The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(47)

“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 look 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.