The Daughters Grimm

by Minda Webber

  There was some argument yet to come, but their mother’s wishes held sway. Thus, Rae, the most beautiful lady in Cornwall, and her vivacious sister Greta, were soon to be off on a grand adventure to find fortune, fantasy and marriage. The baroness was in raptures, and could be trusted to remind each and every one of her acquaintances about “the trip” each and every time she saw them. She often boasted that nothing less than Prussian princes would do. Several likely thought this objective a bit overreaching, and wished to contradict her—but no one could contradict Rae’s smile.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Bully Aunt

  Far away in Prussia, it was a lovely winter day, probably about twenty-nine degrees. Despite a few light snow flurries, a warm winter sun shone down, seemingly to welcome the Grimm sisters to Wolfach. Only, Rae wasn’t smiling. Rather, she was giving her sister the evil eye as they traveled the last few miles to their destination.

  “Seven bridges? Seven! I have never been so sick of looking under bridges in all my life. Another harebrained scheme of yours!”

  Guiltily, Greta glanced away from her sister’s dirt-streaked face and the muddied skirts of her gown. “We are in the Black Forest, where there are supposedly trolls. Who knew that last bridge would be a toll bridge?”

  As her wounded dignity and filthy clothing made her stomach twist, Rae narrowed her eyes. “I would expect the family expert on fairy tales to know that trolls always require a fee of people crossing their bridges!”

  Greta sighed in exasperation. “Those weren’t trolls; they were thieves. And I’m sorry they took your new gown.”

  “And my ribbons and two pairs of my slippers!” Rae had tears in her eyes. “My favorite pair, and all they took off you were your gloves and cloak.”

  “My favorite cloak, and I’ll give you my new gown.”

  “It’s pink, not blue. I look divine in blue because it matches my eyes. Pink is merely tolerable. Evidently the thieves thought so, too, as they left it. I told you that shade of pink was wrong when you picked it out. Too reddish by half,” Rae chided. “But what do you care? You just want to track trolls or whatever. Sometimes, Greta, you are not my favorite person.”

  Greta sighed. She was disappointed, too. She just knew there would be trolls under at least one of the Black Forest area bridges. Instead, they’d found a band of shabby villains, a motley crew with nagging wives. Hence the loss of their clothing.

  “Oh, stop it. I said I’m sorry,” she snapped.

  It was at that moment the carriage pulled up at the Snowe residence, and the driver smiled. Never would he be so glad to get rid of passengers. The two ladies were queer in the head, having made him stop at all large bramble thickets, in case a castle was hidden behind one, and at all those bridges—including one where they’d been robbed. He’d lost his whiskey and his best pipe!

  “Oh, will you look at that?” Rae breathed, her ire forgotten as she took in her aunt’s magnificent home, which was beyond impressive. They’d known their aunt married a Prussian baron who was considered quite well-to-do, but such a prodigious display of wealth was comforting. Rae smiled brightly at her sister Greta, her blue eyes twinkling as if to say that she’d been born for just this lifestyle. “It’s wondrous. I just know we’ll find suitable husbands with our aunt’s connections—men with fine, noble, happy last names.”

  Greta was busy scanning the entrance, her smile wide. “Very nice. I’m so glad I wrote her, and that Aunt Vivian decided to help us.”

  “Only to spite Mother.”

  “True,” Greta remarked. “But that should be reason enough for you to forgive me for getting your gown stolen. If I hadn’t written, we wouldn’t be here.” Greta had decided weeks earlier to come clean regarding the letter. Instinctively, she reasoned that if their Aunt Vivian was even halfway like their mother, she would end up revealing all in due course.

  Rae shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I could forgive you, if it weren’t for you choosing that stupid pink gown. I want to impress the Prussian gentlemen, not make them pity us.”

  Greta started to object, but was stopped as the carriage door swung forcibly open. “Here you are, my ladies!” the carriage driver said, hurriedly helping them down.

  They were soon inside the massive home, and were taken straight to their aunt, who glared at them. “You’re a day late.”

  Rae glanced nervously at her sister, who sighed. Their first meeting with their Aunt Vivian in many long years, and it was not starting well. The Baroness Snowe was rigged out in the height of fashion, with full stiff skirts, an elaborate hairdo and a multitude of jewels. She was a majestic woman, rather built along the lines of a clipper ship, with an abundant prow and cargo area. “My gracious, she’s scary,” Rae whispered.

  “She certainly resembles Mother,” Greta whispered back.

  Still glowering at her wayward—and late!—nieces, Vivian inspected them from top to bottom. Finally, she expelled a harrumph. “So, you are my sister’s gels, grown up?”

  She walked around Greta, noting the lively intelligence in the girl’s eyes. She shuddered. “Unmarried, and at your ages—why, it’s ghastly! But with your mother, what can one expect? It’s a good thing you wrote, Greta. Else you’d soon be leading apes instead of your little brothers.” She eyed Greta severely. “I’ve been warned about you, gel. Your mother writes that you are always reading books! Books in Italian or French. Audacious chit! I won’t have such silliness in my home. Why, I tell you that French and Latin books have been the downfall of many a young man and maid in those countries. Henceforth, I’ll have no bluestocking tendencies. Gentlemen prefer wives who have no thoughts and listen intently to their opinions. Remember that man’s favorite subject is man, not woman, unless he’s seeking she do her husbandly duty. Then you may be able to hold his interest for ten minutes or so. So, I am laying down the rules now. We will absolutely have no intelligent conversation or thoughtful airs in this house hold, nor more especially in public.”

  Greta smiled politely, keeping her thoughts hidden. She was quite masterful; after all, she had been practicing this particular look most of her life. “My, how astute you are, Aunt Vivian. But no worries. I’ve given up books for my complexion.” To think, she had written to this woman for support. Her aunt was even worse than their mother!

  Her aunt nodded, satisfied. “Wise gel. You might just have a brain in your head. You must get it from your father.”

  “Not from my mother’s side, certainly,” Greta replied, staring meaningfully at her aunt. Her aunt did not seem to take her meaning, which was likely best.

  “Since you’re at your last prayers, the burden of helping you husband-hunt now falls to me. You must allow one who is slightly older to guide you. Besides my proficient experience, I am a woman who is held in high regard in the upper echelons of Prussian nobility, and who knows exactly how to bring a wealthy and titled gentleman to heel.”

  Greta barely managed to hide a snort. Her sister continued to smile that pleasant, vacant smile which always made her wonder if anyone was at home. The men, however, absolutely worshipped Rae’s smile, and were always looking to knock on her door.

  Rae had been cataloguing the cost of the paintings and vases which lined the salon, listening with half an ear. Intelligent conversation was beyond her, anyway: she was an expert at flirtation. In her experience, one didn’t need to know Plato’s theories to succeed; all a lady had to do was look lovely.

  “How fortunate we are to have you for an aunt,” Greta replied.

  Baroness Snowe looked disgruntled. “Are you being clever, gel?”

  “I would never dare.”

  “You sound a wit,” was her aunt’s reply, and the woman wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “I beg to differ.”

  Raising an arctic brow, Vivian harrumphed and turned her eagle-eyed examination upon her other niece—the extremely pretty one. “Let me tell you right now, missy, that I will brook no vanity in my home, and no pouting or pretentious a
irs,” she remarked. “Well, it’s certainly easy to see whose side of the family you favor. Ravishing. You look much like I did when I was younger.”

  Both Rae and Greta managed to hide a smile at this comment, since they had heard it quite often back home. Their mother claimed Rae was the spitting image of herself.

  “How your mother has failed to get you wed is beyond me. Pretty gels are usually the first to be married off, even with little dowry. With your looks…well, you two must be of a shrewish disposition like your mother,” Vivian remarked.

  Uh-oh, Greta thought silently. She bit back a retort on her and her sister’s behalf. Discretion was the better part of valor, if a lady needed a husband—or to track down and research dark legends. So Greta kept her mouth firmly shut, enjoying her aunt’s tirade. She would write home to Papa about it.

  Not realizing that she was providing delightful letter-writing fodder, Baroness Snowe continued on. “I was considered quite the catch in my day. I was of course a diamond of the first water. Everyone wanted a drink. By your age I had taken London by storm and married the Baron Snowe. How old are you, anyway—and why are you still unmarried?” The woman shook her head in utter perplexity. “Such a disgrace, to have a pretty girl who can’t manage to attract the right man.”

  Rae took exception to the question, as it was a tender subject for her. “I am twenty…barely.” Well, perhaps not barely. Twenty, and eight months.

  “A veritable old maid,” their aunt pronounced. “Did your mother teach you nothing of women’s wiles?”

  Rae’s complexion reddened, and she did so hate the thought of that. Red was not one of her favorite colors. “I am certainly not a shrew. Why, many men have remarked upon my disposition. And wiles? I thought you disliked cleverness in a woman!” Rae snapped back, less politely than she knew she should, yet with much less rancor than she wished.

  Her aunt glared at her imperiously. “I will have no tantrums in my home. Best you remember it now. A nobleman wants a sweet, pretty wife who will not cavil him when he spends his money gambling…or on other less savory things.” Staring hard at her young niece, she persisted, which was something she excelled at. “Come, gel, it’s time for the unvarnished truth. Why haven’t you married? No one asked you?”

  Rae drew herself up to her five-foot-six height and stared hard at her aunt. “I’ve had hundreds of proposals.”

  “Humph.”

  “It’s true! Tell her, Greta.”

  Greta nodded, wanting to be helpful. “Suitors flock to our door like demented geese.”

  “Geese? Why, really Greta, my swains are more impressive than geese,” Rae replied.

  “Harrumph! Ineligible, every one I expect. Probably the blacksmith or some lusty farmer’s get. Am I right?” Aunt Vivian asked, a rather gleeful cast to her voice.

  Rae opened her mouth to lie and say her proposals were from barons and earls and so forth, but she wasn’t thinking through the situation. If an earl had asked her to wed him, she would be wedded and bedded by now.

  Greta, knowing her sister only too well, knew it would behoove her to make this reply. “You’re entirely correct, Aunt. Rae’s proposals were from men who smelled of the shop. Stank of it, really. But you really must be careful, Aunt. Your wit is showing.”

  Baroness Snowe shrugged. “Beware more of that pestilent tongue of yours, gel. Sit down and do try to keep it in your head. We wouldn’t want it cut out for impertinence.”

  Greta smiled to herself but retreated under her aunt’s admonitions, apologizing prettily. In the drawing room, she seated herself upon a large gold and red brocade settee, right beside a rather fat white cat who lay snoring on his back, his pudgy feet in the air.

  Sitting down in her chair, the baroness fully enjoyed her power over her young nieces, and Rae’s comeuppance. There was nothing worse than having a beauty in the house when one was aging. “I know you’ve attended society affairs, but it’s preposterous! Whatever is wrong with your mother? A weak man needs only a nudge in the right direction to make a fine match, and as for the grander prospects, they too can be had, even if one must drag them kicking and screaming to the altar.”

  “That must make for a festive wedding,” Greta remarked, and was pleased to see her aunt’s jowls shake with irritation. “Still, we have met but few eligible gentlemen in Cornwall.”

  Their aunt pounced on that explanation. “What of those few? Why did they not offer for Razel or yourself?”

  This time, Rae managed to beat Greta to the punch line. “None of my sisters wanted them. One was a widower with ten children. He also had a tendency to sermonize.”

  “Methodist, was he?” their aunt asked. “And the other?”

  “He was at least in his middle years. All of thirty-eight or thirty-nine. And he had a large mole on his forehead.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” their aunt asked harshly. “Your mother is much the fool as ever, I see. Why didn’t she push this match, despite moles, gout or whatever? If you had been my daughter, you’d be wedded, bedded and with a string of children at your knees.”

  “My mother wants my happiness, and would never have forced such a man upon me,” Rae said.

  “It was a very large mole,” Greta added, throwing in her two pounds.

  Another loud harrumph. Aunt Vivian pointed a stiff finger at Greta. “I said I wouldn’t abide cleverness in this house, unless it is mine. Go up to your rooms at once while I consider how I can find husbands for such ill-raised gels. Dinner is served at eight.”

  The two sisters retired, feeling both humbled and rather abjectly depressed. Rae even cried a few tears once they were in the sanctuary of their rooms, though she was careful not to make her eyes too puffy. In a fit of temper, she vowed that she would not marry a man with a mole or gout or whatever other deformity age bestowed, no matter what their wicked battleship of an aunt commanded.

  Greta’s mind, however, was more deviously occupied. She was vowing to find other bridges. She’d cross them—and look under them for trolls—when she came to them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Pursuit of Happiness Is Not Easy

  “A witch, you say? In the Black Forest, and she tells fortunes?” Rae asked the young man she was seated beside at the dinner party. Sighing, she guessed she’d have to tell Greta. Then Greta, being Greta, would drag her off for a visit. At least she’d get her fortune told, and would get out of her aunt’s home for a while. That particular thought made Rae smile. Snowe Manor was downright icy, even though the baron ordered it to be well heated with blazes in many of the fireplaces.

  To be honest, the home’s discomfort didn’t come from temperature. The snow was blowing outside, but the storm inside the manor was worse. Their determined and demanding aunt had evaluated the Grimm sisters’ clothing and found it severely lacking. She had also judged the gels’ manners countrified, their ages abysmal, and their fates indeed…grim. And if they didn’t listen to her, the baroness warned, she vowed to wash her hands of them. Going back and forth in her mind, Rae couldn’t decide whether to thank her sister for writing to their aunt or curse her.

  Greta managed to do as she was told and also escape at times to search the baron’s massive library for local tales of vampires and monsters. She even questioned a few of the maids, who’d looked at her as if she were mad. Rae bore the brunt of Aunt Vivian’s corrections. Remarkably, she was able to seethe silently, holding on to her temper by a slender thread. In her three days at Snowe Manor, many a time Rae had wanted to tell her aunt to go to the devil. She had bitten her tongue until it was sore. Wisely, she knew that she couldn’t tell her aunt exactly what she thought of her, or she’d be shipped back to England to die a lonely, but very beautiful, spinster—or worse, to be married to some imbecilic squire’s son.

  Yes, that was why Rae dutifully held her peace, even letting her aunt pick her gown for tonight’s ball. It was her least favorite due to its pale color, yet her two dinner partners were both gazing at her
with adoration in their eyes. Rae shrugged. Of course they were. Even in pale blue she was ravishing, and the cut of the gown happened to flatter her perfect figure, cinched in tightly as it was at the waist, and with its off-the-shoulder design that showcased her firm, high breasts. Still, as it was her first dinner and ball in Prussian society, she had wanted to look her very best.

  She had entered the Count DeLuise’s residence with excitement, harboring plans of being toasted by much of the Prussian nobility, only to discover that she was seated anonymously beside a rather young man who was merely Herr something-or-another. Her second dinner partner was a Baron Schmutz. No, that wasn’t right, she realized. The man seated to her right was called Baron…something. Perhaps Baron Schook? No, that wasn’t right either.

  Baron Schortz! That was it! An odd name, to be sure. But then the great hulk of a man was rather strange in a way she didn’t understand. He caused her heart to beat faster, like it did when she had danced three country dances in a row. She found this particular feeling left her a tad disconcerted. And his admiring glances and fulsome gallantry were becoming tedious as they finished the fourth course.

  It was with discomfort that she suddenly noticed the heat coming from his body and his scent, which was warm and musky with the hint of some wild spice. Lowering her lashes, she knew that she really should depress his attentions and nip them in the bud—but she did like having admirers, even if they were rather hulking. Of course, Greta would probably say the man was muscular and rugged.

  Glancing down the table to where her aunt sat, Rae wondered if Aunt Vivian’s dinner partner was a prince. She shuddered, hoping this was not the case, since the man was at least sixty if a day and rather stoop-backed.

  A comment by one of her dinner companions caught her attention once again. She turned to him, noting that he was making sheep’s eyes at her—and they hadn’t even reached the fifth course. She managed a coy smile, a look she’d had down pat since the day she turned thirteen.