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Chapter 22
Throughout lunch, Marta’s heart fluttered in her throat. It seemed that Baldwin created little, unique opportunities to very-nearly touch her hand, to guide her eyes back towards his. He told funny little stories, tales that Ewan and Aunt Margaret both agreed they’d never heard before. Everyone doubled over in tears.
“Baldwin! I’ve never seen you so joyful,” Aunt Margaret said, patting the sides of her eyes. “Tell your father that you must quit the business and become our permanent jester.”
Marta only picked at her plate, something that was entirely unlike her. Throughout her life, she’d always had a stellar appetite. Laura arched her brow and turned her eyes towards her plate and back up again. In German, Marta muttered, “I’ll explain later.” It was clear that she couldn’t escape the watchful eyes of Laura.
Back upstairs, Marta paced next to her bed while Laura perched atop of it, with her long legs stretched out in front of her. Lazily, in anticipation of what Marta was prepared to say, Laura strung a brush through her long, blonde locks and gazed out the window. “Yet again, storm clouds,” Laura said. “It seems that’s an ever-present English situation.”
“Yes. Dreadful, isn’t it? The sun always manages to escape,” Marta muttered. She clenched her fists behind her back and gaped at the ground. How could she find her way back to any sort of clarity?
“It’s Baldwin, isn’t it?” Laura finally asked. It seemed she’d grown fatigued of this rather lacklustre game of waiting.
“Of course,” Marta said. Her lips pressed hard upon one another as she drummed up the appropriate words to say next. “I think I’ve fallen for him.”
Laura arched her brow. “You’ve had so many loves already this year. Add him to the long list and proceed! Perhaps you can catch the lust of all the men in England.”
Marta collapsed on the bed beside her once-maid, now-friend. She shook her head, delicately. “I think it’s a bit different this time. I’ve hardly known him but a few weeks, and already, I picture my life with him. I detested England weeks ago, and now, I envision myself in a cathedral, pledging myself to him for the rest of my life.”
Laura shrugged. “Then why not go through with it?”
“It’s my Aunt Margaret, of course,” Marta continued. “She’s set her sights on the Duke and surely already written my mother about the match. Somehow, I must convince Aunt Margaret that Baldwin is an appropriate match for mewhile further ensuring that she thinks the entire thing is her idea. This sort of matchmaking is her lifeblood. Her raison d’etre. And beyond that, we’re still so early in the season itself.”
“You’re a prisoner to fine parties and beautiful gowns,” Laura responded, her voice simmering with sarcasm.
Marta rolled her eyes. “I know it must sound quite foolish.”
“It does. But it all does from here.” Laura reached up and collected several blonde curls behind Marta’s ear. The act was sisterly, affectionate. “Perhaps you could write to your mother about your intentions. Perhaps she’ll see what you want.”
“My mother doesn’t trust my instincts,” Marta continued. “It’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“To be frank with you, darling Marta, I don’t think I trust your instincts, either,” Laura said, giggling playfully. “But we’re still just barely women. How can we ever know precisely what we want?”
Marta considered this. She knew that Laura spoke the truth. As she prepared what to say next, Laura squeezed her shoulders and recited in improper English, “I have to be telling you something.”
Marta drew her chin up, grateful to consider something else beyond her own anxious thoughts. “What is it?”
Laura shifted. She raised one leg over her other beneath her skirts, then blurted, “I’ve met a man in the village.”
“What! You can’t be serious.” What Marta truthfully wanted to say was: how was it possible to fall in love without knowing the language?
But of course, Laura was consistently full of surprises. She beamed throughout the telling: she’d met the man on a little trip into the village with Tatiana’s boys. “All too frequently, Tatiana passes them off to me,” Laura said. “But I must say, they’re the reason I met this man. He owns his own little fruit and vegetable stand… Just a chipper and handsome English gentleman. He would never have noticed me if it weren’t for the boys.”
“What happened?” Marta asked.
“The boys raced through the stalls and stands and then tumbled directly into his!” Laura said. She smacked both palms across her cheeks in mock-amazement. “All these fruits and vegetables went flying in a million different directions. I shrieked and started to yell at the boys—first in broken English and then in German, which, as I’ve come to discover, sounds much harsher and therefore is far more effective when it comes to frightening the boys.”
Marta cackled. This was something she’d discovered as a younger girl. When German fled her mouth, people in England scrunched their faces up in shock. What was this wretched language? Why did this young and pretty blonde girl sound so menacing?
“The boys have really come into the German language,” Laura continued. “They spoke to me in German immediately after to say that they were sorry. Then, they turned to look at Matthew…”
“Matthew. His name is Matthew!” Marta cried.
“Yes. They turned to look at him and said, in perfect English, how sorry they were to have spilled his stand. Matthew was so confused by the situation that he burst into laughter. He has the most wonderful laugh, Marta! He looked at me as though I was this curiosity he could never have fathomed.”
“I’m sure he’d never heard of Austria before,” Marta said.
“He hadn’t. The boys described to him what it was like in English. At least, I’m fairly certain that’s what they said.” Laura contemplated this for a moment. “He asked a few questions. I think he wanted to know more about the mountains, which I had described to the boys in earnest. I couldn’t imagine a childhood without them. Could you?”
