The Beautiful Pretender

by Melanie Dickerson

  Reinhart rubbed his face with his hand. He could still smell her light, flowery scent, like springtime and lilacs, could still feel her in his arms, and his heart skipped a beat. Seeing her dangling from the balcony, hanging over that deep ravine, knowing she was one moment away from death, sent a bolt of lightning through his veins. Thank You, God. He had arrived in time.

  He limped back to the balcony. Thankfully, his lameness had not prevented him from saving Dorothea. He must have thrown down his walking stick when he heard her scream, and a guard retrieved it for him when he was holding her on the balcony.

  He made it to the balcony and approached the railing. He got down on his knees to examine it, but most of it was gone, and unless he was mistaken, even the part that Dorothea had been clinging to was gone. There was only a broken bit farther over on the balcony. Had someone done something to the railing, possibly cutting it, so it would break when someone leaned on it? They could have broken off the part that was cut and gotten rid of it.

  But who would do such a thing?

  He would discuss it with Jorgen. They could send someone to fetch the broken pieces of the railing from the ravine below and possibly discover if this was an accident or a deliberate attempt at murder. First the pottery shards, now this. Was someone trying to harm Lady Dorothea?

  Reinhart pushed himself up with the walking stick, remembering again how he had pulled her from the edge of death. He closed his eyes and relived how she had clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. Later, when Lady Magdalen had held her hand, she’d clung to her, but when he tried to hold her other hand, it had laid in his like a wilted flower.

  He still had no idea if she cared for him or not, and the ball was tomorrow night.

  He turned and went to find Jorgen.

  Avelina raised her hand to her face, the one Lord Thornbeck had squeezed a moment ago, and was overcome by his familiar scent—the smell of evergreen trees and mint leaves the servants put in his laundry. Warmth washed over her as she remembered how he had held her tight, much tighter than necessary, sitting on the balcony floor.

  Surely it was only a reaction to the frightening situation. Surely he did not love her.

  “Dorothea, what in heaven’s name has happened to you tonight?”

  Avelina had a sudden urge to tell Magdalen her secret, to tell her everything. “I . . .” No, she should wait until all this was over, after the ball. “I fell off the balcony. The railing gave way behind me and I . . .” She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and forced herself to go on. “I was holding on to what was left of it. I could barely breathe but I managed to scream, at least once. If Lord Thornbeck had not come and pulled me up, I would have fallen from the balcony.” She shuddered and closed her eyes.

  “You poor girl.” Magdalen pulled her hand up to her heart. “That is terrifying. It is no wonder you are still shaking.”

  “I am well, but I lost my shoes.” She lifted her skirts, revealing her bare feet.

  “Do you not have any more?”

  “No.” Who would believe an earl’s daughter did not have another pair of shoes? But Lord Thornbeck had said he would bring her some.

  “Perhaps I have some that will fit you.”

  “Do not worry about it tonight, please. It will not be the first time I have walked in bare feet.” She grimaced. Though Magdalen had surely been shod all her life, Avelina had many times been without shoes.

  “Where is that servant of yours, Irma?” Magdalen said, with the closest thing to irritation on her face that Avelina had ever seen. “She is never around when one needs her.”

  Magdalen’s maidservant suddenly entered the room.

  “Hegatha, go get a pair of my shoes for Lady Dorothea.”

  A tear ran down Avelina’s cheek. She hastily wiped it with her hand.

  “Please don’t cry, Dorothea.” Tears welled up in Magdalen’s eyes. “You’re safe and well now. Do you want to talk about it some more?”

  Avelina took deep breaths to force back the tears. “Forgive me. I don’t want to make you sad. I am well now.”

  Magdalen surprised her by climbing up into the bed beside her and hugging her arm. “Now tell me exactly what you feel. I make my little sisters do this whenever they cry.”

  What was Avelina feeling? “Afraid. Tired. Shaken. Guilty. Sad.” She sniffed.

  “What were you doing on the balcony . . . in the dark?” Her brows drawn together in a look of bewilderment, Magdalen propped on one elbow to stare down at Avelina.

  “That is what I don’t understand. I came back to my bedchamber after praying in the chapel and there was a note on the floor saying to meet on the balcony tonight. When I went to your room, there was a note on the door saying you were waiting for me there.”

  “Where?”

  “On the balcony at the end of the gallery. It was signed ‘M.’ ”

  “It was on my door? I never wrote that.”

  “Did you not get a note from Lord Thornbeck to come to the balcony?”

  “No. I’ve been in my bedchamber for the last few hours, and I did not get a note.”

  “Someone wrote that note and the one on your door. I went to the balcony and no one was there except Fronicka.” Fronicka.

  “She must have written those notes. But why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she . . .” Maybe she wanted to accuse Avelina of not being the real Lady Dorothea. She obviously suspected something was amiss.

  “So how did you fall off the balcony? Did Fronicka . . . ?”

  “I was leaning back against the railing and it gave way behind me.”

  “What if she did something to the railing? What if she wanted you to fall?”

  Surely even Fronicka was not evil enough to do something like that. “She called for help as soon as I fell.” But she remembered the cold look on her face while she was hanging there and shuddered again. And as though through a fog, she also remembered Fronicka saying something, just before Avelina fell, that shocked her very much. She said she wanted to marry Lord Thornbeck. Avelina asked her why. What had Fronicka said? For some reason, she could not remember. Perhaps it was the shock of falling off the balcony and the terror of nearly dying, but it made her want to warn Lord Thornbeck. She couldn’t remember why.

  “It seems very suspicious.” Magdalen hugged Avelina’s arm tighter. “I will be staying with you tonight. I’m not letting you out of my sight until after the ball, and I will not let anyone hurt you.”

  “Thank you,” Avelina whispered, the tears starting to leak from her eyes again. “You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  But after nearly falling to her death and feeling so guilty for her deception, she had decided to tell Lady Magdalen the truth, the complete truth about who she was. As soon as the ball was over. Lady Magdalen would be hurt and would never speak to her again, but at least she would hear the truth from Avelina and not from someone else.

  17

  IT WAS THE night of the ball. The hour had finally come. Avelina put on her best dress—a silk cotehardie that was half pink and half green, with one pink and one green false sleeve that hung straight down from her upper arms. Her hair hung down her back with tiny braids interspersed. On her head she wore a circlet of gold filigree that Lady Magdalen had insisted she borrow. Avelina had prepared her hair herself, since Irma never came to help her get ready for the ball.

  “You must send that Irma to the kitchen. Truly, Dorothea, you are an earl’s daughter. You should not accept such deplorable behavior from your personal maidservant.”

  Avelina nodded. When she was finally ready, her feet shod with Magdalen’s shoes, she looked in the mirror. Her hair was lovely, her clothing was becoming, and there was a bit of color in her cheeks. Not bad . . . for a servant.

  “Oh, Dorothea, you look beautiful.” Magdalen clasped her hands, her smile stretching all the way across her face, her eyes glowing.

  “You should be getting yourself dressed,” Avelina told her. “Don’t lo
ok at me. You’re the one who should look beautiful tonight.”

  Magdalen gave her a sideways stare, her brows arching high. “Me? Do you think so?”

  Was she trying to be coy? “Of course I think so. Tonight is the night Lord Thornbeck will choose his wife.”

  “Mm-hm.” Magdalen was smiling again, her brows still arching.

  Avelina had a strange feeling in her stomach. “I am hoping he will choose you, so don’t look at me like that.” Irritation welled up inside her. No, she should not be angry with Magdalen. Magdalen, who was so kind and was so concerned about her. Magdalen, who was by far the best choice for Lord Thornbeck.

  Except me. Avelina would be good for him. She could make him stop scowling, could make him believe in love and goodness. She could love him out of that dark thought pattern he seemed to be in, thinking about his lame ankle and about his poor dead brother and how he could not save him.

  But it was wrong to even think about it. He would marry Magdalen and that was that. Two weeks ago she would have never even dreamed of such a thing as marrying the Margrave of Thornbeck. But now . . .

  Tears welled up in her eyes and she turned away from her friend, pretending to adjust her embroidered belt. She should tell Magdalen now. She should get it over and done, ignore the sick feeling in her stomach and just tell her.

  “It is time to go downstairs.” Magdalen headed toward the door.

  Avelina hesitated. But the words didn’t come, and she found herself walking through the corridor beside Magdalen.

  Avelina could not help looking at her friend as they made their way down. This was the last time Magdalen would think of her as an equal, since she would tell her the truth—she would—as soon as this was over.

  As they descended the last section of the stairs, everyone was already in the ballroom, and they all watched as Lady Magdalen and Avelina joined them.

  Lord Thornbeck was also watching, but his gaze seemed to be on Avelina. He should have been looking at Magdalen. She was beautiful tonight. Her strawberry-blonde hair was crowned by a circlet of dried flowers. She wore a pale-blue silk cotehardie with a long-sleeved yellow underdress. She was much prettier than Avelina, and she was truly the daughter of a baron.

  Avelina refused to meet Lord Thornbeck’s gaze.

  She pasted on a smile, even when she saw Fronicka smirking up at her. Her father, the Duke of Geitbart, stood beside her, not looking at anyone in particular, his gaze darting around the room.

  She smiled and greeted everyone who came near her, but it was as if there was a fog over her eyes and ears, dulling everything. The music was indistinct and a mist lay over the beautiful people and their beautiful clothing. Her legs were weighted down with the same dullness and she didn’t think she could dance. And yet, she did not want to draw attention to herself as she had at the last ball. Lord Thornbeck himself had come to her side so she would not have to stand alone.

  But tonight there were more people, parents and guardians who would be escorting their daughters home in the next few days. Perhaps she could hide amongst them.

  Lord Thornbeck suddenly appeared in front of her. He took her hand and bowed over it and kissed it so quickly she did not realize he was going to do it until it was done. His brown eyes were piercing as they stared straight into hers. “Are you well?”

  “Yes, of course.” She blinked, hard, to rid herself of the dullness.

  Lord Thornbeck looked very handsome. He seemed to have burned away the mist, with his bright-blue outer tunic and white sleeves, his thick dark hair combed across his forehead.

  He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “You look beautiful, Lady Dorothea.”

  Truly, she should blurt out the truth to him right now, at this moment.

  She glanced around for Lady Magdalen. She was standing just behind her. Avelina stepped back to join her. Lord Thornbeck took the hint and greeted Magdalen, but he did not kiss her hand.

  People seemed to be crowding around them, wanting to speak to Lord Thornbeck, so Avelina hurried away, farther into the room, her breath suddenly coming faster.

  A few moments later Magdalen caught up with her.

  “Dorothea, why did you run away? Lord Thornbeck wanted to speak to you.” Magdalen chewed on her lip, a look of concern in her eyes. “Don’t you like Lord Thornbeck?” she whispered close to her ear.

  Avelina studied her friend’s expression. “What do you mean? Of course . . . I-I like him very much. Who wouldn’t? But that is certainly not important—”

  “Stop saying things like that!” Magdalen shook her head and looked as if she might laugh.

  Avelina’s face burned. A rock seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach.

  “Magdalen, I have to tell you something. I should have told you already, and I can’t go another—”

  She turned to face the Duke of Wolfberg.

  “Good evening, Lady Magdalen. Lady Dorothea.” He nodded to them both.

  The music started. The Duke of Wolfberg asked Magdalen to dance, and with an anxious glance at Avelina, she moved with him to the middle of the floor, along with many of the other guests. But there was still a cluster of people around Lord Thornbeck.

  One of the young nobles from the first ball approached Avelina and asked her to dance. Since she was familiar with this dance, she agreed. It was much easier to forget what was looming ahead of her while she was forced to concentrate on the steps and on what her partner was saying to her. But always in the back of her mind was Lord Thornbeck, in his blue outer tunic, looking very handsome, and soon to be a distant memory.

  For now, she was Lady Dorothea, dancing with a nobleman, smiling and dressed like all the other ladies in the room.

  As they performed the rather slow steps of the dance, her partner said, “You look beautiful, Lady Dorothea.”

  “I thank you, Lord Dreigers. And you dance very well.”

  “I thank you, Lady Dorothea.”

  They smiled and complimented each other a few more times until the dance was over. She simply had to keep this up for the rest of the night. One last night to pretend. One last night to feel important and beautiful.

  Carefully, she stayed in the small crowd of older people, except for the three dances she danced. She chatted with Lady Applonia’s mother. For a moment she thought Lord Thornbeck was coming toward her, but he was stopped by Lady Otilia’s father, who spoke with him for several minutes, then they were joined by two more fathers.

  When Magdalen finally stopped dancing, she came over to Avelina. “Have you spoken to Lord Thornbeck?”

  “No, why?”

  A worried look came into her eyes. “Perhaps you should talk to him. I am sure he wishes to speak to you.”

  “Why would he wish to speak to me?”

  Magdalen bit her lip again, as if in frustration.

  “What is wrong?” Something was bothering Magdalen. “I’m sorry if I was rude to Lord Thornbeck, but Magdalen, there is something I need to tell you.”

  Just then, the music stopped and everyone turned toward the head of the room, near the staircase. Jorgen Hartman and his wife, Odette, were standing with Lord Thornbeck.

  “May I have your attention, please,” Jorgen said.

  All conversation ceased.

  “You all know that for the past two weeks, Lord Thornbeck has been deciding who he will marry from among the ten ladies here tonight.”

  Avelina and Magdalen glanced at each other. Magdalen had such a strange look on her face.

  “And now, before we retire to the Great Hall for the feast that is prepared for you, Lord Thornbeck’s guests, our margrave would like to announce his choice.”

  Avelina’s next breath stuck in her throat as her heart beat fast and hard.

  Lord Thornbeck thanked Jorgen, then turned his eyes on Avelina. “I wish to thank all the ladies who came to Thornbeck Castle for these two weeks.”

  Why was he staring at her?

  “I expected to learn a little of each lady’s charact
er and temperament. I did not expect . . . to be so impressed, by one lady in particular.”

  Avelina’s heart pounded. If only he would hurry and get it over with.

  “I choose to be my wife the noblest and most worthy lady . . . Lady Dorothea of Plimmwald.”

  The floor seemed to give way underneath her, and she was dangling once again above a cavernous ravine. Her stomach plummeted even as her heart trembled in excitement. Could Lord Thornbeck have truly chosen her? Love her? It was the most wonderful moment of her life, and the worst possible thing that could happen.

  Her vision was so blurred, she could just make out Lord Thornbeck standing as if he was waiting for her to come forward and join him.

  Magdalen hugged her from the side and giggled, an overjoyed smile on her face.

  “No, no,” Avelina whispered to her friend. “This can’t happen.”

  “What do you mean?” Magdalen whispered back. “He’s waiting for you. Go.” She gave Avelina a gentle push.

  She started forward, putting one foot in front of the other. What would she say? Her heart squeezed inside her. O God in heaven, I don’t want to hurt him! She must simply wait until they were alone. She could not tell him in front of all these people. It would be too shameful, for both of them.

  His face was blurrier than ever. People were murmuring all around her, a few of them saying, “Glückwünsche,” or some other congratulatory word, but she concentrated on walking straight ahead.

  When she had nearly reached him, Odette embraced her, smiling, even whispering into her ear, “I knew you were the one for him.”

  Avelina felt a stab. She would tell them—Lord Thornbeck, Magdalen, Odette, and Jorgen—as soon as this evening was over and everyone else had dispersed to their chambers.

  She finally looked up at him. I’m so sorry.

  Suddenly, Fronicka was speaking. “That woman is not who she says she is. She is not Lady Dorothea.”

  The room quickly hushed. Avelina felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Explain yourself.” Lord Thornbeck stood rigidly beside her.

  The Duke of Geitbart said, “We have discovered that this woman is not the daughter of the Earl of Plimmwald. She has been deceiving everyone for the past two weeks. Not only is she not the Earl of Plimmwald’s daughter, she is only a servant, Lady Dorothea’s maidservant.”