Chapter 3

Theresia climbed the steps to her once familiar door, her violin case swinging against her tired legs, and hesitated. Her father might have bought this London town house after arriving in England nine years ago, but with his death, it was no longer up to him to welcome her inside. Would she be forbidden entrance now? Facing her vindictive stepmother should not be more frightening than facing a thief, but her nerves were getting the better of her. Staring hard at the black-painted door and brass knocker, Theresia summoned the only virtue she'd inherited from her father in spades: sheer determination. After three sharp knocks, the front door swung open revealing an unrecognizable butler.

Who was this? Where had Mr. Guiss gone? Overcoming her surprise, she choked out her name, her English accent perfect after years of practice. "Theresia Dvorak, home from the ladies' seminary."

The mention of her Bohemian family name made the butler's thick brows peak in response. She wished she knew whether his surprise was good or bad, for she hadn't planned on what she would do if he slammed the door in her face. Perhaps she should have lied about her name until after meeting with her stepmother.

Her breath relinquished its hold when the butler reluctantly stepped aside, eradicating her first, and likely her easiest, obstacle. Following him through the house to the sitting room, she seated herself and waited like an unwelcome guest in her own home.

"Lady Caspar will see you soon." The butler dipped his head and retreated.

The new title her stepmother carried jarred Theresia's ears. Lady Caspar was an opportunist. Her first widowhood had left her with little more than a tentative place in Society but no money. Her second marriage, to Theresia's father, had procured her the ownership of this house—a rare inheritance for a woman and one Theresia had thought Father had arranged for his daughter's care along with that of his wife and stepdaughter. Lady Caspar was nothing if not self-serving, for her third marriage had solidified her future completely with the addition of a title, yet Theresia doubted the woman would be satisfied.

Unless something had changed that Theresia did not know about.

It had been eight years since Theresia had first entered the seminary.

She gazed about the room. Perhaps the recent marriage was the reason for the redecorating. She could claim residing in this particular house for only a single year, but apparently nothing had stayed the same in the years since. New papers climbed up the walls in vogue designs. The family portraits were unrecognizable—none were of her Dvorak line. This wasn't the home that held her heart and a glimpse of her childhood, but it did hold her last memory of Papa. Lady Caspar and her spineless daughter, Helena, had intruded now even on that.

Theresia clenched her jaw when the door to the room scraped against the frame. She stood to face Lady Caspar, whose wide eyes preceded a cold smile. Silence stretched between them as they took their measure of each other. The rumors were untrue. Lady Caspar's peach dress was no doubt as expensive and fine as the rest of her wardrobe, but she was no ageless beauty. Her usual dull, dark hair showed streaks of gray by her temples, and new lines had surfaced to enhance her narrow eyes and prominent frown.

"Theresia, you ought not to have surprised me this way."

"I wrote for years, asking to return home. The only surprise was your lack of response." Theresia's voice remained controlled and calm. The proper manners and deportment suitable for a lady had been pounded into her during her near-decade at the school, but at the moment, she wished she were a man—intimidating and ruthless, maybe even like the thief she had encountered that morning. Despite her decidedly feminine frame and the morals she lived by, she'd rehearsed this moment for years and would not cower to her overbearing stepmother.

Lady Caspar tapped her chin. "I vaguely recall a letter from the headmistress of your school. She generously hired you on as a teacher. I do hope you did nothing to jeopardize such an opportunity."

Theresia had been gifted nothing. She had earned her position at the school, and only after enduring a great deal from Mrs. Stone and the other young ladies. Even after securing the position, she'd been little more than a servant. She knew better than anyone the risk of walking away, but the unknown had seemed far more favorable than staying. "I taught for two years, but I thought it sufficient time away from family ."

Lady Caspar smirked. Was the term family as revolting to her as it was to Theresia? "I hope you weren't planning on a celebration for your arrival. I leave town in the morning. Of course, you may stay here for the time being, and we will arrange for you to stay elsewhere upon my return."

"Elsewhere?" She had not planned to stay long, but she had hoped for a little time.

"You cannot think to live here. Oh, I forget. You've never met Lord Caspar. With all the fuss with Bonaparte, my husband cannot be too careful. He mustn't be seen associating with foreigners ."

There it was, the insult and dismissal Theresia had known would come, although she'd expected more emotion than the flippant words that so neatly rid her of the only family she had left. Deep down, she had harbored a thread of hope of salvaging their connection. It was no surprise that the woman Society praised was still deeply selfish, though the truth still stung. Theresia had never truly trusted any of the English, so why had she thought this one would ever change?

"I'll have a room made up for you, but you really should apologize for inconveniencing us all with your sudden presence." Lady Caspar's icy stare left Theresia with a cold chill. She fought the urge to shrink like she had done as a child, but history was a powerful influence. When her stepmother vacated the room, Theresia rubbed her arms, attempting to warm her confidence and scrub away the taunting feelings of abandonment.

Shortly later, a maid led her to her temporary room. As a young girl, Theresia had shared a bed with Helena, but she hardly expected to do so again. She stepped into a pale-yellow room and nodded with satisfaction. If she remembered correctly, it was the smallest of the guest rooms, but it was an improvement to her tight bedchamber at the seminary with barely enough room for a bed and wash table. It would do for now, until Theresia could reclaim what was hers and leave.

After washing the London dust accumulated on her face and hands, she refused to sit shut away in her room. The house was quiet as she wandered down the corridor. Where was Helena? She stopped at the door to her old room—Helena's room—and pushed it open bravely, half expecting to see her stepsister all grown up.

Her chest tightened, and not because of Helena's absence but because of the opulence of the room. So Helena was a princess now? Theresia shook her head, refusing to be jealous of the oversize furniture, the silk bedding, or the freshly cut flowers unappreciated in the vacant bedchamber. The only thing she cared about did not seem to be within the four walls, so she pulled the door shut again.

She passed Lady Caspar's room and resisted the temptation to open her door too. She would wait until tomorrow, after her stepmother left town, to search there. The next door marked her stepmother's personal sitting room. Theresia's nerves stretched as tight as her violin strings. It had been in this room that she'd seen Papa's most prized crystal vase for the last time. The treasure was meant to be Theresia's dowry and was worth a small fortune. Any patience she'd had suddenly fled. There was no waiting to check this room, even if it meant facing Lady Caspar again. Her desire to see the vase once more screamed at her to open the door and demand the vase's return.

She reached for the handle with one hand while tightening her fist with the other. A sharp yank followed by a thrust from her wrist pushed the door open with greater force than she'd intended, and she had to catch it from slamming into the inside wall.

Empty.

Of people, that is. But not empty of one sparkling bohemian crystal vase.

Her vase.

After shutting the door carefully behind her, Theresia's lips burst into a smile. The vase sat on a mantel above a small fireplace, and the light from the window caught on its intricate cuts. Like a beacon in a storm, it beckoned her with its unparalleled safety and the freedom only it could offer her.

She reached for it, grazing her fingers across the bottom of the cold glass to the base of solid gold up to the top that was embedded with a rainbow of expensive gems. Being the daughter of a famous glassblower had once been terribly exciting. Papa had been adventurous, bold, and a master of his craft. Before she could pick up the vase, a memory of Papa showing it to her for the first time flooded over her. His smile, full of pride, could be heard in his voice.

"Do you know the legend of the Bohemian glassblowers?"

"Yes, Papa. The Great Spirit led our grandfathers to the beechwood forest by the river and taught them how to make glass. The music came next, which is why I must practice my violin. Right, Papa?"

"You are correct, my zlatí?ko . Tradition must be preserved. And we were promised treasure untold, our people and our culture being—"

"The greatest treasure of all," she finished for him.

"But it isn't a legend, dear one. It's truth. And I am living it. The trade secrets of the glassblowers have been passed down through the generations. They are the reason our people have flourished despite the wars and the attempt to steal our culture from us. The very gift given centuries ago now runs through my veins blessing us. My crystal decorates the Hofburg Palace, and I have commissions from other royal families all over Europe."

And yet he'd saved his most prized piece for her. After all, she was his zlatí?ko—his little gold.

"There is magic in this one, my zlatí?ko. And it's all yours. Look at the precise cuts and the way it sparkles. Someday you must hold it in your hands and see both the past and the window to your future reflected there. Believe in the legends. They are more than stories. This vase is living history blessed by the Great Spirit of old. When the time is right, give this to your husband, and your future will be blessed and protected."

She did believe—both the legend and in the saving power of her dowry.

Or, at least, she had believed at one time.

Now she wanted nothing more than to claim her dowry, return home, and forget England altogether. Her eyes lowered and her stomach pinched with worry. Her father could never have known how small her chances to marry would be with no real presence in Society. With what little money she had earned, along with the monetary gift from the stranger today, she would try to book passage back to her native land, where she would find a matchmaker and marry the son of another glassblower. Her position in Society had mattered to her father, but it didn't matter to her. Making the journey on her own would be difficult, and marrying a stranger harder still, but seeing the vase made her yearn for a husband who valued the glassblowers' traditions enough that he would choose not to sell it. How she longed to see it on the mantel of her family home to bless and protect future generations just like her father had wanted.

Voices outside the door caused her hand to still on the glass. Logically, there was no reason for alarm. She had reached her majority and had every right to collect what belonged to her. She had never seen her father's will, but certainly her stepmother would not stand in the way of a vase when she'd claimed everything else. Even so, a swirl of panic swept through Theresia.

Many times over the years, she had wondered if her stepmother would allow her to retrieve her dowry. Why had she not waited until tomorrow to come for it? The plan had been to be patient and meet with their solicitor, and sneaking into Lady Caspar's sitting room and risking her ire was not part of it. She needed to hide. Mrs. Stone would not have approved of what she did next. The drapes were too thin for any covering, so she dove behind the sofa just as the door opened.

She felt like a much younger girl, stooped between the wall and the sofa, but if Lady Caspar discovered her, Theresia doubted she'd just be sent to her room for a child's punishment. Her stepmother's words from earlier returned to her mind: "Until I find you somewhere else to live." The sentiment brought with it a wave of nausea, and Theresia brought a hand over her mouth.

"You should have come yesterday as agreed."

Why was Lady Caspar speaking French? Her voice drew nearer as her footsteps brought her deeper into the room. Theresia hovered closer to the red Axminister carpet, her heart pounding, ready to leap right out of her chest.

"There were complications," a man's voice responded in French too, his irritation evident.

Was this Lord Caspar, the new husband? Was he French? Surely not. Theresia would have thought she'd have heard as much. Lady Caspar despised foreigners and had said her husband did too.

"You should have found a way to come," Lady Caspar said, as if the entire world should bend at her bidding.

"Whether I came yesterday or today makes no difference if you are not ready to do business with me. You know I offer a generous price. I do hope neither of us has wasted our time."

Business? So this was not Lady Caspar's new husband after all. Theresia was tempted to steal a glance so she might have a face to put with the voice, but she didn't dare.

"I am indeed ready." Lady Caspar's voice took on an edge. "In fact, the sooner you take it off my hands, the better."

"As happy as I am to hear of your decision, we must be discreet. No one—not even the servants—must know the vase has been sold, especially to me."

Fear struck Theresia with such ferocity that her next breath was torn from her chest. The crème hem of the curtain in front of her blurred into the wall, and her vision wavered. She had seen no other vase in the room.

Only hers.

"Bring it to the Duke of Westmorland's house party," the man instructed. "I will have need of it there. I leave for the festivities myself tomorrow."

"My husband's schedule is too complex for house parties, I am afraid." Lady Caspar's voice grew high and strained. "You must take it before you leave."

The man chuckled. "Desperate, are we? I thought you said you wouldn't support my cause. Your tune has changed drastically from the last time we spoke."

"Never mind that. It is my own business."

A heavy sigh filtered through the room. "Very well. I suppose I can delay my departure a day. Your late husband was a true master craftsman, and he outdid himself with this piece. He can sleep well in his grave knowing his greatest debt is finally paid. I will do what I can to expedite this delicate matter and return tomorrow night."

Lady Caspar must have given some silent agreement, because their steps retreated from the room, the door sounding shut behind them.

Frozen in position, Theresia waited for several minutes until she was sure they would not return. Her legs were cramped when she stood, and she arched her back. Her eyes immediately caught on the vase again, its beauty incomparable. What debt needed to be repaid? Her father had prided himself on being a self-made man. Frantisek Dvorak had used his surplus of funds from his many commissions to buy this very house.

"I will not let them take it, Papa," she whispered. "It will stay in the family, as I promised." She would see Father's solicitor first thing in the morning and legally claim what was hers.

After several minutes, she cracked the door open and listened. When she heard nothing, she stuck her head out and searched the empty corridor. Slipping from the room, she closed the door noiselessly and moved toward the staircase, the trim down the center of the wall leading her forward. Voices made her freeze again, but relief soon followed when she realized Lady Caspar was no longer conversing with a man, but a woman at the bottom of the stairs. Theresia craned her head and saw her addressing an older servant Theresia did not recognize. Had all the staff been replaced after Papa's death, or was it simply the product of the passing of time? It had been nearly seven and a half years, but many of the staff had come to England with Papa from Bohemia and were devoted to him.

"She is still in her room, my lady."

They were discussing her.

"Good. While I am gone, she will be in your care. She is not to leave the house, and absolutely no one is allowed to visit her. I don't want the neighborhood knowing she is here."

"Yes, my lady, but I am a housekeeper, not a nursemaid."

Lady Caspar put her hand on her hip. "I wouldn't ask if I had another option. Put her to work if you have to. It will be only a fortnight, and then I will marry her off or find a hole for her to live in."

"Very well, then. I shall do my best in your absence."

Lady Caspar did not thank her housekeeper but brushed past her and began climbing the stairs.

Theresia pulled back, her heart thumping. Then she started forward again toward the stairs, turning to descend as naturally as she could. She lifted her eyes and pretended surprise at meeting Lady Caspar, thinking quickly. "I was searching for Helena. Is she at home?"

"Sadly, you will miss seeing Helena. She is staying with a cousin in Yorkshire. I am going there myself until Lord Caspar can join us. He hopes to visit a few colleagues before we return to London. I do not expect to return home for at least a month, maybe longer."

Theresia gave a quick nod. Who was she to argue about having her father's house all to herself?

Lady Caspar scrunched her nose when Theresia did not complain. "Well then, I will have dinner sent to your room."

Theresia straightened. "That isn't necessary. I am capable of eating in the dining room." No matter what, she could not be controlled anymore by this scheming woman. She slipped past Lady Caspar and continued down the stairs, grateful the housekeeper had moved on. At the bottom, she turned and said to her startled stepmother, "Tell Helena I will greet her when she returns." Not waiting for a reply, she turned toward the dining room, only exhaling when she was around the corner and out of sight.

When dinner was served, she ate alone. Afterward she readied herself for bed, but sleep evaded her. Part of her wanted to steal the vase while the house slept, but she was no thief, and the vase was rightfully hers. She would take it in full daylight, with the copy of the will in hand and with everyone aware of her intentions.

She finally drifted to sleep at the foot of the bed. Hours later, she woke up cold. She glanced at the sun, surprised that after all these years of rising early, she had somehow overslept.

Shivering, she dressed herself in a faded blue cotton dress with small flowers dotting the fabric and braided and coiled her dark hair at her neck. Once downstairs, she passed the housekeeper, Mrs. Bevin, in the corridor on her way to breakfast and stopped her. "Has Lady Caspar risen yet?"

Mrs. Bevin shifted away and eyed her warily. "You just missed her. She left not an hour ago." The housekeeper pushed forward, brushing past Theresia.

Gone already? The blood drained from Theresia's face. Without another word, she flew back up the stairs toward her stepmother's sitting room. Please let the vase still be there. Please.

She pushed open the door only to stumble back against it.

It was gone.

Sorrow lanced her chest, but instead of tears falling, her eyes narrowed. Lady Caspar had guessed why Theresia had returned home and had likely convinced that strange man to come back for it sooner.

She whispered a silent plea heavenward, despair threatening to overtake her. Each breath was harder than the last. Was she to cast away the minute freedom gained by leaving the seminary and turn her life story over to Lady Caspar to write once again?

No. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't!

A footman came out of Lady Caspar's room, carrying a trunk; his light coloring reminding her of a childhood friend.

"Johan?" The name slipped from her lips before she could remember propriety.

Round blue eyes she would know anywhere locked with hers over his load. "Pardon, miss?"

"It's me, Theresia! Do you not remember?"

His thick blond brows leaped up, and a grin lit his face. "Theresia Dvorak? Home at last?"

Her own smile, heavy with the burden she carried, pulled crookedly across her face. "Cousin, it is so good to see you again!" They weren't true cousins but had been raised as such. Sadly, Johan's own father had died shortly after arriving in London, and his family had fallen on hard times. Papa had tried to look after them, but he had not lived long himself. Seeing Johan again wouldn't undo the pain of losing her vase, but it was a gift in and of itself. "But wait, what are you doing here?"

"Earning a little money. What else?"

His carefree spirit hadn't changed. How she wished she could say the same for herself. She'd buried her vivacious spirit years ago and tried to be everything to please her stepmother so she could come home again. "I was beginning to think Lady Caspar despised any connection to Papa, including the help, and turned them out of the house. I am glad to see I was wrong."

Johan's grin faltered. " Ano , she does." The simple use of the Bohemian word for yes did not slip past Theresia, though the language was nearly lost to her. German and now English were far more familiar now. "The butler who replaced Mr. Guiss is sympathetic to the old employees," Johan continued. "He always reaches out to Mama. Apparently Lady Caspar took some of the staff with her on her trip, leaving the house short-staffed, so I have been temporarily employed here just for today. But you cannot think I am just a footman. Believe it or not, your cousin is a renowned musician now."

"Renowned?" Watching Johan's violin lessons as a girl had been what had first sparked Theresia's own love for the instrument. Despite her father's insistence that she focus on her piano lessons, she'd become obsessed with mastering the violin. The two had been tutored together for long hours every day before they had migrated to England with several families. But while she was well aware of Johan's talent, he could hardly be famous if he was working as a footman between jobs.

He shifted the load in his hands. "Ano, I travel all over to grand houses, and my violin supports me and my new wife."

How wonderful to hear that he was married! She was so happy for him. But a musician? His jobs couldn't pay well, despite what he said.

"Do not look so sad for me. I am very good at what I do. The English music is not so hard to learn. And I am not so poor that I cannot help my friend. You let me know if you need anything at all."

Was this the heaven-sent opportunity she must seize? She'd hardly expected a prince or a handsome knight, but could her poor cousin offer her anything? She desperately needed help from someone, and who else could she trust? She clenched her fists. "How good are you at evading housekeepers?"

"What?" The trunk lowered in his arms, and for a moment, she thought he would drop it.

"I find I am eager to take you up on your offer of assistance." Poor Johan. He likely remembered her as a sweet little girl who would never try to run away to a house party uninvited. But somewhere along the line, she had been forced to exchange kindness for determination, and nothing would stop her from getting her vase back.