Chapter 7: Forbidden Turnabout

A/N: This one was a bit of a struggle and turned out differently than I'd originally planned. I can only hope that it makes sense.

A quick note for those who have reviewed anonymously – I haven't had the means to reply, but I appreciate every comment. And to be perfectly honest, I'm just grateful to everyone who is still reading the story. Thank you.

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"And he turned left when I pulled on the reins! Did you see it, Father? He did what I wanted!"

"I saw it all, Friedrich, and I'm quite proud of you. You did well."

Georg grinned at Friedrich's obvious joy and clapped him on the shoulder as they walked through the front door of the house. He had taken Friedrich on his first horseback riding lesson, and the boy had been talking nonstop ever since. It had been a long time since he had felt so close to his son.

After Louisa's reaction to his arrival at her birthday celebration, he had decided to begin spending time individually with each of the children. He wanted to rebuild the relationships he had neglected for far too long. He planned to keep one of the children with him when the rest of the family went on their daily afternoon outings. He had started with Friedrich, but had spoken with all of the children to reassure them that they would each have a turn. Their immediate acceptance of and eagerness for the idea had convinced him that it was a good one.

The hardest part had been approaching Maria to tell her of his plans. He had presented the idea to her after lunch the day before, with the children still present. She had listened to him in silence, then agreed with his plans. He had sensed her approval and had been grateful for that, at least. They had not spoken in three days, with the sole exception of that one conversation, if it could be called that.

After she had literally fled from him the day of Louisa's birthday, he had gone back to the celebration and told the children that Maria had not been feeling well and had gone upstairs to rest. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had forced himself to lock away all of his feelings for the sake of the children. Those feelings had been carving a hole in him ever since.

He had not known what to expect from her after that afternoon. He had thought she might just leave and had been relieved to see her that next morning at breakfast. But she was remote, withdrawn. In no way did she engage him, not a word, not a glance. Her focus was completely on the children.

He kept his distance, unwilling to cause her any more suffering. He had done enough of that. He saw her only at meals. He would have apologized to her, but it was obvious she did not want to discuss what had happened, that she wanted nothing more to do with him. He had gone too far, had assumed too much.

He felt the hole inside him growing by the day. Nothing filled it. He stayed as busy as possible. He occupied his mind with correspondence, studying the news, attending meetings; he occupied himself with whatever he could think of. The emptiness was always there. There was only one thing, one person, that could fill it. And she never would.

He wondered if he was a glutton for punishment, continuing to endure things as they were. He could choose to leave again, but he did not want to leave the children. He could send Maria back to the abbey. It would relieve her of her duty, which he knew she took very seriously. But when it came down to it, he would rather be miserable with her nearby where he could at least see her every day than be miserable without her.

He had made one other decision. Regardless of the fact that a life with Maria was impossible, he could not marry Elsa. It would be unfair to her as well as to him to continue what had become a charade, a lie, at least for him. She would not appreciate an unannounced visit, so he had sent word that he would be arriving within the week for a brief visit, with no plans to stay overnight. He needed to break things off with her in person.

"Go on upstairs. You have just enough time to wash up before supper."

"All right, Father." Friedrich started up the stairs, then stopped and turned back.

"Father?"

"Yes, Friedrich?"

"Thank you." He grinned and then ran up the stairs.

Georg coughed to ease the pressure in his throat and wondered when he had become so emotional, but he supposed he already knew the answer to that.

He went upstairs to prepare for supper.

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"For what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful."

Georg felt like a fool, but he could not help it. He looked forward to grace at every meal not because he was grateful for the food, though he was grateful, but because it was one of the few times he knew he would hear the sound of Maria's voice.

Since he had returned, the children spoke more at meals, apparently having gotten used to doing so in his absence. However, their chatter had begun to taper off more and more with each meal. Both he and Maria were subdued, and the children had picked up on the increased tension. This evening they ate in relative silence. He felt badly about that, as though he had unwittingly taken something away from them.

He swallowed a few spoonfuls of beef stew before allowing himself a furtive glance at Maria. He had been careful to not let the weight of his stare disturb her at meals, but he could not resist her completely. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She must not be sleeping well. He hoped she did not feel ill. She looked exhausted, tense, pained.

She looked beautiful. She took his breath away.

He sighed heavily and went back to his food.

Thirty minutes and five glances later, the meal was over. The children asked to be excused, Liesl leading the way as usual. He acceded, and they were quick to push away from the table. He stood, knowing that Maria would be right behind them. He could always sense when she was about to pass by him and would allow himself a final glance. It was the closest he could get to her.

He waited, but he did not sense her presence. He looked up. She was standing by her chair. She took a breath and looked at him. He waited for her to speak; he was not altogether certain he could have uttered a sound.

"Captain, I'd like to ask your permission to have tomorrow morning free. I need to visit the abbey."

He stared at her for a moment longer, not registering her words at first. Seeing her standing by her chair had surfaced other thoughts. There were too many memories in this room, memories of heated looks and first touches and a longing for more. She shifted her weight and her cheeks flushed, but she did not drop her eyes from his.

"Captain? About tomorrow morning?"

She wanted to visit the abbey. Why did she want to visit the abbey?

"Yes, of course you may have the morning off." She had never asked for anything for herself. He wanted to ask her reasons for the visit but he did not want to pressure her. He was also afraid of what the answer might be.

"Thank you, Captain." She pushed away from her chair and began to make her way across the room.

This was the first time that they had been alone since Louisa's birthday. It might be the only opportunity he would have to apologize to her.

"Maria…"

She stopped walking, visibly tensing at the sound of his voice.

What could he say? That his feelings had overpowered his judgment? That he found her irresistible? That he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and never let her go? That he was in love with her? He remembered how she had stopped him with a word. He remembered the agony in her eyes. He could not say any of what he really wanted to say.

"I'm sorry." It was inadequate and incomplete and not even close to expressing everything he felt, but it was all he could say.

For a moment it looked as if she was going to say something, but she didn't. Instead, she nodded slightly in his direction and left.

The room suddenly felt empty without her in it. He wished that her leaving had not felt so much like a goodbye.

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, heading for the den. He slammed the door behind him and paced the length of the room.

She was leaving. He was sure of it. She was going to the Abbess to request that she be relieved of her task, of her assignment as governess. She would return tomorrow afternoon or evening and pack her bags and go.

The children would miss her desperately. They had not responded to any other governess as they had to her. She had brought them joy and fun and wisdom and music. She had been exactly the right person to enter their lives, and it was clear that they loved her.

He remembered when she had promised Marta that she would remain a part of her life. He believed she would find a way, that she would not allow any of the children to feel abandoned.

But as for him…

He went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. He gulped it down, welcoming the way it burned down his throat, trying to calm the rising sense of panic he felt. Because he knew that once she left, he would never see her again. She would not look for a way to remain in his life. She would stay as far away from him as she could, and he would not be able to look at her, talk to her, care for her, love her. He could never love her.

He was clenching his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt. He tightened his grip on the tumbler in his hand and threw it against the wall. It shattered, the shards of glass scattering across the floor. He stared at the broken pieces. It was all broken. He was broken.

The knock on the door stopped his slide into the melancholic pit that was pulling at him. What was he doing?

"Come in."

Frau Schmidt entered the room cautiously, looking around and spotting the broken glass on the floor.

"Sir? I heard a noise. Do you need assistance?" She might be curious, but she was well trained, professional. She would ask no questions.

"Would you please pick up the glass? There was an accident."

"Certainly, sir." She was already walking toward the glass. She knelt and began gathering the pieces of glass into her apron.

Georg was ashamed of his behavior. He hardly recognized himself. He went to the window and stared at the shadows outside. The wind picked up fallen leaves and blew them haphazardly across the lawn. He watched the leaves; he mused that they were at the mercy of powers beyond their control.

For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of someone, a person with blond hair. When he did not see it again, he decided that it must have been his imagination, only in his mind. Just as so many things had been only in his mind. He turned away from the window, deciding to make himself useful and help Frau Schmidt with the glass.

It happened so quickly. One second Frau Schmidt was picking up the glass, the next she was off balance and falling forward into it. She held out an arm to break her fall. Her shriek of pain tore through him, and then he was by her side without knowing how he had gotten there.

He moved her gently, visually examining her right arm. There were several pieces of glass embedded in her forearm; blood was rapidly staining her sleeve. He was careful not to touch the glass.

"Father? I thought I heard a scream. Frau Schmidt?"

It was Liesl. He did not know why she was not upstairs, but he had no time to think about that. He was grateful to see her; he needed help.

"Liesl. I need you to tell Franz to send for a doctor immediately. Frau Schmidt has been injured."

Liesl eyes were wide, afraid; she was staring at Frau Schmidt's bloody arm.

"Liesl! Look at me." His commanding tone drew her attention to him. "Tell Franz to send for a doctor immediately. And find Fraulein Maria. Tell her to bring bandages. Can you do that, Liesl?" She nodded and ran out of the room.

"You're going to be fine. Help will be here soon." He did his best to reassure Frau Schmidt. She was in obvious pain, but she was calm. She was a strong woman, not one to panic. He was concerned about the pain and blood loss, but he was certain that the glass had not penetrated through to the main artery. There was enough blood that it was all over his hands and sleeves, but he had seen the way wounds bled when the artery had been severed. He knew that Frau Schmidt was not in danger of bleeding to death.

Moments later, Maria entered the room, her arms filled with bandages and other supplies. She stopped short and her face paled when she saw him. Then she rushed to him, dropping to her knees beside him.

"You're injured." She was looking at the blood on his hands and sleeves, at his face. He had never seen her look so agitated.

"No, not me. Frau Schmidt has pieces of glass embedded in her arm. The blood is hers."

Some of the color returned to her face and she looked toward Frau Schmidt. She put down the supplies she had brought, organizing them on a cloth she placed on the floor. Her eyes, however, did not leave him for long. If he'd had time to think about it, he would have wondered at her reaction. But he did not want to waste precious seconds; Frau Schmidt was wounded and needed attention. He turned to the housekeeper.

"I don't know how long it will be before the doctor arrives. The glass is not deep. I can remove it, stop the bleeding and bandage the wounds. Stitches may be required; the doctor will decide when he has examined you." He spoke softly, calmly.

"I trust you to do what's best, sir."

He looked to Maria and she nodded, not needing him to ask if she would assist. She was ready. He had known he could count on her fortitude. They worked together quickly and seamlessly. It was not long before Frau Schmidt was bandaged and ready to be moved. Franz helped Georg support her as they walked her to her room, deciding it would be best to wait there for the doctor's arrival. They settled her in the bed and dimmed the lights so that she could rest more comfortably.

Maria went to the kitchen to prepare a medicinal tea that would help calm Frau Schmidt's nerves and reduce the pain. She wasted no time and was back quickly, serving the tea and then retreating to the foot of the bed.

Georg sat by the bed as Frau Schmidt drank her tea. Now that the danger was past, he was filled with remorse.

"Can you ever forgive me, Frau Schmidt? If I hadn't broken the glass…"

"There is no one to blame, sir. It was an accident."

"But it was my fault that the glass was broken."

"Sir, was it your intention to hurt me?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"Then I don't see the need for an apology. In fact, I want to thank you for taking such good care of me. You too, Fraulein Maria. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm feeling rather tired and I just need to rest my eyes."

What had he ever done to deserve so much leniency and kindness? He knew a blessing when he saw one.

"Frau Schmidt, have I ever told you how remarkable you are?"

"Not often enough, sir." She smiled at him warmly before closing her eyes and falling asleep, the events of the evening finally catching up with her. She really was quite remarkable, he thought.

He looked toward the foot of the bed where Maria was standing, watching him. The same thoughts returned to his mind – she really was quite remarkable, and he knew a blessing when he saw one. He rose quietly from his chair and walked to her.

"I'll stay with her until the doctor arrives. It's getting late; you should get some sleep. Thank you for your help tonight. It was…you were…thank you." It had felt so right having her by his side in a crisis, working in tandem with her, knowing he could count on her. He was stumbling over his words now because he could not separate his gratitude from the rest of his feelings for her.

She said nothing in response. She just looked at him with an expression he did not recognize. Then she reached out to pull one of his arms toward her, holding him by the wrist.

"I'm afraid your shirt is ruined, Captain. These stains will never come out."

He was frozen in place. His mind was screaming at him. What was she doing? She could not possibly be concerned about a shirt. He did not understand, could not make sense of it.

"You are quite certain that you were not injured in the slightest? Have you examined your arms?"

"No, I haven't, but I…"

The words dried up in his mouth when she pushed up his sleeve and brought her fingers to his forearm, probing for cuts or perhaps tiny bits of glass. He tried to breathe in deeply to steady himself but found that he could not catch his breath. He told himself not to let his thoughts get away from him as they always did. He told himself that it was in her nature to be concerned about everyone, that of course she would want to be sure that he was uninjured. He told himself that her touch was nothing more than analytical.

But her touches were sending a current through him, electrifying every part of his body. He gritted his teeth and fought against the almost instantaneous attraction and arousal she was triggering. He would not make the same mistake yet again. He used every ounce of self-control to keep himself from putting his arms around her and crushing her to him. If she did not stop touching him like that…

"No, I don't see any wounds." She pulled his sleeve down and looked up at him again. "I was worried that you might be concealing your own wounds."

He supposed he was, but the wounds he was concealing were not physical. And they were not all he was trying to conceal. He took a few breaths before he felt able to speak.

"No, I wasn't hurt in the accident. There's no need for you to worry, but thank you."

"Well, then."

Still she did not move away from him, and she had not released his wrist. He wondered if she was even aware of it, of what she was doing to him. He did not think he could withstand this closeness for much longer before doing something he shouldn't. He met her indecipherable gaze and waited, for what he did not know. He wished he could read her mind.

"You're a good man, Captain, one of the best I've ever known." Even with the dim lighting he could see the color rushing to her cheeks, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, almost inviting him to…

His heart was beating wildly, and every part of his body felt alive and aware of her. Still he restrained himself, not letting himself take control, not letting himself push her further. It always ended badly when he did. When she stepped away, he let her go, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You will let me know if you need me for anything?" she asked, her eyes still staring into his.

If he needed her…could she not see that he always needed her, that he needed her right now? But he did not know what she was thinking, what she meant by her actions. If it was an expression of warmth and respect or the confused aftereffects of adrenalin, he did not want to ruin it with unrestrained passion. He would not let himself think of other possibilities; he had done too much of that already. He could manage the ache he felt for her; it was more important that he not cause her any more distress.

"I'm sure Frau Schmidt will be fine, and the doctor will probably be here soon," he said, even though every fiber of his being wanted her to stay.

"All right. Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Maria."

After one more look, she finally turned away from him and left the room.

He made his way back to Frau Schmidt and sagged into the chair. He had no idea what to think; he did not trust himself to interpret her behavior. This might have been her final evening in the house. Now more than ever, he could not imagine how, in a house filled with people, he would be able to endure the emptiness when she was gone.

She had been so different with him. He tried to crush it before it started, but already he could feel it growing inside him, beginning to fill the hole.

Hope.

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