A white-haired middle-aged woman greeted her in the entrance hall. “I am Frau Schwitzer. Follow me and I shall take you and your maidservant to your room.”
Avelina followed her, with Irma just behind. They made their way down a long corridor, lit by wall sconces, and then up an enormous staircase, and finally arrived at a door. The servant opened it and motioned them inside.
“There is water in the pitcher. I shall bring a small repast from the kitchen. Is there anything in particular you require, Lady Dorothea?”
Avelina stared and blinked. “No, but thank you very much.”
She probably should not have thanked the servant. Dorothea certainly would not have thanked her.
The woman eyed her for a moment, then nodded and closed the door behind her.
Both Avelina and Irma moved to the fire and stretched their hands toward it.
“I can’t even feel my feet.” Irma took off her shoes, pulled down her hose, and held one naked foot out toward the flames.
Avelina ought to tell Irma that a lady’s maid should ask her mistress what she could do for her. She should not be tending to her own needs. But Avelina was not a lady, and she couldn’t bring herself to pretend to be one to poor Irma, who was as cold and tired as she was.
The servant soon returned, placing the tray of food on a small table. She gave Avelina a pointed look. “Is something wrong? Is the food not to your liking?”
Avelina should not be standing back. She should be sitting down to the food and dismissing the servant.
“Oh no.” She searched her memory for what Dorothea would have said. “It looks very . . . adequate. We shall ring the bell if we need anything else.”
The servant curtsied, then slipped out, closing the door soundlessly behind her.
The food was more than adequate. It looked like a feast. Avelina sat down, and Irma quickly joined her and took a bite of the fruit tart. The tart apples and plums tasted like summer sunshine, and the delicate pastry melted in her mouth. Her brother, whose favorite fruits were apples and plums, would have loved it. Even though it wasn’t cherry, it was still delicious.
Feeling indulgent as she sampled all the foods on the tray—there was even cheese!—a pang of uneasiness flowed through her.
What would the days ahead bring? She would be a guest in this castle for at least fourteen days. She would play a part, pretending to be something and someone she was not. Would she shame the Earl of Plimmwald and the name of his daughter, Dorothea? If she failed to fool everyone into thinking she was an earl’s daughter, she and her family would be punished, banished from Plimmwald.
The tart suddenly didn’t taste very good.
4
THE SUN PENETRATED Avelina’s consciousness.
She looked around, but nothing was familiar. The bed was big and soft and surrounded by dark-red curtains with gold fringe.
She turned onto her side—and groaned at the pain. Then she remembered. She was at Thornbeck Castle, pretending to be Dorothea.
The bed felt so good and smelled so clean, Avelina closed her eyes and stretched. And groaned again.
“Are you sore too?” Irma stood from the little table where the servant had apparently set her breakfast. “I’ve never been so beat up in my life. I don’t know if I could get back on a horse today if my life depended on it. I thank the saints above I don’t have to.” She rubbed her lower back, then poured herself a cup of whatever was in the pitcher and drank a long gulp.
Avelina looked down at the floor from the edge of the bed. She was so high, she got dizzy. She lay on her stomach and let her feet hang over the side until her toes touched the floor. Then she poured herself some water.
“Do you know what I’m supposed to do today?” Avelina eyed Irma over the top of her goblet.
“Frau Schwitzer said you and the other guests would be taking the midday meal with the margrave in the Great Hall. And the margrave will want to speak privately with you, as he is taking time to ask all the eligible maidens questions about themselves.” Irma’s eager smile grew even wider. “You’ll meet the Margrave of Thornbeck.”
Avelina stared at the short young woman. “Do you honestly think I am excited about the prospect of meeting the Margrave of Thornbeck?” She lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. If having to fool the margrave was not enough to terrify her, making sure she did not anger him by her unrefined manners surely was.
Irma waved her hand dismissively. “I do not know why you’re so worried. Lord Plimmwald told you he does not think anyone here has met his daughter, and the margrave has no reason to think you are not Dorothea. And as for making sure the margrave does not fall in love with you . . .” She made a hissing sound through her lips. “With all the other lovely noble maidens, I do not think you have anything to worry about.”