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Chapter Text

"Your face is all red."

"Is it? I don't suppose I'm used to dancing."

Liar, you can't help but think. The first moment you laid eyes on her in your shut away ballroom, she was bowing deeply to some imaginary dance partner. You don't believe, not for a single second, that the delightfully pink blush staining her cheeks is because she's not used to exercising. No, not the Governess who gives you a wide grin and a shrug when you catch her racing down hallways and sliding down bannisters, nor the Governess who sometimes comes to dinner with a smudge of dirt on her nose after an afternoon of chasing your screaming children around the grounds in a game of football. Not even the Governess who skidded into the dining room on that first evening, barely out of breath.

It's something else, you think. You've seen this look before. Big blue eyes shining bright in the dim light; intense earnestness, sincere and open, filled to the brim with what you think might just be adoration. She's looking at you like she can see straight through you.

You saw it the night of the puppet show, the night she pressed her guitar into your hands and asked you to sing for your children, for her. She had leant against that mock theatre, cheeks pink from exertion; the way she looked at you as you praised her ability to both wrangle this level of teamwork from your children and yodel had your stomach tied in one of your sailor's knots.

"They're your children, Captain."

That they are. However, by the look you could sense Elsa boring into the back of your head, you think the Fräulein might be the only person in the room to have missed how overly emphatic your praise was for their Governess.

You led Elsa out of the room. The Fräulein followed. You had shut the door on the scene, metaphorically and literally, until you had the opportunity to replay the ten-second interaction over and over in your head in the privacy of your study and spend hours mulling over if she thought the silly little nod-slash-bow you gave her was silly.

Then, with barely any time for you to understand what just happened, she's in front of you again with one of those sweet, genuine smiles on her face, her guitar offered in her outstretched arms. How were you meant to resist the eight of them? Your children looking up at you, begging you to sing; their Governess gazing up at you like that? Like any man would have, you conceded. Guitar is not your strongest instrument (piano and violin, however, are different stories), but you made it work. You sang to them a lullaby your nurse sang to you as a child - a love song to your motherland.

She'd looked at you funny then too. Smiling blue eyes and a halo of blonde hair; pressed against the wall, she looked like an angel from one of the frescoes on your ballroom walls. It was like she was trying to blend herself into the scene. She had failed, of course; more often than not, your eyes could find her anywhere.

She'd almost frowned at you and,not for the first time, you had no idea what was going on in that funny little head of hers. She looked confused and pensive, and dare you say it, almost scared. A lesser version of the way she had looked at you just now when she'd pulled away from you like she was frightened of her thoughts.

You saw again it later that week, the night you pressed a glass of her favourite drink into her hands without a second thought, not even bothering to ask her if she'd like one. It was during one of those meetings you have three evenings a week, the two of you alone in your study, and she'd tell you all the wonderful things she'd learnt about your children, all the wonderful things that she wanted you to know about them and just couldn't wait to share with you. You can't help but feel terrible even now that you missed the last four years of their lives, and you need someone else to fill you in on how Friedrich liked red apples but not green ones or how many teeth little Marta has lost already.

She was wearing that light blue dress again, the one that makes your pulse quicken, the one made of the material that you spent almost half an hour deliberating buying for her. It was nearly ten o'clock, and you had risen from one of the plush armchairs and walked across the room to the small collection of bottles you keep on a shelf behind your desk. You'd poured not one but two drinks absentmindedly. You hadn't even realised you'd pressed the glass into her hand until she stopped mid-sentence, and you were almost shocked at the sudden silence. She hadn't realised you'd been paying attention all those times Max cajoled her into having a drink after dinner. Of course, you had, though; Brigitta's not the only one who notices everything. Brandy with a little lemonade. She'd stared at you for a second, mouth slightly agape, before shifting her eyes to the glass resting on her knee before continuing. "What I was saying, Captain..."

The moment was over, but you'd seen it. Her cheeks were flushed ever so slightly in the light of the fire. It was the same look. Her eyes were as wide as they are now, the same intense earnestness, the same sincerity and appreciation. You just hadn't been sure what that look had meant.

You realise what you can see now in her eyes. You think she just might be in love with you, or at least has some kind of crush on you. You don't know if she's realised it yet. You wonder if she's even been in love before, ever been held before, the way you held her just now: like she's the centre of someone's universe, and the only thing that matters at all is the feeling of her hand in his. The thought makes your chest tighten and your stomach drop. You remember what it's like to be twenty-three years old. You were certainly no nun-to-be, not by a long shot, but you remember those overwhelming urges to be close to another person, to touch them and-

"That was beautifully done. What a lovely couple you make."

Elsa.

Your stomach drops again, your heart races, and you think this must be exactly how Kurt feels when Cook catches him sneaking more food when he's meant to be in bed. Like you've had your hands somewhere they shouldn't have been. Your mind is racing a hundred miles an hour, trying to comprehend exactly what just happened. You take Elsa by the arm and lead her back into the heaving ballroom.

"All that needless worrying, Georg. You thought you wouldn't find a friend at the party." This jibe (like its predecessor) isn't as subtle or as sweet as she thinks it is. Perhaps that was its point. You opt to give Elsa the benefit of the doubt.

Still, you can't stop yourself from looking back towards the courtyard as if the Fräulein is still there frozen in time, gazing lovingly at you with her hands obscuring her pink cheeks. You wish to God your heart would stop beating so damn fast. If anything, you're the one not used to dancing. You miss the look Elsa shoots you, not realising she's on exactly the same page as you, if not a paragraph ahead. She knows exactly what's happening here, even if you do not.

"Bit chilly out tonight, isn't it?"

It had rained from mid-morning to mid-afternoon, and anyone would have thought Cook had forgotten to prepare dessert by the way your children had moped around the house. Yes, Marta, the party was still going ahead. No Gretl, no one was getting lost or deciding not to come after all because of a little bit of rain. The rain earlier in the day had resulted in a clear, star-filled sky, but the air lacked the humidity that was a staple of European summers, and though probably still around eighteen degrees, the air had a chill.

"Oh, I don't know, seemed rather warm to me."

You're starting to lose patience, but, ever the gentlemen, you smother your growing irritation. You whistle a tune through your teeth and smile at her, one of those disingenuous, potentially withering toothy smiles that you normally save for sassy, disobedient subordinates. You really can't wait for this night to be over.

She appears at the doorway, and you half chase her out of the room in a somewhat detached, dignified kind of way (but not at all). You're halfway to the door when it hits you.

You're in love with her too.

Chapter Text

Like a siren's song, the sound of her voice and the children's ecstatic cries draw you to the terrace. Your head shoots up from behind the paper you were pretending to read while Elsa talks at you about whatever plans she has for announcing your engagement. Not that you'd been listening. Max looks at you pointedly over the rim of his glass, earning him a withering smile. Whatever Max is thinking, he's wrong, but something out in the terrace has changed, and you can't not be a part of it. You offer the first excuse that enters your head, not caring for its lack of subtlety, and walk (as casually as you manage) out the door and out of sight.

The clock in the hall chimes six. You'll all be late for dinner if you're not careful. You have bigger things to worry about, though. Your heart is thumping wildly in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you half leg it down the corridor and through the foyer until you the door leading to the terrace; a quick nod to Franz who's staring at you, disapproving as ever. The house is dim compared to the bright sunlight outside, and you find yourself blinking a few times while your eyes adjust.

There she is, your siren, standing in a sea of smiling faces. Just the sight of her stops you in your tracks. The only evidence of the apparently sombre moment you had intruded upon is the frown on her face and the apprehensive look in her eyes.

"Good evening, Captain," she says, and your lips twitch into a wry smile. Good evening indeed. She says it as if she never left at all, as if you were simply bumping into each other in the foyer on your way to dinner, or if she was walking into one of your evening meetings as she had many times before.

"Good evening," you reply, your well-worn mask of feigned indifference mixed with slight amusement firmly in place.

You have to admit that blue strawberries are not the most filling of snacks, which probably has something to do with the fact that they don't exist. At least you're raising bad liars. The bus stop into Salzburg is quite a walk for little legs, and the walk from the bus stop in Salzburg to the Abbey is even further. You weren't the least surprised to hear from your friend Sister Berthe scolding you down the phone that the Abbey is not a babysitting service and requesting that you please refrain from allowing your children to treat it as such. In fact, you were somewhat surprised it took your children so long to try to see their Governess.

"All right," you say with a clap of your hands, "Everyone inside. Go and get your dinner."

Even fibbers need feeding, and it would be unfair on poor Cook to let her food go to waste, and even more unfair on poor Frau Schmidt, who would have to deal with the inevitable fallout. The children race past you, their cries of delight fall on deaf ears. She's all you see and all you hear, and you're alone. You can finally ask her the questions that you've been desperate to.

"You left without saying goodbye," you state carefully. You don't want to give yourself away here. It won't do anyone any good if you admit to her that she's been the subject of your every waking thought (and some dreams) for the last nine days. "Not even to the children."

"Well, it was wrong of me. Forgive me."

"Why did you?"

"Please don't ask me. Anyway, the reason no longer exists."

A reason that no longer exists. You don't plan on letting her get away with it that easy. You've had your fears as to why she left, and you hate the fact that you might just have scared her away in the dead of night.

"Fräulein Maria! You've returned! Isn't it wonderful, Georg?" Elsa exclaims, her disingenuously upbeat tone the knife slicing through the tension on the patio. Impeccable timing as always, you think sardonically.

You flinch inadvertently, and you watch as Maria's throat constricts as Elsa stands in front of you and takes your hand in hers. This little power play is utterly unnecessary, you think, and quite ridiculous. Making a scene, you think, would be just as unnecessary and even more ridiculous. You've never felt more like a coward in your life.

Your brave little Fräulein, never one to back down, takes three steps towards you. "May I wish you every happiness, Baroness, and you too, Captain. The children tell me you're to be married."

So that was the sombre moment.

"Thank you, my dear."

Your mask of feigned indifference never slips as you nod your thanks, despite the sinking feeling in your stomach. You're doing the right thing, you tell yourself. This is exactly how everything should be. Still, you can't take your eyes off her.

You take your hand from Elsa's and half-run after your fleeing Governess. "You are back to, uh, stay?" you enquire, trying desperately hard not to sound like you're begging her.

She turns to look at you and shakes her head. "Only until arrangements can be made for another governess." Then, she's gone again, and you can't help but stare after her.

You feel a lump of guilt rise in your throat. The sheer delight on your children's faces from a two-minute reunion tells you that she's much more important to them all than even the last nine days had you believe. Why come back at all if she's not here to stay? Not that you're not happy to see her - just the sight of her and you felt both oddly at peace for the first time in weeks but also had your stomach in knots - a contradiction fitting Maria. How are you meant to explain to the seven of them that the most important woman since their mother was going to leave them again? That you don't know why she wants to leave, but you have a sneaking suspicion it's all your fault? Would they ever forgive you?

Your chest tightens, and you blink away these thoughts. You turn back to Elsa. You take her hand and smile at her. It's all you really can do. You're engaged to be married, and you're going to be wildly happy if it's the last thing you do. You will. You made a commitment, and you're a man of your word.

Chapter Text

It's odd, you think, that such a large house has so few places one can hide without being found sooner rather than later. For the last twelve days, you've had barely twelve minutes of peace. Apparently, a man cannot brood in his own study or library without being disturbed. Locks seem to do no good either; if someone comes across a locked door they'll rattle the handle and call for you through the door until you feel even more disturbed and overwhelmed than you did before you locked yourself away. For the first time in a long time, you wish for the time before your Fräulein, when you were free to lament your poor life decisions in private and everyone was too scared to impose.

This is how you come to be on the east-facing balcony of the family wing. You hope no one will come looking for you in here and figure the night air might do you some good. Apparently, you sulk too often in your study for it not to be the first place someone would look for you, and if you wanted to find a dark corner of your wine cellar to drink in... well, you would only bump into Max sooner or later.

You hadn't come out here to watch her, but your eyes follow her movements as she strolls aimlessly down the terrace until she comes to a stop in front of the pegasus gate leading to the lake. She looks like an oil painting; her silhouette dark against the moonlit lake, light bouncing off the snowy peaks of the mountains. For a moment you almost forget how to breathe.

You think it's almost laughable that you had stood there with your eyes glued to hers as your children trundled off to bed, honestly believing that you could keep your distance and wait for your feelings for her to blow over. You remember how beautiful she looked pressed up against that pillar; how all you could see in those big blue eyes was pure, unadulterated adoration. How there was no way that she would let herself look at you that way - like she would do anything and everything you asked of her (and oh, the things you longed to ask of her) - if she knew she loved you.

Ultimately, you realised, you were responsible for her safety; your duty was to return her to the Abbey in the state she came to you in - ready to be a nun. No more longing looks, you had decided. In fact, you had decided that you would spend the rest evening not looking her at all. Especially since you didn't trust yourself not to kiss her. Though a terrible Catholic (only ever going to church for your mother, then for your wife), even you know that you don't press nuns up against pillars in the middle of parties and kiss them like you long to. So softly, so gently, so careful not to scare them. You don't nip at that bottom lip they so often bite in such an unintentionally teasing way. Not even if they look at you like they're desperate for you to introduce them to other, far more fun, biblical pursuits.

A party with prying eyes and wagging tongues was no place to be devising solutions for a problem like Maria. It could wait until the morning.

But, of course, the morning never came. At least not the morning you had anticipated. You begrudgingly admit to yourself that you think you would have allowed yourself at least one more longing look - just a real, honest, good one - to remember the way her lips had parted, the exact shade of pink of her cheeks, the dark blue of her eyes as she'd looked longingly back at you. All the little details to make your dreams all the more real while you tried to pretend you didn't miss her.

Deeply hungover, you hadn't emerged from your room until mid-morning and had met a particularly frazzled looking Frau Schmidt who had informed you Maria was nowhere to be found and the children would not stop asking for her. You still remember how your heart had thudded in your chest, unadulterated panic consuming your body. You had rushed downstairs to the nearest phone, the cold hardwood floor stinging your bare feet, and was in the process of dialling god knows who as a passing Franz handed you an envelope decorated with her neat script, informing you that she had slipped out as dinner was served the night before. You could have throttled the man, not thinking to at least make sure that she was safe or, better yet, stopping her from leaving in the first place.

You had called the Abbey, hoping that she had run away back to there and wasn't lost god knows where. Your call had been answered by a Sister Berthe, who snapped at you rather rudely after you had introduced yourself. Your Fräulein was apparently safe, but worse for wear. A god forsaken state, as Sister Berthe had put it. You had wondered exactly what a nun considered to be a godforsaken state. You suspected she suspected it had something to do with you. You had barely been allowed a word in edgewise before she had haughtily instructed not to call again, and hung up on you. Though indubitably rude and, dare you say it, overly harsh, the poor Nun clearly cared for your Fräulein and Maria's state had evidently scared her.

You had spent the next nine days worrying about her day and night until she had appeared in your garden like an oasis in the desert.

What kind of man is engaged to a beautiful, charming woman while irrecoverably in love with their children's governess - who just so happens is a twenty-three year old nun-to-be? A mess of a man.

But who would have thought that it would be so much harder to have her here under your roof than have her hiding away in her Abbey, you think to yourself, almost crossly. The days without her had been filled with morose children and an uncomfortably quiet house. Though the morning after your party had been stressful and borderline devastating, the last 72 hours have been nothing short of draining.

The first morning after your Fräulein had returned home, after a rough and mostly sleepless night, you had arrived at breakfast fifteen minutes early in an irritable mood. The peace and quiet was welcome until ten minutes later Kurt and Louisa arrived, squabbling. The rest of your brood had slowly trailed in over the next five minutes until the noise in your dining room was borderline deafening. You had cleared your throat loudly, the decibel level dropping dramatically to a more comfortable level. There the eight of you sat, the seat opposite you empty, and you had almost worried that your Fräulein had run off to her Abbey again until you realised that Gretl's shoes matched and Marta's hair looked far too tidy this morning for that to have happened. Still, she was yet to appear.

The clock in the hall had chimed eight.

"Who's turn is it to say grace?" asked Kurt, anxious to start the meal.

"Mine, I think," replied Liesl, "For what we're about to-"

"Fräulein Maria!" your children had cried as she appeared at the door as if they hadn't seen her less than ten minutes earlier. The novelty and excitement of her return clearly yet to wear off.

"Sorry I'm late, Captain, children."

"Good morning, Fräulein," you had said as nonchalantly as you could manage, nodding your head in her direction.

"Don't let me interrupt you, Liesl," she had said as she slid into her seat. You had tried to catch her eye but she looked anywhere and everywhere but at you.

"Oh, Fräulein! We'd much rather have you do it! We've been taking turns every day since you left, but it hasn't been the same!" Liesl gushed, as only Liesl could.

"Very well," said your Fräulein, and breakfast began.

The rest of the day had been spent hiding in your study. Between your anxious banker in London trying to secure the finances you had slowly been moving abroad as Hitler's power solidified and your anxious portfolio manager in Vienna trying to understand where all your money is disappearing to, your phone had been ringing off the hook.

You were just about to put down the phone when Elsa had swanned in around noon. You'd quickly raised the receiver back up to your ear and pretended to be mid-conversation.

"Darling," she'd drawled, "it's far too a beautiful day to be cooped up inside. Come sit with Max and me on the terrace."

You politely declined. After spending the better half of the morning listening to your children laughing with their governess under your window, you had little faith in your ability to play host for your future wife. By three you'd caved; made your way outside and taken your place next to Elsa at the table, keeping your eyes on your companions and your ears on your governess. A small victory, you'd lied to yourself. You could hear the occasional raised voice of an excitable child and her laugh float across the garden, clean and bright and addictive.

You strained to hear what had made her laugh, allowing yourself one little look in that direction. With the self-control of a sailor who had gone months without anything but blue skies and glistening waves, you had raked your eyes over her half-reclined form. The wind had lapped at the skirt of the burnt orange dress that you only had the pleasure of seeing her in once before; the one made her hair shine like strands of gold and her skin look impossibly tan. These were not thoughts you should be having about your children's governess with your fiancée barely a foot away. You felt your face become inadvertently stormy, your knuckles white as you had grabbed the arms of your chair. As you reached her face you realised she was staring back at you. Drawn to each other like magnets. Her expression was unreadable. Her brow furrowed and her mouth set in a deep frown, a look not dissimilar to the one the afternoon before. You had taken comfort in the angry blush on her cheeks, the same delightful pink as the night you had held her in your arms. You wondered how many times she had glanced over here before being caught. Before she caught you.

Broken out of your reverie by Elsa's laugh, you had made your excuses and retreated back to the safety of your study, away from temptation.

Dinner had been a lively affair. Your children were tired, but still somewhat energised by the full twenty-four hours back in their governess' company, and full of conversation. Elsa had Max's full attention at some piece of juicy gossip she'd heard about Herr Petrie's life outside his work as an agent. You had spent the meal staring at your governess while deep in thought, replaying over and over the split second your Fräulein's eyes had flicked to yours mid-grace, looking up at you through thick lashes. That split second was all that was needed for your heart to race, a lump to form in your throat, the air to be knocked out of your lungs. You were sure that she could feel your eyes on her, no doubt looking desperately like you want to eat her alive. In fact, you're sure that's the reason Max kept clearing his throat so loudly and nudging your left foot under the table. You could feel your resolve crumbling faster than expected.

You had wandered outside after dinner, hoping for a brief moment of clarity in the night air. Sat in the dark surrounded by the sweet scent of the rose bushes you had hidden under, you had almost jumped out of your skin upon hearing the side door creak open a few feet away. Of course, it was her. Though too deep in thought to notice you, you had frozen like a statue so as to not alert her to your presence. You had watched as she had meandered towards the lake and then out of sight. You had exhaled deeply, not realising that you hadn't even dared breathe.

The second day, yesterday, hadn't been much better. Another restless night. Dreams of calling out to her as she passed you in the dark, dreams where you had pulled her onto your lap and kissed her hard. Breakfast had been much of the same; the same terrible mood, the same noisy children; the same unwillingness to meet your eye. You had promised yourself the previous night no more temptation but had awoken to rain, which only meant one thing: a day inside for your children, and no escape from their governess for you.

By ten you knew things were getting out of hand. Anyone would have thought you were a spy not a sea captain by the way you had skulked around by doorframes and listened in on their lessons. For an hour you had listened to their laughter echo throughout the halls, only worsening your mood. Before you knew it, long-legged strides had led you out of your study and up the stairs to the schoolroom. You love your children dearly, and you hope they've come to understand that better over the last month or so, but the restrain you had exerted over the last 36 hours had caused the joyful sound to become nothing short of a taunt. You hover by the doorway, watching as Kurt posed dramatically with a paper pirate's hat on his head and a wooden sword in his hand. Laugh smothered behind your hand, your poor mood was instantly forgotten.

With a flourish of his sword, Kurt had span towards the door and spotted you instantly. "Father!" he had cried.

Rushed inside the room and informed that not only were they reading Treasure Island, but that reenactments were mandatory, Kurt had handed you his copy of the book and begged you to read for them all. Eight sets of eyes were gazing at you intently, but you could feel hers burning into the back of your head.

The morning the nine of you had spent together was not enough. Unable to help yourself, you had hovered by the door of the nursery at bedtime, watching as the bedtime story came to an end and she kissed the foreheads of your youngest four. You felt an overwhelming surge of guilt as your heart constricted in your chest.

She had run into you as she has slipped out the door, her body warm against yours. She leapt away from you like a spooked cat as you fought the urge to wrap your arms around her waist and hold her to you.

"Maria... Fräulein..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you," you had said, pausing for a moment, "for coming back."

She looked at you with those big, sad eyes and you couldn't help but feel like no matter what you said it was always going to be the wrong thing. She smiled for a moment, more for you than because she feels like it, the smile never reaching her eyes.

"Good night, Captain," she said, and walked off down the corridor in the direction of her room. You stood there, watching her leave. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

After an unsatisfying hour spent in your study brooding, you had watched as your Fräulein had slipped out the back door and down the terrace steps. With a sudden burst of courage, you had leapt from your desk and ran out the door after her. You had to let her know how desperate you are for her to stay with your children, with you, forever, how you'd do anything and everything, pay any price just to make it happen.

She walked aimlessly through the garden until she reached a favourite spot of yours. Your father had the gazebo built for your mother when you were a boy, a place for her to be alone from the pressures of the world and simply be herself. You remember an evening where her laughter had floated across the garden and the little gazebo had been filled with what felt like hundreds of candles as your father had twirled her around. It was always a place filled with happy memories for you.

You had watched as she meandered through the trees, her fingertips brushing the bark as she passed them. She stepped out from the shadow of the tree and into the moonlight, flopping unceremoniously onto a nearby bench. You couldn't help but notice how utterly miserable she looked, eyes filled with tears, brown furrowed, and her bottom lip worried by her teeth. At that moment, you felt like your heart could break.

"Oh help!" she had cried, head lifted towards the heavens and swiped angrily at a tear.

You felt like an intruder. This was not the right time for any talk between the two of you. Your brave little Fräulein did not need an audience in her moment of despair.

You left her there, running through the grounds and up into the safety of your room. You crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing that you shouldn't have left her.

You had thrown back your duvet and rushed out of your room, not even bothering to grab your dressing gown. You had sprinted back to the gazebo, fully prepared to lay your heart out on the line, only to find she was gone.

Chapter Text

This morning, the third since your governess' return, you had awoken feeling more tired than you had when you finally achieved sleep. Prepared to spend your day wallowing in self pity at your cowardice the night before, you had been blindsided at breakfast by an offer that saw your slowly crumbling resolve to keep your distance shatter into a million pieces.

You had missed the look between her governess and yourself as Brigitta's eyes glinted with mischief. "Would you like to come, Father?"

You had faltered for a second. You'd been welcomed in to lessons and to read bedtime stories, even been invited for the occasional swim in the lake (which you always decline) or game of Tag (which you always accept), but never for a day out, and especially not up her mountain. You desperately wanted to accept, to see them in their element, but you hadn't wanted to make her uncomfortable.

"Now, children, I'm sure your father has better ways to spend his morning," she had said ,her eyes glued to her bowl as she played with the last of the cereal.

"I'm sure you don't need me slowing you down." You had offered, feeling was no need for you to ruin the perfectly nice day she has planned for them.

"Pleeeeaaase Father?" the seven of them begged, their cries becoming more and more desperate.

"You can come if you want, Captain." It was no louder than a whisper over the din of your brood, and you were not sure you had heard quite right.

"If you're sure I won't be intruding..."

You watched her throat constrict as she swallowed, and nod her head once, her mouth a tight smile as she held your eye. If you hadn't known better you'd said she looked nervous.

"Tell me when you want to leave," you said, not entirely at ease yourself.

You had kept your distance, watching as your Fräulein taught Liesl how to juggle with three tomatoes she had picked out from a nearby market stall. Your children love you yes, but there's no match for the adoration in their eyes as they gaze at their governess. They hang on her every word, her every action, and you can't say you blame them.

You could see she loves them too. Probably loved them long before she ever started loving you. You don't doubt her feelings for you, not even after the last few days. In fact, you're more convinced of it for the way she has acted. If she didn't, she wouldn't avoid you. You can see her love in the way her face brightens as she smiles at them, the soft way she touched their faces or strokes their hair. She's the mother that some of them never got to remember.

"Perhaps you'd be better suited to a circus than an Abbey, Fräulein."

She'd laughed through her nose at your joke, the corner of her mouth quirked up into an adorable little smile.

Your confidence from the night before had evaporated, and in the cold light of the day you knew that you couldn't bring yourself to be cruel enough to ask her to stay, to be cruel enough to a suspecting Elsa either. Still, your Fräulein's little smile and made your heart swell and the weight of your tired eyes a little more manageable.

Though you had remained quiet and tight lipped on that uncomfortably rickety old train up the mountain and had fought for breath as trailed behind your children as they stormed up the mountain, you finally understood when you reached the top why your Fräulein was so drawn to this place.

The thin air felt so much cleaner than the Vienna air you'd become accustomed to, the grass greener and the sky more blue than you thought possible. The scent of pine in the air, the sound of your children's laughter and the wind whistling through the trees ringing in your ears, you almost felt like a new man.

Ever since you were a boy, you had felt most at home on the beach with your toes curled in the sand, breathing in the salty air, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

This was her beach.

Unceremoniously, you had dropped with a thud the basket you had been entrusted with on to the sweet-smelling grass, reached for the button at your throat, loosened your tie, and stored your cufflinks in the inside breast pocket of your suit jacket. You had watched as Louisa and Kurt spread a large, pink blanket and Liesl began unpacking her basket of food. It was then and there that you decided you were going to do anything they asked of you for the rest of the day. You were lucky enough to be invited to their safe space. You wanted the full mountain experience.

A leather football hit the side of your leg and your head snapped up in surprise.

"Kick it back, Father!" Friedrich had yelled. So, you did, the dull ache you felt in your toes as the leather of your shoes came into contact with the leather of the ball made you wince. That was a sensation you hadn't felt in almost twenty years.

"Kick it with the inside of your foot, Father! It'll hurt less," Kurt had laughed.

Friedrich had kicked the ball back to you and you had attempted to kick it to Kurt, narrowly missing Louisa's head. He was right, it did hurt less – though it hadn't improved your aim.

Having discarded your hat and your jacket, you had been drawn into a game of football with your two boys and little Marta, Kurt showing his sister how to kick the ball correctly. She had only just mastered the strength of her kick after forty minutes before she had kicking the ball too hard, hitting Liesl and almost knocking the book out of her had. With a huff Liesl had grabbed the ball and thrown it as far as she could behind her.

"Is it time for lunch yet, Fräulein Maria? I'm hungry," Kurt had called, running over to the picnic blanket where his governess and his sisters were sat.

Your eyes were glued to her as she had laughed, fixing Kurt's exercise mussed hair.

"You're always hungry, Kurt." It was true. You couldn't blame him; though a spitting image of his mother with his blonde hair and bright blue eyes, his voracious appetite had been inherited from you. Like all adolescent boys, you don't think you had managed an hour without eating something from the age of thirteen to twenty-one.

Finding a spot on the picnic blanket as far away from her as you could manage, you had sunk to the ground. You must have looked a mess by the odd look on her face as she had glanced at you when she thought you weren't looking. She should have learnt by now that when it comes to her, you're always watching. Still, you could have sworn you'd seen her cheeks flushed pink as she rolled an apple in her right hand. It's things like that you wished you didn't notice about her; it would make it so much easier to be around her without wondering what's going on it that funny head of hers.

The breeze was cool against your warm skin and you were grateful for the glass of water your Fräulein had sent your way. You had downed it in one, only then realising what the game had taken out of you.

You had grabbed your discarded jacket, despairing momentarily at the creased mess it had become. Oh well, you had sighed, and balled it up even more, shoving it behind your head as you laid back against the mountainside, hat placed over your face. You had closed your eyes and, not even realising it, fallen asleep with the sound of the birds chirping, the wind rustling through the trees, and the comforting sounds of your children's laughter.

You had awoken with a jolt, unsure of how long you had had been out for.

You had blinked several times, not uncertain that you weren't still sleeping. You had been met with a blushing Maria leaning over you, eyes dark with what almost looked like… well, you didn't dare hope. Excitement, fear, and more than a little of that unbridled adoration that you had missed so much. She was breathing like she had run a mile.

Your nap, though unintended, had done you good. You felt rested for the first time in weeks.

"Captain?" She had whispered, "It's time to go, we need to catch the train or it's a long walk home."

The sky was still light, though judging by the new shadow cast by the trees, you had been asleep at least a few hours. You had felt guilty at the thought that this special time spent with your children had been wasted.

You had grabbed your ruined jacket and the abandoned football, staying a metre behind your children as they sang a tune on their way back to the station.

You felt your stomach churn with an uneasy sensation, unable to stop thinking about the look on your Fräulein's face, wondering what on earth had made her look like that.

"There you are!" Elsa cries, and you half jump out of your skin. You smile at her nervously, drumming your fingertips against the stone balustrade.

Oh, Elsa. It would be deeply unfair to her to claim you hadn't really meant it when you had called her your saviour. She truly had saved you, in one way or another. Whether one is faced down in a puddle or neck deep in the ocean gasping for air, they're drowning either way.

"...it makes you much too quiet at the dinner table... Or was it the wine?"

"Undoubtedly the wine," you lie. Yoy had spent dinner with your eyes glued to your plate, unable to stop thinking about the look on your Fräulein's face as she peered down at you.

Elsa had plucked you out of your puddle, turned you over and given your life purpose for the last four years. You dare not think about what could have happened if she hadn't found you when she did, which is why she deserves so much better, you think with a sad smile, guilt forming in the pit of your stomach. It's no use.

"You have no idea the trouble I'm having trying to decide on a wedding present for you..." Elsa rattles on.

But oh, Maria's the life raft to your drowning man. She'd shown you that the most important things in life were passing you by. No, not passing you by, but that you had actively been hiding from them, depriving yourself and your children. She'd yelled at you and scolded you and broken every rule you'd used to keep them and everyone else in your life at an arms length.

"Oh, Georg, how do you feel about yachts? A long, sleek one for the Mediterranean and a tiny one for your bathtub, hm?"

You laugh, but not at her joke.

"Elsa." You need to stop this now. You don't deserve either of them, let alone both.

"Where to go on our honeymoon? Now, that's a real problem! A trip around the world would be lovely, and then I said: "Oh, Elsa, there must be someplace better to go! But don't worry, darling, I'll-"

"Elsa." You say it more urgently this time. She has to know this is coming and you have to admit her efforts to deflect are admirable. Darling Elsa, a trooper, under all that finery.

"Yes, Georg?"

It's no use you and l. I'm being dishonest to both of us and utterly unfair to you. When two people talk of marriage -"

"No, don't!" Elsa interrupts, and you allow yourself a sad smile, glad the charade can finally come to an end.

Though you love her dearly as a friend, you don't love Elsa. You don't hang on her every word, her every action. You don't lay in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about the way her eyes change colour when she smiles or the smell of pine that clings to her skin when she's spent the day roaming the countryside with your children. In fact, you've rarely thought of her at all in the last month, even with her glued to your side. The least you can do is keep your mouth shut and allow her to bow out with her pride intact. Even if you lose Maria forever at the end of the Summer, you know that Elsa's free to find someone who deserves her.

Elsa pauses. "And somewhere out there is a young lady who, I think, will never be a nun."

It finally hits you.

Maria wasn't sent back from the Abbey, she left for good.

You look out onto the patio below, the stones glinting in the moonlight like some yellow brick road leading to your Maria.

Chapter Text

It's not until the clock on the mantelpiece chimes eleven that you realise your ten minute respite had turned into forty-five.

At ten fifteen, finally left alone on the balcony, your feet had moved of their own volition. At first your footsteps were muffled by the plush carpet of the landing, then echoed across the hard marble floor of your foyer, as your heart thundered in your chest. It wasn't until the sound of crickets ringing in your ears and the welcome August breeze cooled your skin that you realised you were already on the patio, ready to finally confess you feelings.

Which is how you came to be here, hiding. Tucked away in the comfortable darkness of your study, constructing your plan of attack, you wonder: how does one solve a problem like Maria?

You know you love her. God knows you tried not to, but, then again, how could you not?

It's just, ever since her return three nights ago, you've been wondering two things: What made your little Fräulein flee in the middle of the night, with no more than a short three sentence letter as a goodbye? Why did she come back?

She didn't have to come back. It had been made clear to you that your phone call to the Abbey had been unwelcome. Your letters to her had gone unanswered.

You desperately hope that she came back for you.

You know it's wrong.

Practically engaged to Elsa, you'd worked so hard to keep your attraction for your Fraulein hidden. Still, you'd revelled in the way her cheeks flushed as you teased her mercilessly just to see her reaction, revelled in the smiles that dare you to object to her various adventures and grass stained knees with your children. You'd revelled in all those adoring looks part and parcel of all those love songs sung.

You'd be lying if you said that she wasn't a factor in almost every decision that you'd made. Lying if you said that you hadn't missed her during those short, overnight trips taken to Vienna to secure your eventual safe passage out of Austria.

You still don't know what made her leave.

Beads of condensation roll lethargically down the glass, wetting your fingertips. You sigh, down your drink, and straighten your tie. There's no answers to be found in darkened studies.

"Hello." She jumps, surprised by your presence. "I thought I just might find you here."

"Was there something you wanted?" she stutters.

"No, no, no. Sit down, please. Please." you implore.

"Uh, may l?" you ask, not waiting for her response. You clap of your hands and take a seat, admiring the way the moonlight bounces off the long grass. It's here, you think, if anywhere, that one could find clarity. With a nervous smile in her direction, you attempt just that.

"You know," you say with a nervous laugh, rubbing you left ear, "I was thinking and I was wondering two things. Why did you run away to the abbey? And what was it that made you come back?"

"Well..." head bowed, she chooses her words carefully. "I had an obligation to fulfil and I- I came back to fulfil it."

You hum, dissatisfied. For a woman who takes pleasure in holding you to account, you sense this conversation may have all the ease of getting blood from a stone.

"Is that all?" you prod.

"And I missed the children."

"Yes." You smile softly to yourself. You never doubted that for a second. Her love for your children radiates from her being. The seed from which the flower of your affection grew, its roots subsequently spreading and twisting until inseparable from your very core.

"Only the children?" Your fingers drum a soothing rhythm against the palm of your opposite hand as you try to steady yourself. You've spent almost every waking moment wondering whether or not she missed you half as much as you missed her. You need her to have missed you.

"No!" she replies honestly. "Yes!" she lies.

Her head snaps to look at you, her expression that of a frightened animal, her tone defensive as she splutters, "Isn't it right that I missed them?"

Her defensive denial is no use. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest, you can barely believe her admission. She missed you too.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course!" you reassure her with a laugh. "I was only hoping that perhaps you... perhaps you might..." your tie feels too tight, the words jumbling and solidifying in your throat, choking you. You don't know what's wrong with you. You know she missed you. She told you she missed you. You just... want to hear her say it.

"Yes?" She inches closer to you, wide eyes boring into your soul. She can't honestly not know what you're trying to ask.

"Well... nothing was the same when you were away," you confess with a dismissive wave of your hand, fidgeting like child, "and it'll be all wrong again after you leave, and I just thought perhaps you might..." Stay forever. Marry you. Be the mother that your children so desperately want. "Change your mind?"

Recoiling, she stands. Turning her back to you, she moves a safe distance away, hoping you miss the way her eyes glisten with unshed tears of disappointment. The sight tugs at your heart and frustration builds inside of you. You can't believe that she doesn't understand what you're asking her. You're trying your hardest to tell her you're in love with her.

"Well, I'm sure the Baroness will be able to make things fine for you." Her voice trembles, the hurt seeping through.

"Maria," you call after her, revelling in feeling of her name on your lips. Only once before have you allowed yourself the privilege of using her name. Maria. It sounds like a term of endearment.

"There isn't going to be any Baroness," you tell her firmly.

"There isn't?"

Exasperated, you follow her. "No."

"I don't understand." Apparently not.

Still, the less that's said the better. "Well, we've called off our engagement, you see, and-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she chimes automatically.

"Yes," you nod. "You are?" you gasp, unable to hide you disbelief. She said it so sincerely, so dutifully. Perhaps she didn't come back for you at all. Perhaps she's trying to let you down easily.

"You did?" she exclaims simultaneously, the hopeful surprise plastered across her face egging you on. It seems she was all wrapped up in her own thoughts too.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the lump of apprehension forming in your throat. It seems you have her full attention now. "Yes."

Another deep breath, you follow her further into the gazebo. You look out across the moonlight grass and steel yourself. "Well, you can't marry someone when you're in love with someone else... can you?" you ask softly.

She shakes her head in agreement, but you're not sure she fully understands what you mean. She's looking at you in that way again, the one that makes your throat constrict and your head spin. A look that, in itself, is reward enough for your burst of courage. Big blue eyes shining bright in the dim light; intense earnestness, sincere and open, filled to the brim with adoration. She's looking at you with what can only be described as a look of hopeful disbelief.

You need her to know this is real. You need to know that she's real. That neither one of you is going to wake up drenched in sweat from the humid night air, chest tight from dreams filled with unfulfilled longing and unrequited affections.

So you take that jaw, the one so often jutted in defiance at you, and slowly bring her face closer to yours, still ready to give her an out. You've spent God knows how long waiting for this moment, wanting to kiss her so badly. She moves so readily under your fingertips, so eagerly, that you don't think you can wait a second longer. Gently, you bring your mouth to hers.

You've spent hours every day for the last eight weeks thinking of ways to kiss her for the first time.

'Maria,' you'd call after her, as her hand reaches for the door knob of your study, ready to leave one of your evening meetings. She'd turn to face you, surprised to find you barely a pace behind her. You'd press her against the door, cupping her jaw with one hand, the other at her waist; brush your lips across hers with the faintest of kisses. 'Sleep well,' you'd whisper in her ear, as fantasy Maria would melt in your arms.

'All better,' she'd laugh as she'd press a kiss to the bandage covering Gretl's war wound from her battle with the blackberry bush. She'd stand, turning to face you with a smile that makes the light of the sun pale in comparison. 'Yes,' you'd murmur, wiping your thumb over a faint stain of blackberry juice marring her tanned cheek and the corner of that big bottom lip. A war wound of her own. You'd kiss the stain, revelling as you hear her breath catch in her throat.'All better.'

Her eyes would be bright from the passion of whatever point she'd try to make you understand, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed in discontent. You love to wind her up like this, get her caught in some meaningless little disagreement so you can watch her in her element. She cares so much about everything and everyone around her. You'd put a hand behind her neck and kiss the argument from her lips, revelling in her sighs as she run her fingers through your hair.

You've spent hours every day for the last eight weeks thinking of ways to kiss her for the first time. No fantasy compares to the feeling of her lips finally on yours.

Her lips are even softer than the skin of her jaw, not that you believed that was possible. You can't believe how right this feels. How the warmth of her lips against yours makes your heart swell and your shoulders sag as if a heavy weight has been lifted.

You pull back, hand still cupping her jaw, stopping only to kiss the tip of her nose softly. Her eyes are still shut, her lips still parted, her breath shallow. You wonder if she's thought about this too, wonder if she's worried that if she opens her eyes you'll be gone.

Your left hand leaves her jaw, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. She lets out a dreamy sigh as you pepper kisses across her cheeks, across her forehead. You can't believe you're finally allowed to touch her like this, so intimately, so carefully.

Slowly, her eyes drift open, pupils blown and eyes dark with want. You can't help but feel a surge of pride that one gentle kiss could affect her in such a way. Her tongue darts out, teasing you, wetting that lower lip that you've spent hours obsessing over.

"The Reverend Mother always says: When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

You can't help but grin. Of all the people to send Maria running into your arms you never guessed it would be the Reverend Mother. Do nuns accept flowers? Probably not. Still, you make a mental note to take a trip into town tomorrow to thank the Nun and to inform her of your wish to marry your Maria.

"What else does the Reverend Mother say?" you ask between kisses peppered along that defiant jaw and down that long neck.

"That you have to look for your life." she sighs in reply.

"Is that why you came back?"

Your fräulein nods her response.

"And have you found it, Maria?

"I think I have. I know I have." And there it is again, that look, intense earnestness, sincere and open, filled to the brim with adoration.

Your right hand falls to her waist, pulling her body against yours. You're not gentle this time, your tongue follows the same path as hers, seeking permission. She sighs into your mouth, and you can smell the sweet scent on cinnamon and apple from dessert. You think you'll never get tired of that sound.

"I love you," you whisper against her mouth, feel her smile against yours.