Page 50 of Heart of Snow
“There you are.” Her words were an accusation. “Seems your stomach is feeling bet—” She knit her brows, looking past me into the room before I could whip the door closed. Her eyes turned icy. “So that’s what you’ve been doing?”
Taking a painful grip of my arm, she half-dragged me down the corridor. “What were you thinking, risking your reputation like that? Anyone who saw you secreting yourself alone with serving boys would think the worst.”
I twisted my arm from her grasp, shocked by her audacity. “It was no different than any of our French lessons.”
She scoffed. “Except then I stood nearby enough to warn you should someone approach. What would your father have done had he seen you?”
I didn’t answer.
“You have exactly one week before your farewell banquet. You’re potentially days away from seeing your brother.” She paced ahead of me. “Don’t let your foolish romantic inclinations get in the way of what we’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“What if this isn’t the right path?” I asked. “What if Samuel wants something more for me?”
She stopped at the top of the stairs, rounding on me. “You think you’re in love, is that it?”
“No, it’s not—”
“You think someday your father will grant you permission to marry a peasant and be thrilled to let you and Friedrich live here under his charity? Never. And even if there was the slightest chance of your father not throwing Friedrich out as soon as he’d learned of your infatuation, how could Friedrich ever accept you if he knew what you’d done? How could any man love you if he knew the truth?”
I sucked in a sharp breath and fell back a step. A physical blow could not have struck harder.
“How dare you!” I straightened my spine. Belinda’s troubled past gave excuse for her shifting moods and dagger tongue, but this was a step too far. “You have no right to speak to me thus. You’re every bit as guilty as I.”
“Precisely,” she snapped. “Which is why I know you could never be happy with Friedrich. Not when your life would be a lie. Not with your brother’s corpse rotting in a grave you could have spared him from. Forget this nonsense. Don’t hope for a marriage filled with love; seek a marriage to save the brother you love, and that will be enough to give you a lifetime of peace. That’s worth far more than any temporary fluttering of affection you think you feel.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, refusing to let her see the impact of her words, how she’d shaken my rising hope to quicksand.
It was only when Belinda turned and descended the stairs, leading us back to my sleeping tutor, that I felt an uncomfortable heat emanating from my hand. The scar on my palm had been rubbed an angry red.
Chapter 22
Friedrich
I hadn’t managed to catchMargaretha’s attention all night, even when she stood with blush-brightened cheeks while her father raised his cup in her honor. And with Mistress Hatzfeld browbeating poor Bernhold into assigning me more work all week, tonight’s banquet was the first time I’d seen Margaretha since our apothecary meeting. Going an entire week without so much as a glimpse of her had turned me sullen, particularly because of Hatzfeld’s annoying interruption just as Margaretha was on the verge of admitting something vital. I felt almost sure she was about to confess her feelings for me, but with her party leaving tomorrow for Brussels, now I might never know the truth.
“Don’t think I don’t see right through you.” Ilsa’s voice intruded into my thoughts, and I turned forward at the table to face her.
“Staring up at the dais with all but drool drippin’ from your chin. You’ve a fire burning for the countess, don’t you?”
I gave her a bored stare and picked up my spoon, taking a loud slurp of my soup.
“And I’ve seen the way you watch her at church, your eyes always flickin’ up to the balcony. It’s too obvious to ask why you’ve come to care for her—certainly she’s comely—but I thought you were a great deal smarter.” She fished through the breadbasket for a roll, then picked off the black seeds. “Ah, poor Friedrich. You’re just a servant; did you really believe she cared for you as anythin’ more than a bit of fun?”
I clenched my spoon so hard my knuckles turned white. Ilsa had managed to hit on the one fear I couldn’t easily dismiss. The difference in our stations put the countess far beyond my reach.
“I’ve lost my appetite.” I gave Ilsa a pointed look and pushed away from the table, pacing toward the great hall doors. Instinctively glancing at Margaretha, I was surprised to find her watching me, her eyes meeting mine for the first time tonight. But I didn’t even have a moment to give her a quick smile before Carrera spoke to her, stealing her attention away.
I needed to find a way to meet with her before tomorrow. There was still so much left unsaid between us. How could I let her leave without learning the truth of what she was about to confess in the apothecary? Without making a confession of my own? I didn’t need to worry about station and class, thinking so far into the future when all I had left was this one night. One night to convince her to stay. One night to admit my feelings for her.
***
Margaretha
I could still feel Friedrich’s gaze locked on me, his eyes speaking words I didn’t want to hear, even after the musicians’ melody petered out and Father rose to his feet with a nervous smile.
“Friends”—Father leaned his splayed fingers against the banquet table—“you well bore a father’s long and affectionate ramblings for his beloved daughter, but I beg your patience once again, as I have a little more to say now at the close of our meal. Lady Margaretha was but a child when she lost her mother, and though she might have suffered much from such an early separation, she was blessed with the affection and care of so many in this house. Chief among them, she had the good fortune to be guided by one young in years but wise beyond her age. Baroness von Hatzfeld.”
As applause echoed in the hall, I shot Belinda a look of surprise, wondering at this unusual distinction, but she did not seem to notice. She stood, offering the room a timid smile.
