MUSE

Set in Europe during the Belle époque, this is the story of Milena Von Fürstenberg. A German countess out for vengeance, furious over her husband’s infidelity. She seeks out Duke Damian Von Anhalt Bernburg, who facilitates the affair. Her confrontation with Damian doesn’t proceed as she intended. During the month that follows, Milena wanders a path of dark desires she wasn’t looking for, even though every step she takes is by her own choice. Except the last one.

This novel is not for you, nor was it my intention you would read it. Muse is a personal voyage of discovery through fiction. Milena travelling 19^th century Europe with Damian, acting as his submissive, was the premise I started with. Why does he desire her to be his slave, and why does she allow it? Developing the story, I investigated my own confusing feelings regarding BDSM. Those I allowed to read said it was good enough to allow you.

English not being my native tongue. I’m translating chapters and will publish them over a couple of weeks. Be patient. There will be kinky stuff, but it takes a while to reach it. The characters, setting and plot should interest you in their own right. Suggestions and reactions are welcome, given that it is my first novel. Enjoy!

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The Proposal

For you.

I’m sitting in my cell. Naked. Only wearing the leather collar, which gained extra significance after yesterday. The sun shining down through the skylight woke me early in the morning. I was still tired but couldn’t stay in bed. Too restless, too confused. What happened yesterday rages like a storm in my head and lingers in my body.

I found your assignment on the table. After a few attempts that end in torn paper, I realise I can never accomplish it without describing the path that led me here.

BERLIN, 1 July 1882

“So you are the man who facilitates my husband’s infidelity,” she said. Her accusation caught my attention first. I hadn’t noticed the young woman manoeuvring herself next to me. An achievement, given her stylish wide dress and the soft ringing jewels in vogue this season.

We were both guests at one of the many galas held during the summer. Too hot for the prescribed dress code and with a host showing off his fortune, too lavish. Too tame to captivate me.

A varied selection of the metropolitan elite was present. Jealous of the social standing nobility provided, most members of the bourgeoisie attempted to best the aristocratic representatives in style and propriety. An effort in which they spectacularly failed, according to the aristocrats present, being envious of the citizens’ wealth. The chamber orchestra played a gorgeous rendition of Bach’s Goldberg variations, but it didn’t disturb the guests as they could hear themselves talk over the music.

After completing my social obligations concerning Friedrich Krupp and his brand-new wife, I fled to the relative calm the roof terrace provided. I looked out over the nightly city, a sea of gaslight, scattered over dark silhouettes of buildings under dense clouds. The sound of a rumbling thunderstorm in the distance mingled with rattling carriages. Everyone still awake longed for salvation by rain. It would keep the stench at bay for a few days.

I have a love-hate relationship with Berlin. A fortified city in a swamp grown beyond control, to accommodate all the people needed to rule the German empire. Add all those aspiring to make their fortunes and the result was utter chaos. Despite its filth and smell, Berlin was the place to be. A city teeming with danger and opportunities, one of which just blamed me for corrupting her marriage.

That path starts with our first meeting at the party of the Krupp family in Berlin. Not an occasion I normally would attend. Too rough, too exuberant and not refined enough, as one expects from a bourgeois family that gained their wealth with the arms trade. A setting where you are in your element. You congratulate the host and make the hostess smile with a compliment.

You are smaller than I expected, less impressive and younger, too. A handsome man with dark hair and bright blue, dreamy eyes. Or you could be, if your clothing didn’t draw all the attention. A shiny golden suit with all kinds of fashionable frills, extravagant, tending towards clownish. It fits your reputation as an airhead and a slacker. It also matches well with the costumes of many other guests. Although the dress I chose meant to get your attention, it is modest compared to what other women dare to wear.

For now, I don’t mind. I prefer to remain in the background, learning as much as I can by observing you. At least, that’s what I tell myself, but in reality, I’m stalling and out of my depth. In my mind, I already practised a hundred times how our conversation fares, but it falls on me to begin that conversation. When you venture to the roof terrace, it’s now or never. So I jump into the deep end and follow you upstairs.

The young woman spoke without looking at me, timing her accusation with care. We stood at a distance, but no one could hear us beyond the chatter of other guests, and the music had just begun in the banquet hall downstairs. Her ability to make these assessments and move amongst the crowd unnoticed marked her as a member of a noble family. A member granted comely blessings, I discovered with a quick glance. Her direct question about her husband’s unfaithfulness deserved an appropriate answer.

“It could be, but strikes me as unlikely, given your appearance,” I said.

She answered with a fleeting glimpse and wrung her hands; the compliment left her cold. I turned to face her, pretending to study the other partygoers behind her.

“Who is your husband?”

“My husband is Count Von Fürstenberg. You know him, I suppose?” Her words were more polite than she intended, judging by the ice in her voice.

I knew Von Fürstenberg well. He was a high-ranking diplomat in charge of Italian relations, and indeed a well-paying regular in the dungeons of my estate. I had little use for his wife causing a public scene about his infidelity at my expense, no matter how charming she appeared. To others present, we seemed to mind our own company and enjoy the scenery. I decided to make our introduction official and stepped close, wearing a warm smile.

“Then you are countess Milena Von Fürstenberg,” I said, and offered my hand. She accepted, and I sealed our greeting with an appropriate kiss on her hand.

“Damian Von Anhalt Bernburg, my pleasure. I heard about you.”

“I’m sure you did. No doubt my husband mentioned me while he was having fun in your brothel.” Her remark dripped with angry sarcasm, but her friendly smile claimed the opposite. It suited the hypocrisy of a party in honour of the newlywed couple, where the groom preferred manly love. I let go of her hand and ignored her sarcasm with a smile.

“You are referring to my estate in Bad Pyrmont?” I asked. She just mirrored my smile with a knowing one, but remained silent. I turned to the spectacle other guests provided, showing off extravagant gowns adorned with oriental designs. The latest fashion refused to emphasise the unique splendour of its victims, relentlessly designed to obey current beauty ideals. Ideals that suited the lady next to me, but befitting her opinions on my estate, she had chosen a more subdued attire.

“It’s more than a brothel,” I said. “Not every client uses all the facilities that are available.” It was true, but not very common.

“You don’t deny that you are hosting ladies of pleasure there?” she said. Her remark posed as a question, but was an accusation.

“Everyone uses imagination to live out their desires. I’m fortunate to have an estate at my disposal where such daydreams become a reality. Wouldn’t it be selfish if I didn’t share it with others?” I put my hand on her shoulder and turned towards her. “With you, for example?” I asked. One could all the time hope. She glanced at my hand as if it was a spider.

“No, thank you, not interested,” she said, still smiling. She didn’t mind spiders enough to make a scene. What was she after? Curious, I forced her next move by concluding our conversation with a curt bow.

“Then I wish you a richer fantasy than our host,” I said, but before I could turn away, her hand found my arm while she searched my eyes.

“My dear Duke, I want for nothing in my daydreams.” No more cold politeness or feigned smiles. She was direct and genuine. It suited her much better. “In the real world, my husband is probably cheating on me. You know the truth, but you’re not going to tell me, are you?” It was a rhetorical question, and she knew it, averting her eyes when I kept her gaze. With a sigh, I took her hand in mine.

“Dear Countess, even if I had all the details concerning your husband’s desires at my disposal, I won’t elaborate on them. Guests visiting my estate count on my discretion.” She gave me a stern look, but I refused to avoid it. “You already knew I wouldn’t,” I said. “Otherwise, you’d have addressed me differently. With your direct question, you hoped to gain the truth. It takes more to provoke me, alas. Provoking someone is a game I enjoy too much myself.”

“Then I suggest you see me as a guest.” For the first time, she sounded amiable, with a playful glint in her eyes. “You invited me, didn’t you? You know my desire. State your price. “

“You can’t afford it.”

“So you can be bought.”

“Everyone can be bought. As long as the one who buys pays the price.”

She didn’t deny it and met my stakes. “What is your price in this case?” she asked. With the hint of a blush she averted her eyes. Was she flirting with me? Or just embarrassed with the situation? With enough inuendo to cover both, I made sure she’d await my answer.

“I cannot say because I don’t know whether I can meet your desires. Give me a chance to see into the matter, and you’ll hear from me.” I kissed her hand again and appraised her. “It will cost you, Countess, more than you think. And I’m not talking about money. “

She remained silent for a moment, but her mocking grin spoke volumes. “Then I hope to hear from you soon, Duke,” she said. With her satisfied smirk, she made a reverence, and left as graceful as she had arrived. She achieved what she wanted–my curiosity.

Count Von Fürstenberg and I met when one of my investments, the Gothart railway project, ran into political obstacles. After our company meetings, he had proven to be very adept at the more extravagant pleasures life offers. Despite this, I was not under the impression Milena had reason to worry about her marriage. As far as I knew, he dedicated himself to his wife and their household, except for personal issues he didn’t want to burden her with. According to him, she was not very adventurous in bed: the reason he sought his entertainment at my estate.

When I finally met Milena in person, I didn’t distribute the count’s impression. She had passion in spades, daring me like that at the party. A dangerous passion because it was fuelled by resentment.

I could not afford an all too upsetting scandal concerning the Von Fürstenbergs. For my biggest investment to succeed, the count was instrumental the coming month. I had no use for Milena undercutting his diplomatic skills by blowing up in her husband’s face about his infidelity. As long as she awaited my answer, she wouldn’t. Perhaps, with a bit of effort, I could even turn a frustrated man and his unhappy wife into two happy clients. A better situation for everyone involved.

Our conversation is not going the way I had imagined. You just admit what I’m accusing you of, and I’m left empty-handed. You intimidate me with your openness, as if I am pushing against a door and tumble inside flailing, because you open the door, while other entries behind you remain closed. I accuse you, yet you remain friendly while warning me. The price to open those other doors is too high for me. It sounds like a threat, but also as a challenge. One thing is clear to me. Those who regard you as charming simpleton have never spoken to you in person.

Wannsee, 8 July

A week after our first meeting, I called on Milena uninvited. The Von Fürstenbergs have a large country retreat near the capital, where she hosted a advantage gala for the poor. Milena donated several of her paintings to be auctioned for the good cause.

You could describe my clothing choice as flamboyant if you wanted to be polite. I wondered it ridiculous, especially if you considered the gala’s purpose. Friedrich Von Bentheim and his wife introduced me, as Milena welcomed us into the hall of the mansion.

“Friedrich, Eloise, how nice of you to come.” She greeted the couple with a warm smile and nodded at me. “You brought the duke. What an unexpected pleasure.” It had the courteous intonation you use addressing a waiter about a fly in the soup. The fly in question tried to be polite.

“Countess, the pleasure is mutual, but of course, not unexpected from my side.”

“If I had known that the fate of the poor could count on your interest, I would, of course, invite you myself.” Her kind words didn’t match her mocking attitude.

“Love your neighbour as yourself is a philosophy I support.” I gestured at the other guests. “If the gathered crowd concurs, poverty is a problem of the past.”

Friedrich was so gallant to intervene. “The duke is a great lover of fine arts. As soon as I heard about your auction, I felt obliged to introduce him.”

I smirked. That I settled Friedrich’s gambling debts played a more significant role. With an equally friendly smile, she forgave Friedrich my presence.

“It’s all right, dear friend. Anyone who wishes to contribute as generously as the duke apparently intends, is most welcome. That he is a lover, I already knew. Do come in further.”

We entered the salon, joining the other invitees. Members of the noble elite and upstanding citizens who hadn’t left the city for their summer residence. It was lavish but with style and purpose, something the previous party lacked. The staff, armed with trays full of sparkling crystal glasses and appetising petit fours, served the guests standing about in small groups.

As usual during these occasions, there was much chatter with no one listening. Only the latest gossip could count on a eager ear. According to the heated chat that erupted after I passed, I was often the topic. There were vague acquaintances, but nobody seized the opportunity to begin a conversation. I didn’t mind, for it supplied me with ample time to study the fine art that should have been tonight’s major attraction.

The artworks were hung on the room’s wood panelled walls. Most works showed Milena’s skill as gifted illustrator. Some of her exotic vista’s appeared familiar, and Milena had captured scenes showing normal life with verve.

It suited what I had learnt about her in the past week. She grew up in the straitjacket of nobility, groomed for a marriage where posterity and reputation trumped passion. But to someone who had an eye for it, several paintings revealed budding passion. Something dark crept into her most recent works. Unbridled by the rules of propriety, she could be a great artist.

“Duke, allow me to introduce you to my husband.” Milena and her spouse came to stand with me while I studied one of her paintings. “I think you already know each other?” With a skilfully faked smile, she played the murdered innocence.

Being introduced to me by his wife didn’t rattle the count. At all times the diplomat, he shook my hand with warm enthusiasm.

“My dear duke, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. If I had known my wife’s work interested you, I would have invited you myself.”

I dared to doubt that, but didn’t mind the lie. “I pardon you, dear count. During summer, I usually stay at my estate in Pyrmont,” and turned to Milena, “but some business obligations forced me to stay in Berlin longer than expected.”

She did not respond to this personal jab and, being clueless, he added insult to injury.

“Let me offer you to use our country house for your stay. You have been so hospitable to receive me at your estate often enough.” He turned to Milena, explaining what she already knew.

“The castle in Pyrmont is spectacular. More than once, it hosted diplomatic negotiations that ended in satisfactory results for all parties involved.”

“In that case, it’s only natural to spend the rest of your stay here if you would appreciate it,” Milena said. She remained the perfect hostess. Only a twitch of her mouth betrayed she considered their coal cellar the most eligible place for my stay.

“Much obliged, but it won’t be necessary. I expect to sort my affairs soon, and the hotel where I stay is quite comfortable. But I appreciate your generosity,” I said to both of them, and faced the count, feigning an affront. “What I do fault you for is that you haven’t ever introduced me to your wife. She is eloquent, charming and talented. Let’s not forget being hospitable. Is my reputation so terrible that you didn’t dare to introduce us? “

That had the effect Milena intended. The count stiffened for a moment, torn between breaking a sweat and a coughing fit. He managed to recover before either, took her hand in his, and retorted.

“No, my dear duke, your charms may be notorious, but I trust my wife. How else could I perform my diplomatic duties away from home?” I read the gaze of discomfort she forced in a smile differently than her husband did. He beamed at Milena, then his face turned sombre despite his loving gaze. “Unfortunately, those diplomatic duties will soon require me to leave Milena again and accompany Lombardia’s trade delegation from Hamburg to Milan.” The count turned to me. “I wondered if your estate is available for the first leg of that journey, given that you one of those responsible for my mission,” and said to Milena, “the duke is a co-investor in the Gotthard rail tunnel, which will link Italy and Switzerland. He is also developing properties along the line to make the venture a succes.”

Milena’s face petrified. I doubted she had heard his explanation. If those properties wouldn’t succeed, it would ruin me. I just stayed as neutral as I could. “Of course, you are always very welcome.” Let your secretary contact Alice to arrange the details of your visit. I will make sure that you and your companions lack nothing. Aside from the business of your charming wife, of course.” Milena gave me a look of keen understanding. Time to flee before the conversation turned into a ruckus I hadn’t planned.

“If you will excuse me? I like to choose a painting for my bid. I wouldn’t want my presence disturbing what little time you have together.” With a slight bow, I left the happy couple to their own devices. To me, the less time they spend together, the better. Their marriage was sitting on a powder keg, and Milena seemed ready to light the fuse. I had to get them apart, best before the count left for his trade negotiations.

I took a glass from a tray and walked to the painting I preferred. Milena joined me again, as discreet as she did at the previous party. This time, I expected nothing less. She got to the point right away.

“I assume you are here because you have determined your price?”

My attention remained with the painting.

“Regarding your desire to be one of my guests, I rather answer you tomorrow.” I gestured at the canvas. “Or do you mean my bid for this work?”

“You know very well what I mean,” she said and sighed. “But you are right. It’s not the time nor the place to discuss these matters.” She nodded at the painting. “Do you like it?”