Behind the Mask (115 page)

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said, wondering why she’d not even thought to do a single sketch since she’d come to live here.

Cameron put his arms around her. “I know it’s not easy being holed up this way. But it’s temporary. In the meantime, I thought this might help fill some empty time.”

“Thank you,” she said and kissed him. He smiled, and by all appearances everything felt right. But she couldn’t deny the subtlest underlying tension between them. She just didn’t know how to erase it.

Abbi began spending hours each day in her art room, which certainly helped ease her boredom. A couple of weeks into her new habit, Elsa gave birth to a healthy boy. She had a difficult time in labor, and the doctor told them he wasn’t certain if she would ever be able to conceive again, due to damage caused by the birth. But Georg said many times that he was grateful to have Elsa alive and well, and to have this beautiful son.

“And what shall his name be?” Cameron asked, while he and Georg hovered over the sleeping infant with wispy blond hair.

“It wasn’t easy,” Elsa spoke up from her bed, where she sat propped against pillows, “but I think we’ve finally agreed on a suitable name.”

“And what is that?” Abbi asked, amused by the smile that passed between Georg and Elsa.

“Elsa wanted his name to be unusual,” Georg said.

“A name unlike any other in the country,” Elsa clarified.

“I liked the name Hans,” Georg said.

“Which is horribly common,” Elsa added.

“But it had significance.” Georg seemed amused. “When Abbi told her aunts about her stay on the mountain, she said the man who had saved her life was named Hans.”

Cameron chuckled. Abbi admitted, “I’d forgotten.”

“But it’s dreadfully common,” Elsa repeated.

“So, we took off the last letter,” Georg said. “His name is Han.”

“Han Heinrich,” Cameron said with a regal air. “I like it. The two names go well together.”

“My thought exactly,” Georg declared.

Within days, Elsa was back on her feet, and the child was christened Han Josef Heinrich. Abbi enjoyed helping with the baby, imagining that he would be a friend to her own son, just as their fathers were. Cameron told Abbi several times that he had never seen Georg happier, and Abbi had to agree. In fact, Cameron showed so much enthusiasm over the event that Abbi couldn’t help but anticipate the birth of their own child.

While Han changed and grew every day, Abbi began to feel the stress of her pregnancy. Having been close to Elsa, she wasn’t surprised by the aches and pains, or the restriction in her activities, but it was difficult nevertheless. While Georg spent more time with his wife and son, Cameron spent more time at his duties, leaving Abbi to deal with her misery alone much of the time. When he was around, Cameron always showed compassion and concern for her, and Abbi reminded herself to be patient. She said nothing about her feelings of neglect until she awoke on a Sunday morning to find that Cameron had gone to his office. He barely left his work long enough to attend church service, and he worked until long after Abbi normally went to bed. When he entered the bedroom and saw her sitting near the fire, his surprise was certain.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, bending to kiss her.

“When else might I see my husband?” she countered.

Cameron was silent a moment. He sat down across from her. “I take it you’re not very happy with me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Abbi, don’t play games with me. If you’re upset, just say so.”

“Fine. I’m upset.”

“Do you want to tell me why? Or do you need to get angry enough to slap me before you can allow the truth to slip out?”

Abbi was as startled by the comment as she was by the evidence that the events of that day still bothered him. She resisted the urge to get angry over it, and she stuck to the issue instead. “I can’t believe you even have to ask. Is it not obvious?”

Cameron sighed and sounded more humble. “I know I’ve been terribly busy, Abbi, but . . . it won’t always be this way. There is much that needs to be done after being away for so long. And with Georg being busy and—”

“I understand there are many demands on you,” she said firmly. “I know this is a big part of your life, and I respect that. But you have a family, Cameron.”

Cameron felt his habitual pride rise up to defend his motives, but he pushed it back long enough to fully absorb what she was saying. Rather than jumping into an argument, he simply said, “I’m listening.”

Abbi sighed, grateful that he wasn’t throwing anger back at her. “I would think that you could at least be with us one day in seven. Certainly God gave us the Sabbath for a reason. As I see it, you cannot expect His blessings in your work if you don’t respect that.”

Cameron was thoughtful a moment. “You’re probably right, Abbi. Forgive me. I won’t work on Sundays any more unless it is an emergency.”

Abbi inhaled deeply. “Thank you.” She reached out her hand and he took it. “We miss you. We need you.”

“We?” he asked with a little smirk, and Abbi rubbed her belly.

“Tell me his name again, Cameron. I have trouble remembering what we decided. Perhaps I should write it down.”

“Erich,” he said.

“Because it is your second name, and because it is fitting of Horstberg’s prince.”

“Precisely. A prince with red, curly hair,” he said, taking one of her swollen feet into his lap to rub it.

She moaned pleasurably. “Then Cameron,” she said, “after his father.”

“Then Georg, for obvious reasons. He would not be born under such circumstances if not for Georg’s help.”

“And then . . .”

“Gerhard, after your father . . . for many reasons.”

Abbi sighed. “Erich Cameron Georg Gerhard du Woernig. It’s an awfully big name for such a little boy.”

“And what if it is a girl?”

“It’s not,” she said with confidence.

“What if you’re wrong?” Cameron asked. “Do you have a girl’s name?”

“Actually, I do . . . if you like it, of course.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“After your sisters.”

“Madeleine Helena . . . or Helena Madeleine?”

“No, one name, taken from their nicknames. MagdaLena.”

Cameron smiled. “I like it. I can well imagine a little red-haired princess . . . feisty like her mother.”

“Stubborn like her father. But MagdaLena won’t be coming just yet.” She rubbed her belly again. “This is Erich.”

“I’m glad that you’re certain,” he said, and began to rub her other foot. “So, what have you been doing to keep yourself busy?”

“What
can
I do? I can only sit and paint or draw a little at a time before I become uncomfortable. I’ve been helping Elsa some with Han, but the servants keep everything under perfect control. They’ve all been very good to me.”

“As they should be.”

“I feel absolutely useless.”

“It will pass, Abbi. After Erich is born, you will be so busy caring for him that you won’t even notice how busy
I
am.”

“Busy perhaps, but I notice every hour that we’re not together.” She wanted to ask if he felt the same way, if he thought about her and missed her while he was so involved in his work. But she feared the answer might only frustrate her further, so she dropped the subject and went to bed.

Cameron remained true to his word, and Sunday became Abbi’s favorite day of the week. It became even more blissful when Magda talked Cameron into playing the piano here and there. Abbi enjoyed seeing that side of him and marveled at his talent. But the Cameron she saw on the Sabbath became completely swallowed up in the Duke of Horstberg as he more than made up for it through the week, working as if his country were his entire life. Abbi hoped that as Georg gradually returned to his normal schedule, the demands on Cameron would ease up, but they didn’t. And she couldn’t begin to know what to do about it.

Cameron left the office late, wishing he didn’t dread facing his wife. He wandered through dimly lit castle hallways, places in his home he’d not ventured into through all these months since his return, reacquainting himself with surroundings that had once been so familiar. Memories deluged him, and while they held a certain degree of comfort, searching his feelings made it evident that the comfort came more from being comfortable than from being happy. It was difficult to even find a positive memory. Those he found were attached to being with his sisters or Georg, hiding away and playing as children, snatches of time when he’d been oblivious to the weight of being heir to a country. He located a few tender moments with his mother. She had been kind and good, and her love and wisdom had always been firm with him. But she’d also been conspicuously unhappy. He’d never been in her presence without being keenly aware that her duty to Horstberg was simply that—duty. Her love for her children had been readily evident, but she had governed them quietly and timidly, while her husband hardly allowed her to speak a word without demeaning her or putting her into her place with harsh authority. And through every facet of Cameron’s life, Nikolaus had always been close at hand, creating aggravation and tension. But Cameron never would have dreamed or imagined such an outcome. His relief at being back in control of his country, and at peace with himself in that regard, was continually tainted by the harsh fact that his own brother had inflicted such atrocities upon him, and those in his care.

Equally troubling for Cameron was the obvious unhappiness he saw in his wife. She was starting to remind him of his mother in that respect. Was being the Duchess of Horstberg so utterly deplorable? Was it cursed, somehow? Gwen had enjoyed the position, only because of the wealth and prestige that had come with it. But she was dead, stabbed through the heart. Abbi was physically alive but clearly unhappy. He wondered every hour if he were to blame, but at the same time he could never find any point in their history where he might have made a decision differently, according to what he’d felt and believed. He loved her desperately, and he knew she loved him. But apparently love wasn’t enough. He just didn’t know what he might give her any more than he had in order to compensate for all that had been taken away. He knew she longed for the freedom and simplicity of the life she’d lived previously. And yet, holed up in her room as she was, she wasn’t really living any life at all. He wondered if he should take her to stay with her father, in the home she’d grown up in. Perhaps that would help bring her around, but his greatest fear was that she would find so much happiness there she would never want to come back and live in the castle again. Either way, it seemed they were doomed to some degree of separate lives, and it just felt so wrong. So completely wrong.

Cameron finished his solitary walk at the door of his own bedroom. He took a deep breath and went in to find Abbi asleep. While there was some relief in not having to face her, he felt deeply sorrowed by the growing chasm between them. He simply didn’t know what to do about it.

On a bright, clear morning, Abbi got dressed to go out and went to the ducal office, minutes before she knew that her husband and his usual entourage would be going into town. It was market day, and they always made an appearance. She was well aware of the ongoing threats against the royal family, and the committee’s edict that she remain behind bars. But she was sick to death of these walls, and equally tired of having some fanatic dissident controlling her life. Still, that was only part of her motive.

An officer opened the door for her, and she stepped in to see Cameron, Georg, and Lance all looking surprised.

“What might we do for you, my dear?” Cameron asked as they all came to their feet.

“I’ll be going into town with you.” They all looked stunned, exactly as she’d hoped.

“Your Grace,” Lance said, “under the circumstances, I don’t think that—”

“I’m sick to death of the circumstances, Captain. Christmas will soon be here, and I have shopping to do.” She looked at her husband and delivered the final blow, almost proud of herself for manipulating the moment to say what needed to be said in front of his closest peers. “It will also give me a rare opportunity to see my husband in daylight. I will see you in the courtyard, then.” She opened the door and said to the officer there, “Lieutenant, would you see that my horse is saddled.”