The newcomer’s lip curled. He addressed himself deliberately, insultingly, to Von Sternburg. “I could blow that wall down with a sneeze. Tell the old man to move aside. I have work to do.”
“Sir.” Von Sternburg leaned close to his commanding officer’s ear, speaking in German. “Major Hoffmeister, this is the Graf von Courcelles. His family has held these lands since Charlemagne.”
“Am I meant to be impressed?” snapped the major. He spoke directly to Aurélie’s father for the first time, sticking his chin up like a weapon. “You do not seem to understand the situation, Monsieur de Courcelles. Pardon me. Monsieur le Comte. This castle has been requisitioned. Everything within and without these walls is now at the disposal of the imperial German army to do with as I please.”
“We shall provide you with receipts for anything taken, of course,” Lieutenant von Sternburg hastened to assure them. “You shall be made whole. When they are processed, that is.”
“Processed,” repeated Aurélie’s father with heavy sarcasm. “At least the man who last picked my pocket in Paris was an honest thief; he never pretended he meant to repay me.”
“Enough of this,” said the major. “Lieutenant, see the best room prepared for me—and one for yourself, of course. Dreier and Kraus will be billeted here, the rest of the men in the village. The peasants can see them settled. I want the mayors of all the villages in the district summoned here. They are to attend me at supper. I shall receive them . . .” His gaze took in the castle yard, the Italianate facade of the new wing, the bulk of the great keep. His eyes narrowed on the giant tower. He gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. “There. I shall receive them there. I want everything in place by seven. See to it, Von Sternburg.”
Turning on his heel, he walked away, taking it as a given that his demands would be obeyed, leaving the Comte de Courcelles fuming behind him.
Aurélie vented her ire on Lieutenant von Sternburg. “Are we to be your innkeepers or your captives?”
“Would it be easier to think of yourselves as our hosts?”
“The same way we’re meant to make a loan of our property? As if we had any choice in the matter!”
“Mademoiselle de Courcelles . . .”
“Why? Why did you have to come here? Why couldn’t you have gone to . . . to the castle at Le Catelet? Surely that would be more convenient for you? Why infest us here?”
“There were reasons.” Von Sternburg looked away. “Why aren’t you in Paris? I had thought you were meant to be in Paris.”
“There were reasons.” Aurélie tossed his own words back, mocking him, while the soldiers and the retainers looked on in horrified fascination. “Why should you be thinking of me at all? It’s none of your concern where I am.”
“But it is. At least now, now that we’re here. This is occupied territory, and you”— looking down, into her eyes, he said with disarming diffidence—“I suppose it is too much to hope you might not be entirely displeased to see an old acquaintance?”
“Are you mad?”
Von Sternburg smiled wryly. “The world’s gone mad. It would be strange if I didn’t go at least a little mad with it.”
Aurélie’s father was still staring after the major. His voice was like ice. “No Courcelles has ever been a servant in his own home. Never.”
“Sir. Monsieur le Comte.” Lieutenant von Sternburg stepped in front of him, between him and the retreating form of the major. “Whatever you are thinking . . . don’t.”
Slowly, Aurélie’s father turned his attention to the younger man. “Is that a threat, lieutenant?”
“No—a warning, only. Before you respond, know this. My grandfather fought at Mont-Valérien. My mother’s father. Perhaps you recall him, sir? The Graf von Enghein.”
“He gave me my sword and my parole. He was a true gentleman. Even if he was a Prussian.” The count subjected him to a long, measuring look. “You have the look of him—particularly about the nose.”
“Sadly, there are not so many of my grandfather’s stamp as there were.”
Aurélie’s father snorted. “Your commanding officer, for one?”
Von Sternburg bowed his head. “We must all find our way in this new world.”
“At the cost of your honor?” demanded Aurélie.
The lieutenant looked down at her, his expression rueful. “Honor demands I serve my country.”
Aurélie lifted her chin. “Honor demands I defend mine.”
“Your country, mademoiselle, or your pride?” asked Lieutenant von Sternburg quietly.
Aurélie found herself, maddeningly, without an answer.
Her father replied for her. “They are the same,” he said curtly. “The Courcelles and France have always been as one.”
Except when they hadn’t. Except when they had warred with the monarch or his favorites, when they had backed the wrong pretender to the throne or made too blatant a bid for power. But that had been in earlier, darker times, and now the enemy was clear, the enemy was standing before her.
“Are they?” asked Lieutenant von Sternburg. “There is a poet—an English poet—who says they also serve who stand and wait. It might be best to stand, sir.”
“What can one expect of an Englishman?” asked Aurélie impatiently.
“Action might be a salve to your pride, mademoiselle—but can France stand to lose the last of the family Courcelles? Or,” he added, with a bow in the direction of her father, “the hero of Mont-Valérien?”
Her father held up a hand. “Tell me, lieutenant. Why should I take advice from an enemy?”
“Because Herr von Sternburg is one of Maman’s admirers.” Aurélie’s voice sounded unnaturally high in the old stone courtyard, against the unfamiliar sounds of German voices in the background. “Is that not so, Herr von Sternburg?”
“I think any man of sense would find much to admire in Madame la Comtesse de Courcelles—and in her daughter.” For a moment, his eyes met hers. Aurélie felt the color rise in her cheeks, not because there was anything insolent in his stare, but because there wasn’t. Turning again to her father, he said, “I may be France’s enemy, sir, but I should wish not to be yours. There is a difference. My object is only to avert unnecessary strife. I should hate to see you discommoded. Any more discommoded, that is.”
“You speak like a diplomat, Lieutenant von Sternburg.”
“Sadly, no diplomat. Only a lowly aide-de-camp. And I must see to my superior’s supper. Until then, Monsieur le Comte, Mademoiselle de Courcelles?” Bowing his head, Lieutenant von Sternburg excused himself, grave and courteous.
Aurélie watched him go, tall and straight in his uniform, furious with herself, for giving so poor an account of herself, and with him, for giving the lie to his own words. Whatever respect he claimed to hold for her and her family, his actions spoke for themselves. He was here, with his ghastly superior, preparing to sleep in their beds and batten off their beef.
And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing.
Mad schemes flitted through her head. Poison, arson, havoc. But she knew them all for nonsense. Von Sternburg had made it clear that they were nonsense. That there was nothing to do but—how had he put it?—stand and wait.