Read Online WoA2.23Smashwords by Amber Newberry - Free Book Online
Authors: Amber Newberry
Tags: Romance
Ads: Link
calm for us to cross the channel. I was lucky to not be taken ill on the crossing, many people were when the boat thrashed among the waves. Celia commented what good “sea legs” I had.
Julian spent little time with us during the days waiting for our boat, instead tending to business from India at the port. He told us that his stay in Germany would be brief and that he would part ways with us after only a night at the house in Stuttgart. He had to be off to India by the month’s end. He had become decidedly distant with me, and I did not understand why, though it was a somewhat welcomed change. I almost missed our banter.
The German countryside was beautiful, and I understood why there was such a rich mythical history associated with the people there. Celia admitted that had she been able to tear me away from Aunt Emmaline a week earlier, we might have visited Paris, but there was just not enough time and it might be dangerous just after the war.
“Perhaps when you leave the convent there will be time. You will have to have the latest fashions for your season in London and no one does that better than the French! Napoleon was good for something, after all,” she told me.
Stuttgart was a dark and beautiful place with the Black Forest floating by in the background. I found the architecture and woodwork of the little town’s buildings enchanting. The people were so kind when I spoke to them, although I was only just beginning to learn their language seriously, and was more well versed in French. Hilda taught me some German when I was younger, but my Aunt insisted that the emphasis be on what little French she could teach me. I was relieved that so many of the Germans I encountered were patient with me or at least knew a little French, and Celia and Julian were, of course, a huge help where the language barrier was concerned.
Celia’s family home was magnificent. Unlike Rhineholt’s dark, grey stone walls, it was big and white and seemed to shine beneath the sun. It had tall, elegant parapets and reddish brown, pointed caps on all of the towers. The house was set far back from Stuttgart with a pond that came right up to the Western walls. The reflection of the white towers on the water seemed to make it look even larger. I commented that it looked like a castle, and Julian corrected me.
“ Schloss ,” he said, smiling. I laughed at the way the word sounded as he said it.
“Yes, well, it is no schloss and it is nothing compared to what Hohenzollern was before it fell to despair,” Celia said.
Julian responded, “Ah yes, sadly it has been reduced to just a chapel, now. Tamsin, you will see a painting of what the Hohenzollern once looked like in the family hall of Hintergrundig , which is the proper name for Celia’s family home. We call it Anbetung, now , which means--”
“Adoration!” I interjected. I was excited any time I knew a word since I still had so much of the German language to learn.
Celia explained that Hintergrundig did not always belong to her family. The house was built for a great noble family many years ago and their line eventually came to an end when both of the sons of the house were killed at war. The house was sold to Celia’s Great, Great Grandfather who bought the house for his beloved wife, Gretel, thus the change of name to Anbetung . I found the history of the place fascinating, and Julian was impressed that I was taking such an interest in old houses and castles.
“It’s a shame you did not stay with us at Hilbourne Abbey. It is also remarkably old with a rather dramatic history, more so than even your Rhineholt,” he said. I had only ever seen Hilbourne from far away. It was said to be much older than my family home and the house seemed imperious from afar. Rhineholt was certainly smaller and it may have had the same, large grey stone look of a fortress, but it was not nearly as overbearing looking as Hilbourne.
Celia’s mother was seated in the drawing room awaiting our
Julian spent little time with us during the days waiting for our boat, instead tending to business from India at the port. He told us that his stay in Germany would be brief and that he would part ways with us after only a night at the house in Stuttgart. He had to be off to India by the month’s end. He had become decidedly distant with me, and I did not understand why, though it was a somewhat welcomed change. I almost missed our banter.
The German countryside was beautiful, and I understood why there was such a rich mythical history associated with the people there. Celia admitted that had she been able to tear me away from Aunt Emmaline a week earlier, we might have visited Paris, but there was just not enough time and it might be dangerous just after the war.
“Perhaps when you leave the convent there will be time. You will have to have the latest fashions for your season in London and no one does that better than the French! Napoleon was good for something, after all,” she told me.
Stuttgart was a dark and beautiful place with the Black Forest floating by in the background. I found the architecture and woodwork of the little town’s buildings enchanting. The people were so kind when I spoke to them, although I was only just beginning to learn their language seriously, and was more well versed in French. Hilda taught me some German when I was younger, but my Aunt insisted that the emphasis be on what little French she could teach me. I was relieved that so many of the Germans I encountered were patient with me or at least knew a little French, and Celia and Julian were, of course, a huge help where the language barrier was concerned.
Celia’s family home was magnificent. Unlike Rhineholt’s dark, grey stone walls, it was big and white and seemed to shine beneath the sun. It had tall, elegant parapets and reddish brown, pointed caps on all of the towers. The house was set far back from Stuttgart with a pond that came right up to the Western walls. The reflection of the white towers on the water seemed to make it look even larger. I commented that it looked like a castle, and Julian corrected me.
“ Schloss ,” he said, smiling. I laughed at the way the word sounded as he said it.
“Yes, well, it is no schloss and it is nothing compared to what Hohenzollern was before it fell to despair,” Celia said.
Julian responded, “Ah yes, sadly it has been reduced to just a chapel, now. Tamsin, you will see a painting of what the Hohenzollern once looked like in the family hall of Hintergrundig , which is the proper name for Celia’s family home. We call it Anbetung, now , which means--”
“Adoration!” I interjected. I was excited any time I knew a word since I still had so much of the German language to learn.
Celia explained that Hintergrundig did not always belong to her family. The house was built for a great noble family many years ago and their line eventually came to an end when both of the sons of the house were killed at war. The house was sold to Celia’s Great, Great Grandfather who bought the house for his beloved wife, Gretel, thus the change of name to Anbetung . I found the history of the place fascinating, and Julian was impressed that I was taking such an interest in old houses and castles.
“It’s a shame you did not stay with us at Hilbourne Abbey. It is also remarkably old with a rather dramatic history, more so than even your Rhineholt,” he said. I had only ever seen Hilbourne from far away. It was said to be much older than my family home and the house seemed imperious from afar. Rhineholt was certainly smaller and it may have had the same, large grey stone look of a fortress, but it was not nearly as overbearing looking as Hilbourne.
Celia’s mother was seated in the drawing room awaiting our
Similar Books
