Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Whenever Georg needed to ponder on life, he went hunting.
He put on his grey loden jacket with a green collar, leather breeches with thick woollen stockings up to his knees, his sturdiest pair of boots, and slung his flintlock over his shoulder.
On his head, he wore the typical Austrian felt hat with a feather.
The outfit was old and worn out, and when he donned it, he passed as any common forester or hunter roaming through the woods.
Whenever he was restless, troubled or needed to escape it all, he threw on this garb and climbed the mountains and roamed the fields and forests, until his brain cleared and the heaviness lifted from his shoulders.
If he happened to come across deer or wild chamois, he would take them home as his trophies and mount them on his walls.
It had been his plan to do the same today; his intention had been to set out alone, for he had much to think about, and he craved solitude. But when he ran into Schneider early in the morning, as he swiftly descended the stairs in his hunting garb, the man promptly decided to join him.
Very well. He knew Schneider was a good hunter, so it would not be for the worse.
But then they ran into Miss Honeywell, that was to say, Lady Evie, his soon-to-be-wife, and the very reason why he craved to go on this expedition in the first place. She came skipping around the corner of the house, followed by his German hounds, who frolicked about her, eager to play.
“Where are you going?” She eyed his flintlock with interest.
“Hunting.” He gave a sharp whistle to bring his dogs to heel.
“Where are you going hunting?”
“In the mountains.”
“Are you joining him?” she addressed Schneider, who came through the door, and beamed a smile at her upon seeing her.
“Indeed I am, Miss Honeywell.”
“How lucky you are,” she sighed. “It must be lovely to roam through nature in such fine weather.” Indeed, the weather had cleared up and for the first time in weeks, the sky was bright and sunny.
Some things in life were inevitable, simply bound to happen, and there was nothing one could do about it. Before Georg could intervene, that cursed Schneider opened his mouth and said, “Then why don’t you join us, Miss Honeywell?”
To which she replied, beaming, “Truly? What a wonderful idea! One moment, let me go and procure a hamper.” And before he could stop her, she’d organised not only a prodigious hamper, stuffed with food, drinks, porcelain tea cups, wine glasses, blankets and pillows, but also two footmen to carry it all.
“Miss Honeywell,” Georg grated out through clenched teeth, “this is not meant to be an outing in Hyde Park with an al fresco meal.”
“Oh, I know very well,” she said airily, as she tied the pink satin ribbons of her bonnet under her chin, “but one does need some sustenance when one spends time out in the fresh air. There. I am ready. Let us go.”
Thus it came that instead of his solitary outing, he went on a stroll, complete with a blasted picnic, Schneider, two footmen, two dogs, and his bride in tow.
It was clear that she and Schneider dealt extremely well together. More than that; it appeared they had developed that kind of close camaraderie that allowed them to drop all pretences of formality and tease each other.
He clenched his jaw. It was most irritating to behold.
She was giggling without pause, which alone required him to summon all his patience. Schneider extended his hand to help her step across each pebble they encountered on the way, for clearly she was incapable of doing so on her own.
By noon, they had barely reached the foot of the mountain; on any other day he would have been at the summit by then.
When, barely five minutes later, she declared that she would surely faint from starvation, and the footmen began to lay out the blankets, pillows and the meal they’d dragged along, he exhaled his frustration in an impatient huff.
Very well. Let her eat, then send her home.
With Schneider. Then he could go on alone, and with some luck hunt a deer before the sun set.
Schneider was bragging about his hunting expertise and what a crack shot he was, and how many trophies he’d brought home. “But Hartenberg, really, is the better shot,” he added loyally.
“Is he, indeed?” She gave him a calculating look.
He did not deign to answer. He heaved his flintlock to his other shoulder and stepped away.
“Where are you going?” Schneider called after him, in the middle of consuming a chicken leg.
“I will see you this evening.” He would seize this chance to escape.
Except he had not accounted for the poppet, who, quick as a flash, had risen and come after him, jumping lithely over the boulder that lay across the path.
He blinked.
“I am coming with you.”
“I suggest that you not, Miss Honeywell. You won’t be able to keep up with me. My pace is hard and I make no stops.”
She brushed the crumbs off her hands. “That won’t be necessary. I won’t be holding you back.”
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I won’t stop and wait for you, either.”
She nodded, and gestured for him to go ahead. “Neither shall I.”
Schneider threw his chicken bone away. “Wait for me,” he protested.
Georg’s pace was fast and hard. He gave no thought to his betrothed’s delicate constitution, nor to Schneider, who panted after him as he struggled to keep up.
After an hour of steep, steady climbing, he finally paused to look over his shoulder, and recoiled as he nearly collided with Evie.
“What’s the matter?” she said, serenely. “Running out of breath?”
She overtook him and went ahead, as he stared after her, blinking.
Schneider pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “Miss Honeywell, don’t you want to take a rest?”
“Not me.” She laughed. “But do take a pause if you must. We shall meet at the top.” And with those words, she strode on ahead.
“It must be the stamina and vigour of youth,” Schneider, a hardened soldier of not yet four-and-twenty, grumbled under his breath.
Georg watched her slim figure pick her way over the roots and shrubs of the gnarled mountain path, and kicked himself for having forgotten, even for a moment, that she was not who she appeared to be.
The sugar poppet image was merely an act.
The girl was quite capable of climbing a mountain. In fact, she had no difficulty at all keeping step with him, and her reflexes were excellent.
Why was he so surprised?
She climbed lithely over a fallen boulder and ducked under some tree branches.
Clearly, she was used to spending a great deal of time out of doors.
In the middle of a clearing, she paused.
“Miss Honeyw—” Schneider, who had been struggling to keep up with them, gasped. She cut him off. “Shh.” Then, barely opening her lips, she muttered under her breath, “Aren’t you going to shoot him?”
Georg loaded his flintlock with slow, measured movements.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she exclaimed.
Schneider started. “What?”
Faster than lightning, she whirled around, snatched the flintlock out of Georg’s hands, aimed and pressed the trigger.
The shot ripped through the air, then silence.
Then, from the topmost branch of the fir tree, the grouse dropped to the ground.
Dead.
Evie handed the flintlock back to Georg.
“Nice shot, Lady Evie,” Georg said dryly.
“Thank you.” She smoothed her dress, not realising she had just responded to her real name.
Schneider looked from one to the other, opening and closing his mouth. He caught Georg’s warning glance, and a quick shake of his head. He shut it with a snap.
This afternoon had been tremendously interesting, Georg found.
When she finally dropped her mask, Lady Evie turned out to be rather more sturdy and athletic than she’d pretended.
She was also an excellent shot. Almost better than him, too, for that grouse had been hiding in the top branch of the tree. Only the most precise of sharpshooters would have been able to bring that bird down.
He wondered fleetingly whether Julius knew about her talent.
Georg found himself whistling a cheerful tune.
Quite unexpectedly, the future did not seem as bleak as it had earlier.