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The morning routine, whilst always hectic had never been quite so much the strain on Maria as it felt this morning, even in the earliest days of her time here, the thought of the day ahead had never made her so anxious. It did today though, and no matter how much of her charges excited chatter she listened to, it did nothing to soothe her swirling thoughts.

She had lain awake most of night, thinking of that dance, of the expression on the Captain's face and the way it had made her breath catch in her throat. When a dreamless sleep finally claimed her it had almost been a blessed relief, she had hoped to wake this morning feeling refreshed and like her normal self, but she didn't.

Maria paused in plaiting Marta's hair and rubbed one temple tiredly, her head aching in a dull thud that ran along her forehead and behind both eyes.

From her place perched crossed legged on the pale blue counterpane, Brigitta watched her speculatively. "Are you feeling ill, Fraulein Maria?" She asked in concern.

Giving her a reassuring smile, Maria reached out and patted the edge of her knee, telling her softly "Not at all, I'm just a little tired, that's all, it was a busy night after all."

"Oh," Brigitta's face brightened at the memory of last night. "The party was wonderful. Did you stay after we went to bed?"

"Oh no," Maria laughed lightly, "I came up just after your wonderful performance. After all, what would I do at a party without you all?"

"You might have stayed to dance," she suggested, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hands and staring at her with the exact same curious expression that Maria had noticed on her face the night before.

"Oh, I don't think your Father's guests would have been best pleased. I was there to work after all."

"Hmmm," Brigitta frowned, her face creasing in thought. "Well…it's just that if you went to the bed at the same time as us, then you shouldn't be so tired."

Despite the anxious flip that her traitorous stomach gives, Maria lets out a surprised laugh at the girl's suspicious questioning. "Oh Brigitta, you are turning into quite the interrogator."

She gave her a haughty look that is reminiscent of the one her Father used to send in Maria's direction. "I just like things to make sense," she countered. "You're never tired, so why would you be so tired if you didn't stay up any later than we did?"

"I just didn't sleep well." Maria gave a shrug that she hopes conveys an air of ease and not the discomfort that she really feels at this line of questioning.

"Did you try thinking about your favourite things?" Marta asked innocently.

Oh, she had tried, Maria thought, but her mind had been determined to focus on one thing and one thing alone. "I did and it made me very cheerful, but it didn't make me very tired." Wonderful, now she was lying to a seven-year-old.

Marta gave a nod before a much more important thought came to her and she tugged on Maria's sleeve to tell her, "There were so many pretty dresses last night."

Maria smiled down at where the little girl was perched on her knee and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "There were my darling, and did you have a favourite?"

"The pink ones," came the easy reply, before she turned her guileless eyes onto Maria and told her shyly, "But I thought that you looked the prettiest out of everybody Fraulein, and when you danced with Father, you looked like a princess."

Maria could feel the warmth of her blush spread up her face and she could feel the skin at the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. That dance is the reason she is so tired and the confusion it has provoked in her is the reason that her head feels so heavy. At times she can almost swear that she can still feel the Captain's hand on her waist, his blue eyes burning into hers, even now. She doesn't know what to say, how she should reply to what should be such an innocent comment, it doesn't help that Brigitta is listening and still staring at her in that way. An awkward laugh finally escapes her lips, and she tickles Marta's neck with her fingertips, making her giggle and squirm. "Oh, you are a flatterer Marta von Trapp, but I think that someone is just trying to get out of learning their times table on Monday."

"I'm not," she squeaked in reply, "I promise."

Her laugh freer, Maria tied the bottom of the plait, and tweaked it as she told her with a mock firmness to her tone, "Well it won't work you know, after all how many princesses do you think can juggle? Or who would help your sister hide a dormouse in her pocket?"

"The fun ones," Marta told her with a toothy grin, before she jumped from her knee and twisted her head one way and then the other, admiring her hair. "It's perfect, I'm going to show Gretl, thank you Fraulein Maria."

Looking over at where Brigitta is still perched on the edge of the bed, her keen eyes fixed on her, Maria gets to her feet and brushes the worst of the creases out of her skirt, asking her, "Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Uh huh." Brigitta nods, her expression thoughtful for a moment before she blurts out, "Fraulein Maria, what was your favourite part of the party?"

The dance. The answer that pops into her head is immediate, she had never felt so nervous and wonderful at the same time, she had felt graceful, important…almost treasured in his arms. It is the most foolish of thoughts, he was showing Kurt…all the children, the steps to a dance, she just happened to be there. But she can't say any of that right now and the lie trips off her tongue with more ease than she'd like, and it's the second one today. "Why listening to you all sing." It is close to the truth, should be the truth if she had any sense, she thinks to herself wryly, they had been tremendous after all. She reached out and brushed her hand across Brigitta's cheek. "You were all so wonderful and you all made me so proud last night." That at least is very much the truth, watching them had made her heart swell.

Brigitta chewed on her lip. "Do you think we made Father proud?"

"Without a doubt, however I'm not so sure that his good humour will last if we're late for breakfast, so come long, stir your stumps," she tells her, tapping her shoulder. To her relief, Brigitta gets to her feet and traipses out of the room in front of her, although the speculative expression remains on her face.

Maria's mind wanders as they walk down the upper hall and already she can hear the excited chatter of the other children, can hear them laughing and the sound warms her heart. She wonders if the Captain will even join them for breakfast this morning, after all the party had ended late, so he might choose to lie in, as the Baroness often does.

Even as she thinks it, she dismisses the thought, the man never missed a beat and he made a point of being infuriatingly on time for everything, almost as if he were highlighting that she runs late for everything. Certainly, that sardonic smile and lift of his eyebrow whenever she darted into a room, seemed to suggest he took some pleasure in teasing her, never mind his low rumble of a voice when he spoke. Her stomach flipped again, and she shook her head at herself, so lost in her own thoughts that she missed Brigitta looking back over her shoulder at her again, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

Sure enough, The Captain was at the table, surrounded by the rabble of his children, and looking remarkably at ease with the chaos. It would appear that whilst his two guests had decided to forgo breakfast he, as Maria had suspected, had not. His smile seemed to widen when he saw her, or perhaps that was wishful thinking, she wondered. "Ah, you're both here.," he announced before turning that smile onto his youngest son, "Now once your Fraulein has said grace, then you can eat, Kurt."

The boy grumbled. "Can it be a very quick grace?"

Maria stifled a smile at that, whilst the Captain raised his finger and waved it at him, "Tsk tsk," he tutted. "Much more of talk like that and I'll ask Fraulein Maria to speak very slowly and in Latin."

His gaze lifted to meet hers, his lips curved into a small smile as though they were sharing an inside joke, which she supposed when it came to the children that's exactly what they did. When she didn't immediately reply, she saw his expression flicker and for a moment she almost thought that he looked unsure of himself. It seemed so unlikely though, the Captain is the most confident person she had ever met, and so she decided quite quickly that she is imagining it. That being said, he breaks eye contact with her and his attention quite suddenly drops to his plate.

The ghost of a smile flicks at the corners of her lips as she takes her place at the table and without any real thought, Maria doesn't dip her head as she normally would, instead she keeps her eyes fixed on him as she chants easily, "Benedie Dominenos et haee tua don aquae de largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Christum Dominim nostrum. Amen."

As he looks back at her, Maria raises an eyebrow, her smile widening in a silent challenge and to her delight, a deep throaty chuckle escapes him. "Amen, Fraulein." He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes still on her. "Any more hidden talents you care to share with us?"

She gives a single shake of her head, "Not this morning."

"Well, I really am very much impressed. Perhaps I should be adding Latin to the children's curriculum."

"That would be a very short lesson," Maria admits wryly. "I know Grace and the Lord's prayer, I'm afraid that's where my talents end."

His voice drops an octave, to the level where it almost feels as though he is solely addressing her, and it makes feel almost shivery, although she isn't sure why that is. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Blue meets blue as their eyes lock, and Maria can feel that slow rush of warmth, same as she felt last night when they danced, creeping up and over her, her cheeks beginning to warm. His smile is gone and he looks quite intense and though he has never frightened her, even in his fiercest moments, she feels quite on edge right this moment.

It is Kurt's voice that breaks through the tension, asking, "So, is that Grace done? Can we eat?"

Maria tears her eyes away from the Captain, flustered when she notices that Louisa and Brigitta are staring at her, whilst Liesl and Friedrich are sharing a look between themselves. "Of course you can Kurt," she tells him hurriedly. "We wouldn't want you to waste away."

The boy tucks into his breakfast with gusto, whilst Maria shakes a cloth napkin out and places it over Gretl's lap, a daily ritual she does without second thought now. Which is just as well because her thoughts are very much elsewhere, fixed on the man at the opposite end of the table. She doesn't understand why he makes her feel as though she were walking a tight rope, why the looks he gives her make her skin feel tight. Really, she should want the sensations to stop and yet they made her want to seek him out.

She picked up her cutlery, absentmindedly prodding at her croissant as she tried to cut it. Whilst she has always spent a lot of time thinking about him and considering the enigma that she finds Captain von Trapp to be, her thoughts seem to have changed somewhat since his return from Vienna. She finds that she wants to know more about him, wants to make him laugh and most disturbingly, wants to feel his hand touch hers again.

This time it's Liesl's voice that breaks through her thoughts, "Fraulein Maria, are you well?"

Maria blinks, pulled suddenly from her thoughts and looks over at her, offering a confused smile, "Of course, why would you think otherwise?"

"Um…well you look a bit flushed and…ah…you're using a fork."

Georg found his usually healthy appetite to be somewhat lacking today and found himself forgoing food and instead sipping at a black coffee. He wanted to tell himself that he had simply imbibed too much champagne last night, but as he'd only had two glasses it was a flimsy excuse even to his own mind. The truth was that he had had a rather restless night, and most of it was spent thinking about a woman who was most definitely off limits.

His teeth gritted, there was a lump in his throat as he swallowed down coffee that was still slightly too hot. He had wanted to pretend that he was unaffected by the dance they'd shared, had made every effort when she had appeared for breakfast to act as though it were just another day.

Then she had spoken in Latin, with that impish smile on her face, her blue eyes sparkling at him and he had found himself quite unable to look away from her. He had seen the start of a blush tinging the contours of her cheeks and felt a knot low in his stomach as he wondered just how low that blush would go, if it would spread across her collarbone, if-

"So is that Grace done? Can we eat?" His youngest son's voice cuts through his thoughts before they could get any baser. She is a postulant, he reminds himself, not only that but she is in his home as a member of his staff and under his protection, the thoughts he has about her are inappropriate at best and abhorrent at worst. He's beginning to wonder if he makes the mistake of going near a church that he'll burst into flames.

He busied himself with his coffee, suddenly wishing that he had a newspaper to hide behind. In fact, he is so pre-occupied glowering into his place-mat, that he missed Liesl's concerned comment to her Governess.

Maria…Fraulein Maria, he corrected himself had stared back at him with he same expression she had on her face last night. An expression, that much to his chagrin, he couldn't quite fathom.

His fingers drummed agitatedly off the linen tablecloth. He had been like a bear with a sore head by the end of the party last night, irritated at his own behaviour, he had felt suffocated by the social niceties that were expected of him and thrown off balance by the feelings that one simple dance had provoked in him. It had then resulted in him being almost callous towards her in an effort to block out the arousal that had been rushing through his veins. He had seen the bewilderment on her features when Max had invited her for dinner, and he should have intervened. Then he had heard the derision in Elsa's tone, and he had blocked that out as well. He was supposed to be honourable; he was frequently proclaimed as a hero and he hadn't been either.

The children were chattering amongst themselves and although normally he enjoyed the growing closeness in their relationship, his mind was decidedly elsewhere this morning. At least it was until Brigitta asked him, "Father, would you like a Kaiser roll, you haven't had anything to eat?"

"Hmm?" He glanced to his left to see her waving the breadbasket almost directly under his nose. He isn't hungry, but he normally always eats at every meal, sitting with nothing on his plate may cause concern or questions he doesn't want to face, and so he takes one. "Thank you Brigitta." He cuts it open and spreads jam on it liberally and perhaps slightly more viciously than necessary. His mind wanders again, and he misses the slight frown that crosses Brigitta's face.

Eventually breakfast draws to a close, the children's plates empty and he waves his hand and nods when they ask if they can leave. He sees the governess get up and asks quietly, "Frauelin, if I could have a moment of your time?"

He phrases it as a question, but he knows that she won't, that she can't refuse him, it's another stark reminder of the imbalance of power between them, and his fingers curl into his palm for a moment as he feels a wave of discomfort wash over him. Fix this, his brain tells him.

She shoos the children out of the room, reassures them that she won't be long and suggests that she meets them in the garden. Georg waits until he hears their footsteps fade on the tiles, their voices growing faint. He looks up to see her hovering by the dining room door, looking more uncertain than he has ever seen her.

He clears his throat, getting to his feet and walking towards her, relieved to see that she doesn't flinch, instead her chin tilts upwards, almost challengingly at him. "Is there a problem Captain?" she asks.

"No." He gives a single shake of his head. "In fact, I owe you an apology Fraulein."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, it almost amuses him how little she can hide her true thoughts and emotions when taken off guard, she looks wholly startled by his pronouncement. "You owe me an apology?" She repeats. Her eyes lock onto his. "What for?"

"I…ah…I was unforgivably rude last night Fraulein. When Herr Detweiler asked you to stay for dinner, I ignored your discomfort. For that I am terribly sorry."

"Oh…" Her eyes flicker away from his and she bites down on her bottom lip before she looks back up at him. "I…well I was wondering if I should apologise to you," she admitted. "For putting you in such a difficult situation."

He frowned. "I must confess that on this occasion, I'm not sure why you would think that you owe me an apology."

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. "I understand that you may have been put into a difficult situation, I'm sure that you didn't want to upset me, but…" she looked away again as she searched for the right words.

"But?" Georg prompted.

Her eyes fix onto his, her tone forthright. "I am sure that your guests do not want to dine with the staff," she told him.

Georg wanted to tell her that he hadn't cared what they had thought, but that would have meant telling her his real reason for being so cold and that was unacceptable. "I meant when I said you could join us if you wished to, but I am sorry that you felt as if you were unwelcome, I perhaps should have been clearer in my answer."

"I wouldn't say unwelcome, but my place is with the children, I would have been quite out of place, you don't need to worry, I was glad to be able to retire for the evening."

She is forthright in making her points, she shows no sign of being disappointed or hurt and yet, he felt a sting in her words. Her eyes are wide, clear and unflinching as she waits for his reaction. He doesn't know how to react, any other woman in her position would have been desperate to join in the festivities, would have been…perturbed by having it so suddenly pulled away from them, but she didn't care. Again, he feels himself caught off guard, he had expected to apologise to her and then to let her leave, but instead she had turned it back onto him and he felt as though the ground had shifted under his feet yet again. "If you are sure that you aren't upset..."

There is that smile again, genuine and open, the smile that even on that very first day had set his nerves on edge, had set him wondering about her. "Not at all Captain."

"Good." He cleared his throat. "I ah, shall leave you to attend to the children then. What do you have planned for today?"

"The older children have asked if they can swim in the Lake and have a picnic in the grounds."

"I only hope this time that they'll be wearing swimming costumes and not the drapes," Georg remarked, a note of humour in his tone.

Her smile widened, "Well I have been working on turning some of the table linens into costumes for them, but they aren't quite finished, so…" She gave a shrug.

Georg chuckled at her joke, "Touche Fraulein." Concern then suddenly flicked across his face. "You will of course keep a close eye on Marta and Gretl, they aren't strong swimmers, I have been meaning to spend some time teaching them."

"Oh, the two little ones aren't interested in swimming today, they want to paint so I'll stay on the lawn with them and supervise the others. Which is just as well as I don't own a swimming costume, I had no need of one at the Abbey."

He tries and fails not think of her in a swimming costume and he has to force himself not to dwell on that particular imagining, but his traitorous brain is determined to continue to pursue it. He absolutely cannot continue to stand there and so he offers her a weak smile. "Well do enjoy your morning Fraulein, I…ah…have some work to catch up on in the study but if you could tell the children that I'll join them for lunch."

Her eyes sparkle at that pronouncement and she clapped her hands together. "Oh, they'll be delighted Captain."

She rushed off to tell them and Georg found his eyes dropping to her legs, the material of her skirts whipping around just below her knee. Her skin is smooth, her calf muscles well defined and he thinks of the flash of thigh he saw last night as her skirt had flared out during her twirl. Postulant! He reminds himself harshly, she is a complete innocent, and he needs to stop this.

His fingers curl into his palms again, his short nails biting into the soft skin there as he lets out a long shaky breath. He doesn't have any work waiting in his study, but he knows that spending more time with her today, with only the children for company would be the most foolish endeavour. His study would give him a short spell of respite, a chance to collect himself, to remind himself of propriety and to ready himself for the rest of the day ahead.