch Agathe's cheek in the picture lightly. Closing his eyes, he could see Agathe so clearly, could remember the breathless joy he had felt when she had accepted his proposal, could remember the way her eyes had shone…
Ah, Agathe, my dearest… He was abruptly startled to feel the pricking of tears behind his eyes and he opened his eyes hurriedly, blinking, to keep the tears back—tears! Why, he had not cried over Agathe in years!
Carefully, even tenderly, he replaced Agathe's picture on the nightstand, looking up and around at this bedroom that had been his and Agathe's for so many years. This bedroom—in which he had not been able to sleep until almost a year after Agathe's death; it had seemed too empty, too cavernously large, without her warm presence inside it. But gradually, almost 10 months after her death, he had realized that he was being a coward, a rather fanciful coward at that, and he had forced himself to move back into this bedroom. The first few nights afterwards had been difficult but he had persevered and he had, characteristically, succeeded. This bedroom—which would, soon enough, become his and Elsa's, the thought somehow jarring.
Elsa was not Agathe.
But then, he told himself half-sternly, he did not want her to be Agathe. He was no longer the same young man he had been when he'd married Agathe either. He was older now, wiser now—as was Elsa. They would do very well together, he thought for at least the hundredth time that day. He was certain of it…
He had planned to tell his children and Max at breakfast the next morning but, as it happened, he didn't.
His children were, once more, remarkably quiet and subdued at breakfast, with only Liesl and Friedrich attempting to carry on a relatively normal conversation. And Georg had another moment of remembering how different breakfast times had been while Fraulein Maria was here, appreciating yet more strongly how smoothly Fraulein Maria had addressed all of the children and kept them smiling and talking easily. He forcibly pushed the thought away.
"Children," he began—and then inexplicably faltered, hesitated, as they all looked up at him, their expressions ranging from inquiring (Kurt's and Brigitta's) to vaguely courteous (Friedrich's, Louisa's, and Liesl's) to innocently questioning (Marta's and Gretl's). "Ah- what are your plans for today?" he asked, rather lamely—and kept his gaze on his children, rather than meeting Elsa's somewhat questioning eyes. He didn't understand why he had suddenly changed his mind—but the compulsion had been there, too strong to deny, and he'd obeyed even though he was rather irritated at himself for doing so.
"I thought we would spend the morning going over our lessons," Liesl answered quietly and quickly. "I do not know everything but I can usually help with most lessons."
He smiled at his eldest, his heart softening a little at her calm maturity. "I'm sure you make a fine teacher, Liesl," he assured her. "And then later today, what are your plans?"
"We- we haven't decided yet," Brigitta spoke up.
Georg opened his lips to respond but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a quick movement as Kurt reached out to grab the last pastry from Brigitta's plate.
Three things happened almost simultaneously as Brigitta immediately moved to retrieve it, Liesl turned to give Kurt a disapproving look, and Friedrich exclaimed, "Kurt!" sharply and made a slight motion with his arm—
Gretl's small cry of surprise and pain cut through all the ensuing bustle like a knife as everyone froze and he was halfway out of his chair before he'd even thought about it.
"Gretl, what is it?"
Georg knelt down by Gretl, who had wrapped her napkin around one hand, as tears swam in her eyes.
He heard a soft clink and glanced up to realize that Friedrich, who was seated next to Gretl this morning, had abruptly put down his tea cup and was staring at Gretl in something like horror, for a fleeting second looking suddenly like the very young boy he hadn't been in some time now. He swallowed and then said, "It was my fault, sir. I- I forgot that I was holding my tea cup when I moved and some of my tea splashed out onto Gretl's hand." His voice softened. "I'm sorry, Gretl."
Georg had a sudden, vivid memory of Friedrich as a young boy just around Gretl's age now, who'd come running inside and run headlong into one of the maids, causing her to drop the tea cup she'd been carrying. Remembered the way Friedrich's gray eyes had widened in his suddenly pale face and then the way he'd almost run to Agathe, hiding his face in her dress. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to, truly I didn't!" Remembered the way Agathe had knelt and brushed his hair away from his forehead as she smiled gently into the gray eyes so like her own. "Of course you didn't mean to, my dear," she'd answered even as she gave the maid a slight nod over Friedrich's head as the maid had hurriedly stooped and cleared up the pieces and then almost scurried away.
Georg blinked and returned to the present to take Gretl's small hand in his. "Here, Gretl, let me see your hand." Only one of Gretl's fingers had been splashed by the boiling hot tea, he noted with relief, but the skin on that finger was already red and angry-looking, he noted. He stood and scooped Gretl up into his arms. "Come, darling, let's get a bandage for your finger."
He put his hand briefly on Friedrich's shoulder as he passed, in a silent gesture of reassurance, before he left the room, aware that the silence was even more subdued now than it had been before.
Gretl's finger was wrapped in a bandage that Frau Schmidt readily provided and he kissed the bandage gently before he bent and kissed Gretl's forehead as well. "There, does that feel better, darling?" he asked.
Gretl nodded and tried to smile but the effort was watery and faltered almost immediately as she nestled against him in a quick motion.
"What is it, Gretl? Does your finger still hurt?"
Against him, Gretl shook her head and then, after a moment, she answered, very quietly, "I want Fraulein Maria."
Fraulein Maria. Of course. He suppressed his sigh and knelt before Gretl again, wrapping his arms around her in a quick hug, reassured when she returned it easily. It occurred to him that this was the perfect opportunity to tell Gretl that soon Elsa would be her new mother, would be here to comfort her when she was hurt, but he could not make such an announcement to Gretl alone, and so he stayed silent.
He walked outside to the terrace after he had taken Gretl to the schoolroom where the rest of his children had gone after breakfast and saw immediately that Elsa had told Max. He could see it in her quick smile as she turned to greet him, could see it in Max's face even before Max reached for his hand and gripped his arm with his other hand as he shook it heartily.
"Congratulations, Georg. I am delighted for you both." Max paused and then added, with a glint in his eyes, "It is always lovely to see two such delightfully rich people get married; money is always so well suited to yet more money."
He managed a small laugh at Max's attempt at humor, even as he knew his gaze chilled a little. It was only Max's way, he knew, not meant to be crass but truly, he would never be comfortable with the way Max persistently spoke of money so openly. "Thank you, Max," he said dryly. "You are, as always, so flattering."
Max smiled, unperturbed by his response, as usual.
He excused himself after a little while to attend to some business matters which he had rather neglected in the minor upheaval caused by the party and Fraulein Maria's leaving.
He paused as he strode through the hall.
The door to the ballroom was ever so slightly ajar.
He knew—in his rational brain, he knew it simply meant that one of the maids must not have closed it tightly after she'd finished dusting inside. He knew it—and yet, somehow, his heart reacted and he found himself moving over to the ballroom door, not to close it but to open it further…
The ballroom was, of course, completely empty and as dim and silent as it usually was but for one fleeting, foolish moment, he actually felt surprised and a little disappointed. Irrationally so.
It was as if he had, after all, almost expected to see Fraulein Maria, or a sort of phantom of her, pretending to curtsy extravagantly to some nonexistent guest… How very… characteristic… of her to be so fanciful, he thought, smiling and suddenly feeling like laughing at the memory of that memorable introduction.
Only to have his amusement abruptly vanish as he realized what he was doing—smiling fondly—foolishly!-- into an empty ballroom and feeling a pang of loss and longing, over the memory of his children's governess, former governess at that! Clearly, having proposed to Elsa had thrown him off-balance in some way because he was becoming positively maudlin!
Now thoroughly irritated with himself, he shut the door to the ballroom with a decided click and almost stalked back toward his study where he immersed himself in his work with almost grim determination until lunch and returned to it after lunch as well.
He'd felt Elsa's mildly questioning glance at his silence during lunch but she had, with her usual tact, remained quiet, tacitly acknowledging his right to inform his children of their engagement in his own time. He'd thanked her with a warm smile and made an effort to be as cheerfully attentive a host and, yes, fiancée, as she could wish.
After lunch, he finished answering his correspondence, which included a brief note from Karl and Elisabeth thanking him for the party and where Karl mentioned, again, how nice it had been to see him again after so many years and urging him not to be such a stranger in the future, and finally stood up, letting the muscles in his back that had knotted up over the past hour or so loosen.
He glanced outside towards the lake as he passed the window and then paused, his attention caught at the sight of Elsa and his children. They were standing in a circle on the landing by the lake and appeared to be playing a game of some sort with the ball.
It was, he realized, the first time he had really seen Elsa interacting directly with his children, with no one else around, although he could see Max watching from the terrace. Elsa was, clearly, making an effort to become friendlier with them and he smiled slightly at the sight, feeling a rush of affection for her, along with reassurance that he had done the right thing. His children were subdued and quiet, he could see, but he tried not to let it worry him. After all, they had been subdued for Fraulein Maria at first too. His children would, he had no doubt, become more accustomed to Elsa and their usual liveliness would reassert itself, he thought bracingly.
So comforted, he returned to his desk to finish franking his letters for the post and then left his study, dropping the letters on the tray outside his study for Franz to send out the next day.
He heard the faint sound of his children singing, the first familiar notes of "The Sound of Music" begin from the terrace and headed outside, his steps slowing and finally stopping as his gaze moved over the tableau before him: from Elsa seated with something less than her usual grace at the table along with a pitcher full of some almost alarmingly pink liquid that he guessed was lemonade, to Max pacing slowly behind her, to Liesl with the guitar, and the rest of his children, singing with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. He didn't think he had ever heard the lovely song sound so poignant, so sad. And even as he watched, first Brigitta and then Kurt wandered away from the group, every line of their bodies speaking of dejection.
He remembered with what joy they had sung at the party and felt a sharp pang of regret. Ah, had he lost being able to hear his children's music in the house when Fraulein Maria had left too?
It was a disturbing thought—all the more so because his immediate thought was, yes he had—and he stepped forward, only to pause again, in some dismay as his children rather abruptly stopped singing. It was almost as if it were the time before Fraulein Maria, when his children believed that he didn't like them to sing—and it chilled his heart a little.
Max stepped forward. "They- uh- just wanted to sing for me, bless their hearts," he said diplomatically and rather lamely.
"That's lovely, lovely," Georg said with forced heartiness that, even to his own ears, sounded patently false. "Don't stop."
His words only fell heavily into the silence and in a desperate attempt to break it, he let himself whistle a few bars of the song—whistle for the first time in years.
Elsa- bless her- spoke up as well, trying to sound perfectly easy. "Something long and cool, Georg?"
He gave her a quick smile of thanks, pressing her hand briefly as he passed behind her. "No, thank you, darling."
"Father?"
"Yes, Brigitta?" Again, he injected forced heartiness into his voice as he replied.
"Is it true Fraulein Maria isn't coming back?"
Fraulein Maria. The name hit him in the chest like a fist and he had to force back his automatic—and unwanted—reaction, tried to sound utterly indifferent, and succeeded better than he'd expected, even to his own ears. "Fraulein Maria? Yes, I suppose it's true, yes." He sounded… absent-minded, preoccupied, as if he barely remembered who Fraulein Maria was, he thought—if only it were true. He tried to change the subject, eyeing the pink lemonade in the pitcher, with as much interest as if it were some strange, mythical object. "What have we got here?"
"Pink lemonade," Elsa answered lightly.
"Laced with, uh, lemonade," Max responded at almost the same moment.
He gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust.
"I don't believe it, Father," Brigitta said. He had known, of course, that she would not give up the subject. Brigitta, who was, in some ways, the most quietly stubborn of his children—she took after him in that, he reflected with some irony.
"Hmm? Don't believe what, darling?" He almost winced at how indifferent his voice sounded, especially when contrasted with the hurt longing of Brigitta's tone and the expressions on his other children's faces. They were all missing Fraulein Maria and he—he was acting as if he did not care, did not even notice-- and yet, what could he do? He could not show his children how much he, too, missed Fraulein Maria, missed the laughter and the music and the joy she'd brought to the house.
"About Fraulein Maria."
"Oh, Fraulein Maria. Didn't I tell you what her note said?" He pretended to think about it, as if he couldn't remember. As if every dreary minute of the past days since Fraulein Maria had left weren't imprinted on his mind with stark clarity, reminding him with every moment of how wonderfully different it had been while she'd been here. "Oh, I'm sure I did… She said she missed her life at the Abbey too much; she had to leave us. And that's all there is to it." He managed a light smile for Elsa before, again, trying to change the subject to the lemonade. "I think I'm brave enough to try some of that," he declared in a tone of exaggerated bravado—and then thought, belatedly, with something like bitter amusement, that the sentence could also mean something less direct—that he was "brave" enough to embark on a life without Fraulein Maria. Yes, he did think he was brave enough for that; he had to be brave enough for that. For his children's sake, if nothing else. Fraulein Maria was gone; they had to accept it and move on.
"She didn't even say good-bye," Louisa spoke up now, her expression and her tone hurt and angry.
He inwardly winced at this glimpse of the old Louisa, the one who was more reserved than his other children, who felt things more deeply but showed it the least, the one who had been the slowest to trust him again and who now felt betrayed by Fraulein Maria. "She did in a note," he said firmly, hoping against hope that it would break through Louisa's defensive shell.
It didn't. "That isn't the same thing," she retorted.
Elsa poured him a glass of lemonade, handing it to him with a smile that tried to be perfectly easy and unaffected by the atmosphere. "Not too sweet, not too sour."
He accepted the glass with a smile.
"Just too… pink," Max rejoined and Georg had to stifle his snort of amusement at Max's tone—as if drinking such a pink liquid was somehow damaging to Max's dignity.
"Father," Gretl spoke up this time, bravely.
"Hmm?"
"Who is our new governess going to be?"
If he hadn't been expecting the question to be asked soon, he might have choked on the lemonade. As it was, it suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth. Irrationally.
He put the glass down, glancing at Elsa and meeting her eyes as he did so, before setting his hands flat on the table as if to lever himself to his feet, moving with deliberate decisiveness as he went to stand behind Elsa. "Well… you're not going to have a governess anymore."
His children stared as if he'd just said something utterly incomprehensible. "We're not?"
"No," he paused, placing his hands on Elsa's shoulders, "you're going to have a new mother."
"A new mother?" Liesl repeated—her bewildered tone and expression echoed in the faces of all his other children. He could almost wonder if he'd suddenly started speaking in Russian, for all the incomprehension on his children's faces.
He managed a smile, intended to look reassuring that he would never act on something so important without due consideration for their happiness. "We talked about it last night; it's all settled." He moved one hand so he could press her hand affectionately between his. "And we're all going to be very happy." He smiled down at Elsa, meeting her eyes as she looked up at him for a moment, until he was sure that, for the moment, he and Elsa looked the very picture of a happily-engaged couple.
He looked back up at his children—who were not, he realized, smiling but still, every single one, looking completely confused. Liesl, most of all, somewhat to his surprise—except, he thought suddenly with a flash of insight, no, it wasn't that surprising. Liesl, after all, was the one who remembered Agathe the best and so she would have the most difficulty accepting another woman as her "new mother"—more difficulty than Marta or Gretl who, he knew, could barely remember Agathe, if at all. It was, no doubt, why Friedrich too looked more confused than anyone else.
He understood—he did—but realized, belatedly, what this would seem like to Elsa. Not the warmest welcome to the family at all, he thought guiltily. He frowned and met Liesl's eyes as he made a quick gesture with his head.
Liesl understood and tried to smile, an attempt that didn't quite make it, but which he noted with a wave of affection, as she stepped forward to touch her lips to Elsa's cheek. Followed by Brigitta and then Friedrich (both of whom made a visible effort to smile), and then Marta and Gretl and then Louisa (her face looking so remote he almost flinched at the sight). He belatedly realized that he'd taken to drumming his fingers on Elsa's shoulders from sheer discomfort, in reaction to the quiet tension, and forcibly stopped the nervous motion.
Kurt came last and he lingered by Elsa's cheek—was the boy whispering in her ear or just hesitating for so long?
And Georg relented to the mute awkwardness in his children's expressions, moving his hands to gently chivvy Kurt away. "Well, all right, all right, now run off and play."
His children obeyed—or at least, since it hardly looked like they were going off to play, they left, walking more slowly down the terrace steps than he could ever remember seeing them walk before, looking as dejected and disgruntled as if he'd sentenced them to a year of skipping dessert.
He felt Elsa's glance up at him and looked down at her with a smile as he clasped the hand she held up to him. "They were just surprised," he explained smoothly, trying to sound as if he believed it. "Liesl and Friedrich, especially, remember their mother very well," he added, skirting as close to a direct mention of Agathe's name as he had ever come with Elsa and Max.
"Oh, of course," Elsa answered. "It's perfectly understandable." She smiled rather bravely, as she tightened her grip briefly on his hand. "They are dear children and I will try to be a good mother, Georg."
"I know you will," he smiled at her.
She would try to be a good mother, he did not doubt that. Would raise his daughters to be as smoothly elegant as she herself was, he had no doubt.
And as for the open affection and unconditional caring of a mother—well, his children would get that sort of affection and caring from him. It was what he had resolved after all, that he would never, ever let his children forget that they were the most important people in his life.
Yes, he repeated his earlier words to himself bracingly, they were all going to be very happy.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: I've never really liked the scene where the Captain announces his engagement to the Baroness because I always felt he was acting strangely; I tried to explain away his behavior and hope I succeeded.
I can make no promises for when I'll next be able to update this fic since finals are coming up all too soon and I still have no time to write but, rest assured, I have no intention of abandoning this fic. Thank you, all, for reading and please let me know what you think!
