If, for instance, she entered a room and saw him, she quickly walked right out of the room through the nearest door she could find. If one was right in front of her, she would enter the room normally, notice him, then walk quickly but smoothly right out that front door, manners be damned—and often manners did fly, since whatever servants or attendants were assigned to her quickly chased after her and admonished her (loudly) for her ill behavior. If, on the other hand, she entered a room and saw no door, like when Mr. Bernadotte was summoned to speak with the Count in the drawing room, she would turn right on her heel and walk right back the way she came.
It happened one evening when the Count and Captain were smoking and talking by the fireplace.
William was scheduled to spend the evening with the Count, who had been so engrossed with his conversation with the Captain that he had quite forgotten the overlap in time. The new servants brought William into the drawing room, where she wore a lovely white muslin gown tied with lacy ribbons. The Count's eyes lit up and his smile broadened as he saw her approach. "Ah, my little foundling…"
William took one look at Mr. Bernadotte, turned on her heel and walked right back the way she came.
The pure shock and befuddlement on their faces as they watched her leave was admittedly priceless. As was the pure silence William heard from behind her for several moments, before all parties recovered and she could hear the servants follow and call out to her in alarm.
Captain Bernadotte soon left (she heard her master give him leave to go), and William returned to the drawing room and spent a pleasant evening with her master, although even he seemed a little unsure about her behavior, and gave her odd glances for the rest of the evening.
Part of William felt exalted by the unease she had managed to bestill in her master. He made her feel worried and nervous all the time, as well as helpless to detain him when he suddenly lost interest in talking to her or turned his attention from her many a time (particularly to pursue his wretched church girl), so part of her thought, "Now you know how it feels. Suffer what I suffer for a change."
Of course, none of this lasted. The Count was still smitten with his church girl and was still very excited to see her whenever possible.
The London "Season" was swelling to an end. Early spring had given way to late spring when William had recovered from her broken leg, and now late spring had given way to early summer. Summer ripened the green of the trees from small, fresh, light-green leaves to solid, dark green leaves. Pretty little blossoms gave way to plump, juicy, ripe fruit, and any and all fruit trees on noble lawns bore fruitfully. Once they started falling from the trees in anticipation for autumn, everyone knew it would be time to return to their country homes where they could enjoy summer to the fullest, and then the autumn holidays, and then bundle in for winter until the next Season the next year.
William did not know this going in, but apparently the "season" was a marriage market for eligible young ladies and gentlemen from noble families. Oh sure, it was a good way for older ladies and gentlemen to get together and see each other for extended visits for seasons at a time, but by and large the whole point of being in London society was to meet young men or women from equally well-off families, to find a husband or wife.
Of course, society being what it was, most of the ridicule went to young ladies seeking a husband, rather than the men (young and old) for seeking a wife.
William knew so when she overheard two snarky young gentlemen in smart coats and hats, who seemed to believe their minds were as sharp as their clothes, jeer at a group of pretty ladies at a ball. William remained seated where she was, because of the ridiculous social rule that ladies must never get up and walk about a room at a party or ball without a male escort holding her arm (and while Dr. Van Helsing often came to her rescue in this regard, he was currently occupied talking to someone else), so she could openly listen without being accused of eavesdropping. The smartly-dressed gentlemen mocked pretty girls for their male-attention seeking ways, jeering at how thrilled they must be to finally be "on the market," and how social events like these were just a big "marriage market" anyway.
"That explains a lot," William thought dubiously as she sat at the grand dinner table, being served the first of many courses.
Before the meal started someone clinked a glass with a fork and asked for everyone's attention, as he wanted to make an announcement. The "announcement" turned out to have had been the engagement of some lady and gentleman William had never heard of, and she felt annoyed at being interrupted from her meal for such a common news. It seemed people were announcing engagements right and left.
Then it occurred to her that she had heard of a lot of engagements over the "Season." If it was indeed supposed to be a "marriage market" for single rich folks, no wonder she was hearing about new engagements all the time.
This also explained why her master was so eager to court the church girl as soon as possible. While it was far from over, it seemed as though the activities of the "Season" were swelling to a close. While dinner parties and charities and balls were plentiful, and engagement announcements were fruitful, it was as though everyone knew the Season was coming to a close, and everyone was trying to make the most of it before it was time to wind down to a close. Once it was over, William learned, Lady Richardl "Richard" Fairbrook Wingates King would be returning to her home in… wherever she lived ("Probably Amsterdam, where her grandfather is from," one lady said), and then William and her master would return to their castle by the sea, and then he would have to wait till the next season (or rather, next year) to see or court her again.
Naturally, this gave William the vaguest inclination of hope, and she wished very much to keep her master preoccupied to run out the clock. If they could just make it to the end of the Season without an engagement, then the Count would be away from the church girl and she would have the better part of the year to try to win him over to her.
Of course, this was impossible because the Count rarely left Lady Richard's side.
What was worse, the nature of the church girl's interactions with him had changed, and it broke William' heart to see. It seemed that ever since the night William and Mr. Bernadotte had wandered off, something changed in the church girl's reception of the count. Whereas before the church girl had been haughty and aloof, cold and coquettish, now every time William saw her and her master after that evening, she seemed much more warm and inviting. She kept her body turned toward her master to give him her full attention (rather than endeavoring to look diverted, and often turned away to talk to someone else or walked away with an escort), and she looked him full in the eye when he spoke to her, smiling invitingly and leaning closer. She still batted her fan coquettishly, like many of the young girls, but she smiled with genuine mirth lit up her sea blue eyes, and smiled in such a way that showed her pearly white teeth.
She was still as spirited as ever, and rather impertinent besides. While the count was greatly encouraged by her increased favor toward him, she was far from fawning to him. She often asked him pointed questions, challenged his opinions, and countered his opinions on worldly affairs with her own, which greatly scandalized other men to hear. She asked him about the news, politics, and even business. She discussed trade, investments, and shipments from "the colonies" overseas.
"I suppose my father and grandfather are very much regretting their decision to give me my dowry to invest as I choose," she said from behind her fan one evening, waving it coquettishly. "I know they meant well, hoping to ensure that I had a tidy fortune to myself should the man I marry turn out to be a rake, or terrible business ventures."
It was soon revealed that while Lady Richard's father and grandfather did not approve of her attentions to the count, they could not force her to keep away from him. When they threatened to disown her, she was not fazed because they had already given her a tidy sum of money to invest with (so that she should be financially secure, whatever the future held for her), which she had invested wisely
with and turned into a tidy profit. Even if her family did disown her, she could sit comfortably upon her little pile of cash, and so would not be forced to either grovel for her family's protection or rush down the aisle to the nearest available gentleman for financial security. In short, she could move at her own pace.
Of course, Lady Richard reassured her father and grandfather that the furthest thing from her desire would be to alienate or displease them, and in fact she greatly admired and respected their characters, depended upon their advice and moral support, she still wished to defer to their wishes and good judgments in all matters moral, fiscal, and practical in the future, and she valued their opinions so highly that she would never dream of marrying any man whom they did not approve of, etc. etc. She simply did not wish to be a prisoner of their wishes any more than her future husband's.
"While I do wish to be the master of my own destiny, at least in this regard," she said to her father and grandfather, "I will always adore and respect you. But I must make my own way in this regard. My future happiness depends upon my marriage to a respectable husband," she added with a laugh, "not your own."
When they were not sufficiently pleased, she added more seriously, "I do trust your good opinions, father and grandfather. And if you truly do not believe the count to be a changed man after this season is over, then by all means I shall reject him. But if you truly refuse to entertain the notion that he might have genuinely repented, as Our Lord would have us strive to do, and your objection hinges only on an old grudge that you would forever condemn him for no matter how sincere his wishes to repent... then I am sorry, father and grandfather, but I cannot follow your example in that regard."
She was able to touch on her grandfather's deeply religious, deeply Catholic sensibilities of repentance, redemption, and salvation.
Richard was a very suave young lady. She knew how to walk the delicate tightrope of social acceptance with social impertinence. She was dark-skinned and rumored to be of Indian descent (while her mother was unknown to England and had died in her infancy, it was rumored her father had married an Indian princess during his time as an officer in the British colony), and yet she was blue blood through and through; the child of so respected and beloved a family; particularly that of the now-renowned Dr. Abraham Van Helsing. Her purity and piety were legendary in a time that valued such virtues above all else in women; she was chaste, modest, deeply religious, and very virtuous. While Catholic, she was deeply pious, and faithfully adhered to every holy day and holy law. She regularly attended Mass, frequented Confessional, and more. A lifetime of growing up in the finest Catholic schools and cloisters her grandfather could afford could leave room for little else, and she was universally admired and praised for it.
In fact, she had been so shy, quiet, withdrawn, modest, submissive, and obedient to her father's and teacher's wishes growing up, that many found it amazing how much she was flourishing now that she had come out into society.
She was also selectively submissive toward the opinions and wishes of men. While she was witty, lively, and opinionated, by and large she could limit her wit so that men did not feel challenged or threatened by her. Her powers of conversation were geared to entertain and delight, and her intelligence was enough to evoke admiration and respect. While she refused to hide her intelligence for men who did not believe women capable of thought, she was just deferential enough that she managed to make many men feel even more clever, or even complimented, for being able to keep up with her in conversation, rather than stupid or insecure.
Of course, there were some boors who did not believe any women capable of intelligence, and who tried to put her down in conversation, to whom she skillfully shived with her tongue and managed, if not to put them into their place, then to keep them from putting her in hers. To these boors, she was greatly reviled; but she did not care for their opinions, and managed to maneuver through highly influential circles that felt likewise, and so they held no sway over her.
Of course, the independence she exhibited was rather scandalous no matter how skillfully she handled it, but the aforementioned virtues made her more acceptable to the public.
It is worth noting, then, that the same characteristics that were merely tolerated by her peers were adored by the Count.
"I hope you know, you shall never see a penny of my dowry should we marry, Count," she said one day.
"Then I may hope that such a day will come, Lady King?" he teased.
"No!" she exclaimed, alarmed. It was one of the few times he got the better of her. "What I mean is, I am from a good family, and you shall not see a penny of my inheritance."
"Why should I want the dowry when I can have the dame?" the count asked in his sultriest voice.
"I know not, but..." she hesitated. "You shall not. I shall keep it for my own, so you shall not have it."
"It makes very little difference, Lady King," he said. "For are you not Catholic? And, unlike these English Protestants, do our people not believe in divorce?"
She did not have a proper answer for that, until a few days later.
"If we were to marry, and I am not saying that we are," she cut him off, which made him laugh, "What would you say if I refused your marital bed for half a year? So that, if I did not like what I saw, our marriage might be annulled?"
"A half a year is but a small grace period so that I may enjoy your hand for eternity, my lady," he responded.
It was hard for even her to resist such charm.
And he did follow through with her demands to test his obedience to her. When she demanded to know if he would not obey her instruction never to see her again if she truly wished it, she asked that he refuse to see her or talk to her for a full two weeks to test his resolve. Those two weeks were agony for him, but ultimately he performed his part beautifully. He avoided events she was to attend, and did not so much as glance at her in events they accidentally found themselves in. Indeed, by the end of the two weeks she felt that maybe she was mistaken, perhaps he did not truly care for her at all. That perhaps his regard for her had been imaginary all along, and that now that he had time to be away from her after meeting her in person after romanticizing her in his mind from afar for so many months, he would lose interest and that would be the end of him.
She barely had time to think that maybe she had been a fool for thinking that maybe his regard for her was sincerely, when he casually approached her a picnic the day after the two weeks were up, and continued speaking to her as though they had never been apart.
It was difficult of her not to feel the weight of such devotion, especially from a man so handsome, and charismatic, and seemingly truly repentant for his past.
Still, she could not allow herself to let him see how deeply his devotion touched her, at least not yet.
"I suppose you find me very impertinent, Count Ramos," she said from behind her hand fan, which covered her face just below the eyes.
"On the contrary, my Holland rose," he said, "I find your speech and countenance as pleasing as though your every word dribbled with jewels and flowers."
"Jewels and flowers?" she said with a mirth, "Not toads or serpents?"
"Other girls speak toads and serpents compared to your lovely voice," he said.
"Oh? I would have thought toads and serpents by the way people talk."
"Do you always pay heed to what fools say?"
"Only when fools all speak in unison, dear count," she turned her torso to face his, "When a crowd says, 'The emperor wears no clothes!' am I to say he is fully dressed just to be a contrarian?"
"Not to be a contrarian, my lady," the count said, "Only fools claim to see something they do not just out of fear of appearing the fool."
"Truly?" the church girl said. "So if one were to tell you that the emperor had the most magnificent garments in the world, but only those who are foolish or incompetent cannot see them, and you find that you cannot see them, what do you say?"
"I say what I see," the count said, "For onl
y fools believe what they are told."
"Yes, yes, it is true that the tale reveals that the tailors were charlatans," she said with a smile, "and that this special thread they wove was out of thin air. But imagine if the thread were indeed real and only fools could not see it, and it seemed that everyone in the crowd could see it except for you. Would you still reveal that you could not see it?"
"I only reveal the truth as I see it, my lady," the count said, a little forcefully. And then he smiled winningly, "If the world gazes upon your sumptuous lips and sees only venom dripping out, then let him speak of venom. When I see nothing but honey and nectar flow, then let me speak of honey and nectar."
"... Quite so," the church girl said, and managed to keep her composure, "And you find other girls' tongues to be venom to my honey?"
"I find other girls to be black as crows to your white dove."
"Ah, you have read Shakespeare now!" she smiled.
William was to learn later that the church girl was fond of fairy tales and folk stories (Charles Perrault, Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen and all) and that the count read such works so that they may have things to discuss.
"By your pleasure, my lady," he said with a slight bow.
"Truly, then?" she asked. "Then you do not find my honeyed tongue to be waspish?"
"Wasps carry no honey, my lady."
"Ah! He admits it then," she said. "If there be no honey on my tongue, then there be no sweets. 'If I be waspish, best beware my sting.' "
" 'My remedy is then, to pluck it out.' "
He clicked his teeth playfully, and she scoffed.
"' Ay,' " she said, recovering herself, " 'if the fool could find it where it lies.' "
" 'Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his sting?' In his tail."
" 'In his tongue.' "
" 'Whose tongue?' "
" ' Yours, if you talk of tails,' " Lady Richard said crossly, who found that this discussion was getting too raunchy for her liking, " 'and so farewell.' "
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