Prologue
Prussia, 1819

Fragile snowflakes clung to the branches of the pear tree standing tall enough to scrape at the second-story window of the Lindenhof. From his bed, the owner of the manor could see the crown of his beloved tree. White-capped like his own aged head, it reminded him of the passing of his life. The end was near.

A lone raven flew into the old man’s sight and landed on top of those branches. The bird settled itself into motionless waiting, and it seemed to the invalid yet another sign of how little time he had left. He gave a slight nod to the bird. Then he directed his still sharp gaze upon the female who sat at his bedside. With her low, melodious voice, she read to him from Goethe’s Faust.

“Enough, Theodora, I beg of you,” he said, his voice sounding thin to his own ears. When she obediently halted and looked at him with concern, he found the strength to smile. Her brown eyes shone with such warmth, his heart swelled with love for her. “We must talk.”

“As you wish, Onkel Theodor,” she said and put the book away, then gave him her full attention.

For a moment he remained silent. As always, he drew strength from the mere sight of her. Luminous dark eyes beneath straight brows, a high forehead crowned by glorious gold-brown hair—intelligence marked her features. Her elegant, straight nose spoke of her temper as well as of her good breeding. As for her mouth, small and perfectly shaped, it hinted at humor and sensitivity. Those full, rosy lips looked set. Theodora worried about him.

“I want to thank you,” he said, stronger now. “You’ve given me such pleasure, child. In you, the Lord sent me a blessing. I only wish your parents had lived...”

Theodora’s expressive eyes moistened. She did not interrupt his speech. She knew how much strength it cost him. Instead, she reached for his hand. It felt dry and hot, and much too light.

“I’m prepared to meet my maker. You know it will be soon.” He squeezed her hand, and his pale lips twitched in a smile meant to reassure her. “But there’s something ... I have one deep regret ... made one mistake.”

Frowning, Theo leaned forward. “Are you certain you want to tell me?”

Baron von Sydow nodded. His gaunt face—beneath his white linen cap—looked flushed. The dark blue eyes shone hard and brilliant with determination. “I made my Testament. All’s settled, except for your consent. That I must have now.”

“You shall have it. For anything,” Theodora said without hesitation. “Tell me, then. What is it, Onkel Theodor?”

He nodded again, but did not yet relax his grip on her hand. The strength of his fingers reflected the force of his feelings. “You are of an ancient, impeccable lineage; your position at Court is assured—”

Theodora shook her head, but the old man would not let her voice her protest.

“Shush, let me finish.” She grew still, and he continued, “You’re wealthy in your own right, but I’m leaving you my horses in East Prussia and the forest in Brandenburg—”

Again he had to prevent her from speaking. “I know your aunt would consider me sunk beneath contempt for mentioning finances to you, but just this once allow me to speak of vulgar matters.”

“Yes, of course. You taught me to recognize the absurdities...” Theo fell silent, only to give in to her qualms. “I wish you would not speak of my prospects. Your welfare is at stake, not mine.”

“Silly child! Don’t you know one is tied to the other?” He sighed. “Let me say this: your future is secure, with or without that Amber Prince of yours.”

She compressed her lips in the stubborn fashion he knew so well, and he smiled, but briefly.

“Now to the complicated part, Theodora: I named someone, of whom you’ve never heard, in my will. He’s—”

She did interrupt him. “Onkel Theodor, please! Must you tell me this? I cannot bear to hear it.” A sob weakened her voice, and quickly she bit her tongue, but she could not keep her eyes from misting again.

Wistfully, the Baron insisted. “I must, for I need your help, child.”

At this, she rallied. Sniffling a bit, she put her own fears aside and gazed into his glinting blue eyes with renewed concentration.

He held back more than he told, but his ward’s quick grasp of his will pleased him. “All will be well,” he concluded with conviction. “I shall rest in peace then.”

“Oh, Onkel!” She objected in sudden, fierce desperation.

He roused himself enough to offer her further reassurance. “I declared you legally of age upon my demise. You needn’t fear a thing.”

Tears rolled freely from Theo’s eyes. She leaned her brow against the hand that had ever guided hers and strove to control her sadness.

“Theodora?” Exhaustion drained his voice to a feeble murmur, but he forced himself to speak. “Just one more thing: don’t you dare to wear black for me. You’ve always been my ray of sunshine. I should not be happy, knowing you clad like a raven.”

Theodora murmured, “As you wish,” and the old man’s gaze left her dear face to seek the bird sitting in the pear tree.