Page 15 of Heart of Snow
“And show up at next week’s lesson looking every bit the fool I did yesterday? I think not.”
“Well, it wasn’t all bad.” Belinda gathered my pile of discarded garments. “If it weren’t for your incompetence, Friedrich would never have had an excuse to put his arms around you.”
“He was crushing me, Belinda. He was angry. There was nothing remotely romantic about it.”
“Perhaps not just then, but another time, under less vexing circumstances, it could be very romantic.” She folded the clothes and rested them across the bed. “From my vantage point, the only real error was when you slapped his arm like the rump of a horse. And that laugh... I would have sworn it was a pig squealing if I hadn’t seen it come from your mouth.”
A blush crept up my neck, and I buried my eyes in my fists. “I have no skill for these games with men!”
“I promised I’d teach you. If you hurry with your bath, we may have time enough for a little instruction before bed.”
I wasn’t eager to pull myself out of the warm water, and I was even less eager for instructions on flirtation, but after a decent soak, my curiosity got the best of me. Stepping out of the tub, I hurried to dry myself, then let Belinda slide a fresh chemise over my head.
“Now, I want you to watch what I do and imitate,” she said, positioning herself in front of me. “When you touch a man, don’t hit him as though you were swatting a beetle. Rest your hand on his arm, like so.” Belinda laid a delicate hand on my forearm and looked up at me coyly through lowered lashes. “And when you remove your hand, let it trail down his arm ever so softly before you let go. Allow the tips of your fingers to be the last thing to touch him.” She gave a demonstration before dropping her arms to her sides. “Now, practice on me.”
I laughed and shook my head at the ridiculousness of the request.
“Ah yes, we’ll work on your laugh in a bit, but for now...” She held her arm out toward me.
Rolling my eyes, I rested my hand on her sleeve, trying to keep my touch delicate.
“Good.” She nodded. “Now the release. That’s a bit too lingering, dear,” she said when I’d run my fingers down the length of her arm. “Just a short sweep at the end is sufficient. Well done. Now on to the next piece. You have a long, elegant neck; let’s use it.”
Belinda spent the next hour instructing me. She taught me how to tilt my head to best expose and lengthen my neck, how to gently pout my lips when I’ve concluded speaking, and even how to fold my hands in front of me to accentuate the fullness of my bosom. By the time I’d made my two hundredth attempt at a light, trilling laugh, I was ready to burrow under the bedclothes and sleep till Whitsun.
“Next Sunday we’ll take extra care with your appearance, choosing one of your most flattering gowns.” Belinda stirred the fire a final time for the night. “If you can manage to keep the conversation civil and practice what I’ve taught you, I’d be very surprised if you haven’t cracked through Friedrich’s austerity by the end of the day.”
I couldn’t prevent a groan from escaping as I crawled into bed. “And if I’m always with him after church, when will I find time to deliver the people’s electuaries and herbs?”
“This is more important, Margaretha.” Belinda slipped onto her pallet and puffed up her pillow. “I know you still have doubts, but your success here could determine Count Samuel’s fate. And more.”
And more. Echoes of the healer’s screams played through my mind without warning, and I sprang off my pillow, taking to unwrapping the fresh bandage from my hand to dispel the memory. The scab was still split, and the edges looked raw after this morning’s shooting practice. I pressed my thumb against it, fingering the rough, thick scab while I dropped my head against the bedframe. My gaze traveled the dark room, reviving darker memories. Only the little chair beside the fireplace managed to draw a smile as I recalled waking from a fitful sleep to find Samuel sitting there, a thick book in hand. He wasn’t allowed in my room. The sickness ravaging the house had already claimed Mother and baby Esther—though I knew nothing of it at the time—and Father was adamant that Samuel and Elizabeth stay far from me.
“You shouldn’t . . . be here,” I’d croaked. “If Father finds you . . .”
Samuel had looked up from his book to give me a mischievous smile. “Then I’ll not get caught.”
“You will when you fall to... your sick bed.”
“Hush. I promise to stay over here. I only want to keep watch.”
I was so weak, my throat so dry. “Drink,” I’d begged.
“Belinda, the ale,” Samuel ordered.
She was always quick to obey him, helping me drink while Samuel fidgeted in his seat.
Finishing the ale, I’d settled back in my bed. “You should go, Samuel.”
“I shan’t leave you to suffer alone, Retie.” His voice was determined.
I gave a feeble smile. “Then perhaps you will read to me.”
Face softening, he reopened his book, reading aloud the story of Atalanta and her footrace until I’d drifted back to sleep.
He was always so kind. He’d been the one to cry with me when I’d learned of Mother and baby Esther. He’d done his best to console me after the healer’s death, though he didn’t understand the cause of my anguish. I could never admit my part in it. And why would I? There was nothing he could do. NothingIcould do.
Until now.
