by Lisa Kleypas
“Do you think so?” Lady Laythem glanced toward her cousin questioningly, but found no help there. Her cousin was gaping at them both as if they had sprouted a third head between them. Sighing, Joan turned back to beam at Brinna reassuringly. “Well, it does not matter. ’Twill not be a worry. If you are discovered, I shall simply say ’twas all my idea. That ’twas a jest.”
“Aye, well…” Eyes wide and wary, Brinna began backing away. “I don’t think—”
“I will pay you.”
Pausing, she blinked at that. “Pay me?”
“Handsomely,” Joan assured her, then mentioned a sum that made Brinna press a hand to her chest and drop onto the end of the bed to sit as her head spun. With that sum, Aggie could retire. She could while away the rest of her days in relative comfort and peace. Aggie deserved such a boon.
“Joan!” Dismay covering her face, Sabrina hurried forward now. “What ever do you think you are doing? You can’t have this—this maid impersonate you!”
“Of course I can. Don’t you see? If she is me, I won’t have to suffer the clumsy wooing of that backwoods oaf to whom my father is determined to marry me off. I may even find a way out of this mess.”
“There is no way out of this mess—I mean, marriage. It was contracted when you were but a babe. It is—”
“There is always a way out of things,” Joan insisted grimly. “And I will find it if I just have time to think. Having her pretend to be me will give me that time. I would already have figured a way out of it if Father had deigned to mention this betrothal ere he did. Why, when he sent for me from court, I thought, I thought—well, I certainly did not think it was simply to ship me here so that some country bumpkin could look me over for a marriage I did not even know about.”
“I understand you are upset,” Sabrina murmured gently. “But you have yet to even meet Royce of Thurleah. He may be a very nice man. He may be—”
“He is a lesser baron of Lord Menton’s. He was the son of a wealthy land baron some fifteen years ago when my father made the betrothal, but his father ran the estate into the ground and left his son with a burdensome debt and a passel of trouble. He made a name for himself in battle while in ser vice to the king, then retired to his estates where he is said to work as hard as his few vassals. He does not attend court, and does not travel much. In fact, he spends most of his time out there on his estate trying to wring some profit from his land.”
Sabrina bit her lip guiltily. It was she herself who had gained all this information for Joan during the trip here from court. It had been easy enough to attain, a question here, a question there. Everyone seemed to know and respect the man. She pointed that out now, adding, “And he is succeeding at the task he has set for himself. He is slowly rebuilding the estate to its original glory.”
“Oh, aye, with my dower, Thurleah shall no doubt be returned to its original wealth and grandeur…in about five, maybe ten years. But by the time that happens, I shall have died at childbirth or be too old to enjoy the benefits. Nay. I’ll not marry him, cousin. This is the first time in my nineteen and a half years that I have even set foot outside of Laythem. I have dreamed my whole life that someday things would be different. That I would marry, leave Laythem, and visit court whenever I wish. I will not trade one prison for another and marry a man who stays on his estate all the time, a man who will expect me to work myself to death beside him.”
“But—” Sabrina glanced between her cousin and Brinna with a frown. “Well, can you not simply go along with meeting and getting to know him until you come up with a plan to avoid the wedding? Why must you make the girl take your place?”
“Because ’twill give me more time to think. Besides, why should I suffer the wooing of a country bumpkin who probably does not even know what courtly love is? Let him woo the maid. His coarse words and ignorant manners will no doubt seem charming to her after the rough attentions she probably suffers daily as a serf.”
“I am a free woman,” Brinna said with quiet dignity. But neither woman seemed to hear, much less care about what she had to say, as Sabrina frowned, her eyes narrowing on Joan.
“I have never said anyone called Thurleah a country bumpkin or said that his manners were poor,” Sabrina declared.
“Did you not?” Joan was suddenly avoiding her cousin’s gaze. “Well, it does not matter. Someone did, and this maid can save me from all that by taking my place.”
“Nay. She cannot,” Sabrina said firmly. “It would not work. While you are similar in looks, you are not identical. She is even an inch or two taller than you.”
“You are right, of course. If Father were here I would never dare try it, but it’s almost providential that he fell ill and had to remain behind at court. But no one here has seen me before except for Lord Menton on the journey here, and then I was bundled up in my mantle and hood, with furs wrapped around me to keep warm. The only thing he saw was my nose poking out into the cold, and she has the same nose. The same is true of Lady Menton when we arrived. She greeted us on arrival, but ’twas only for a mere moment or two and I was still all bundled up.”
“Mayhap, but what of the difference in height?”
Joan shrugged. “I was on my horse most of the journey and no doubt my mantle adds some height to me They will not notice. It will work.”
“But she is a peasant, Joan. She does not know how to behave as a lady.”
“We will teach her what she needs to know,” Joan announced blithely.
“You expect to instill nineteen years’ worth of training into her in a matter of hours?” Sabrina gasped in disbelief.
“Well…” The first signs of doubt played on Joan’s face. “Perhaps not in hours. We can claim that I am weary from the journey and wish to rest in my room rather than join the others below for dinner to night And I shall tutor her all evening.” At Sabrina’s doubtful look, she gestured impatiently. “It is not as if I must teach her to run a house hold or play the harp. She need only walk and talk like a lady, remember to say as little as possible, and not disgrace me. Besides she need only fool Lord Thurleah, and he could not possibly spend much time around proper ladies. He does not even go to court,” she muttered with disgust. She turned to the maid.
“Girl?” Joan began, then frowned. “What is your name?”
“Brinna, m’lady.”
“Well, Brinna, will you agree to be me?” When Brinna hesitated briefly, Joan moved quickly to a chest at the foot of the bed and tossed it open. Rifling through the contents, she found a small purse, opened it, and poured out several coins. “This is half of what I promised you. Agree and I will give them to you now. I shall give you the other half when ’tis over.”
Brinna stared at those coins and swallowed as visions of Aggie resting in a chair by the fire in a cozy cottage filled her mind. The old woman had worked hard to feed and clothe Brinna and deserved to enjoy her last days so. With the coins from this chore, she could see that she did. And it wasn’t as if it was dangerous. Lady Joan would explain that it was her idea if they got caught, she assured herself, then quickly nodded her head before she could lose her courage.
“Marvelous!” Grabbing her hand, Joan dropped the coins into her open palm, then folded her fingers closed over them and squeezed firmly. “Now, the first thing we must do is—”
The three of them froze, gazes shooting guiltily to the door, as a knock sounded. At Joan’s muttered “Enter,” the door opened and Lady Christina peered in.
“Mother sent me to see that all is well with your maid.”
“Aye. She will do fine,” Joan said quickly, a panicked look about her face. Brinna realized at once that the girl feared that seeing them together, Lady Christina might notice the similarity in their looks and somehow put paid to her plans. There was no way to reassure her that the other girl wasn’t likely to notice such things. It was well known at Menton that Lady Christina paid little attention to the world around her unless it had something to do with her beloved books. Which was the r
eason Brinna was so startled when the girl suddenly tilted her head to the side, her deep blue eyes actually focusing for a moment as she gave a light laugh and murmured, “Look at the three of you. All huddled together with your heads cocked up. You look like three French hens at the arrival of the butcher. Except, of course, only two of you are from Normandy and therefore French. Still…”
Brinna felt Joan stiffen beside her as an odd expression crossed over Christina’s face. But then it faded and her gaze slid around the room. “They have not brought your bath up yet? I shall see about that for you.” Turning, she slid out of the room as quickly as she had entered, leaving the women sighing after her.
“Why ye’ve made me as beautiful as yerself,” Brinna breathed in wonder as she was finally allowed to peer in the looking glass at herself.
It was dawn of the morning after Brinna had stepped through the door of Lady Joan’s room as her temporary maid. The hours since then had been incredibly busy ones. While Sabrina had carried Joan’s message that she was too tired to dine with the others to the dinner table, Brinna had reported to the kitchens, informing Cook that the lady required her to sleep on the floor in front of her door in her room as her own maid usually did: She had then grabbed a quick bite to eat from the kitchen and spared a moment to assure herself that all was well with Aggie before preparing a trencher and delivering it to the lady, only to find her in the bath Lady Christina had had sent up. After tending her in the bath, then helping her out, Brinna had found herself ordered into the now-chill water.
Ignoring her meal, Joan had seen to it that Brinna scrubbed herself from head to toe, then again, and yet again, until Brinna was sure that half of her skin had been taken off with the dirt. She had even insisted on scrubbing Brinna’s long tresses and rinsing them three times before allowing her to get out of the water. Once out, however, she had not been allowed to redon her “filthy peasant’s clothes,” but had been given one of Joan’s old shifts instead. They had dried their hair before the fire, brushing each other’s tresses by turn.
The situation had become extremely odd for Brinna at that point as the boundary between lady and servant became blurred by Joan’s asking her about her childhood and life in ser vice, then volunteering information about her own life. To Brinna, the other girl’s life had sounded poor indeed. For while she had had everything wealth and privilege could buy, it did seem that Joan had been terribly lonely. Her mother had died while she was still a child and her father seemed always away on court business. This had left the girl in the care and company of the servants. Brinna may not have had the lovely clothes and jewels the other girl had, but she’d had Aggie, had always known she was loved, had always had the woman to run to with scraped knees or for a hug. From Joan’s descriptions of her childhood, she’d never had that. It seemed sad to Brinna. She actually felt sorry for the girl.…Until their hair was dry and the actual “lessons” began. Brinna quickly lost all sympathy for the little tyrant as the girl barked out orders, slapped her, smacked her, and prodded and poked her in an effort to get her to walk, talk, and hold her head “properly.” It was obvious that she was determined that this should work. It was also equally obvious to Brinna that it would not. Lady Sabrina had not helped with her snide comments and dark predictions once she had returned to the room. By the time dawn had rolled around, Brinna was positive that this was the most foolish thing she had ever agreed to.…
Until she saw herself in that looking glass. She had thought, on first looking into the glass that Lady Joan held between them, that ’twas just an empty gilt frame and that ’twas Lady Joan herself she peered at. But then she realized that the eyes looking back at her were a soft blue gray, not the sharp green of the other girl’s. Other than that, she did look almost exactly like Lady Joan. It was enough to boost her confidence.
“You see?” Joan laughed, lowering the mirror and moving away to set it on her chest before turning back to survey Brinna in the dark blue gown she had made her don. “Aye. You will do,” she decided with satisfaction. “Now, one more time. When you meet Lord Thurleah you…?” She raised a brow questioningly and Brinna, still a little dazed by what she had seen in that glass, bobbed quickly and murmured, “Greetings, m’lord. I—”
“Nay, nay, nay.” Joan snapped impatiently. “Why can you not remember? When you first greet him you must curtsy low, lower your eyes to the floor, then sweep them back up and say—”
“Greetings, my lord. I am honored to finally meet you,” Brinna interrupted impatiently. “Aye. I remember now. I only forgot it for a moment because—”
“It doesn’t matter why you forgot. You must remember, else you will shame me with your ignorance.”
Brinna sighed, feeling all of the confidence that the glimpse of herself in the looking glass had briefly given her seep away like water out of a leaky pail. “Mayhap we’d best be fergettin’ all about this tomfoolery.”
“Mayhap we had best forget all about this foolishness,” Joan corrected her automatically, then frowned. “You must remember to try to speak with—”
“Enough,” Brinna interrupted impatiently. “Ye know ye can’t be makin’ a lady of me. ’Tis hopeless.”
“Nay,” Joan assured her quickly “You were doing wonderfully well. You are a quick study. ’Tis just that you are tired now.”
“We are all tired now,” Sabrina muttered wearily from where she sat slumped on the bed. “Why do you not give it up while you can?”
“She is right,” Brinna admitted on a sigh. “ ‘Tisn’t workin’. We should give it all up for the foolishness it is and—” A knock at the door made her pause. She moved automatically to open it, then stood blinking in amazement at the man before her.
He was a glorious vision. His hair was a nimbus of gold in the torchlight that lit the halls in the early morning gloom. His tall, strong body was encased in a fine amber-colored outfit. His skin glowed with the health and vitality of a man used to the outdoors, and his eyes shone down on her as true a blue as the northern English sky on a cloudless summer day. He was the most beautiful human Brinna had ever laid eyes on.
“Lady Joan? I am Lord Royce of Thurleah.”
“Gor,” Brinna breathed, her eyes wide. This was the backwoods oaf? The country bumpkin whose clumsy attentions they wanted her to suffer? She could die smiling while suffering such attentions. When his eyebrows flew up in surprise, and a pinch of her behind came from Joan, who was hiding out of sight behind the door, she realized what had slipped from her lips, and alarm entered her face briefly before she remembered to curtsy, performing the move flawlessly and glancing briefly at the floor before sweeping her eyes up to his face and smiling.
“My lord,” she breathed, her smile widening as he took her hand to help her up, but that smile slipped when she saw his expression.
He was frowning, not looking the least pleased, and Brinna bit her lips uncertainly, wracking her brain for the reason behind it. Had she muffed the curtsy? Said the words wrong? What, she wondered with dismay, until he shifted impatiently.
“I arrived but a moment ago,” he said.
Brinna’s eyes dilated somewhat as she tried to think of what she should say to that.
“I hope your journey was pleasant.” She glanced around at those hissed words, her wide eyes blank as they took in Joan’s impatient face peeking at her from behind the door. “Say it. I hope your journey—”
“Who are you talking to?”
Brinna turned back to him abruptly, stepping forward to block his entrance as he would have tried to peek around the door. The move stopped his advance, but also put them extremely close to each other, and Brinna felt a quiver go through her as she caught the musky outdoors scent of him. “Just a servant,” she lied huskily, ignoring the indignant gasp from behind the door.
“Oh.” Royce stared at the girl, his mind gone blank as he took in her features. She was not what he had expected. His cousin, Phillip of Radfurn, had spent several months in France in late fall, had traveled thro
ugh Normandy on his way home, and had stopped a while at Laythem on his travels. He had then hied his way to Thurleah to regale Royce with his impressions of his betrothed. He had spoken a lot about her unpleasant nature, her snobbery, the airs she put on, the fact that she ran her father’s home as similarly to court as she could manage.…
He had never once mentioned the impish, turned-up nose she had, the sweet bow-shaped lips, the large dewy eyes, or that her hair was like spun sunshine. Damn. He could have prepared a body and mentioned such things. Realizing that he had stood there for several moments merely gaping at the girl, Royce cleared his throat. “I came to escort you to Mass.”
“Oh.” She cast one uncertain glance back into the room, then seemed to make a decision and stepped into the hall. Pulling the door closed behind her, she rested her hand on the muscled arm he extended and smiled a bit uncertainly as he led her down the hallway.
“Well?”
Sabrina turned away from the door she had cracked open to spy on the departing couple and glanced questioningly at Joan. “Well, what?”
“You are going with her, are you not? She will need help to carry this off.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened in surprise. “But I am your companion. I am not to leave you alone.”
“Aye. And she is me just now. It will look odd if you leave her alone with him.”
Sabrina opened her mouth to argue the point, then closed it with a sigh as she realized Joan was right. Sighing again, she hurried out the door after Royce and Brinna.
CHAPTER TWO
“The things I do for Joan.”
Brinna sighed inwardly as Sabrina continued her tirade. The woman seemed to have a lot to say on the subject. Brinna just wished she wasn’t the one to have to listen to it. Unfortunately, she was rather a captive audience, unable to escape the other girl. Sabrina attached herself to Brinna every time she left Lady Joan’s room, and did not unattach herself until they returned.