Read Online Borne in Blood by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Fantasy, Horror, Vampires, Occult & Supernatural, Nobility, blood, Guardian and Ward, Paramours, Switzerland
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provide a change of scene and a chance to stop brooding, which I confess I have done for most of the winter. I will content myself with Amsterdam and Bruxelles, and hope that one day I may again venture beyond Europe.
It has been quite warm and pleasant this last week, and I believe that spring may finally have arrived in earnest. The trees have budded and unfurled their leaves, the ice is gone from the pond behind the château, and the first lambs have been born. I have seen farmers in their fields, and every day, the cowherds take their animals up into the mountains to graze, and shepherds are now away from their winter quarters, going with their flocks into the high meadows, where they will remain for most of the summer. Yet in spite of the hard weather we have endured, it is wonderful not to have the threat of war hanging over us as it did for so long. All those fine men, lost to life and home, or forced into beggary! It is shameful that the soldiers who were cheered a decade ago are daily spat upon in the street, useless flotsam now that their fighting has ruined them for other work.
In addition to the travel I have already described, the Comte has promised me a journey to Italy next year, and he will take me to hear whatever new work Signore Rossini has composed at that time. I have received some piano transcriptions of airs from his work Il Barbiere di Siviglia and enjoyed playing them; so amusing and witty. The instrument in the music room at his château—a forte-piano—is a bit old-fashioned but in excellent condition, and so it is always a pleasure to spend an hour or two at the keyboard. It is something I will enjoy as soon as I return to his château. He has penned a few melodies of his own for me to play, and a duet for us to play together. His musicianship is superior and it puts me on my mettle to play with him. Stickler that you are for accurate performance, I am persuaded you would find his playing to your satisfaction; he certainly performs beyond my capacity. The Comte also plays violin, viola, and guitar: he has one of each in his music room as well as some regional instruments, in particular, a Hungarian cimbalom, a kind of large, hammered zither. I am not overly fond of its sound, but I allow that he plays it well. If you should ever have occasion to visit here, I hope you will give him the opportunity to play for you on any or all of his instruments.
When your new book is published, I ask you will send me a copy so I may see how your discoveries are progressing. I often think of those days when we journeyed together, and all the places we saw: Rhodes, Cyprus, Egypt! While I realize it is impractical for me to accompany you as I did when I was a child, I cannot help but yearn for those days, and tell you how it saddens me that you are not able to give my children the same opportunities as I had from you; I fear they will be the worse for the lack of them. Perhaps when they are a bit older something may be arranged, for little as the Graf likes the Turks, he is an avid admirer of the ancient heros; in time he may see the advantage to permitting at least Siegfried, Bertram, and Berend to visit you at your excavation; I doubt he would permit Annamaria to travel into Ottoman territory, for fear she might be the victim of an outrage.
With every assurance of my continued affection and devotion,
Your most allegiant daughter,
Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee
4
There was mud on the hem of Hero’s walking-dress, and her kid shoes were all but ruined; still, she was laughing as Ragoczy helped her over the stile that connected his outer fields with those of his neighbor; her activity had excited her so that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Her high-brimmed bonnet à la Hussar set off her face and the curls that clustered at the edge of this confection. She gathered the frilled front of her walking-coat more tightly and released his steadying hand. “What a
It has been quite warm and pleasant this last week, and I believe that spring may finally have arrived in earnest. The trees have budded and unfurled their leaves, the ice is gone from the pond behind the château, and the first lambs have been born. I have seen farmers in their fields, and every day, the cowherds take their animals up into the mountains to graze, and shepherds are now away from their winter quarters, going with their flocks into the high meadows, where they will remain for most of the summer. Yet in spite of the hard weather we have endured, it is wonderful not to have the threat of war hanging over us as it did for so long. All those fine men, lost to life and home, or forced into beggary! It is shameful that the soldiers who were cheered a decade ago are daily spat upon in the street, useless flotsam now that their fighting has ruined them for other work.
In addition to the travel I have already described, the Comte has promised me a journey to Italy next year, and he will take me to hear whatever new work Signore Rossini has composed at that time. I have received some piano transcriptions of airs from his work Il Barbiere di Siviglia and enjoyed playing them; so amusing and witty. The instrument in the music room at his château—a forte-piano—is a bit old-fashioned but in excellent condition, and so it is always a pleasure to spend an hour or two at the keyboard. It is something I will enjoy as soon as I return to his château. He has penned a few melodies of his own for me to play, and a duet for us to play together. His musicianship is superior and it puts me on my mettle to play with him. Stickler that you are for accurate performance, I am persuaded you would find his playing to your satisfaction; he certainly performs beyond my capacity. The Comte also plays violin, viola, and guitar: he has one of each in his music room as well as some regional instruments, in particular, a Hungarian cimbalom, a kind of large, hammered zither. I am not overly fond of its sound, but I allow that he plays it well. If you should ever have occasion to visit here, I hope you will give him the opportunity to play for you on any or all of his instruments.
When your new book is published, I ask you will send me a copy so I may see how your discoveries are progressing. I often think of those days when we journeyed together, and all the places we saw: Rhodes, Cyprus, Egypt! While I realize it is impractical for me to accompany you as I did when I was a child, I cannot help but yearn for those days, and tell you how it saddens me that you are not able to give my children the same opportunities as I had from you; I fear they will be the worse for the lack of them. Perhaps when they are a bit older something may be arranged, for little as the Graf likes the Turks, he is an avid admirer of the ancient heros; in time he may see the advantage to permitting at least Siegfried, Bertram, and Berend to visit you at your excavation; I doubt he would permit Annamaria to travel into Ottoman territory, for fear she might be the victim of an outrage.
With every assurance of my continued affection and devotion,
Your most allegiant daughter,
Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee
4
There was mud on the hem of Hero’s walking-dress, and her kid shoes were all but ruined; still, she was laughing as Ragoczy helped her over the stile that connected his outer fields with those of his neighbor; her activity had excited her so that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Her high-brimmed bonnet à la Hussar set off her face and the curls that clustered at the edge of this confection. She gathered the frilled front of her walking-coat more tightly and released his steadying hand. “What a
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