Fractures and Hinges Read online

  Contents

  Praise for Edith Zeitlberger’s Novel

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Notes

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Praise for Edith Zeitlberger’s Novel

  “[T]his is an amazing read—with complex characters—set in a beautiful Vienna of the early 1900s. If you enjoy a great love story with plot and a range of emotions, then this is your book. Thanks, Edith, for a terrific first novel.”

  ~CA Farlow, author of The Nexus Series and The Paris Contagion

  “Cosy lesbian romance with many sympathetic characters you'd want to meet in real life. A perfect read for a rainy day.”

  ~Karmen Špiljak, author of A Perfect Flaw and Add Cyanide to Taste: A Collection of Dark Tales with Culinary Twists

  “Fractures and Hinges is a beautiful story of two noblewomen finding love after heartbreak.”

  ~Jazzy Mitchell, author of Leveling Up, You Matter, and Undertow

  “I pounced on this ebook and was thrilled to find it quite well written. I loved how the writer pulled me in, I could feel the emotions the protagonists were experiencing—and that is key to understand and care about them.”

  ~Gun Bach

  “The story of this novel, playing at the beginning of the 20th Century, pulled me in from the beginning. I enjoyed the multi-dimensional characters Sophie and Eleanor, and the way they met each other for the first time. The way the author describes their moods and feelings is very intense.”

  ~Joseph Banks

  Title Page

  Fractures

  and

  Hinges

  By

  Edith Zeitlberger

  2022

  Copyright

  A Launch Point Press Trade Paperback Original

  Fractures and Hinges is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Edith Zeitlberger

  Updated and Expanded from a previous version called

  Imperial Whites, copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved. Launch Point Press supports copyright which enables creativity, free speech, and fairness. Thank you for buying the authorized version of this book and for following copyright laws by not using or reproducing any part of this book in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Launch Point Press, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and articles. Your cooperation and respect support authors and allows Launch Point Press to continue to publish the books you want to read.

  ISBN: 978-1-63304-228-5

  Ebook: 978-1-63304-271-1

  New Version

  First Printing, 2022

  Editing: Lori L. Lake

  Book and Cover Design: Lorelei

  Portland, Oregon

  www.LaunchPointPress.com

  Dedication

  To the Chattering Teacup,

  who rightfully kicked me in

  the butt when I needed it

  Author’s Notes

  Trigger Warning: Please note that in this book, there is discussion and repercussions from the rape of a secondary character. This event, which occurs prior to the opening of the story, is an important element to one of the subplots. Though the assault is not shown in a scene, some readers might find mention of it upsetting.

  This novel is a complete work of fiction. Any inaccuracies regarding the historical facts are completely my own. (I might have taken a few liberties.)

  Edith Zeitlberger

  Vienna, Austria

  April 2022

  Epigraph

  “Mysteries of attraction could not always

  be explained through logic. Sometimes the

  fractures in two separate souls became the

  very hinges that held them together.”

  ~Lisa Kleypas in Devil in Winter

  Prologue

  On the day of Eleanor’s eighteenth birthday, she was happy. Well, she was as happy as she could be under the circumstances. Growing up as the daughter of a reserved mother and a very strict and choleric father who seemed to have no warmth or affection for his children did not make for a very happy childhood or youth. Eleanor’s only source of heartfelt honest love was her maternal grandmother. She often wondered how it was possible for her own mother to be the daughter of such a warm woman and become such a cold person oneself.

  The celebration of her birthday was that day, before the grand ball tomorrow when her parents would formally introduce her into society, which was, at least in Eleanor’s opinion, a complete and utter waste of a pretty dress. She had known for a long time that her fate was already sealed, not that she minded. Her remote cousin, Henry Edgewood, was a rather suitable husband. Wealthy, handsome, and charming, his position convinced her parents to give their blessings when Henry asked for her hand in marriage. Eleanor loved him dearly, much the same as a brother, but love him she did.

  Ever since they were children, Henry had been her best friend, confidant, and protector. Henry was the only one who knew her deepest secrets, and she had never told anyone of this fact, which was something binding them together more strongly.

  Eleanor was sitting under the shade of a big oak tree in her parents’ garden, enjoying the warmth of the early summer, when she saw Henry crossing the lawn. With his hands in his pockets and a smile on his handsome face, Henry neared the tree at a leisurely pace. Eleanor knew he’d always had a soft spot for her. Despite title and wealth, Eleanor’s youth had been anything but full of roses. She had always been defiant, and possessing a stubborn streak inherited from her grandmother had not made it easier for her.

  Henry’s childhood had been worse. Scars on his back were testimony to his father’s hatred of his younger son. Arthur Edgewood was known for his volatile and violent temper, especially after his oldest son Edward died in a pistol duel. Henry had often been the recipient of his father’s foul moods because he could never measure up.

  After Henry’s brother’s death, Arthur Edgewood flew into a rage unlike any other. If it hadn’t been for one of the footmen, Henry would have been beaten to death by his own father. The footman lost an eye and his place for defying his lordship, but seventeen-year-old Henry kept his life. After the ordeal, his mother sent him to Darnsworth Castle to recuperate, and Eleanor grew much closer to him during that time.

  Shielding her eyes against the sun, Eleanor laughed as Henry lowered himself to the grass next to her. “Henry!” She kissed his clean-shaven cheek in welcome. “I am so glad you’re here.”

  “Hello, Eleanor.” He reciprocated the gesture with gentle lips. “Your parents have gone out of their way to celebrate.”

  “Not so much because of my birthday,” Eleanor said with a sad smile, “rather because of the announcement of our engagement.”

  “Ah, I suspect you have a point. Nonetheless, I propose we make the most of it. Is Charles coming?”

  “No. Father did not find it necessary for him to neglect his studies for my birthday.”

  “I am sorry. I know how fond you are of your little brother and that the feeling is mutual. He will be missed.” Henry took Eleanor’s small hand in his larger one. “At least there is some good news. My cousin Cathleen will be here. You will adore her. She’s a good sport, you’ll see.”

  With a frown, Eleanor asked, “Is she the one who had to marry the older-than-God Lord Northcott?”

  “The very same, my dear.”

  Together they returned to the house for lunch with Eleanor’s parents which was, as usual, a strained affair despite Henry’s best efforts to keep the conversation light and flowing.

  Later in the evening, Eleanor stood in front of her body-length mirror in her dressing room putting on perfume, a gift from Henry, when she heard a faint knock on her bedroom door.

  “Come in!” she called out with delight, knowing only one person who would seek her out to calm her nerves before she had to put on a pleasant face with a fake smile for the benefit of her parents’ acquaintances.

  Henry, dressed meticulously in tails and polished shoes, leaned against the doorframe with his hands casually in his trouser pockets and an expression of admiration on his face. “You are very beautiful, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” Eleanor blushed at his honest words. “You’re quite handsome yourself.”

  “We do make quite a good-looking couple, don’t we?” Henry came into the room and st
ood behind Eleanor’s left shoulder, gazing through the mirror into her eyes.

  Her long blonde hair, now made up in a complicated bun with a few tendrils falling down, teased her pale neck. She had the most wonderful blue eyes, the colour of a clear summer sky. Her skin was pale and flawless, her lips the perfect shade of red, and although her nose was perhaps a bit too large, it gave her that aristocratic appearance fit for the future Duchess of Darnsworth. She wore a dark blue dress that contrasted with the lighter shade of her eyes.

  “With the cut of your gown and your bare shoulders, without a doubt you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

  She blushed and he pressed a chaste kiss to one shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile, then offered his arm. Together, they made their way downstairs to face the crowd.

  Instead of a sit-down dinner, her mother had ordered the servants to prepare a buffet which made it easier to mingle, and after a proper amount of time, music started to play, and they enjoyed themselves on the dance floor. Henry was a wonderful dancer, and Eleanor was delighted to be in his arms dancing to her favourite music, forgetting everything else around her and living in the moment. Three dances later she had to stop for a break, slightly out of breath, but becomingly flushed from the exertion and the joy of it all. On Henry’s arm, she strolled out into the brightly lit garden, each of them with a glass of champagne in hand.

  Eleanor was sipping from her flute when she saw a vision stepping through the French windows. The woman’s dark red hair flowed freely in the current fashion, and her perfect white skin was aglow in the light of the many torches. Eleanor thought her smile mesmerising, and when the woman came nearer, Eleanor gazed into the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen. A dark green dress clung to her curves, and the low line of the front of the dress drew one’s eyes to her perfect cleavage.

  Eleanor gripped Henry’s arm like a vice before she found her voice and whispered, “Henry, who is this?”

  “Who?” he asked with confusion before he caught sight of the woman in question. A grin formed on his lips. “Cathleen, finally! I was worried you would not be able to make it after all.”

  “Henry, darling.” Cathleen greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry. It took us longer than I thought. Martin was completely exhausted after our journey, and I had to see him off to bed before I could leave.”

  “Eleanor,” Henry turned to her, “please meet my cousin, Lady Cathleen Northcott. Cathleen, my fiancée, Eleanor Shaftsbury.”

  Cathleen smiled warmly. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations are in order, I guess. An eighteenth birthday is something special, is it not?”

  Eleanor blushed at the woman’s genuine words. “Yes, thank you. After Henry told me you would join us for the weekend, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “So was I. Your mother told me of your engagement. Congratulations for that as well.”

  “Thank you, Cathleen,” Henry said.

  Eleanor watched him regarding them fondly. He was right about inviting his cousin to meet her. She could already tell they’d get along famously. He winked her way. Oh, she knew how much he loved it when one of his schemes worked out. He excused himself and left them to their own devices while she forgot all about him and wandered arm in arm along the lit path talking and laughing as if she and Cathleen had known each other forever.

  In the end, the rest of the evening was pleasant enough, perhaps a touch boring, but Eleanor supposed it could have been worse. After her father announced their engagement, they endured the long line of well-wishers, most of whom conveniently forgot, much to her chagrin, that it was also her birthday.

  Chapter One

  Lord Henry Edgewood, the ninth Earl of Houghton, leaned back into the cushions of his carriage. He was on the way from his gentlemen’s club in Westminster to his London home in Mayfair at Number 6 Grosvenor Square and faced with plenty of time to think about his life. He wasn’t quite sure what had caused his pondering about the last five years of his life. Maybe it was the constant complaining of his peers in the club which he had witnessed again and again. Or perhaps the first real scent of spring in the air after a long and cold winter. Either way, it caused a frown to appear on his otherwise smooth forehead.

  Their home used to be a place full of laughter and life, but for the past three years it had been too silent for his liking. Up until this time he had never had reason to join his peers’ string of discontented complaints regarding their wives’ supposedly outrageous demands. But now he wasn’t actually dissatisfied, he was worried.

  His wife Eleanor, the Duchess of Darnsworth, used to be the centre of their lively home. It pained Henry to admit that for the last few years, everything had become more solemn, hushed, and serious. All inhabitants, both upstairs and downstairs in equal measures, were gloomier, less light-hearted. But worst of all, his wife, dear friend, and confidante had transformed from an openly affectionate woman into an aloof and distant person hardly recognisable to them any longer. Her Italian grandmother and their daughter Charlotte seemed to be the only ones who could reach Eleanor.

  At the age of forty-five, Henry was in the prime of his life, and he was saddened that his family life was not what it used to be. Not that it had ever been conventional in any way, nothing could be further from the truth, but it used to be a place where he could be himself. Where he felt comfortable and didn’t have to pretend. If his fellow club members knew the truth, they would never regard him the same way again, and he would be a societal pariah, something he wouldn’t dare risk. But people only saw what they wanted to see, and they only believed what they wanted to.

  Henry Edgewood was a man of average height with a lean body, a bald head, and warm dark eyes behind wire-framed glasses that added to his attractiveness. His fast wit, high intelligence and gentle nature made him a highly regarded and respected man. When attending a social function with his wife, they used to turn heads because Eleanor, slightly taller than her husband, was an admired beauty and she was seen as vibrant and appealing. Not only did they complement each other through their physical appearances, but Eleanor was just as sophisticated, educated, and charming as her husband. His lordship was the envy of many of his peers.

  Henry was saddened that these days his wife seemed preoccupied only with a rigorous épée training regimen, riding her beloved horses into the ground, or sitting in one of London’s many galleries for hours staring at dark and disturbing works of art. Nothing he could do or say would make her change her routine. Everybody walked on eggshells around her, and it was taking a toll on all of them, but there was not a single thing he could think of that would make it better, at least nothing she wanted to hear without ripping off his head.

  The carriage stopped and his driver jumped down to hold open the door for Henry to climb out. Henry ducked out of the carriage.

  “Thank you, Parker, this will be all.”

  The man tipped his hat in acknowledgement before mounting the carriage again to drive to the back of the house.

  Lord Edgewood climbed the stairs of his home in Mayfair with lightness in his steps, and before he could announce his arrival, his trusted butler Benson opened the front door. Benson wore an immaculately groomed suit that matched the material of a black eyepatch over his left eye. His otherwise placid face was made to look ever-so-slightly sinister by the patch, and yet Benson managed always to remain dignified and proper, his silver hair perfectly cut, his shoes buffed to a shine, and his black cravat perfectly tucked and centred.

  The butler bowed slightly at the waist while he held the door open for his lordship to enter. Henry nodded in greeting and took off his gloves to hand them over to Benson, with his hat, coat and walking cane.

  On the small table in the hall, he found the afternoon mail waiting for him. Thumbing through the usual business correspondence that could be taken care of at a later time, Henry found a letter addressed to his wife from a Hungarian aristocrat.