http://amzn.com/B00D8MEL8E
Klara ached all over, but
perhaps the bitter draught of willow bark and hot water which she had just
swallowed would subdue it. The aristocratic audience, which contained two
princes of the Blood Royal, was one she did not dare refuse.
In the winter twilight,
servants had been lighting ranks of candles set upon the chandeliers. The task
completed, those tinkling balls of crystal and light were hoisted towards the
ceiling. A glow fell over the white wigs and court clothes of the guests, who
were seated in a half-circle around four string players and a gilded
harpsichord.
The January afternoon was
cold, and her maid, Liese had scolded. In the end, Klara resigned herself to
wear a silver wig. Very often, in Max’s absence, she did not. This, of course,
quickly set her apart from the other ladies, but Klara Silber's hair was her
glory. Thick, lively, and the color of polished mahogany, it made a spectacular
crown about her heart-shaped face. To atone for the absence of the required
wig, her hairdresser would create a frenzy of curls. One auburn lock was often
left loose to trail with lazy abandon over one shoulder. Today, however, she was
simply too cold. Today she would gratefully accept the warmth that came with
the wig.
The host of this English
Tea, an elderly Baron, took Klara's hand into his white kid glove, ready to
lead her to the harpsichord.
"You appear a little
fatigued, Fraulein Silber. Please don't feel you must tax yourself too much on
my account, especially when there is so much sickness about this winter.
Perhaps just sing the poignant little piece by Kapellmeister Handel, the song
of Queen Sheba, which the ladies love so much.”
The Baron, unlike so many
others of high rank, was always considerate.
"I do feel somewhat
tired, sir." Meeting his faded, benevolent gaze, Klara glossed her
discomfort. "However, I would never wish to disappoint you, or your
distinguished guests."
"I think there is
little danger of that, Fraulein." He regarded her with a fatherly smile.
"We wouldn't want you to be ill when your patron returns from his labors
in Silesia. I'm sure that after the fighting and the long labors of his absence,
Count Oettingen will often require the healing solace of your voice."
The Baron was simply making
conversation, but Klara shivered.
Just the mention of Max!
Snow and continuing
turmoil on the Prussian border had detained her patron, The Most Noble
Maximilian von Oettingen.
Klara had been gratefully thanking every saint in the
calendar that he had not yet returned....
~Juliet Waldron
1 comment:
Love the flow of your writing, and thanks for joining Shirley Martin in making this a special Friday Freebits. Looking forward to more
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