“The Maltese Branle, my lord,” Gunther said.
Lord Hamlin looked down, adjusted his fingers on the instrument, and began to play the melody for the dance. Rose perched on the stool by the window. She tried to keep her eyes on the dancers. They did provide a delightful scene, since by now Hildy had learned the dance well. But Rose’s eyes were drawn over and over to Lord Hamlin. He stood against the wall, exuding easy confidence. She watched his hands move over the strings, his brow puckered in concentration. The music gave her an overwhelming feeling of joy. She told herself it had nothing to do with Lord Hamlin’s presence.
He seemed careful to look only at his lute, with an occasional glance at the dancers. Part of her felt relieved not to have to return his penetrating gaze.
The two dancers had eyes only for each other.
She sighed. How different would Lord Hamlin behave were he the son of a scribe, like Gunther, instead of the betrothed son of a duke? If he were free to give his attention to whomever he wanted, would he give it to her?
She scolded herself for even having such a thought.
Lord Hamlin came to the end of the song he was playing and Gunther suggested they move on to a new dance, since Hildy had mastered this one. Gunther held out his hand to Rose. “Will you help me demonstrate the steps?”
Rose felt self-conscious dancing with Gunther, wondering if Lord Hamlin was watching her, but she dared not look at him. She couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to dance with him and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. But no. He wouldn’t be.
And so the afternoon went. They even attracted a small crowd of children who stood in the doorway and watched, wide-eyed, as the dance lesson continued.
After several songs had been played and different dances practiced, Frau Geruscha walked in. She looked around the chamber.
Lord Hamlin stopped playing. “Frau Geruscha, good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Hamlin.” A bemused smile came over her face—the one she always seemed to wear when Lord Hamlin was around.
“A dance lesson. I hope you don’t mind.” He turned to Gunther. “I suppose we should put an end to our frivolity.”
“Yes, my lord, quite so,” Gunther replied.
Frau Geruscha shook her head. “I don’t mind. How is your leg? Is it mending well?”
Gunther took advantage of Frau Geruscha’s and Lord Hamlin’s averted attention to whisper something to Hildy. Then, after grabbing the herbs for his mother, he took his leave of Rose and the healer and followed Lord Hamlin out the door to the courtyard.
Hildy’s face flushed as she turned to Rose. She threw her arms around her, buried her face in her shoulder, and squealed.
Rose sat at her desk in Frau Geruscha’s chamber, happily writing a new morality tale, a story about a man who cured his wife of her habit of complaining.
“Rose? Are you here?”
She looked up, her quill poised above the parchment, and smiled at the figure that appeared in the doorway. “Lady Osanna. Good morning.”
Lord Rupert stood just behind, peeking over his sister’s shoulder. Rose’s smile faltered.
Lady Osanna lifted her skirt and stepped inside. “Since it’s such a beautiful day, I thought you might go on a picnic with me. And Lord Rupert begged to come along. I hope you don’t mind.” She lifted her eyebrows hopefully. “Would you like to go?”
Lord Rupert waited beside her with an equally expectant expression.
Just then Frau Geruscha walked in from the storage room, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Frau Geruscha, good morning,” Lady Osanna said. “Would you like to go on a picnic with us?”
Frau Geruscha stared at Lord Rupert, her brows lowering. “Good morning, Lady Osanna, Lord Rupert.” She held the folds of her apron in her hands. After a long pause, she said, “I believe I shall not, today.”
Rose placed her quill in its stand and stood, quickly taking off her apron and smoothing her skirt with her palms. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d worn her crimson dress and had put on her apron earlier that morning to protect it while she helped Frau Geruscha bandage a woman’s bad burn from a cooking fire. It wasn’t as fine as Lady Osanna’s damask gown, but it was one of her best.
She smiled. “It sounds like a lovely idea.”
“Rose, wait,” Frau Geruscha said.
They all turned to look at her.
“May I speak with you?”
Rose followed Frau Geruscha into the storage room and stood waiting.
“Rose, I—” Frau Geruscha stopped, took a deep breath, and held it for a moment. She then exhaled and lowered her face, pressing the inside corners of her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and closed it again.
“What is it, Frau Geruscha?”