The Legacy (31 page)

That rather interesting position Sabina and Wolf had tried last night—well, she would not have thought it possible to do such a thing, but once again, he had proven her wrong. The only problem was, she’d awoken with a strain in her back, which made planting the sugar beets a little difficult. And she had been tired again, so tired she could barely motivate herself into the garden. She had to get more sleep at night.

She sighed once more and supposed there was a price to be paid for every joy. Invariably, a price she paid nearly every night, even while Wolf held her and whispered sweet seductions into her ear, even while he filled her with his seed.

He had never said he loved her. Not once. Everything he did seemed to indicate it was so, but he never said the words, and the words were what she needed most. She felt in her pocket for the gold ring she constantly wore now, except for when she gardened. It had become a talisman of sorts for her—rather like the rosary beads she used to wear with her habit when she was a nun. It helped to calm her and center her thoughts when she touched it.

Sabina had been overjoyed when Wolf moved his first wife’s portrait out of his inner sanctum, the study, just a few days before. She had thought it a signal of things to come, of his increasing devotion to her, and of his readiness to let his first wife go. Yet still no words of love were spoken between them.

Would the day come when he would no longer want her?

The thought always flitted through her mind, but then she would catch him watching her with that hungry wolf’s look of his, and it would flit away.

Nevertheless, how long could this go on? Eventually, if he did not love her, he would surely tire of her, and what then? What did they have to bind them together, truly, but their physical response to one another?

Sabina dug the hoe into the ground absently. She knew Wolf was not the sort of man to abandon a woman he had married simply because she no longer attracted him. But could she bear the indifference that would grow over time, the veiled suggestions she move back into her own chamber, the wandering eyes eventually gazing at some other woman, though he might not partake?

Without love, how did one survive the “stir the oatmeal” moments, as Dr. Luther called them, when excitement and passion dulled and nothing remained but the day-to-day cares of ordinary married life? She hated the idea of losing Wolf, of seeing his interest wane and his resentment grow. She realized perhaps she may have a distorted idea of marriage, given what she had observed with her own parents, but how did one maintain interest in one another if one did not love? Was wonderful intimacy enough?

“Well, I think you’ve got that ground well and truly hoed, my lady,” came Bea’s booming voice behind her. “I doubt if soil has ever been quite so tilled.”

Sabina glanced up to see Bea’s shrewd gaze penetrating her musings, then looked down to see the chunks of dirt she had been methodically re-digging in the same spot. “Yes, I suppose you are right,” she admitted sheepishly. “Mayhap I had best drop a few seeds in now.”

“Yes,” Bea agreed with a smile. “It has been my experience unless we plant the seeds, the flowers will not grow.”

Sabina stared at her, wondering why she felt there was a hidden meaning in her message. Bea merely winked.

“Or sugar beets, in this case.
Fräuline
Gisel would be heartbroken without her beet sugar for her treats. Ah,” she said, looking over Sabina’s shoulder, “Franz has come to visit us amongst the seeds.”

Sabina turned to see Franz diffidently picking his way through the scattered clods of dirt and ripped-up weeds. He approached her with a regretful air.

“Frau
Behaim, I am sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. Actually, the young lady came to see Master Behaim, but since he is not available, she insisted on seeing you instead. I told her you were occupied …” he said apologetically, shrugging his shoulders.

“Young lady?” Sabina asked curiously. She was hardly dressed for visitors now with her gardening apron and soiled gloves, her face streaked with dirt.

“Yes … it is the baronin, my lady. The baron’s wife.”

Sabina halted in the act of pulling off a glove. “Baronin von Ziegler is here? My stepmother?”

“She hardly seems old enough to be anyone’s mother, but yes, she is the one.” His tone left no question as to his opinion of the baron von Ziegler’s young wife.

“Well.” Sabina did not know what else to say. “I suppose I had better see her, then. Show her to the withdrawing room while I wash up.” Franz nodded and made his way back to the house. Sabina looked at Bea, and they both raised curious brows, as if to say “what now?” Sabina had no idea what would prompt such a visit since the two had never met. She supposed there was only one way to find out, and she made her way to the house.

Baronin von Ziegler waited in the small withdrawing room, nervously drumming her pointed fingernails on the pewter cup she held in her hand. The gesture made a sharp
tap-tap-tap
echo throughout the room as her eyes darted around, taking in the lack of furnishings. She lifted the cup over her head, trying to see the maker’s mark on the bottom, just as Sabina walked over the threshold. Startled, the baronin abruptly stood and inadvertently sloshed wine on her pale blue gown.

“Oh,” she said angrily, and Sabina went to her, drawing out her handkerchief to dab at the spot.

“Never mind!” the baronin shoved her hand away. “Oh, that is all I need, to meet the baronesse looking a mess!”

Sabina smiled wryly, and indicating her own informal gown said, “I do not believe she will mind, my lady.”

The younger woman looked up quickly, realizing belatedly to whom she spoke. She ran her eyes over Sabina’s plain gardening gown.

“Oh. Baronesse. I—” Quickly gathering her composure, she straightened to her full height, which reached to Sabina’s chin, and held out her hand.
“Daughter.
I do apologize. I am delighted to meet you, of course. After all this time.”

Sabina took her hand, thinking of the unintended irony of her stepmother’s remark.
Daughter?
Sabina had to be at least four years older than she.

“And I, you, Baronin.” She bowed a brief curtsy. “I believe I must offer a belated thank you for the use of your wedding gown. Unfortunately, given the differences in our … statures, and the wet weather that day, I am afraid it did not survive the event. I would be happy to repair or replace it.”

The baronin withdrew her hand from Sabina’s and waved the problem away. “Don’t bother. It holds no sentimental value for me whatsoever. You may give the rags to the servants, if you wish. I am certain it would make excellent dusters.”

“Oh … I see.” Nonplussed, Sabina indicated the baronin should reseat herself, and did the same. The two women eyed each other for a moment, each taking the other’s measure.

Small and thin, the baronin had a nervous habit of pulling at the blond wisps of hair trailing from her cap. Her pale blue eyes regarded Sabina intently for a moment, and Sabina felt the calculation in her gaze. How did one so young become so world-weary?

“I understand you came seeking my husband?” Sabina prompted.

“Yes. I had hoped he could help me with a … a certain matter. I understand he is not at home. I have something of the utmost importance to tell him.” She folded her hands in her lap demurely and waited for Sabina’s curiosity to get the better of her.

It did. “I do not understand. What dealings do you have with my husband? I was not aware you had ever met,” Sabina said, trying not to appear rude. This was, after all, her relation, for what it was worth—she did not wish to begin on the wrong foot.

The woman’s eyes narrowed guilefully. The baronin was young, but a certain hardness seeped from her pores.

“Well, we have, but the last occasion was not under the most ideal of circumstances. I doubt he mentioned it to you, given that I was, shall we say, not presentable at the time?” Beneath her skirts, the baronin crossed her legs, an action only the loosest kind of woman engaged in.

A host of images ran through Sabina’s mind, none of them encouraging. Under what circumstances would her husband have had the occasion to see her young stepmother when she was “not presentable”? Jealousy nibbled at her heart, but she refused to succumb to it, preferring instead to trust her intuition: Wolf would have no more interest in bedding this scrawny, ill-mannered woman than he would in bedding his horse—which her nose strongly resembled.

Sabina smiled coolly. “Nay, he did not mention it. No doubt, it left such a little impression on his mind, he completely forgot about it.”

She watched her barb wing home and had the grace to feel sorry for her stepmother as the young woman’s face reddened.

“This message you have … is it something I can pass along?” Sabina asked more politely. She had no desire to prolong this meeting, and the sooner they got to the point of it, the better.

Her stepmother steepled her fingers. Sabina’s eyes widened at her razor sharp nails. The baronin stared at her and then straightened her back, as though coming to a decision.

“Yes, I suppose you’ll do just as well. It concerns the baron and some financial irregularities Master Behaim will find interesting.”

Sabina gave a curt nod, indicating the younger woman should continue.

“I had hoped Master Behaim would be at home to receive my news.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “He promised me I would be rewarded handsomely should I discover anything of use to him.”

Sabina’s confusion must have shown in her expression, because the baronin hastened to explain.

“Your husband has enlisted my aid to monitor Marcus’s activities. It seems
my
husband has dipped his finger where it does not belong one too many times.”

“My husband asked you to spy on the baron? For a fee? Why ever would he ask this of you? It makes no sense.” And why had he not told Sabina?

The baronin shrugged. “It makes perfect sense, if you understand the nature of their relationship. Marcus has a hold over Master Behaim. Your husband is not the sort of man who would allow such a situation to continue indefinitely. Master Behaim strikes me as a man who is ruthless about weakness—his own, or anyone else’s. He apparently felt it would be—prudent—to learn all he could about Marcus’s activities in the event something proved useful to him.”

Cold dread seized her. “What sort of hold does the baron have over Wolf?”

The baronin shrugged. “I do not know. I have been unable to determine that thus far. Mayhap you should ask your husband when he returns,” she added shrewdly.

“Yes, mayhap I should,” Sabina murmured, infuriated this woman knew more about Wolf’s private matters than she. “But why would you risk the baron’s displeasure to aid Wolf against him? He would no doubt perceive any such actions as disloyalty on your part. Does this not place you in a rather precarious position as far as your marriage is concerned?”

“I believe my position is precarious enough already to warrant a change in my loyalties. The baron is not the most generous man in Saxony, as well you know, and I plan to be living independently very soon. Master Behaim offered me what I need. I want your assurances, if I tell you what I know, you will give him the information I have.” She looked around her doubtfully again. “I hope he can pay. I will accept your promise of payment in his stead.”

“I cannot offer any such promises, since I was not party to your original transaction. However, my husband is a man of his word. If he said he would pay you for this information, then he will. I promise I will relate everything you tell me to him at the earliest opportunity. Now, what is it you wish to say?”

Satisfied, the baronin eagerly leaned forward to relate her news.

“I have access to certain information that leads me to believe Marcus has stolen money from the city treasury. Documents exist showing he maintained a separate register of accounts from those he presented to the city while he acted as treasurer. Other documents show investments he made in a Dutch sailing vessel to bring spices and fabrics from the East, but which was apparently lost at sea. According to his man of affairs, with whom I’ve established a … friendship, it is not possible he could have afforded such an investment from the income the land and rents now produce. To put it simply, my dear husband is a thief.”

Sabina sat back, dumbfounded. “Is the baron aware you know all of this?”

The younger woman arched a brow. “The baron is not aware I can
count,
let alone read.”

Sabina frowned. “I do not understand.”

The baronin twisted her lips in a bitter smile. “I serve one purpose in your father’s life, and it has nothing to do with my intellect.”

“I see,” Sabina breathed, and felt sorrier for her still. “This could be very dangerous for you, if it is true. If the baron realizes you know, he will take retribution. And even if he does not, if it becomes known he has committed such crimes, he would be—”

“Exiled. Or executed,” the baronin finished coolly. “Would you object so much?”

Sabina rose from her seat and paced over to the window. She gazed out on the gardens, and thought about her adoptive father—the man who had betrayed her, brutalized her, and forgotten her. The man who had as much as sold her to a total stranger for a thousand ducats. Even now, it was hard to let go of the girlhood dreams of reconciliation, unaware until this moment she still treasured them.

“I … do not know. He is, after all, the only father I have known. My own died before I was born.” She laid a hand against the cool pane of glass. “God commands us to honor our fathers. I have been remiss in this in the past—perhaps, the way things stand between us now, our lack of affection is no more than I deserve.”

“And if I told you I believe he is not just a thief, but a murderer as well? That he may have been responsible for your mother’s death, and his third wife as well? Would you mind so much then?”

Sabina swung around to face her. “What are you saying? How do you know this?” she demanded, her heart pounding.

The baronin hesitated. “Well, I do not know it for certain. But—I suspect it.”