Lost love Historical romance

by Adele B.

  “My name is Edward” he laconically answered, bowing ceremoniously. He understood this young lady was eager for some small talk, but he really did not feel up to it.

  “A little more, and you’ll melt” she said, looking towards the fireplace in a meaningful way.

  “Or you could save yourself before it’s too late, by inviting me for a dance” she went on, studying the couples getting ready for another waltz.

  With no words, out of politeness and with the sole intention not to offend her, he held up his arm on which she quickly leaned. They headed for the centre of the hall, easily blending into the dancers’ pleasant turmoil. With her eyes lost in his, assured and lively, blonde haired and with almond-shaped eyes - the inheritance of a long-forgotten great-great-grandmother, she was talking and smiling, smiling and talking about a million things. About her father, a French banker living in Sibiu, about the lively Parisian life and the local boredom.

  The ball ended, but it was obvious the young woman would have much more to say. Edward excused himself, though, it was time for him to go.

  Corinne smiled ironically. Poor boy, so in love; neither her nor anyone else present at the ball meant anything to him. Once the woman he loved left the banquet hall, he would have to run away too. Poor love-stricken boy.

  Chapter 12

  A few days after the ball Livia worriedly noticed that Petros had stopped returning home late at night. He appeared, with punctuality, early to dinner and every time he would bring her a small box as delicate as the jewel it was hiding, a bunch of flowers or a book. He would never come home empty-handed, there was always a small token for her.

  She felt that Petros was getting ready for his grand assault upon her person; he was going to ask for more, now that he had savoured his triumph at the ball where everyone had covered her with compliments, now that - for one evening only - he had enjoyed the illusion that they were actually a family, a real couple. Now he wished she would truly become his wife, in the real sense of the word, both inside and outside the house. After the ball they could no longer pretend to be just two casual neighbours sharing the same house, and nothing more.

  Petros had grown impatient, and she could feel this in the way he looked at her lately; sometimes meek and sheepishly in love, sometimes rough and inquiring. But she was absolutely decided not to give in, now more than ever, especially since she had found out Edward was in town. She was searching for a way out from this strange, impossible marriage.

  During the day she twisted her hands, endlessly walking the large room, trying to find a way to meet Edward once more, to speak to him; the thought that he was just a few streets away, in the barracks, was almost unendurable for her. She could see the building’s rooftop from her window, and yet there was nothing she could do to just be able to see him again, to exchange a few words, to feel his arm slide around her waist once more, as it had done in the summer.

  Sometimes she could feel her cheeks burning with the weight of so many thoughts, so much turmoil, so much suffering. He was so close and yet unreachable. This seemed to her to be the height of madness, as if Fate was just playing with her by testing her endurance and her patience to the limit. She would have liked to send someone with a little note, but who could she trust from the entire household? Not even Lina! And she could not possibly go to the barracks gate and ask for him! All she could do was to wait - and to hope for some kind of providential Divine help.

  She was really satisfied when, one night as they were dining in silence as usual - with her disgustedly gazing as Petros was heartily chewing a large roast, he suddenly said: “A new officer has been stationed in town for more than a month now. He is in the Austrian army even though he is a Scotsman; he has important missions here even though he can’t speak a word of Romanian. As most of the Sibiu county complaints are written by local peasants in Romanian, he would very much like to be able to understand their content without the help of a translator. He asked for someone to teach him Romanian. A few persons will be presented to him, of course, and he will choose the most suitable one.” he said while pouring wine into his crystal glass.

  “What do you say? Would you be interested? You would be the ideal candidate. You know Romanian, Latin, Greek, German, French. This would be an opportunity for you to get out of the house more often, to find something to fill your time” he continued pensively, as he was looking at the wine swirling around the glass.

  “Perhaps you are right. By all means include me on the list if you so wish” she answered, with her heart pounding madly in her chest. She had understood who the officer was, and she was happy that after all the time in which she had searched for a means of seeing him, of talking to him, this proposition came now from her own husband. She was happy because she now knew that Edward had thought about her too, looking for a way to see her again without it appearing too awkward. He had made up this Romanian language learning pretext, just for her, just to be able to meet her again - she told herself while trying to stay calm. No emotion could be allowed to cross her face, she had to remain as indifferent as before, even if she now found it harder and harder.

  She spent the next few days in a feverish tension, the nights passed slowly, sleep would not come, and her eyes would strain more and more often towards the barracks, on the small hill just a few streets away. She could imagine him sleeping, reading or thinking about her. Each minute of each day was dedicated to him, she lived just for him, burned just for him, waited just for him, thought only about him.

  She had lost all appetite, becoming even thinner. She floated across the rooms, searching for a solution.

  # # #

  Edward was standing in front of the gate on which the number eight was written in rounded, time-faded characters. He had been invited to a party.

  In the barracks he had been told the owner of the house was a genuine Baron, not a person who had just bought the title. He had been informed that anyone who was anyone in Sibiu would meet in this house, and that nobody would even dream of refusing an invitation extended to them by this prestigious family. He had looked at the card indecisively, thinking about refusing; but when he had heard that all the best families met in this house his thoughts had quickly turned upon Livia. She had been on his mind for days now, he was trying to devise methods of meeting her again

  A vague hope had made him spread a rumour about trying to learn Romanian.

  He did not believe Livia’s husband would tell her about this, for he did not actually think Petros would agree to her coming to the barracks. But he was hoping for a miracle, hoping to find her in this house with all the best families gathered here, for she was part of this world now.

  He shyly looked towards the windows, studying the thick concrete wall, as tall and large as a barricade; then he knocked, twice, on the door.

  A girl dressed in a starchy chambermaid costume opened. She took his overcoat and guided him towards a high-ceilinged, dark living room, its walls filled with paintings. Not a sound was heard, and Edward felt embarrassed. He had expected to find a lively drawing-room, filled with cheerful young ladies and gentlemen, but most of all he had expected to find Livia. He had hoped she would be present there, had wished for it all morning, he had not doubted for a moment that she would be there.

  While he gazed at the paintings depicting stormy seas or calm oceans, boats and fishermen’s villages, he thought it was as if their owners had wished to bring a little of the sea’s fascination amongst these rough and craggy Transylvanian mountains ; but the whisper of a silky skirt and the sound of steps drawing near awakened him from his dream.

  He turned, surprised - and beheld Corinne. He bowed deeply.

  “I know you are surprised, but this is my house, I am Baron Kurt’s daughter” she said with a crafty smile.

  Having lived in Paris, she was elegant and lively, the sole heir to her father’s fortune, forced now to take care of administrative problems concerning the estates they owned all around Sibiu. She did it with no great enthusia
sm, just because it represented a source of income for her pleasures, like riding and horses, shopping and travel. She had to take good care of these estates, otherwise her father had sworn he would give them all to the Church. He was much too busy administering the bank he had created decades ago.

  She could hardly bear the monotonous provincial life, but she had found a lifebuoy in this newly-arrived young officer. He represented all she needed now; mystery, adventure, intrigue, danger, competition with another woman, fear, love, beauty - especially beauty. In one word, life. She wanted to feel all of these, she wanted to live deeply and totally, more so as she was already in love with him and desired him with all her power. He was tall and virile, handsome and enigmatic at the same time. Whilst showing him the house and the paintings on the walls she felt an overpowering need to run her hands through his blonde mane, to draw him to her bosom, to bite his full red lips with their transparent skin.

  She was talking feverishly, showing him the old, imposing hundred-year-old house, descending stairs, opening doors towards magnificent but uninhabited rooms, showing him the precious books in their antique bookcases, leading him towards the lunch room. She was talking both in French and English, but without as much as uttering a word in German. She invited him to sit in front of a low table, surrounded by soft cushions, while she served warm scented tea with languid, deliberately sensual movements.

  Edward was coolly appraising her, fully understanding he had fallen into a trap - and he hated traps, both in war and in love. She was not making an impression on him with her harem-girl tricks, with her deliberately flaunted sensuality, with the rich house she had been boasting about, with her carelessly disclosed ankles. She disgusted him with all these cheap manoeuvres; did she really believe he could be swayed and bewitched by a few centimetres of naked skin, or a few surreptitious glances?

  He hadn’t yet taken his leave in an unceremonious manner, clacking the door, just because he had been brought up to respect women, even when they did not rise up to the position one would expect them to hold. He also felt this was going to be a hard battle, Corinne was going to be a problem now when he could hardly afford to have any problems. Women like her didn’t give up easily, not only because of love but also because they could not suffer a man to trample all over their wounded pride. Corinne was a dangerous woman; her thwarted love could easily turn to hatred.

  # # #

  Livia entered the dining room and upon seeing that dinner was not yet ready and Ildiko was still pottering around the table, she headed for the fireplace.

  She stood with her back straight, turning her cold hands towards the fire, hardly containing her impatience about Petros’ arrival. Every night she waited for him as she had never done before. Every night she hoped he would mention the new officer; she would ask whether anything unusual had happened in town with mock indifference; and he would always answer that nothing new had reached his ears.

  She could hear him now, breathing noisily as he approached the table. She left the fireplace, sat at the table and started playing with her spoon in the hot soup. She didn’t have any appetite, and she didn’t particularly wish to look at him tonight.

  “Good evening, Livia- what a delicious soup Ildiko has prepared, just what you would need on such a weather. It’s extremely cold outside! Today the new officer visited us in the Mayor’s office. You probably won’t believe it, but he has chosen you to teach him Romanian. I think it might be due in part to me, he wanted to please me, everyone knows I’m the town’s most important person!” he said, winking at her.

  “That is true” Livia answered with just a trace of mockery in her voice, while trying to stifle her joy at the news.

  “And when are these lessons supposed to start?!” she asked with mock indifference.

  “On Monday; with just a few days to go before Christmas, the atmosphere is much more relaxed in the barracks, and he has much more free time”

  While he was greedily slurping the tasty soup, Livia was thinking what her life would have been like had she never learned German. She had first met Edward because of the German language, and now she was able to meet him again also because of the German language. And the irony was she had learned it without any passion, for it was easy for her to learn foreign languages. It had seemed a harsh, tough language, and she had liked French much more. She hardly could have imagined, when she was learning it, that her first love words were destined to be spoken in German. But now she loved it, as she loved anything which could tie her to Edward.

  Lost in her thoughts, she could hardly wait for Petros to finish dinner. This was the day's most unpleasant moment, when she was forced to keep him company. Constrained to see him eat heartily, devouring the roast chicken and drinking glass upon glass of blood-red wine; forced to behold him in all his ugliness, as he was seated at the table in faint candlelight, with his back towards the fireplace. The flames’ playful flicker would draw strange reddish shadows around his head, making him resemble a small hideous devil.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when, finally satisfied with all the food and drink and mellowed by the heat of the fireplace, Petros decided to excuse himself and retire.

  Livia was already leaving, hurrying to get to her room where she double-locked the door. Just in time, as she heard Petros trying to open it and uttering a swear word as he drew away.

  # # #

  The first lesson took place on a cold morning. Hans had brought her to the barracks in the carriage, then left, hurrying towards one of the many inns luring the weary traveller with wine and warm fireplaces.

  Livia headed towards the tall, yellow-faced thin soldier who seemed a boy dressed in an uniform just for a laugh, and who also seemed to be waiting for her outside the barracks. As she approached he respectfully saluted, then silently accompanied her along an endless alley guarded by frozen trees with naked black branches.

  He then guided her along a Spartan corridor, then another; until they finally reached a door on which the name she so much loved was written. The door opened before anyone had knocked on it, somebody had waited impatiently, had stalked her arrival, had listened for the sound of her footsteps on the corridor.

  Edward had spent a sleepless night thinking about her. He had been seated at the window to watch as she had alighted from the carriage, walked along the alley. Every second was so precious. He opened the door, took her hand, dragged her impatiently inside and threw his arms around her. In a long embrace they told each other all about the longing, the desperation - but also the happiness of having found each other again, at last.

  “Why?” Livia asked. “Why does all this happen to me? Why do I have to meet you again after having lost you? We would have forgotten all about each other, in time” she said, gazing at him with tearful eyes, filed with emotion.

  “Forgotten? I have not forgotten you, not for a moment. I returned to Transylvania for you only, just as I had promised. Even if you didn’t answer any of the letters I sent, I still insisted the Archduke would send me as near your village as possible” he answered, straightening the rebellious strands of hair escaping from her cape.

  “Letters?” she answered, surprised. Then she understood. Her thoughts turned towards her mother and her diabolical intrigues. She could have been so happy, if only her mother hadn’t coveted Petros’ fortune.

  “As soon as I obtained the papers I came to your house, but your mother told me you had married, you were happy and I should leave you alone”

  “Happy? So much for this kind of happiness! For six months now I’ve been living in a stranger’s house, eating at his table, and barely exchanging more than a few words with him, despising him from the bottom of my heart. I hate him for forcing me to marry him against my will. Alone, abandoned by everyone, with no help in this foreign, unknown city. Had I not feared God’s judgement, I would have ended it all a long time ago! I can’t see any way out of this situation!” she said and burst into tears.

  It was the first time she talked with
anyone about the situation she was in, and now that she had opened her heart, the whole thing seemed even more tragic.

  “You have me now” he answered as he hugged her protectively. “If Fate wanted us to find each other again, it has done so for a reason. I had no idea you had been married and living in this city, and neither had the Archduke; and yet he has sent me here. Not in Arad or Cluj, you see, but here! Our destiny decreed that we should be together. Certainly, it could have made things easier for us, with not so many detours; but still we are fated to be together” he said, looking upon her with love-filed eyes.

  “You seem to forget who my husband is. The richest man in town, and a City Counsellor to boot. In these past months I understood he really loves me. If in the beginning I was just a trophy for him, now he is inspired by a powerful love. Therefore he will be ferocious, vengeful, and he will never agree to let me go - not for any price” the young woman said in a desperate voice.

  “I am just the match for him! I am an Austrian officer, and this is even more important than my title of Count” he answered encouragingly, taking her face between his hands and gazing upon her with sincere and convincing eyes. He dried her tears with his handkerchief.

  His tender gestures as he was wiping away the tears from her eyes, a long kiss and tender caresses calmed her.

  “The strangest Romanian lesson in the world!” he joked, just to make her feel relaxed.

  They sat on the sofa, embraced and started talking about the months they had spent in the same city without knowing anything about each other. She in the pink house, he a few streets away, in the Spartan barracks. Her and him, alone amongst so many strangers.