Day of Freedom
Tara Tory



It was over. He was glad. He hardly had the energy to get up out of his chair. It had been exhausting. It had been hell. But it was over.

Over.

He finally got up, and went to the window. He’d heard the car pull up outside, at least a half hour ago. Yes, it was there. A small red car, slung low to the ground, the sort which looked fast even standing still.

He stood looking at it for a long time before he let the curtain fall back into place. His steps were quite slow as he went to the door, and down the stone steps to the drive. The measured crunch, crunch, crunch of his feet on the gravel seemed loud to his ears. He stopped by the driver’s door and looked down. The sprawled form looked as exhausted as he felt himself. Head back, hand up to the eyes, and the mass of golden hair over his eyes, protecting it from the sun.

Not as much golden hair as there once was. It had been said that the Earl of Gloria had shorn it all off in despair at midnight on the day after the wedding of Klaus von dem Eberbach to his pretty bride, Elandra.

Elandra. Elandra. Elandra Marie.

“What are you doing here?” Klaus asked. It was not in an accusatory tone, it did not demand to know why he had dared to come onto the property. Instead, it seemed to ask why he was slumped in the front seat of his car, with his eyes covered and his face so devoid of expression.

“Sorry. Was trying to find the nerve to do it,” the blond answered, without turning his head to look at the other man. He did bring his hand away from his eyes.

“Do what?”

“I came to…offer my condolences and to remind you that…if I can be of service to you. You need only to call.”

“Thank you.” It was flat, the rote words of a man who has said something similar so often.

There was a short silence. Then Dorian asked, “Was it as bad as it seemed?”

“Worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes.”

There was another silence, this one longer.

“Will you come in?”

Dorian lifted his head. “Are you sure?”

“I’m always sure.” It was said with bitter, self-mocking irony.

“Did it begin well, at least?” Dorian asked as he slowly unfolded himself and opened the car door. He rose from the car gracefully, shut the door quietly and turned. He was half a step behind his host as they climbed the steps and entered the building. Their steps echoed on the marble as they walked to the drawing room. Dorian hesitated at the door, but then stepped in.

“Yes, I know,” Klaus said. The room had been redecorated since the last time Dorian had been here. With unfortunate results, really. Elandra. “I suppose it can be put back to the way it was.”

“That would be good,” Dorian agreed.

“Yes.” They sat before the fireplace, which now held ferns and black glossy pillars of marble upon which squat candles perched. It wasn’t unattractive. It just wasn’t right for this room in the schloss. There was another little silence.

The door opened. Klaus’ butler. “Do you require anything, sir?”

Klaus looked over at Dorian. It was mid-morning. Too early to drowned his sorrows, even if that had been his inclination. “Tea?” he asked Dorian, who nodded. “Tea. Please.” he said. Then he added, “Did you do as I asked?”

The man gave a stiff bow. “Yes. May I say, sir, it was a pleasure.” He turned and left, closing the doors behind him.

Dorian sent a questioning look his way. Klaus said, “I had him fire them all. Every single one of them. Her…minions. He is to try and find replacements in the village.”

“I had heard she had doubled the staff.” He kept the comment neutral. That was not all he had heard.

“Yes.” Doubled the staff. Tripled his costs. Quadrupled his headaches. “I suppose you read it in the papers.”

“The coverage has been amazing,” Dorian said cautiously. It was bad enough that the woman Klaus had married had proved to be so…unsuitable. She had gone out of her way to make sure every loop of the downward spiral of their relationship was exposed in print. She had been a socialite and had somehow turned into a party girl after her marriage. The magazines had implied that being married to her stiff and stuffy husband had caused it.

“Amazing…is not the word I would have chosen.”

“I suppose not. But. Now. It’s final. The divorce. You needn’t have anything to do with her, again.”

“Never,” Klaus said, but there wasn’t relief in his voice, just sadness and pain.

There were all the questions Dorian couldn’t ask. Did you love her? At least at first? Is your heart broken? Or are you just angry? He had expected anger. That infamous temper. But cold sadness wasn’t the man’s usual reaction to disaster, and so he was not sure how to go on. He did know it would be insane to mention anything of his own progression of anger and sorrow, cycled over and over again for the past two and a half years. He doubted the man could endure any more upheaval, even if he cared.

“I had to sell the farm in Bavaria,” Klaus said. “To pay the expenses and cover the settlement.”

“At least your father isn’t here to….” Suffer? Berate you? Express his keen and utter disappointment? The old man had died only a few months before, after a lengthy illness. He had been the reason Klaus had moved carefully against his wife, instead of going for a quick divorce. All for nothing. In the end, the old man had known that Klaus had failed. Failed to sustain his marriage, failed to provide an heir. Failed everything, since Klaus had lost his career in the process. His wife’s machinations had ruined it, and he had done the honorable thing and resigned. Not that he had been given a great deal of choice.

“He’s dead,” Klaus agreed. They were interrupted then, by the arrival of the butler with the silver tray. There was a quiet moment as they sorted out cups. The butler provided coffee for Klaus, and tea for Dorian, poured out and left again. There were little lemon biscuits and crisp rounds of toast with some sort of savory paste on them that tasted of bacon. Klaus ate one of each stoically. Dorian nibbled his way through a handful of the biscuits, which were just a little dry.

“At least there were no children,” Dorian said, eventually.

“I wanted children. An heir,” Klaus said. Half the reason he had married--no, more than half--was to provide the heir his father expected him to create. There had been no chance, it had turned out. A few months ago she had taunted him about his efforts to make a baby, and told him gleefully that she had been on the pill the entire time. All that damned work, for nothing. At least it made the divorce easy enough to get.

“It is not too late to try again,” Dorian said dubiously. In his opinion, no heir was worth what it took to make one the old-fashioned way.

Klaus said nothing. They sat in the quiet room. Dorian nibbled another dry biscuit, scraping away small layers of dry sweetness with the edge of his teeth.

Klaus eventually spoke. “I don’t plan to try again. I do not plan to have a social life. I plan to live quietly.”

Dorian nodded. That made sense. It was going to take a few years for the gossip and notoriety to die down. Assuming that bitch didn’t make a special effort to keep the pot stirred. She was such a nasty piece of work. That stunt with the pool boy….

“Tell me,” Klaus said. “Is it…” He paused and began again, “She…led me. Maneuvered me into screaming matches, provoked me, used me. By the time I learned to refuse to play her games, that I could not win them, I was in a position of defense and not offense. I have not been able to best her.

"She has told me she will go out dancing tonight to celebrate the signing of the decree. They…she and her friends…are having a party at her favorite club. You are the most manipulative, sly and devious person I know,” he leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “How do I ruin her party?”

“Oh." Dorian sat straight up, intrigued. "I’m afraid it would probably require one last social moment, if you want to be on hand to see the crash. And, of course, knowing you, you’ll want to keep the higher ground. Nothing too tawdry. We don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I think the situation does call for just a little sleeze. Or, just showing up with someone marvelous on your arm might do it, I suppose. Very traditional. It’s short notice, mind you. Perhaps…. The newest hot model, Electra. She’s a friend, of sorts. She might do me the favor. Too bad you don’t do boys, because I know a lot more male celebrities than female. To do this right, you’d need a new wardrobe. Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble? They do say living well is the best revenge, you know. You'd have to appear to be doing so.”

“She’ll be living well enough off my money. Which she didn’t need. She has a small fortune of her own. As she reminded me often enough.” Klaus scowled.

Dorian leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands while he thought. After a few minutes he said, “Are you willing to go shopping?”

It meant everything when the man said yes.

***

The room was only half full, and it was almost…quiet. Damn. This was not how she had planned it! Where was everyone? Why weren't they helping her celebrate?

Her friend said, “Darling, I’ve found out the problem. It’s a private party in the Twilight room. Well, not really so private, because a lot of our crowd has drifted over there. Lots of A list, very exciting. Rock musicians, Dwayne said, and I’d swear that’s Elton John on the piano. Electra, too, and some of her friends, and she’s wearing this purple skirt that’s made out of the most amazing fabric. I so want one!”

By the time her friend had dropped the Electra name, Lannie was sliding off her chair and standing up, her hand automatically going to check that her curls were still in place. It had been so annoying when her party, which had started so well, had seemed to dwindle. She could see the attraction, however, and was willing to follow along. Most of these people bored her lately, anyway. It would be nice to meet someone new. Specifically, a man. Now that she had finally escaped the horror that was von dem Eberbach, she needed someone totally different. Someone funny and sexy and willing. Young would be good, too. Klaus had been so old. It wasn’t just the ten years between their ages. It was that attitude of his. Like he was the only person whose opinion mattered. Everything his way. Which would have been okay if his way hadn’t been so last-century. Possibly the century before that. His idea of a good time had been cleaning his gun. And he’d been impossible in bed. Not at all inventive or willing to spend much time on her pleasure. He honestly seem to believe that the primary purpose of going to bed with her was to make a baby.

He’d been very sincere about the baby-making. While he was on top of her he had been very energetic about it. But he had no…no real interest in making her happy in bed. It was as if he had learned off his lessons about sex in a school, and applied them with the same determination he had probably given to homework. Get it done according to the book, get it done efficiently, get it done fast. It may have worked with school, but it didn’t make for satisfying love-making. Although that might have been the problem, right there. Love. The next time she got married, she was going to do it because she was head-over-heels in love. Not because the man was handsome, rich and had a castle and an exotic job.

So she approached the group in the room across the hall, her eyes sparkling with interest. She paused in the arched doorway. Not her usual crowd at all. Lots of men with longer hair, though. She had a weakness for long hair on men. It stood for a wild heart, an unconventional outlook, a brazen and refreshing boldness. It said ‘Look at me,’ ‘I’m different,‘ it said, and, ‘I care nothing for what you think.’ It had been the hair which had fooled her about Klaus. His hair lied. It said all those things, but it said them to someone else. To Klaus’ bosses, perhaps, or his father. The hair also said, ‘I’m sexy.’ But it lied. He was pedestrian and dull and had the sex appeal of…of a kumquat.

She walked in with her drink, and after ten minutes, she had circulated a bit, and emptied the glass. She drifted towards the bar for a new one, and that was when she saw the group near the fireplace. This was the center of the party, she decided, looking them over. What beautiful men and women. A dozen people, most of them standing and talking, a few seated. She envied that man on the couch with the gorgeous blonde on one side and the coffee and cream beauty of Electra on the other.

With her new drink in hand she studied the group, and slowly came to some startling conclusions. First, the blonde on the far side was actually a man. He had the most incredible hair, in layered curls to his shoulders. He was dressed quite flamboyantly in silk and feathers, with tight white pants and a scarf around his neck. The man in the middle was wearing black leather pants that looked painted on, and a black shirt open at the throat. His long hair was pulled back and fastened with a leather thong. He looked delicious. The model was on the other side, curled up against him. Electra’s long, elegant fingers were stroking along his jaw and up to his ear, then running down through his long glossy black hair. She was wearing a bit of nothing in purple that, when she turned certain directions, became almost transparent.

The man in the middle with his arms around both the famous model and the beautiful man looked vaguely like her ex-husband. Then he turned his head to hear what the blond was saying and she realized.

The man in the middle *was* her ex-husband.

But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t! Not stick-in-the-mud Klaus! Klaus, who had lectured her in that odious way about how to behave in public. Klaus, whose lack-luster attentions had driven her into the arms of others. When he had found out about her lovers he had been stupid and cruel. Which hadn’t exactly driven her back into his arms.

She watched as someone came up and asked Electra to dance. The model let the man pull her up from the couch. The man who slid into the vacated spot was a famous drummer. A rock musician in cropped pants and a leather vest, with spiked hair and painted nails. He whispered something in Klaus’ ear and they laughed! Klaus laughed! Damn him! He should be miserable tonight. He should be huddled in that ugly mass of stone he called a house, eating his heart out with regret!

The anger moved her across the room to stand in front of them. She swallowed the last of her drink and tossed the glass aside. It bounced on the carpet and rolled up against the tile of the hearth, unnoticed. Everyone stopped talking and was looking at her.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him.

He had that cool, uncaring look on his face. She wanted to hit him with a stick until some real expression took up residence.

The blond answered. “We’re celebrating, love. Our dear friend Klaus was divorced today. We’re having an off-with-the-ball-and-chain party.” He had a cultured British accent and the gayest hand gestures she had ever seen.

“Funny, there seems to be more than one party here tonight with that theme,” she said with an edge to her voice.

“God!” said the drummer, squinting up at her. “It’s the ex!”

The blond leaned forward to get a good look at her. “Really?” He blinked, then gave a small shrug as if it hardly mattered. “You’re the one who let this hot man get away?”

She shrugged right back at him. “You’re welcome to him, Blondie. Hot? He’s mean and cheap and lousy in bed.”

This made him laugh. “If you say so. Perhaps he just hasn’t had the right partner. Someone who understands him.” Which you don’t, his tone implied.

“Who’d want to?” she snapped back.

“Me, of course. It won’t be easy but I’m willing to do the hard work. I’m doing my best to persuade him to take up bisexuality. In fact, I’ve decided to make convincing him my life’s work!” He simpered at her, but almost in the same movement he turned his attention back to Klaus, stinging her with his casual dismissal.

“Do you need some help?” asked the rock star, running his hand down Klaus’ chest. And he didn’t get screamed at or hit. Perhaps Klaus was drunk.

“Hands off, Mark,” said the pretty man, and there was steel in his soft voice.

Mark pulled his hands off of Klaus as if his hands had been burned. “Sooor-ry!” he said.

The blond looked up again, studying her, while settling closer to her ex-husband. His body seemed to mold to that of Klaus, and the touch of his hand was light as he settled it on Klaus’ chest. “I’m sending you roses in the morning. Unless you’d like something more exotic? I was in utter despair when he married, because of course Klaus is so honorable he’d never break his wedding vows. He is quite a strong man, and was raised Catholic, and I thought that meant that utterly nothing would change his mind and make him ignore his vows. But you managed to dissolve them.” There should have been sarcasm dripping from those last four words, he sounded honestly impressed.

“So that is why he was such a lousy husband? He’s a closet homosexual?” It explained a lot. And it felt good, too. None of that disaster was her fault, then. All his. Ha!

“No, no. Latent, or at least one can hope so, but he‘s never shown the slightest interest in men. I’d have noticed,” he declared, his head slipping onto Klaus‘ shoulder.

Klaus said, “Take your fingers off my nipple before I break them.”

The blond blinked and moved his fingers. “I do have my work cut out for me.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You do. The man has all the warmth of a fish.”

“But fish can be delicious! You rub them with a little oil and apply just the right amount of heat, and then mmmm! All you need is the right chef,” he said suggestively.

“I’m not food,” Klaus said, frowning.

The man never could flirt properly. She was tired of him. She’d been tired of him since the second month of their marriage. Why was she wasting time talking to him? Not that she was talking to him. Blondie there was doing all the talking.

“You’re not a lot of things,” she told Klaus. She wished she could have thought of a better parting shot, but the whole thing was pointless. She looked out over the room. Surely there was someone interesting--and male--to talk to. Half her friends were here, after all.

“Well, one thing he happens to be,” the blond said, “is free.”

Klaus blinked. The corner of his lip turned up, and then, to her surprise, it turned into a full grin which illuminated his entire face. He looked younger, and happy.

She wanted to kick his face in. But instead, she lifted her chin, turned and swept away. But she heard him say it before she was out of range.

“Free.”