The Beautiful Pretender

  They followed Frau Hartman, and Lord Thornbeck dropped back and walked beside Avelina. Her heart trembled instead of beating. What did the margrave mean, coming with them? Who was she that he would want to accompany her on her tour?

  “This corridor is where most of the second-floor bedchambers are located,” Frau Hartman said. “All the ladies are staying either here or on the third floor.”

  They passed several closed doors, then came to the stairs. “This way to the main floor.”

  Avelina was painfully aware of Lord Thornbeck walking beside her, silent and scowling, his walking stick thumping on the floor as he limped. Since the stairs were wide enough for all of them, they walked down the elegant staircase with Lord Thornbeck on the side with the handrail. His expression was tense as he made his way slowly down the steps.

  “Are you in pain, Lord Thornbeck?”

  The margrave growled deep in his throat.

  Odette gave him a look over her shoulder, almost as if to scold him.

  He cleared his throat. “I have some pain. In my ankle. From the accident. When my brother died.”

  “Oh. I’m very sorry.” Stupid that she should have asked him such a question, reminding him of the fire when his brother was killed—the accident that many believed was no accident at all, but the margrave’s deliberate murder of his brother. Her heart began to pound.

  He cleared his throat again and said gruffly, “Is your room comfortable?”

  “Yes, my lord. Very comfortable, I thank you.”

  “The staircase,” Frau Hartman said, “is part of the newer section of the castle, along with the ballroom here at the bottom where Lord Thornbeck hosted a masquerade ball some weeks ago. Did you attend that ball, Lady Dorothea?”

  “I regret that I did not.” Though not altogether truthful, it was the polite thing to say.

  They walked across the beautiful, gleaming floor as Odette went on. “This part of the castle was begun by Lord Thornbeck’s father and finished two years ago by his brother. The floor is made from marble that was quarried nearby.” They made their way across it, heading toward a doorway.

  “And this is the gallery where the previous margraves’ portraits are displayed, along with the large painting depicting the battle scene of Prussian invaders being driven back from the nearby border. At the end of the gallery is a balcony. Would you like to see the view?”

  “Yes.”

  They walked slowly across the narrow room. “Lord Thornbeck, will you supply the names of the portrait subjects?” Odette asked.

  He rattled off the names of his father and brother, not offering any other information about his family.

  They reached the end of the gallery and Lord Thornbeck stepped forward and opened the wooden door wide, then held it for both Avelina and Frau Hartman with one hand, his cane with the other.

  “It is getting colder,” Lord Thornbeck said. “We can stay inside if it is too cold for you.”

  “No, it is not too cold for me, my lord.” Avelina stepped out onto the broad balcony and walked to the railing. Below was a densely forested ravine, the leaves mostly gone from the trees, as the limbs stretched, like spindly skeletons, toward the overcast sky. There was a wild beauty about the rugged, steep terrain. Somewhere beyond the trees was the town of Thornbeck.

  The air was crisp and cold. Would it be even colder when she and Irma had to make the long trip back to Plimmwald? But she would not mind so much as long as Plimmwald and its people were kept safe by the margrave. Which gave her an idea.

  She spun on her heel and faced Lord Thornbeck. “What are your duties to the king, my lord? I know you are charged with keeping the border safe and defended from invaders, but what about preventing attacks on other castles in nearby regions? If you don’t mind my asking.” She bowed her head to soften her pointed questions.

  When she glanced up, he was staring into her eyes in a way that made her heart stutter and stammer. He seemed to have no idea how good he looked, which made him even more attractive.

  “I am a knight. Even if I were not the Margrave of Thornbeck, I would come to the aid of any ally who was being wrongfully attacked.”

  Any ally, he said. She hoped he considered the Earl of Plimmwald an ally.

  “I am pleased to hear that.”

  “Why do you ask such a question?”

  “Oh, well, I . . . I was thinking of . . . of my father, the Earl of Plimmwald. I’m afraid he has reason to fear that someone might try to take over Plimmwald and its castle.”

  “And who might this someone be?”

  Her heart skipped another beat, but this time at the severe look on his face. “The Duke of Geitbart, my lord.”

  A moment went by, then he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. He took a deep breath as he moved closer, staring out over the wooden railing at the wild ravine below. “The Duke of Geitbart’s daughter, Lady Fronicka, is my guest here, and the duke will be arriving before the final ball.”

  Her stomach sank. Was he trying to tell her he considered Geitbart a closer ally than Plimmwald?

  “Therefore, Plimmwald is safe for two weeks at least.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, one brow quirking up. “I do not approve of anyone wrongfully trying to take Plimmwald. However, your father sent a letter to the king accusing me of murdering my brother. Is there some reason I should not look the other way when the Duke of Geitbart decides to seize Plimmwald?”

  Her heart jumped into her throat. She swallowed hard. “I do not know—that is, I’m sure my father did not accuse you. Perhaps he merely mentioned the rumors . . .”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Perhaps.”

  How could she convince him not to hate the Earl of Plimmwald? To consider him an ally worthy of helping, should Geitbart attack?

  “You are shivering.” His brows lowered in that severe way of his. “Let us go inside.”

  She hadn’t even noticed how cold she was. They made their way back through the gallery and into the ballroom, with its high ceilings and decorative banners and frescos on the walls.

  As they were walking across the ballroom, Lady Fronicka appeared at the top of the stairs. The duke’s daughter narrowed her eyes at them.

  They soon passed out of sight of Lady Fronicka, and Odette led them around the rest of the main floor, including Lord Thornbeck’s library, where he and his chancellor conducted business, Odette explained. The margrave allowed Odette to do all of the talking, to the point of awkwardness. He stayed silent as she explained that his business included writing letters and documents and keeping all sorts of records and ledgers.

  Odette gave Lord Thornbeck a pointed look, and he cleared his throat.

  “Do you enjoy corresponding, Lady Dorothea?” he asked.

  “Oh . . . yes . . . when I have someone pleasant to correspond with.” It was the first thing that came into her mind and seemed like something Dorothea might say. Avelina wrote stories, not letters. She had no family but her father and younger brother and sister. She also had few friends, and none that knew how to read or write.

  Lord Thornbeck was moving toward the bookshelves. “I have a few books you might be interested in reading. You are welcome to take whatever you fancy and read them while you’re here.”

  “Oh, that is very generous of you.” And thoughtful. Her heart stirred strangely inside her as she looked up into his warm brown eyes. What would it be like to be married to this man?

  No. She absolutely could not let her thoughts turn in that direction. But she couldn’t seem to stop her heart from fluttering as her eyes were still locked on his.

  You are only a servant. He would never look at you with interest in his eyes if he knew that. It was enough to make her turn away from him, her hand shaking as she reached out for a book on the shelf. Besides, she did not like gruff men.

  But at least for now she would have access to all these books. There were so many, her eyes hungrily took in all the leather-bound spines. She ached to read them all.

/>   Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Odette inclining her head in Avelina’s direction.

  Lord Thornbeck reached past her shoulder. “Here is a favorite book of mine. The Song of Roland.” He took a book off the shelf and showed her the cover. “It’s an epic poem about a battle during the time of Charlemagne.”

  “Oh yes. I have heard of it. I always wanted to read it.” Avelina reached for it, then drew her hand back.

  “You may take it.” He held it out to her. “It’s long, but I think you will like it.”

  She took it from him, not allowing her fingers to touch his. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Staring down at the heavy book in her hands, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do next. Should she open it and start to read? Should she keep looking at the other books on the shelf? Or stare up stupidly into Lord Thornbeck’s eyes, as she was doing?

  The margrave called Irma over. “Take this book and place it in Lady Dorothea’s chamber. Then you may come back and join us.”

  Avelina could just imagine Irma’s consternation over having to go back up to the second floor, then come back down all those steps again. But Irma took the book, curtsied to Lord Thornbeck, and hurried off.

  “Let us continue. Shall we?” The margrave held out his arm to her.

  Was that a smile and nod of approval from Odette? It was so slight, Avelina may have imagined it.

  She placed her hand lightly on his arm, and they moved from the library through the corridor. “The chapel is worth seeing, I believe,” Lord Thornbeck said. “The fortifications, the guards’ rooms, and the defense towers are on the other side, as well as the west wing.” His mouth pursed tighter, his jaw hardening when he mentioned the west wing. “But I don’t think you would be interested in any of that.”

  They moved through a narrow corridor and through a wooden door to a chapel with stained-glass windows that illuminated the room with brilliant colors.

  Thornbeck Castle’s chapel was twice as large as the one at Plimmwald Castle, which had no windows at all and was dark and soot covered, lighted only by torches. This chapel featured an ornate altar with a rood screen that was covered in wood and ivory carvings, along with many lighted candles and an altar cross made of gold.

  But the enormous stained-glass windows surrounding the chancel were what took her breath away. They were twice as tall as she was and brighter and more colorful than any rainbow. Truly, whoever built this chapel was quite wealthy. Perhaps they wished to pay penance by lavishing so much expense on the chapel. But those riches might have been put to better use helping the people in Plimmwald who barely had enough food to keep themselves alive.

  A pang shot through her stomach. Judging other people’s piety and the amount of money they spent on a holy chapel was surely a grave sin. Wishing to have their money for another purpose was perhaps even worse.

  “You may come here any time you wish to pray.” Inside the sanctuary, Lord Thornbeck’s voice was hushed and even deeper. His suppressed tone sent a tremor through her. “The priest is available to you any time you might wish to speak to him, and he performs all the services of a cathedral priest. On Sundays everyone is expected to attend.”

  “Of course.”

  As they were turning to leave, Irma arrived at the door, a few wisps of hair hanging out of her wimple and her face red.

  “Odette,” Lord Thornbeck said, “I shall escort Lady Dorothea back to her chamber if you will show her servant around the kitchen and lower rooms.”

  Odette curtsied and left with Irma just behind her.

  Avelina placed her hand once again on Lord Thornbeck’s arm. Being in such proximity, and suddenly alone with him, her stomach fluttered. He walked slowly, his walking stick making regular thumping noises on the floor.

  She should probably say something. His face was set in its usual serious expression, as if he’d forgotten about her as he looked straight ahead.

  She only had to keep from revealing that she was Lady Dorothea’s servant. But something made her want to talk to him, to discover his thoughts. It was a peculiar curiosity, borne of knowing she would never have the opportunity to talk to this handsome, intriguing young margrave again when these two weeks were over.

  “There you are.” Lady Fronicka came down the corridor toward them. “And this must be Lady Dorothea of Plimmwald.” Fronicka barely glanced at Avelina before directing her smile toward Lord Thornbeck. “How kind you are to show her about the castle, Lord Thornbeck, especially since she was so late to arrive.”

  Fronicka fell into step beside them—on Lord Thornbeck’s side. “When will we go on our hunt? I am very accomplished with a crossbow. At home I once shot three deer and a wild boar in one day.”

  Avelina nodded, smiling, but her insides were churning, remembering what Magdalen had said about Fronicka’s determination to marry Lord Thornbeck. As long as she didn’t see Avelina as a threat, she had nothing to worry about. But the fact that Lord Thornbeck had chosen to accompany her on this tour would certainly displease Fronicka.

  “Did you see Thornbeck’s beautiful chapel?” Fronicka seemed to address Avelina but did not give her time to respond, and she kept her eyes on Lord Thornbeck. “I have always thought you could tell how much piety a man has by the place where he worships. Geitbart Cathedral has a crucifix made of ivory and an altar of gold. I could never worship at a wooden altar. Can you imagine?”

  Fronicka chattered on, not requiring any reply.

  What did it matter if one worshipped at a gold altar or a wooden one, so long as one’s heart and mind were focused on God? She recalled their own modest church in Plimmwald. The chapel where Avelina sometimes prayed was certainly less ornate than Thornbeck’s.

  “Are you intending to say,” Avelina interrupted Fronicka, “that poor people are less pious than the wealthy because they worship at a wooden altar and not a gold-and-ivory one?”

  Fronicka stared at her with her mouth hanging open.

  “I’m just curious. Do you think a God who sent His Son to be born in a lowly stable to poor people, announced to shepherds in a field, could care about gold and ivory and jewels? Perhaps God cares about our hearts, not our wealth.” Avelina smiled very innocently.

  Lord Thornbeck’s lips were slightly parted as he stared at her.

  Fronicka fixed her cold black eyes on Avelina. There was a long pause, then Fronicka, ignoring what Avelina had said, started talking again about hunting and how good she was at killing things.

  Avelina certainly had not endeared herself to Lady Fronicka, but it was worth it to momentarily erase the scowl from Lord Thornbeck’s face. She liked the idea that her opinions surprised him.

  Reinhart stood leaning on his walking stick as he faced Jorgen and Odette.

  Jorgen cleared his throat. “Do you feel you are discovering what you need to know about the . . . young ladies?”

  No doubt his chancellor was also wondering what to call them. Candidates? Choices? Contenders? Perhaps the most polite term was “prospective brides.”

  Before they arrived Reinhart had thought of them as young maidens who would line up and try to hide their imperfections during their stay at Thornbeck Castle in order to catch a margrave. But once they arrived and he acquainted himself with each of them, he was faced with the fact that they would have opinions about marrying him.

  And after he met Dorothea and heard her irrational ideas about love, she reminded him that these women were all different, and likely their motives for being here were very different. If the woman he chose should turn out like his mother, bitter and hostile . . . He simply could not allow that to happen. His father had been cold and withdrawn from her. They slept in opposite wings of the castle, and Reinhart wondered how two children, himself and his brother, had come out of such cold avoidance and open hostility.

  “My lord?” Jorgen looked at him with raised brows, and Odette was also giving him a look of expectation.

  He had not answered the question. “I have discove
red some things.”

  Lady Fronicka was easy to talk to. He did not like to talk very much, and she was more than willing to fill the gaps. But there was something he could not put into words, except to call it a hard edge that he sensed about her. Most of the others were timid, silly, and self-centered. They’d lived comfortable lives of indulgence and ease. Lady Magdalen had a sweetness and intelligence about her that most of the others lacked. But Lady Magdalen was so young, he felt uncomfortable thinking of her as a wife. The only one who drew him, who made him want to get to know her better, was Lady Dorothea.

  “You have said you want to know if they are kind or mean-spirited”—Jorgen looked down at his notes—“and you wanted to know their attitude toward the poor. We have a plan in place to find out those things tomorrow when we take them all on a tour of the town. Is there anything else you would like to know about them?”

  His chest tightened. He wanted to be certain the woman he married would be conscientious in doing her part to be a good wife. Consequently he would go about this in a very logical, reasonable way. The fact that he was attracted to Lady Dorothea was not important—and very strange, since he did not like opinionated women and did not think they made good wives. But emotion should play no part in his decision.

  “I should like the woman I choose to be very honest, generous, and to have a sincere faith in God, rather than mindlessly following rules.” Those seemed the ideal qualities of a wife. He had admired various skills and characteristics of his fellow knights, but he had spent very little time in the presence of women.

  Jorgen and his wife, who had their heads together and were talking quietly, looked down at what Jorgen had just written. No doubt they were trying to figure out a test to determine if each girl met his criteria.

  “When we take the tour of the town tomorrow,” Jorgen said, “you only need to be on hand to observe. We shall take care of the rest.”

  Until a month or two ago, it had never occurred to him to make a list of character traits he would like in a wife. But it seemed the wise and logical thing to do. Emotion made things uncomfortable. Being forced to marry a stranger was uncomfortable. But his reason would help him make the best choice.