Please accept these fabrics as a replacement for the dress I ruined. My sister, Lady Osanna, chose them for you. It was signed, Lord Hamlin.
Lord Hamlin wrote a note to me? Hildy would die of raptures when she heard. But what did the gift truly mean? That he pitied her? That she was obviously in need? Her dress was ugly, the material coarse and plain. Rose’s cheeks tingled in embarrassment.
She put the note aside, unable to resist examining the fabrics. One was a luxurious gold silk. Beneath it was a smaller amount of matching gold-and-red brocade. She let her fingertips glide over the smooth cloth and intricate stitching.
The next was a burgundy velvet, its texture soft and rich. These materials were very fine and would make the most exquisite dresses, by far, that Rose had ever owned. But when would she ever have need of such clothes?
The last one was a bolt of plain blue linen that would make the sort of dress more fitting for a working maiden like herself. At least she would get some use from that. The rest of the fabric was appropriate only for a lady—Lady Osanna, for example.
Her thoughts drifted to Lord Hamlin, his deep voice saying her name, his blue eyes and perfect teeth and lips as he glanced at her over his shoulder.
Abruptly, she turned away from the fabric. She folded the note and stuffed it into her apron pocket. Dreaming about Lord Hamlin. I’m as bad as Hildy.
The southwest tower window was before her. She watched dark clouds roll toward their walled town. The wind raced ahead of them, causing the people in the Marktplatz to gather their goods and pack them away into sacks and barrels before the rain came.
With his injured leg, Lord Hamlin and his knights would not be riding out today, as they’d done so often before Lord Hamlin went away two years ago, to hunt for the man who stood between him and his betrothed. If it were not for Moncore, Lord Hamlin would be married. The lady was of age by now. Rose was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that she felt a twinge of jealousy toward her.
That very morning Arnold Hintzen, a young farmer, had asked Rose—no, commanded her—to go with him to the May Day Festival next week. She had pitied him, but as he became more insistent, she found him increasingly repulsive. Were it not for Wolfie, she might have been afraid of him. But the dog was quick to warn away anyone who came too close to her, baring his fangs and sending chills down even Rose’s spine with his snarls and ferocious barking.
She could see Arnold’s face now, his watery green eyes and rotten teeth. When she became the town healer, surely neither he nor anyone else would dare to thrust such unwanted invitations on her.
Then there were the suitors her mother was constantly entreating her to marry.
Frau Geruscha entered the room and came to stand beside Rose.
“Are you troubled, child?”
“My mother wants me to marry a widowed butcher with six children.” Rose’s voice sounded flat as she struggled to hide her feelings. “Two weeks ago it was an old spice merchant. She says if I marry a wealthy tradesman it will improve my brother’s chances of being apprenticed to a good trade.”
“What does your father say?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t want to marry an old man. All I want is to be a good healer.”
Frau Geruscha squeezed Rose’s shoulder. “If you need my help to convince your mother she shouldn’t try to force you to marry, tell me, and I will speak to her.” She was quiet for a moment as her concerned look slowly changed to a bemused half smile. “I have a confession to make to you, Rose.”
“A confession?”
Frau Geruscha seemed to force her smile into a frown, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. “I allowed Lord Hamlin to take one of your stories.”
“You…what?” Rose backed up a step, bumping into a bench, and sat heavily.
“He came in this morning while you were in the kitchen. Your story was lying open on the table, and when I walked in he was reading it.”
Rose felt the blood drain from her face. “But, he—but I—no one was supposed to—”
“He said it was very good. He asked if he could take it to his family and read it to them. I couldn’t say no.”
“His family? Oh.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Rose.” But with her smile, Frau Geruscha didn’t look very sorry. “I didn’t think you would mind. I realize I should have suggested that he request your permission. But he seemed so delighted with it.”
The prospect of facing Lord Hamlin again, of him asking her permission for anything, almost made her grateful that Frau Geruscha had allowed him to take it.
Rose’s face burned as she thought of the lord and his entire family—the duke and duchess, Lord Rupert, and Lady Osanna—reading her story.
“Don’t be angry with me, Rose.”
Rose pretended to examine her shoes. She shook her head. “I’m not angry.” Only dying from embarrassment, betrayed by my own mistress. She could only hope she would be out of the room if and when Lord Hamlin came back to return it.