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Chapter 4
Marta hadn’t remembered much of Ewan’s dear friend Baldwin. In her memory, he was just another shadow she chased after, twelve years old and full of endless spunk. Now, as she seated herself across from him in the garden, she felt mesmerised with his good looks. This was, incidentally, a frequent element of her existence. She’d been drawn to so many men, so many handsome men—assured beyond anything that she could woo them into her life, never to leave. Only a few weeks after her dear love had spurned her for another, she felt a bit foolish to look at Baldwin with such lust.
Oh, but he wasn’t as dreadful as she’d initially suspected. In fact, his sobering nature had put her off—but later surprised her as he’d shrugged it off in place of something far more charming. That said, of course, he didn’t seem to have the same adventurous qualities that she so yearned for in another. This was the very blood that beat through her veins, the thing she craved the most. Baldwin seemed far too sensible for anything like that. Already, he’d taken over much of the responsibility of his father’s business—a fact that both impressed and bored Marta.
In the midst of her wild and swirling thoughts, Aunt Margaret appeared beside her once more. Marta yearned for just a moment or two of peace from her bumbling aunt. Her confusion at Laura and Laura’s accent and Laura’s only language had already put her off. She felt her tongue itching with annoyance, yearning to fly off and declare Aunt Margaret to be every bit a bigot.
But of course, this was Aunt Margaret’s home. She wouldn’t allow herself such lacklustre sensibilities.
Ewan, Uncle, and Baldwin had struck up a conversion together. This left the women together, a fact that made Marta’s nose scrunch up.
“It really is such a pleasure to host you, my dear,” Aunt Margaret said. Her voice wavered a bit, showing her level of drunkenness. “I cannot wait to tell you more about the first suitor I have lined up for you.”
The words fell like stones into Marta’s stomach. She swallowed, forced her tongue to calm, then turned and said, “My goodness. What marvellous news. Pray tell, who is he?”
Aunt Margaret’s eyes widened. She looked rather frog-like. “His name is Lewis Remington. He’s a Duke, recently granted the title by the Regent.”
“Oh! The Regent,” Marta said. Her words quaked with sarcasm, although she knew her auntie couldn’t have guessed. In Marta’s mind, a Regent meant very little. Her mother had given her all information about the class rules in England, but as they hadn’t affected her life up till this point, she found them frivolous.
“That’s right,” Aunt Margaret returned, seemingly sure that she’d made some sort of positive impression. “Quite handsome, as well. He lives a terribly wonderful life, the sort of life you and I have always dreamed of. And I can only imagine what he might do for you, and for us, if…”
“Ah. I see,” Marta said. She brought her eyebrows high, mocking her aunt. “He’s quite connected.”
“Yes. Terribly so,” Aunt Margaret returned. She beamed. “I always knew you were such a bright girl. Such a dear girl. And with those gorgeous eyes and that hair and figure! How could the Duke resist you? Yes, I imagine this will be quite the romantic summer for you, darling girl.” Aunt Margaret reached up towards Marta’s blonde curls and absently slipped one behind her ear.
Of course, this sort of mercenary approach wasn’t uncommon in Austria. It was the sort of thing women were groomed to do. In Marta’s eyes, she’d always been a bit too good for such a game—the sort of woman that should be sought. She’d envisioned this about herself until everything had crumpled weeks before. Now, she faced a different world, a world of Regents and Dukes and stoic men named Baldwin. Her tongue felt heavy from lack of German use. How she wished she could close her eyes and dive back into her bed, the one with the gorgeous view of the Alps. What a ridiculous thing to be so far from everything she loved.
And yet, Baldwin had been the only one to recognise this strangeness. What was it he’d said at dinner? Something about the two sides of her personality, the two sides of the continent. It had immediately made him seem much less stoic and far more poetic. Perhaps this sort of personality simmered just behind his eyes continually. Perhaps it took a particular type of human to draw it out.
“What say you, Baldwin?” Ewan said suddenly. His voice was a bit louder, tugging Marta from her reverie. “Will you attend Mother’s first party in a few weeks’ time? I know it’s not exactly your cup of tea.”
Baldwin’s dark eyes shot across the garden. Marta felt cowered beneath them. Why was it he caused her stomach to clench, her breath to stop?
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to do so,” Baldwin said. He arched one of his thick brows and continued to look at Marta. Perhaps he was too drunk to recognise how rude that was. Marta, from the more liberal Austria, didn’t mind his gaze.
In fact, she felt herself arch her back slightly and lift her breasts. He did not indicate that he recognised this movement. In fact, seconds later, his eyes fell away. Disappointment flooded her.
No. It was her eternal trick. She couldn’t toy with men like this, not any longer. She would follow along with the rules of courtship, there in England, and live like a dutiful creature, the sort of girl her mother could be proud of. This was meant to be a time to think, to learn, to grow—and it would behove Marta to pay attention to it. She couldn’t waste time.
“Wonderful,” Ewan said. He clapped his hand across Baldwin’s shoulder and shook him about. “I dare say we’ll breathe a bit of life into you before the season’s over.”
“Don’t you dare turn him into you,” Aunt Margaret said, both teasing and reproaching. “Ewan Thompson, I don’t know where on earth I went wrong.”
The rest of the hour dripped past. Throughout, Marta was genuinely shocked at how appealing Baldwin seemed to her. Occasionally, he made incredible jokes, ones that caused her body to ripple with laughter. As she shuddered with it, his eyes turned towards hers and seemed to peg her again. It was as though his expression read, “I see you. I wish to know you. I wish we were alone.”
But of course, it was very like Marta to read into such things.
Baldwin excused himself to return home after that. Aunt Margaret had already nodded off several times, her chin against her chest, and her hand nearly toppling the wine across her gown. Uncle hopped up, grabbed the wine, and coaxed Aunt Margaret to bed. At the exit from the garden, Aunt Margaret bumbled around to say, “Marta, you’re all right, aren’t you?”
This seemed like a loaded question. Certainly, she hadn’t a clue how to answer it. Marta scratched the back of her head and nodded. “I suppose so. Yes.”
When her aunt and uncle disappeared, this left only Marta and Ewan in the garden. Marta exhaled slowly, letting her eyes bug out. Ewan chuckled again. His good-naturedness gave her such ease, despite the strangeness of the circumstances.
“My mother can be quite wretched. You're far more patient than most,” he said.
Marta laughed. “I nearly lost my temper.”
“And it’s only day one!” Ewan said. “You’re her doll for the summer. Her plaything.”
