Georg felt groggy when he woke up the morning after the party.

He had cursed himself on many occasions in the past few weeks for agreeing to let Elsa host the infernal shindig, and he had received exactly the experience he'd expected: a long night full of tedious socialising, forced smiles, and encounters he'd sooner forget.

Most of the guests he barely knew – Elsa had said it was so she could meet all his friends in Salzburg, but in the end most of the guests were friends of hers. The few guests that were his friends he had not seen in years, and half the people invited didn't speak to the other half.

Everything had been a slog through the worst parts of high society he found himself beholden to thanks to his birth.

His heart had been full of pride when he watched his children say goodnight to the guests, but beyond that all his recollections were mediocre.

All except one.

When he had danced with Maria, for one moment Georg had forgotten about everything else. They had been outside in the courtyard, away from the cloying glitz and glamour of the ball. The band had been playing not an elegant waltz, but the traditional folk dance of the Laendler. His partner had been wearing a simple dress that, though not formal, fit her character just as much as the dance itself; and looked more alluring than any woman inside.

He had managed to avoid dancing until then, and it was only after Elsa had found him just before dinner and swept him out onto the dance floor, that he realised just how magical it had been dancing with Maria.

He'd dropped the 'Fraulein' in his mind long before, but he'd known in that moment, he had fallen in love.

After he managed to pull himself out of bed and dress, he slowly made his way downstairs. He was heading for his study when something caught his eye. On the hall table outside the parlour was an envelope.

Without stopping to think about it, he picked it up and looked at it. On it was written a single word: Captain

With a growing sense of unease, he opened the envelope, slid out the paper inside, and began to read.

Dear Captain,
I'm sorry about this but I feel it's time for me to return to the Abbey.
Please say goodbye to the children for me.
I will miss you,

Maria

The note was so short, yet it seemed to take Georg forever to process it. He stood stock still, looking at, but not seeing, the piece of paper in his hands.

Had he read that right? He was so overwhelmed that he let go of the note, and, along with the envelope, it fluttered to the floor.

"Sir, is everything alright?" a voice asked.

He looked up to see Franz looking at him curiously.

"Sir?"

"Uh, yes," he said, in an almost disconnected voice. He was surprised he could still speak. "Yes, everything is fine Franz. Thank you."

Though it was anything but.

He bent down to retrieve the piece of paper, seeing Franz watching him skeptically out of the corner of his eye. But by the time he'd stood up, the butler had vanished.

He clutched Maria's note to his chest, fully away he was being more sentimental than he'd likely ever been before. But he didn't care.

It was all he had of her.

The paper looked like a missing page from a book – had she torn it from her Bible? – and it was smudged with tears. She'd been crying.

Why?

Why, why, why?

He raced up the stairs towards the staff wing, not caring if he disturbed anyone. He'd already seen Franz. Surely the rest of the staff would be awake by now.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she hadn't left, and was simply still asleep. Given her tardiness – which Georg now realised he found almost endearing – that could be plausible.

But there was no sound inside the governess' bedroom. No snoring, or light breathing, or anything to indicate someone was there.

His dread only increased when he slowly turned the handle and cautiously stepped inside.

It was dark inside but the emptiness of the room was still clear. It wasn't simply that it was devoid of any indication Maria was there; it was as if she had never been there at all.

No, wait, there was.

He noticed that her closet was open, and his eye caught a glimpse of the purest blue. Her dress. The one she'd worn the night of the puppet show.

She had looked so beautiful.

Georg allowed himself one moment to think back; think about that wonderful night. Was that when he fell in love with her? Was that when it started? Was that the first night he dreamt about her?

He wished he was dreaming now.

But when he opened his eyes, Maria wasn't there. Only the beautiful blue dress.

Now nothing more than proof she had been here.

But nothing changed the fact that now she had gone. Left them. Left him.

Without saying goodbye; even to the children.

The children!

What was he going to tell the children?

Georg was listless throughout the entirety of breakfast. His coffee seemed cold and the food was tasteless.

He could only think about Maria, and how she had awakened something inside of him. Because of her he was a better father, a better man. But more than anything, he had found himself feeling the things he had pushed away since Agathe had died.

For too long he'd been too scared to let himself feel anything. Now, when it didn't matter how he felt, he was feeling everything.

He'd told Frau Schmidt to wake the children and help them get ready for breakfast. He'd told them Maria had returned to the Abbey; temporaily, because she needed time to think. He thought it was the best.

The children were sad, but had accepted his story without complaint. He thought maybe the older ones had some suspicions, but none of them pushed it.

Neither had Max, who, being abnormally quiet and calm, Georg guessed knew that something was amiss.

It didn't matter, he'd reasoned. He knew Maria well enough to know that she would not leave without a reason, especially not without a goodbye to the children. He also knew that if she had gone, he had to respect her wishes.

But he wasn't going to let her get away without telling her that he loved her.

The first thing he had to do was call the Abbey. Even though she had left, Maria was still under his care. He needed to make sure she had made it back to the Abbey.

He didn't even care that Max had followed him into the study. His friend could run his liquor cabinet dry for all he cared right now. There was only one thing on his mind.

His thoughts were interrupted when the telephone finally connected.

"Nonnberg Abbey," a voice said. "This is Sister Catherine."

"This is Captain von Trapp," he said. "I was just calling to make sure Maria made it back to you safely."

He hated the words as he said them. He didn't want her at the Abbey; he wanted her here, at home with him and the children.

"Back to us?" Sister Catherine seemed confused. "She was sent to your house as a governess, was she not?"

"Yes," Georg said. "But she left in the middle of the night. She left a note saying she was going back to the Abbey."

"Oh," the nun seemed worried, but only for a moment. "Well I'm sorry Captain, but we haven't seen her."

Ice cold dread filled Georg. If something had happened to Maria, he would never forgive himself. As Sister Catherine had said, she was under his protection.

"But we will be certain to let you know if we do," she continued.

"Likewise," Georg replied, knowing immediately it was false. If – no, when – he found Maria he was not going to let her go. Telling the nuns would be the last thing on his mind.

He hung up the phone, almost numb. He didn't think it could get worse than Maria disappearing in the middle of the night – the same night he realised he was in love with her – without a word to anybody, but it had.

She had not arrived at the Abbey.

Even if she had had to walk all the way through town, it could not have taken her all night.

What had happened? The note made it seemed like she was desperate to return to the Abbey – she'd left in the middle of the night for goodness' sakes, of course she was desperate – and yet she hadn't made it there.

Something had to have happened.

"Well Georg," "Max said. "What happened?"

He'd completely forgotten Max was there. He didn't have the energy to say nothing was wrong, nor was there a point. Max knew him too well.

"She never made it to the Abbey," he said robotically. "What am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Max sounded confused. "You should go after her."

"But…" Georg asked. "…Elsa?"

He was surprised he'd even remembered Elsa.

"You are not engaged to Elsa yet," replied Max, matter-of-factly, "And she won't be up for hours."

"That's very comforting Max," Georg said dryly.

"Well," replied Max with a shrug. Then he became serious. "But Georg, given the myriad terrible situations our little Fraulein could have gotten herself into, you have to go find her."

"But –"

"But nothing," interrupted the impresario, before turning wistful. "You say sometimes you don't believe you know me, but with some things I will never understand you."

"What do you mean Maximilian?"

"If you love this woman, go get her," Max replied. "What are you waiting for?"

Georg just stared. He had heard what Max had said to Maria the night before as she tried to dash away up the stairs. He thought he'd be asking for some sort of ulterior motive; another chance to get the children to perform at the festival. Or even just because she was the governess.

He hadn't expected him to say that.

"You do love her, don't you?"

Max wasn't really asking.

Georg's silence was answer enough.