“I don’t believe that.” His mother’s voice was hushed but firm. “I don’t know where Wilhelm’s betrothed is, but I know who she is. She is the daughter of Godehard, Duke of Marienberg, not the daughter of Duke Alfred of Schweitzer.”
Rupert shrugged. “Rumors nearly always have at least an element of truth, Mother. You’ve said so yourself, many times.”
The duchess frowned.
“But don’t worry about me. I’m destined for the Church, remember? I think I’ve persuaded Father to make me the new bishop.” He faced his brother. “Don’t you think I’d make an ideal priest?”
“No. I think you should wed.” Wilhelm didn’t like this conversation. If he weren’t still considering giving Rupert the pounding he deserved, he would escape back to the musicians and his lute.
Rupert chuckled. “Ah, my brother knows me too well, I suppose.” He gave Wilhelm a friendly pat on the shoulder before starting down the hallway. “I’ll see you both tonight.”
Rupert. Always happy when there’s a party to go to or a woman to seduce. But if he dared set his sights on Rose…
“As for you,” the duchess said, turning her eye on Wilhelm, “I hope you will enjoy yourself tonight.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m sure I will.” He stared at the iron sconce on the stone wall of the corridor, hardly seeing it. Instead, he saw Rose, as she’d sat on the sunny, grassy hill several days ago. “I’m sure I won’t know anyone,” she’d said. The wind blew a strand of chestnut hair across her cheek at that moment, giving her a vulnerable look.
Wilhelm blinked to clear the memory from his mind. “Mother.” He looked into her faded blue eyes. “Please be kind to Rose. Remember what she did for me. I fear the other guests may look down on her because of her father’s occupation.”
“Oh.” His mother’s mouth opened in surprise, as though it had never occurred to her to be concerned for someone who might feel out of place. Her own self-assurance made her oblivious to such feelings in others. “I think she will enjoy herself immensely, having never been invited to anything so grand.” Her face took on a disdainful look. “She should feel honored.”
Wilhelm made an effort to unclench his teeth. “I’m sure she will be appropriately grateful. Just don’t slight her, that’s all I ask.”
“Of course not, son. You always were the thoughtful one.” She smiled and patted his cheek in a way that made him frown. She sighed. “I promise I will treat her with courtesy, not that I wouldn’t anyway. But I shall make an extra effort, since you are so concerned.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Rose sat up straight on the low stool in her new dress. Hildy stood over her, piling Rose’s curls on top of her head.
Outwardly, Rose was nearly ready, but every time she thought about entering the Great Hall and facing a room full of elegantly dressed people, her stomach threatened to heave its contents.
She’d thought she wouldn’t know anyone at the ball. Ha! The maidens from town, especially the daughters of the guild presidents, were sure to single her out for ridicule. Then there was Osanna, Lord Hamlin’s sweet sister. While she appeared to like Rose, Osanna couldn’t possibly realize what a bumpkin Rose was, someone who fell out of trees and would probably look just as clumsy attempting the dances.
Lord Hamlin. He had talked to her as though she were his peer, but perhaps only because he had happened upon her outdoors—certainly an informal setting. Would he ignore her at the ball? She was beneath his station in life. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t even acknowledge her tonight.
And yet, if she had not panicked and run away from him that day under the beech tree, how long might they have talked? He was chivalrous in both the way he behaved and the way he looked at her, so different from other men. He seemed so honorable, she felt safe with him.
Besides, he was betrothed.
And then there was Lord Rupert. She had only glimpsed him a couple of times since he and Lord Hamlin arrived home three weeks ago—until the day before, when he’d given her flowers.
She wasn’t sure what to make of him. Lord Rupert had the polished manner of a person from whom compliments were free-flowing, but she had to admit, it felt good to be called “beautiful” by the son of a duke.
“Stop fidgeting!”
She sat still and let Hildy finish her hair. She couldn’t see herself, since Frau Geruscha didn’t own a looking glass, but she felt like a peasant dressed up to look like someone else. The dress had turned out beautifully. The gold silk skimmed the floor and the brocade bodice was studded with tiny pearls. The enormous sleeves hung from her wrists to the floor and were lined and cuffed with a dark cinnamon-red fabric.