"So, what do you think

The Twelfth Governess

Chapter I

A/N: "Let's start at the very beginning…" You may find this story a little different, although it is not an alternate universe story. Most of it will be written in the Captain's point of view and in the Reverend Mother's point of view. Some of it is loosely based in the German movie "Die Trapp Familie". In this Chapter, you'll learn how the relationship between Elsa and Georg began. A little warning – my Baroness is not a wicked evil witch, quite the contrary!

Acknowledgements: My thanks to Mellie, for the usually practically perfect beta work, and to Max (maxisback) for suggesting the Baroness's maiden name.

Disclaimer: I don't own "The Sound of Music", "Die Trapp Familie", etc.

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"In all the famous love affairs
The lovers have to struggle.
In garret rooms away upstairs
The lovers starve and snuggle.
They're famous for misfortune which
They seem to have no fear of,
While lovers who are very rich
You very seldom hear of."

Rodgers & Hammerstein, How can love survive?

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"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." (1)

Jane Austen had been wrong. Captain Georg Rittervon Trapp was indeed a single man in possession of a good fortune. But he was most definitely not in want of a wife. He had one once, and now she was gone; he didn't want the heartache again. Unlike most society matches, theirs had been, above all, a love match. A true and veritable case of love at first sight. The fact that the marriage was also convenient to both families involved had been completely irrelevant – he had married Agathe because he loved her, not because it was expected or deemed appropriate. And now, several years after her death, he still felt that no one could ever replace his sweet wife both as a companion and as a lover. The event of her death had been terribly hard on him, and his family, but nothing had prepared him for the pain that would follow.

The pain…

In order to protect himself from it, in the months that followed his loss, he had been successful at shutting everything out. All the sounds, sights, and smells of her. He had cleaned his surroundings of every single memory of her, locking her belongings in the attic, her photographs in his desk drawer. It all had proven to be useless, because she was still there, a little trace of her in every single one of his seven children. Her eyes were Friedrich's, her voice - Brigitta, her laughter – Louisa. Liesl, Kurt, Marta, and Gretl – her grace, mischievous sense of humor, shyness, and her child-like curiosity. He never knew when it would hit him, when he would look at a child and see her. He couldn't bear to see his dead wife in his children, so he shut them out, he shut them all out. He hid his wife in the attic; he hid behind his various trips, leaving behind his children and memories of her.

No, he did not want another wife, although, because of his children, he was now beginning to acknowledge the fact that he needed one. He found himself considering marriage again, and not, as one might think, because of the normal physical needs of a very passionate, hot blooded man.

No, not that. It had taken more than one year after the loss of his wife to acknowledge the need of a woman in the physical sense. The result had been a series of very discreet, brief affairs. The affairs had been conducted with equally sophisticated and intelligent women, well aware of the rules of the game, and who would no make any demands on him. However, they had left him bitterly empty and unsatisfied emotionally.

He did not want a wife, but he needed a mother for his children, for there was at least one thing in which Agathe needed a replacement – as a mother. It had taken him too long to realize that, and it had cost him too much already. As a father, he was feeling completely lost, and utterly incompetent. Unable to regain their affection, he vowed that the children would be properly educated. This was the only atonement he could give them, as his heart was still in mourning. In the first months following Agathe´s death, his only source knowledge of discipline had been the Navy – the last thing he wanted was to apply the same antiquated rules that his parents had used on him. And so, with same military discipline he applied in his warships, he ran his household. This would keep them from talking, from laughing, from being his wife's children. And it would keep him from remembering.

His memories often haunted him at night. When he was so lonely that he would actually ache for her, a pain that was almost physical. Then, in the morning, after rising from a fitful night's sleep – he would see her again in his children, and the memories would immobilize his heart. A heart, though broken, would be able to mend; but only if he tended it. He would try to be a father to his children again, but then he would see her in their faces, and his anger would over take him. During those dark moments, there were times when he would even blame Agathe for his misery – it had been her fault for leaving him, for dying, for abandoning their family, it had been Agathe who had caused this rift in his family. And then, when he managed to overcome his anger, he felt guilty for thinking of his wife in that manner. He vowed that he would fix things, before it was too late; it was all he could to. He knew he had to make things right, before the lives of his children were hopelessly ruined because of his grief.

Ever since the official mourning period which followed the death of his wife was over, women paraded themselves in front of him, all of them willing to rescue him from widowhood and mend his broken heart. Oddly enough, his brooding air of a tortured hero seemed to appeal to most of the eligible females, rather than repel them. What made it worse is that he was the perfect catch for them, possessing a deadly combination of handsome looks, wealth, and the status of one of Austria's greatest naval heroes. The young ones were drawn to him because of his dangerous looks and his glorious military feats, the older, more sophisticated women were attracted by his dry wit, and his sarcastic sense of humor. He was too much for a woman in search of a husband to resist, no matter if she was a sophisticated widow herself, or the debutante playing the piano for him.

Two years after Agathe's death, Baron and Baroness Eberfeld, long time friends of his family, had invited him to a formal dinner party at their home in Vienna. But as soon as he crossed the threshold, their intention became clear – to introduce him officially to their 21 year old daughter, Pauline. The outcome was already known to him. Naturally, he was not interested in young virgins fresh out of exclusive boarding schools. He was looking for a very specific combination of qualities in the woman who would become the second Baroness von Trapp – elegance, class, impeccable upbringing, and a good family name. These qualities would help her, and him, to guide his children into what the world expected of them, and, at the same time be a companion to him, matching his own wit and sophistication. No, she needed to be his equal in every sense of the word. Everything he thought would make his children happier. But the women who were paraded before him were not only absolutely inadequate - they usually disappeared after they heard about the seven children his wife had left him with.

As soon as the introductions were over, Pauline von Eberfeld had been sent to the piano, and an endless concert had begun, during which the young woman was supposed to dazzle him with her musical abilities. However, there was no chance of that happening. It was not that she was a bad musician – she was above average, in fact, just good enough to his well trained ears. But still, he soon found himself dissecting the girl's performance mercilessly, finding flaw with every musical phrase she produced in the piano.

"So, what do you think?" a woman next to him whispered. It was obvious what the subject of her question was – the girl playing the piano.

"I do believe that Chopin himself couldn't have given a more… elongated concert himself." He replied sarcastically, throwing her a sideways glance. Under normal circumstances, this would be the only answer the lady would receive. The next step would be a polite nod and a murmured excuse, and he would get away – he had already had his share female attention for one evening, and it was one of those nights when he was definitely not looking for companionship. But something about her stopped him from his usual rebuff. It was not her elegance or beauty, although she possessed these in spades, but there was also something oddly familiar about her.

A memory.

Not now, he thought, grimacing, taking another sip of his champagne as he turned his attention back to the musician. He was there to run from memories, and not to meet them.

"I see," she continued, when he remained silent. "Well, she was right about you, of course." He looked at her scowling, but he still did not speak, did not dare to ask her who had been right about him, because he was afraid he knew the answer only too well. Seeing his confusion in his eyes, she continued. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

The memory came to him, and he was not able to stop it.

He had just been offered the command of the SMU-6, the submarine recently acquired by the Austrian Imperial Navy. On a sunny day, nearly twenty years earlier, the boat was being christened, at the naval base in Fiume. It was no small occasion, since among the guests there was none other than John Whitehead, the son of the late Robert Whitehead, whose shipyard manufactured the submarine. The Whitehead family name had become a legend in the Navy, ever since Robert had developed the first self-propelled torpedo in 1866. The honor of christening the boat would be given to John's twenty year old daughter, Miss Agathe Whitehead.

The memories of that day were a pleasant blur for him. He remembered being introduced to Agathe and to her cousin, the youngest daughter of the Count von Enns. The Comtesse was absolutely dazzling, Agathe was not. She was beautiful, yes, but not exceptionally so, although she had the most captivating smile he had ever seen. At a ball, later that evening, the men had fallen over themselves to court the tall, elegant Elsa; he, however, could not resist the petite figure of Agathe and her smiling light brown eyes. He saw only Agathe Whitehead, who less than one year later, would become his wife.

He recalled seeing Elsa again a couple of times after his engagement, since she and Agathe had been inseparable as children. But never once after they were married – only the occasional telegram, or even more rare, a telephone call. Vaguely, he recalled his wife telling him that her cousin had married a millionaire nearly 30 years her senior she had been introduced to at the ball which had followed the SMU-6 christening.

"Comtesse Enns," he said softly.

"Oh my, you do have quite a memory – that particular legend about you is true, at least" she said. "But it's Elsa von Schraeder now. Or just Elsa. We are old acquaintances, after all." She leaned into him, nudging his shoulder playfully with hers.

The name picked his interest. Baron Rufus von Schraeder had been a close friend of his father, who had passed away a week after Agathe´s death. When it happen, he had been so distressed by grief that he had failed to pay his respects to the family, and he could not help but feeling guilty about it.

"So you are Rufus…"

"Widow, yes. Isn't it a terrible coincidence? We both met our spouses on the same day, and we lost them within a week of each other."

"Indeed," he said cryptically, raising his eyebrows. She did not look at all like a grieving widow, and he wondered how she had managed to survive after loosing her husband. Unlike his marriage, he wagered hers had not been a love match, but a match none the less. Even still, the Baroness didn't appear to be the grieving – either due to her upbringing or the politics in her marriage - he wasn't sure. Baron Schraeder had been described to him by Max Detweiler, one of his best friends, as being "richer than God and uglier than the devil".

Elsa – Baroness Schraeder now – continued speaking. "I went to see her at the hospital, you know. Just before it happened."

"I'm sorry, she never told me," he replied a bit curtly. It was rare, nowadays, but it still happened – once in a while he would run into someone who had not seen him since Agathe´s funeral. And the questions and comments about her would automatically happen. All he could do was to brace himself for the pain and do everything within the limits of politeness to drop the subject as quickly and elegantly as possible.

"Would you like to know what she said to me?" she asked.

Not really, he wanted to reply, but he had to force himself to hold his ground, for the sake of politeness. At the piano, Pauline was beginning to play a Mozart Sonata, one who happened to be Agathe´s favorite. He closed his eyes for a moment. Elsa did not seem to notice his discomfort, or, if she did, she did not seem to mind it.

"He has lost the Navy, now he is going to loose me… She said that you would try to wallow yourself in self pity, and that it was up to me, my poor husband and sweet old Max to keep it from happening." She patted his arm lightly, as if to give him comfort and reiterate her understanding of his loss.

"That does sound like my wife," he grimaced. Just hours before she died, Agathe had tried to make him promise her that he would remarry. A promise he had refused to give her.

"Unfortunately, I was never good in keeping my promises, even to my closest childhood friend. And then, one week later my poor Rufus died," she rambled on. "And once that awful mourning period was over, you… well, let's just say I was surprised. First you disappeared from the face of the earth, then you… oh, admit it, you have not become the most charming bachelor in Vienna! You are utterly unapproachable, did you know that?" He chuckled. "Max told me you…"

"Are we really talking about Max Detweiler?"

"Why, is there any other Max?"

"What else did the old sponge tell you about me?"

After that evening, Elsa was his constant companion, and he escorted her to the Opera, to concerts, and to every ball of the season. Max Detweiler, a mutual friend of both, began acting as their chaperon, whenever he was needed. At first the Baroness had to drag Georg to every event. But after a while, he began to admit that it was nice to be out in the world again, to laugh again, even though his laugher never reached his soul.

She became his armor, his shield against his own memories. He could not help but being impressed by the manner in which she used her impeccable skills to whisk away any unwanted attention that he might be attracting, before he even became aware of it. Little by little, he began to see her not only as a good friend, but as a mature woman who possessed all of the qualities he was looking for in the wife he needed - beauty, brains, breeding, and birth. She was perfect in every sense of the word, and he was certain that his family, and even Agathe´s family, would approve the match.

He also knew she would make a good lover – the way she responded to him told him as much. There was a mutual physical attraction between them that could not be denied. However, since the day he realized that he began seeing her as potential wife, instead of a potential convenient mistress, he held himself back. Although Elsa hinted that she was open to the possibility that they became intimate, and even though they would hardly be condemned by society if that happened, his sense of propriety demanded that he conducted their alliance following all of the rules.

And the rules dictated that, once his decision was made, the next step would be to introduce her to his children.

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A/N: (1) Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice.