They stepped in time to the lively music, then Gabe reversed their direction by pulling her arm over her head and spinning her around. Sophie let her limbs stay loose as she tried to anticipate his next move. They moved fluidly over the floor, as if they had planned every step. She concentrated on looking him in the eye and following his lead. Her thin leather shoes glided over the smooth wood floor. What did the Seven think of the intimate way Gabe was looking at her? Her face burned, but she was afraid to look away from him.
Soon it would become obvious that she had no idea what she was doing and did not know how to dance. But Gabe continued to spin her around the floor. He made her feel pretty, like she truly was the daughter of a duke.
Questions swirled inside her head the way her skirt was swirling around her ankles, but she smiled at Gabe anyway. It was impossible not to.
The music stopped. Gabe and Sophie stopped a few moments later. They both looked over at Siggy, who gave them a sheepish glance before looking at Bartel.
Bartel stood, his arms folded underneath his robe, and stared at them from beneath lowered brows. He did not look happy.
Silence reigned. Sophie made two attempts to swallow the lump in her throat.
“Men,” Bartel said, glancing around the room, “it is time for bed. Gabe and Sophie need to talk.”
What was Bartel implying? Gabe did not look happy either. His expression mirrored the one on Bartel’s face. She tried to pull her hand free of Gabe’s, but he held on and squeezed, as if to reassure her.
The rest of the seven men were already hurrying up the stairs. When they were gone, Gabe said, “Thank you for giving us a few moments of privacy, Bartel.”
“You know why I’m giving you this time. You and Sophie must talk, to ask the hard questions and be honest with each other. I will be back in a few minutes.”
Without another word, he turned and stumped out of the room with his slightly lame gait.
Ask the hard questions? Be honest with each other? Suddenly the room seemed devoid of air.
Gabe turned to her, taking her other hand and bringing them both to his lips, looking as though he was still struggling to replace his scowl with a happier expression. “Come, we’ll sit.” He led her back to her chair. She set aside her sewing while he pulled another chair up next to hers.
“Bartel wanted to know what my intentions were toward you, Sophie.” His thumb caressed her knuckles in a way that sent shivers across her shoulders. She tried to concentrate on his words. What would he say? That he loved Brittola more than her? That he couldn’t betray his brother?
“I told him my intention is to marry you, as soon as possible, if you will have me.”
His words stopped her breath as she gazed into the overwhelming intensity of his eyes.
“Will you marry me, Sophie? Give up the rank and status and wealth of marrying Valten, a man who will someday be a duke?”
She opened her mouth to say yes, but he pressed a finger over her lips.
“Don’t say anything yet. I have to get this all out.” He paused, as though forgetting what he was about to say as he stared at her lips. “I love you, Sophie. Bartel thinks I should unselfishly let you marry my brother, that I’m wrong to try to break the betrothal. Perhaps I am wrong. I know I’m selfish. I want you for myself. Say you love me. That you don’t want my brother and don’t care about his money and power and prestige.”
His tone was fierce, but by the time he finished, his brown eyes were pleading. Before she could answer him, he grabbed her shoulders and drew her to him, kissing her. Sophie’s arms went around his waist, almost by themselves. His kisses made the whole world disappear until she felt as though she’d stepped into a cocoon of warmth and love.
He loved her. He wanted to marry her. She was surely dreaming.
His lips moved to her cheek. She couldn’t bear any more happiness or pleasure, it was too wonderful. Sophie buried her face in his shoulder.
“I love you, Gabe. I love you so much.”
“If I find a way to break our betrothals, do you truly want to marry me?”
“Oh yes.”
“I will marry you, Sophie. I will find a way.” He stroked her hair, then her back. “Please forgive me for wanting you for myself —”
“Oh, Gabe, thank you for not giving me over to Valten. I love you, and I can’t imagine feeling the same way about him. Please don’t ever leave me.” She squeezed him tighter, pressing her cheek against his good shoulder. Why did the pressure in her chest feel so intense, even painful? This love was wonderful and frightening at the same time. She’d never felt so vulnerable, never laid her heart bare this way, and it was exhilarating.
“I won’t give you over to Valten. I’m just not that good.” He pulled away and she saw the tender smile on his lips. He stroked her cheek with his fingers, sending tingles of pleasure through her. “I am selfish, but you make me want to be a better man. You make me want to be married, to have children, and to be responsible for your well-being and theirs. I want to make you happy.”
He bent and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “But we must wait a little while,” he said, his warm breath caressing her forehead. “I have to work things out so that I don’t disgrace you.”
“Do you think your family will forgive us?”
“Of course.”
“Won’t Valten be angry with you?”
“Let Valten save his own damsel in distress. I’m sure there are other maidens he can fall in love with.”
“What about Brittola?” She felt a pang of pity for the girl who had lost Gabe and didn’t even know it yet. “Won’t she be heartbroken?”
The smile disappeared from his face. “She couldn’t have loved me much. She rarely wrote to me, and we had hardly spent any time together. Now stop worrying. All will be well.”
He tucked her head under his chin and squeezed her tight. She could have remained there all night.
But Bartel had only promised them a short time. He would be back at any moment.
“What will you do now?”
“I have to leave in a day or two, to try to work some things out.”
“Can I go with you?”
He sighed, then pulled away and pressed his palm against her cheek. “It will be best if you stay here with the Seven. They will take care of you and keep you safe.”
“Why can’t I go? Please take me.” How could she bear to watch him leave?
“I need to do this alone. Besides, it isn’t proper for us to be traveling alone together.”
“You will be safe, won’t you?”
“Of course. But I may not be able to be back before my father, or at least his men, come looking for you.” He began to pull away from her slowly, as if reluctant to let her go. “If they insist on you going with them, go ahead and go, and I will follow you to Hagenheim Castle as soon as I can.”
“You will make me face your family … alone?”
He gently squeezed her shoulder. “You are a brave girl. My family is not frightening. They will love you, just as I do.”
Facing his family alone would not be as difficult as other things she’d done in life. After facing the wrath of Duchess Ermengard, she could surely face Gabe’s family.
“He’s coming.” He kissed her hand just as Bartel came through the kitchen door.
“I trust you have admitted the truth between you.” Bartel still had the somber look on his face, as though he was admonishing criminals.
“Yes, we have.” Gabe stood but kept his hold on her hand.
“Sophie?” Bartel pinned her with a serious stare, eyebrows raised in question.
“Gabe and I are going to be married.” Sophie glanced up at Gabe. The look that passed between her and Gabe made her blush. Poor Bartel, having to see them like this. She felt a little sorry for him, for anyone in the world who wasn’t as happy as she was, and she figured that was everyone.
Gabe headed for the stairs, still holding her hand, and they walked up together. Surprisi
ngly, Bartel didn’t follow them, and they were able to share a kiss before Gabe whispered, “Good night, Sophie.”
“Good night, Gabe.”
The next two days, Bartel didn’t watch them as closely as he had previously. Gabe was grateful for every minute with her. His shoulder was healing, and it was almost time for him to leave. His time was running out, as his father — and maybe even Valten — would be coming for Sophie as soon as Walther told them where they were.
The Seven had left Sophie and Gabe to clean up the breakfast dishes while they went about their various jobs. As he stood beside her at the sink, smelling the flowery soap she used, the memories of their first kiss washed over him. She had been so sweet and warm and … he had better keep his mind on the dishes.
While he was finishing the last dish, a wet sensation on the back of his neck made him spin around, slinging water in a wide arc. Sophie squealed and laughed as the water droplets sprayed her face, and he realized she’d put a wet cloth down his shirt. He wriggled until he was able to extricate the cloth from his shirt.
His hands were dripping water onto the floor. Instead of drying them on a towel, he held them up threateningly and backed her against the wall. She was still laughing, her blue eyes dancing in the rays of light coming through the kitchen window. He placed his wet hands on her face and she giggled hysterically, holding her hands up in an ineffectual attempt to keep him away.
Staring her in the eyes, he lifted the apron and wiped her cheeks. Her radiant blue eyes focused on his lips. Dropping the apron, he pulled her close. She came willingly, pressing her lips to his.
Cleaning up after meals was his new favorite activity.
She ended the kiss and she pressed her face into his shoulder.
“How is your wound?” she whispered.
“It’s getting better. I can lift my arm without pain.”
“Does that mean you’ll be leaving soon?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Won’t you tell me where you’re going?”
He shook his head. “I won’t be away from you a moment longer than I have to. I can promise you that.”
Her brows came together, forming a slight crease of worry above the bridge of her nose. He reached up and smoothed it with his finger. She wanted to know more, but if she would just be patient, he was sure it would all work out. The only problem was, he couldn’t tell her how it was going to work out yet. Because he didn’t know.
Bartel came to the back door, and Gabe and Sophie broke apart and pretended to be cleaning.
Tomorrow he’d be gone. But Sophie would be safe, and God would help him discover the truth about Sophie’s identity.
Please, God, help me work things out for Sophie and me to be together. He hadn’t wanted to seek God’s will, had been afraid that God truly didn’t intend for them to be together. But now he knew he needed God’s favor. You said all things work together for the good of those who love you. I wasn’t listening to you before, but I know I need you now. Please let it work out, God, for me to marry Sophie. God, I will follow you, no matter what you ask me to do.
Chapter
22
Sophie went about her work, and though she had been happier last night than she had ever been, a heaviness filled her today — worry, even fear, that things would not turn out as wonderfully as Gabe believed they would. There were so many things that could go wrong. And the fact that Gabe wouldn’t tell her where he was going hovered over her like a black cloud.
Was he going to see Brittola? She couldn’t think where else he could be going. What if he arrived and decided he wanted to marry Brittola after all? What if he couldn’t break their betrothal without angering the girl’s father and placing himself in danger? When he saw Brittola, the privileged daughter of a count who had been raised knowing how to handle herself in Gabe’s privileged world, he wouldn’t be able to help comparing her to Sophie. After all, she was little more than a scullery maid. Her skills were limited to making meat pies and fruit custards and knowing how to scrub wood tables and stone floors. The duchess had always told her she would never marry, that all she was good for was scrubbing floors.
Perhaps her romance with Gabe had been doomed from the start.
The thought of Gabe leaving her to go to Brittola, even if he intended only to tell her he wanted to break their betrothal, filled her with pain so intense she had to stop chopping leeks and wrap her arm around her middle. “God, please help me.” Help me to bear whatever pain is in my future.
Don’t borrow trouble, Petra had once told her. Sophie rarely had to borrow trouble, because it was always with her, but Jesus had also said in the book of Luke, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” And Gabe had told her that Jesus had also said, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for each day has enough trouble of its own.” Still, Sophie couldn’t seem to shake this feeling of foreboding, that a wonderful future of love and marriage to Gabe was too good to be true.
Sophie had told herself she didn’t believe what the duchess said about her being unlovable, but the words were like burrs, stuck in the corners of her mind, so embedded that she didn’t know how to get them out. How could Gabe, who was so handsome and desirable and kind, who had grown up with loving parents, ever love someone like her? Of course he would choose Brittola over her.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but one fell on her arm, and soon they were dripping down her face.
Gabe walked through the door at that moment and the air rushed out of her. How could she let him see her like this? How could she explain these tears? She tried to turn away from him.
“Liebling,” he said, using a term of endearment she’d rarely ever heard.
He pulled her into his arms while she tried to wipe away the tears that were still streaming down her face. He took the knife she’d been holding in her other hand and laid it on the table while she struggled to control herself.
He nestled her against his chest and murmured against her head, “Why are you crying? Please tell me. Did something happen?”
“I’m sorry.” Sophie was ashamed of her tears, but at the same time, a warmth having more kinship with anger than anything else, welled up inside her.
“You can tell me,” Gabe crooned, stroking her back.
“It is nothing. I am well.”
“Please tell me.”
“Nothing! It is nothing!” She pulled away from him, wiping her face with her apron. She turned her back on him.
There was only silence behind her. What was he thinking? That she was not worth his trouble?
“Are you angry with me for leaving?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” She shook her head. “I’m not angry.” What reason did she have to be angry? Could she be more undignified? More unreasonable?
He pulled her back against the hardness of his chest.
“You’re leaving me.” Shut up, Sophie. Don’t say any more. “You won’t tell me where you’re going.”
“Sophie, please. I —”
“Go back to your Brittola! Marry her! Why would you marry me when you have her?” She threw the words at him like she was hurling rocks. She knew she should stop but the words continued to flow from her mouth. “You don’t deserve to have a scullery maid for a wife. Go on.”
Gabe let go of her shoulders. She didn’t dare turn around. Had he left? Had he gotten sick of her crying and her cruel words and walked out the door? She wouldn’t blame him. She was an imbecile, a lackwit. How could she say those things to him? The pain inside her grew until it had overwhelmed all reason and restraint.
She wiped her face. Turning, she found Gabe still standing behind her, leaning against the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his elbows on the wood and leaning his face in his hands.
What have I done? Her stomach twisted at the obvious anguish he was feeling. He probably would decide to go see Brittola now, even if he
wasn’t before. She was a lackwit.
He looked up at her, dropping his hands from his face. He gazed at her sadly, his brown eyes tearing at her heart. She had thought herself all cried out, but she had to bite her lip to keep from crying again. If she couldn’t control herself, she’d never find out what he was thinking. Why didn’t he say something? She couldn’t look him in the eye after all the stupid things she’d said. Why must I always doubt him? Doubt myself?
Instead of speaking, Gabe simply stretched out his hand toward her.
She stared at his hand, held out to her, waiting. She moved toward him and he slipped his arm around her waist. He drew her down on his lap and buried his face in her hair.
Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck. Listening to his breathing, feeling the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, her heart gradually slowed to normal. She breathed him in.
He was leaving.
She couldn’t let him leave without apologizing for her ridiculous outburst.
“Forgive me, Gabe. I’m sorry for what I said.” Still, he didn’t move. “I’m afraid you’ll marry Brittola instead of me. Please say something.”
With a deep sigh, he pulled away and loosened his hold on her. “Sophie, I love you. I don’t love anyone but you, and you will marry me, if I have anything to say about it. So stop trying to get rid of me.” He dropped his head so their foreheads were touching. His expression was serious. “But I do expect you to trust me.”
“You’re right. I should trust you. I’m sorry. I know I behaved badly. I let my fear take control, and what I said was ridic —”
He stopped her with a kiss, pressing his lips firmly to hers. Then he pulled back and captured her gaze with a penetrating and somber look. “I know your stepmother did some bad things to you. She said things to you that weren’t true.” He spoke quietly, but unwaveringly. “My mother once told my sister, ‘You must let God’s love heal you.’ ”