Epilogue
Augsburg, Bavaria
“This is your parents’ house.”
They descended from the hired hack in front of a tall, flat-front, ornate baroque building.
“Yes.”
Karl smiled at her as if there was nothing surprising about the filigreed front of the five-story building.
Each window was topped with inlaid stone ornamentation, and painted filigrees to draw the eye to them. The top of the house was nothing like what she might find in London, even in the most expensive Belgravia. These top floors looked carved, like a mantel clock, making it difficult to see the rooflines. It was ostentatious. It was curls upon ornamentation and—was that gold filigree?
It was downright shocking. She loved it.
“I thought your parents were traders. Merchants.”
Justine hadn’t bothered pressing Karl about his family. Why would she? When they were waved down by the hack driver to go straight to his parents’ house from the train, instead of stopping at the apartment Karl had leased for them, she was expecting a cottage on the edge of town. Not . . . this.
But then, when she’d thought of Augsburg, she’d pictured a farm town the size of Zermatt. Not a beautiful, bustling city full of ancient watchtowers and churches and guild halls. London prided itself as being the center of the world, but it could learn from the beauty of Augsburg.
“They are traders. That’s how my Onkel Peter met my Tante Greta. He was bringing goods to Switzerland.”
“I have noticed that when I ask something about you or your direct family, you end up trying to distract me with things I already know.”
Karl grabbed her hand, and kissed the back of it.
“Does this mean we can afford a cook?”
she asked.
“Yes,”
Karl said, not elaborating.
“I won’t have the chapped hands of washerwoman?”
Karl frowned at the dove-gray gloves she wore. “Only if you wish it.”
Suddenly, she was struck with a fear she’d never even thought of before. These were upper-class people, and Justine was a terror in society. What would they think of her? Would they like her? Flashes of evenings spent at tense, scowling, formal dinners came to her.
Then the door opened, and a woman in a ruffled blue gown trimmed with ebony ribbon stood there. “Karl!”
she called, and then said something more in German that Justine couldn’t understand.
His grip tightened on her hand, and he pulled them forward. “My mother,”
he whispered to her. As soon as they were at the threshold, she pulled him into an embrace. Karl pulled away enough to introduce Justine, and then his mother pulled her into the embrace as well.
So much for awkward introductions. The woman turned, still gripping both of them, and propelled Karl inside, smacking him lightly on the bottom as he went. Then this formidable woman turned her blue eyes on Justine. She was so much taller. So much bigger. But she had Karl’s same eyes, and that made Justine want to trust her kindness.
“Meine Tochter,”
she said, and then, with a smile, said in perfect English, “My daughter. Welcome.”
Frau Vogel moved inside and Karl reached for her hand. “Are you all right?”
Justine squeezed his hand. “This is going to be quite the adventure, isn’t it?”
“You’ll need to learn to speak German,”
he said. “Or at least Swiss.”
With his mother out of the room, Justine reached up to her tiptoes. “Didn’t you know? I can do anything. Besides, you’ll teach me.”
Karl snorted. “I am not a good teacher.”
“I don’t know, you’ve already taught me loads.”
Justine smirked at him, gratified to see his cheeks flare with heat.
“That does not count,”
he whispered, glancing at the doorway where his mother had just disappeared through.
“Of course it does. New skills, all that.”
Karl’s eyes were round as saucers, and Justine smiled with satisfaction in making her new husband blush. What was the translation of Bad News in German? Because she was determined to earn the moniker here, too.
**