Page 15 of Jonathon, After All

“Not Leopold! Herr Weber,” she told him in a hushed whisper, watching the house. Baffled, Jonathon squinted at her, waiting for an explanation. “I know because I heard Weber tell a delivery man that he had a Greek professor from Athens, after commenting on the man’s accent.”

“So? Butlers can’t go to college?” Jonathon challenged.

Muriel nodded quickly at him. “Of course, they can. The best ones go to the Butler Academy and get degrees in polishing silver and setting tables,” she said, then rolled her eyes. “A butler in a house like this grew up in service. He would have started when he was sixteen or seventeen, at the very bottom and worked his way up. He wouldn’t have time for college, but if he did, I’d bet my fortune, he wasn’t studying Greek.”

“Probably not,” Jonathon agreed.

“No. Most people learn Greek or Latin so they can study the classics and major in something like philosophy or theology,” she continued with a thoughtful humph. “It’s a smart place to hide, isn’t it? The castle’s uninhabited ten months out of the year and half of the staff is seasonal.”

Jonathon groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, debating if it was worth trying to stop her. “You can’t be serious, Muriel. Herr Weber has done nothing but mind his business and do his job.”

She nodded. “That’s a good place to start. I’ll look into his references and see where else he’s worked.”

“That’s not what I meant and I really don’t think you should be harassing the man just because he knows Greek.”

“I can’t imagine anything more preposterous.”

“Than a butler who knows Greek?” Jonathon verified and she nodded.

“I certainly wouldn’t hire him, not for a house like this and for the next Margrave,” she replied with a testy swat. “A new butler might do for a cruise ship or a mid-range hotel, but this is bordering on scandal,” she warned and clicked her teeth. “What if he is a criminal or was sent to spy on von Hessen?”

Jonathon reared back, frowning at her and then the house. “Because he studied Greek? You know, you won’t be invited back if you start interrogating the staff and making wild accusations.”

She made a dismissive sound. “You’ll see: he doesn’t have the pedigree to run a house like this. I smell a fraud, Jonathon, and I will get to the bottom of this.”

He winced at her, worrying. “Just make sure you don’t end up at the bottom of the Danube. Herr Weber won’t like you casting aspersions, even if he is what he seems.”

“If that is the case, you can tell everyone I’m senile and that I make up stories when I’m confused.”

“I do that anyways,” he whispered, making her cackle.

“We have our stories straight if there’s trouble,” she said and he nodded, then held up a finger.

“You might consider raising my allowance while we’re overseas, in case I need to bail you out and it’s too late in America to call your attorneys.”

“Good thinking, I’ll talk to my accountant after this.”

Jonathon escorted Muriel to the music room and left via the terrace doors, intending to cut through the garden and kill a little time in the conservatory. He quickly forgot about Herr Weber, too consumed with all he had learned about the von Hessens, the new margrave, and Sabine. His shortcut took him around the study and the library so Jonathon jogged up the terrace steps and whistled casually as he passed their doors, but didn’t see anyone inside.

He came around the corner and stopped when he spotted an odd little ladder just over one of the study windows, hidden by a trellis and obscured by rose vines. It went to a square-ish door and Jonathon’s brow arched curiously.

“Where does that go?”

He did a quick check to make sure no one was around and watching. The gardens, terraces, and balconies were all clear so he dashed to the wall and behind the hedge for a closer look. The bottom rung was too high for him to reach, even on his tiptoes so he gave the rose trellis a hard tug to see if it was secure.

Jonathon whistled the “Raiders March” from Indiana Jones as he wedged the toe of his sneaker in the trellis and pushed off, reaching for the bottom rung. It took a few attempts but he was eventually able to grab it and pull himself up to the second.

His arms were shaking and his hands were sweating but he had almost managed to get his foot on the bottom rung when a hand locked around his ankle.

“Ack!” he yelped and hooked both arms around the ladder before he dropped, his legs dangling and kicking wildly.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The sharp growl was the only warning Jonathon had before large hands gripped his waist and he was easily plucked from the ladder. “Hey!” he complained as he was turned and deposited on the terrace. Jonathon opened his mouth to object to being manhandled, but lost his breath as the Margrave loomed over him, panting and glaring.

“You may use any door you please, Mr. Hawthorne. There is no need to scale the castle like a cat burglar.” The words feathered across Jonathon’s lips, tea-and-mint-flavored huffs that had him leaning in and licking his own lips as he became curiously thirsty.

“Right! I…” he started, nodding quickly. “I’ve never been able to resist a strange ladder or a door in a place like this. We live in the Olympia—you might have heard of it, it’s kind of famous—and it’s got all these hidden doors and secret stairs that go nowhere,” he explained in a babbling rush. “I used to explore when I was bored and old habits, I guess.” Jonathon laughed nervously. Despite Leo’s serious, scowl-prone demeanor, he was unbearably gorgeous and Jonathon liked being the cause of this particular scowl.

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