The problem? His taste is in his mouth.
Naturally, being the good wife that I am, I immediately sent for my seamstress, picked out new silks for the windows, and new brocades for the furniture covers. The staff were impossible. No matter what I did to try to be kind to them, to offer them a new perspective, or outright turn them to my way of thinking, they would write to the Baron who would write to me, chiding me for disobeying his wishes, or for being unkind to the servants, all topped off with a bawdy and completely tasteless post script, I'm sure he felt I would swoon over. Instead, I was thunderstruck. And nauseated.
Finally, and realizing that there was no alternative but to escape the confines of the manor, I took a voyage to La Rocca, where the temperate weather and relaxed atmosphere typically calm me. There were, of course, the members of staff with me who most often watched my every move, and reported it to the Baron, which irked me, but it was unavoidable, unless I wished to completely run off alone, but that had turned out very poorly the last time I attempted it.
The voyage was mercifully uneventful and after finally convincing the maids they needn't be at my heel every moment, I went for a stroll and found myself happily in the company of my dear friend, Signore Stern. We conversed over some delicious wine; it seems so mundane, but my relief at seeing the face of an ally was immense. The Professore always has a way of putting me at ease and drawing out of me anything that might be weighing on my mind. I shared with him my recent unhappy status (marriage notwithstanding) and he nearly immediately came up with a brilliant solution. He sent word to some friends of his in Sicily, I believe, who would advertise the need for English servants, paying far more than the Baron, and so steal away the most troublesome of my staff. I was delighted! The prospect of having some privacy and the chance of possibly gaining new servants who might be more inclined to help me run things more smoothly was cause for celebration.
My spirits sufficiently lifted, and again finding myself in debt to Signore Stern for his kindness, I walked to the small villa I had procured for the week and slept soundly for the first time in weeks. I awoke humming a pretty song I'd heard coming from the tavern the night before, and made plans to hold an event, as I'd done at my family's estate... it seemed so long ago, and it would do me well to have friendly faces around me. I decided on a theme, and smiled as I imagined all sorts of risque activities sure to reach the Baron's ears.
Less than a week later, the fencing tournament was upon La Rocca, and I eagerly walked up the hill to see who might be competing. I was happy to see Lady Macbain among those gathered, and also saw Signore Gandt among the group, and that he would be competing. Such excitement! The sharp clinking of foil against foil and the sounds of exertion filled the air. Sadly, Signore Gandt did not make it to the final round, and he did manage to sustain a small wound to his hand, but luckily a Doctore was there to tend to his pain and his injury. I was so enjoying myself, I did not see my new footman scurrying up the hill towards me until he was nearly upon me. I met him across the green and he handed me a letter which had just been brought urgently to me from the colonies.
There had been an uprising of the rebels in Massachusetts, and the Baron had been hit by musket fire. He was being tended to by the very best physicians, it said, but they were very sorry to report that they could not guarantee his survival. Immediately, I sent the footman to get word to my Papa, so that I would be kept apprised of the Baron's health as quickly as possible. He would send ships there, I was assured, and the fastest of his fleet would get word to me.
A good and loving wife may have fainted in shock and dismay. A good and loving wife would have wrung her hands and shed tears. I merely saw a possible escape from a crude and heartless man who stole from me my innocence and chance of finding love. I spoke of it to Signore Stern, asking him what possibilities there might be of the Baron's untimely demise; considering his age, and preoccupations with drinking and chasing women. I shuddered to think he might come limping back to England after our triumph there, hailed as a hero, and looking to have me tend to him day and night, turned from young woman to drudge. This, I could not bear. I had to set to work so that the wheel of fortune might once again spin in my favor.
I watched the balance of the match, weighed down with this rather severe problem. My mind tried to solve the issue of ensuring that the wound might incapacitate the Baron, or (I dared to think) kill him, while not risking my immortal soul in the process. And then it dawned upon me: there were still a few members of staff who might be put to good use.
Immediately, I advised my servants that we would be sailing back to England the next day, and they set to packing while I wrote a note and had it sent ahead with a ship leaving that morning. A dear childhood friend had written to me upon word of my upcoming nuptials. The letter arrived to the manor the day of the wedding and the Baron, upon seeing such intimate words, thought it from a lover and forbade me reading it. I managed to slip it from his waistcoat while he slept, and I felt assured that I could trust my friend to help me.
Upon arrival to the manor, another carriage was stopped in front. My carriage no sooner stopped than I was pulled out by my waist by my dear friend John, son of the Earl of Westmoreland; we had spent a great many summers together as children, his parents and mine being very good friends. I had written ahead, and so he knew my predicament, and my goodness, the looks on the faces of the Baron's servants!
I played for him in the music room and he stood so close by, so attentive and complimentary. At dinner, I insisted that he take the head of the table (I thought the footman was going to drop the tray). We strolled a bit outside after our meal, my arm in his, and our piece de resistance, was when I invited him into my private sitting room adjoining my bed chamber. We had to avoid looking at one another, or our laughter might have given it away. My word! The expressions on the old staff members' faces was not to be believed!
I feel sure that the Baron will receive word of this very soon. I am equally assured that it will not be good for his health. I have no doubt that this night's activities will reach the ears of the nearby towns, as well, but the servants are such nosy busybodies that I doubt anyone will take their word. And if they do? C'est la vie. I will see what Fortune brings my way next.
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((happily this gives me an excuse to post one of my all-time favorite pieces of music))
O Fortuna
Velut luna
statue variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis
nunc obdurat
et tunc curat
ludo mentis aciem
egestatem
potestatem
dissolvit ut glaciem
Sors immanis
et inanis
rota tu volubilis
status malus,
vana salus
semper dissolubilis,
obumbrata
et velata
michi quoque niteris;
nunc per ludum
dorsum nudum
fero tui sceleris.
Sors salutis
et virtutis
mihi nunc contraria
est affectus
et defectus
semper in angaria.
Hac in hora
sine mora
corde pulsum tangite
quod per sortem
sternit fortem,
mecum omnes plangite!
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