The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen

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      Babette smiled and tilted her head, regarding Korbinian with great suspicion. She knew that he was up to something.

      “You still have not told me why you are here,” she said.

      “Did your grandfather not tell you?” Korbinian asked.

      Grandfather? What did he have to do with all of this?

      “No,” Babette said, “he most certainly did not.”

      She looked over her shoulder and saw Father and Grandfather standing by the carriage, deep in conversation. Father did not seem at all pleased, while Grandfather had the look of the cat that stole the cream.

      “What didn’t he tell me?” she asked, turning back to Korbinian.

      The Baron flashed a devious smile and said, “Your grandfather has engaged me as your tutor for the summer.”

      Babette raised her head and stared at him, astonished. A tutor? For what reason? She didn’t need a tutor, certainly not after the last one they had tried to impose upon her. Although it did have the felicitous coincidence of allowing her and Korbinian to spend a great deal of time—

      Oh I see… she thought. She looked over her shoulder at Grandfather. She could have sworn that he winked at her.

      “Well then, Baron,” she said, “it seems we shall be spending a great deal of time together. For my studies.”

      “We shall indeed,” Korbinian said. “I know all the things that a young lady ought to learn. Art, history, mathematics, the Classics, Latin and Greek, natural philosophy, riding, shooting.…”

      “I already know how to ride, Baron,” Babette said, “and to shoot.”

      “Then I shall teach you to do both together,” Korbinian said.

      “What a curious view you have regarding the things a young lady ought to learn.”

      “I am from Fuchsburg,” Korbinian said. “We are more enlightened there.”

      “I’m certain you are, Baron,” Babette said.

      “Now then,” Korbinian said, “I am your tutor, not a baron. Call me Korbinian if it pleases you.”

      Babette resisted the temptation of the offer. Instead, she drew herself up and fixed him with an admonishing look.

      “I most certainly shall not,” she said. “Your Christian name is far too familiar. I shall call you Master von Fuchsburg.”

      “Meister von Fuchsburg,” Korbinian said, rendering the title in German. “Yes, I like that. If only it were true.”

      “If I can call you neither baron nor master, how are you to be addressed, Monsieur? Colonel, perhaps?”

      Korbinian laughed and replied, “I hardly think that colonels are qualified to teach anyone anything, much less Latin and Greek to young ladies.”

      Babette thought for a moment.

      “Then I shall call you Monsieur von Fuchsburg,” she said with great finality. “And you shall address me as Mademoiselle Varanus.”

      “I think that is most suitable,” Korbinian said. “And now, I have taken the liberty of asking the servants to prepare a luncheon basket. You must be very hungry after your journey.”

      “I am slightly peckish, yes,” Babette admitted.

      “Sehr gut!” Korbinian clapped his hands. “Then we shall eat, begin your first lesson, and enjoy this beautiful weather all at the same time.”

      “Monsieur von Fuchsburg,” Babette said, “that strikes me as an excellent idea.”

      * * * *

      William had known that James would be cross to learn of the plan, but his son’s reaction was more comical than anything else. As they stood and watched Babette and the Baron von Fuchsburg converse, he quietly explained the details to James, working hard to conceal a smile as James’s expression clouded with indignation.

      “You never said that he would be the tutor!”

      “It seemed unnecessary at the time,” William replied, his voice soothing. He knew how to manage his son when this sort of foolishness took him. James simply lacked his father’s broadness of vision, or indeed, any sense of vision at all.

      “Is he even qualified?” James asked, his tone indicating that he expected an answer in the contrary.

      “He is very well educated, yes,” William said. “It will allow me to test just how he and Babette get along, and what they have in common to speak about.”

      “Why…?” James asked.

      “Because,” William said, as he watched Babette and Korbinian retire into the house, “I have given the Baron von Fuchsburg leave to court her.”

      Three, two, one… he counted silently.

      “Father!” James cried as if on cue. “How can you do such a thing? He is completely unsuitable!”

      “We don’t know that yet, James,” William said. “Indeed, he is so far the single most suitable man who has ever shown an interest in your daughter. That is something to be thankful for.”

      “Suitable? He’s not even French! Good God, he’s not even English!”

      William growled a little and replied, “Do not mention your heritage with such distain, my son. And do not think less of a man because he comes from east of the Rhine. I have made inquiries. The Baron von Fuchsburg comes from an old and distinguished line of nobility. His father was Spanish, also of good family. The Baron is a hussar and commands a regiment of mixed infantry, cavalry, and artillery for the Prussian Army.”

      “That speaks little of him,” James said. “His rank is inherited! I doubt that his gallantry has ever been tried!”

      “Inherited it may be,” William said, “but from what I understand, he gave a very good account of himself during the recent war in Italy. Very noble and brave. The equal of any man on either side, I have heard it said.”

      James quickly changed the subject, as he often did when William countered a poorly-argued point:

      “Alfonse des Louveteaux has also served. In Italy, and in the Crimea before that.”

      “Alfonse des Louveteaux has no sincere interest in Babette,” William said. “None at all.”

      “His father suggests otherwise—” James began.

      “His father suggests a great many things,” William interrupted, “very little of which is of any consequence. I am well acquainted with the family, James, as you will recall. I have known them since before you were born, and I have watched Alfonse grow from a child to a…man. There is only one woman for whom Alfonse des Louveteaux has any honest affection, and that is Claire de Mirabeau. Not Babette. Anyone else will be a possession to him, at СКАЧАТЬ