“Not as beautiful as you.” His voice was an octave lower. Even though she had reached out to take the flowers, he continued to hold them then let his thumb lightly stroke the back of her hand.
His touch irritated her, for she was afraid that Frau Geruscha would see him touching her. Her mistress was still several horse lengths away but getting closer.
She should not be letting him do this. What would he try next? Her face burned at the thought. Letting him touch her hand went beyond propriety’s boundaries. Besides, she didn’t like the way his touch made her feel—alarmed and out of control.
“Lord Rupert, I would not mislead you. You know my social position is not comparable to yours—”
“Rose, please.” The hurt look on his face affected her much more than she wanted it to as she gazed down at him from atop her mare. “I know what you must be thinking, Rose, but I swear, I—”
“Lesson’s over for today.” Frau Geruscha had closed the gap between them, and her tone brooked no argument. “We thank you, my lord.”
Rose noticed her stern look. She glanced down at Lord Rupert. His pained expression made her feel worse, as compassion for him suddenly welled up inside her.
She must harden her heart. He was like all men, merely wanting what he couldn’t have.
O God, help me.
A week later, Rose sat beside Hildy on the bench in the southwest tower of Hagenheim Castle. Hildy’s mother was minding their candle shop today, giving Hildy the day off and a chance to spend time with Rose. She’d brought some mending with her. Their needles moved in and out of the fabric on their laps while they talked, and when the conversation was at a lull, Hildy hummed while she sewed.
Rose’s thoughts drifted to her family. She had gone, just that morning, to remove her few remaining possessions still at her family’s cottage, since she was sleeping at the castle now. Her childhood memories had been stirred, and she remembered how her father came home each evening with his ax slung over his shoulder. No matter how tired he was from chopping wood, he always had a smile for her and her sisters and brother. Her mother, on the other hand, was always yelling and scolding, complaining bitterly about the work she had to do. Rose pitied her mother even as she longed to escape her. Her high-pitched voice, raised frequently in anger and frustration, filled Rose with an ache of desperation.
Now that she had escaped, the ache strangely remained, as though she’d escaped physically, outwardly, but inwardly she was still affected. She only hoped her little sisters and brother would not feel the brunt of her mother’s sharp harshness. She had always been kinder to them than to Rose.
Rose was shaken back to the present by the sounds of Frau Geruscha, who was nearby in the storage room putting away some herbs and making a list of those she would need to replenish. Hildy then leaned over and whispered to Rose, “After all you’ve told me about Lord Rupert, I think he must be falling in love with you.”
“That’s silly, Hildy. Even if he is,” Rose hissed back, “he wouldn’t want to wed me.”
“Why ever not? You’re beautiful, and you have what every noble family wants—a body capable of bearing children.”
Rose snorted and rolled her eyes heavenward. Leave it to Hildy to point out things Rose would rather not think about.
“Not everything a noble family wants,” Rose said. “Lord Rupert is accustomed to privilege and wealth, and yet he will not inherit any of it. You know the law. It all goes to the eldest son.”
“So?”
“So he will need to marry an heiress. He wouldn’t be happy with only the manor house his mother has entailed to him.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me at the feast that he should like to be as wealthy as Bishop Albrecht. He doesn’t want to be poor, and he would gain nothing from marrying me. And besides, no one seems to trust him—not his brother, not Frau Geruscha. What does that indicate to you?”
“That the poor man is being treated unfairly. That motives are being attributed to him that are not his own.”
“Oh, Hildy.” Rose sighed and shook her head. She had no illusions about what men desired from women of her class or about the lengths to which they would sometimes go to get it.
She thought of Lord Rupert’s face as he stood near her, of the flowers and of his words before he was interrupted by Frau Geruscha. “I know what you must be thinking, Rose, but I swear, I—” How would it feel to be loved by the son of Duke Nicolaus of Hagenheim? To be loved for herself, her thoughts, her values?
It would feel good…very, very good.
She closed her eyes and the image of Lord Hamlin appeared, of his earnest expression. The thought never made it into words, but it was there, in her mind.
There was no comparison between the two brothers.
But she would not even allow herself to imagine how it would feel for Lord Hamlin to love her. He was betrothed.