The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(49)

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 character 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.”

“Prove it.” Lord Thornbeck’s voice was raspy and harsh.

“I don’t have to prove it.” Geitbart pointed at her. “Just ask her. Just ask . . . Avelina Klein.”

Avelina sensed rather than saw Lord Thornbeck turn and face her. “Is it true?”

She did her best to hold her head up and meet his eyes. “Please forgive me. I was going to tell you.”

No one spoke for the longest moment. Father God, do not let me faint. She could barely breathe and the air was so hot and suffocating. What would he do now?

He said quietly, “Take her to the library.”

Someone took hold of Avelina’s arm.

She lifted her head enough to find Magdalen in the crowd. She was crying.

“I—”

Jorgen led her away as Lord Thornbeck said to the crowd in an even voice, “It is time to go to the Great Hall.”

Avelina had to hurry to keep up with Jorgen as he held her by the elbow and propelled her forward. Soon they were turning into the dark library.

Jorgen let go of her to light some candles. “You may sit.” His words were curt and his expression hard.

The closest chair was at Lord Thornbeck’s desk, and she sat down and laid her head on it. Lord Thornbeck would be so angry. How would he punish her? Would he yell at her? Beat her? Throw her in the dungeon? But worse was the thought of his strained voice, and Magdalen crying among all the strangers.

Her own tears flowed.

After what seemed like hours, she heard the step-step-tap, step-step-tap of Lord Thornbeck coming down the corridor and getting closer.





18



REINHART NEARED THE library, his breath coming fast. How dare she humiliate him? A servant. How could this be? How could he have chosen to marry a servant? He had tried to choose the woman with the best character and the most integrity, and instead, he’d chosen the deceitful one. An imposter. Pretender. Servant.

The back of his neck burned as he entered the room. There. She had the audacity to sit at his desk? After what she had done? “Get up.”

Jorgen moved to his right.

“Jorgen, you may go.”

Dorothea—but that was not her name—sniffled and stood as Jorgen left the room. How dare she try to gain his sympathy by crying? It would not work.

“What is your name?” he demanded.

“Avelina Klein, my lord.” She was wiping her face with her hands, keeping her head down so he couldn’t see her face.

“Get away from my desk. Come over here, to the light.”

She moved toward the table where the candles were lit and stood on the other side of it from him.