March 11.
Vienna outskirts.
A warm spring breeze swept through Trentham Village, bending the tender green blades of grass in unison, like a mother's hand gently stroking a child's little head. Everything seemed so tranquil and languid.
In the small estate on the village's northwest side, a marble fountain murmured softly.
Beside the fountain, Madam Scheller sat beneath a short maple tree. Golden sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell upon the book in her hands, the most popular one of the day.
Her gaze passed over the French words one by one, yet she did not smile along with the story. Instead, a faint weariness unconsciously showed between her brows.
The Springer Spaniel curled up at Madam Scheller's feet suddenly rose and wagged its tail furiously at the tall, thin young man of sixteen or seventeen with light gray eyes who was entering the courtyard.
"Mother, Frau Fink said you had the servants sowing Oats with the Serfs?" The young man unfastened his sword, tossed it to the steward nearby, irritably loosened his cravat, and said loudly, "Once we return to Vienna, everyone will take this for a joke..."
"Shh—" Madam Scheller set down her book and raised a hand. "Lucas, mind your manners."
As if recalling something, she added,
"Oh, yes. Madame Colombier is coming this afternoon to discuss your service. You'll have to help me arrange the drawing room later. Those chairs are very heavy; this will require your strong arms."
The young man curled his lip in protest. "I'm going riding later. The Maids should be doing these things."
Madam Scheller's voice rose slightly. "Lucas, don't be willful. You know there have been too few hands in the household lately."
In truth, she very much disliked having her son perform such menial tasks beneath his station.