A Melanie Dickerson Collection

  Thank You, God, for helping me think of that! She only hoped she had not put him off by making it obvious that Magdalen’s region needed the margrave’s wealth to help it survive. Frau Hartman had raised her brows. Avelina went on.

  “Furthermore, a margrave’s wife should have lots of ideas—and should share those ideas with her husband and other prominent men of the region. She should tell the margrave how to solve the problems of the region and not just share what those problems are. Do you not agree, Lord Thornbeck?”

  He fixed her with such an intense scowl that she could hardly breathe. How could he look severe and frightening and yet overwhelmingly handsome at the same time? His brown eyes, masculine forehead and jawline, broad shoulders, and well-formed mouth all combined to make him the most handsome man she had ever seen. She quickly looked away from him, her cheeks burning, embarrassed that she found the man so attractive. She hoped he could not read her thoughts.

  “You are saying a lady should tell her husband what the region’s problems are and how to solve them?”

  Had she gone too far? God in heaven, I am only a maidservant! What am I saying? “Um . . . I . . . that is . . . perhaps. I mean, yes, my lord.” Could she be any more blundering and unpolished? He quirked one brow at her.

  At least she didn’t have to worry that she was impressing him too much.

  He cleared his throat as he looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. “What kinds of things do you like to do, Lady Dorothea? Sewing? Riding? Hawking?”

  What should she say? She didn’t know how to do most things a lady would do. She hated sewing and had never gone riding until the trip here, which had not exactly been enjoyable, and she knew nothing about using birds of prey to hunt. She was good at dressing Lady Dorothea’s hair, but her mind wandered too much to play games of skill like chess or Nine Men’s Morris.

  But there was one thing she knew how to do that most servants did not: she knew how to read. She had convinced Lady Dorothea to teach her years ago and then to allow her to join the lessons with her tutor.

  “I like to read and make up stories.”

  This time both his brows quirked up. “Stories?”

  “Tales. I write tales of adventure, quests of courage and love. Romances.”

  The muscles around his mouth went slack.

  Was it bad for a lady to make up tales? The chancellor’s wife was staring at her with round blue eyes and a half smile.

  After a few moments he said, “I should like to read one of your tales.”

  “Oh,” Avelina spoke through her sigh of relief, “I’m afraid I did not bring any with me.” She smiled, trying to look apologetic.

  Was that a disapproving look on his face? Though the margrave’s chancellor and his wife looked very pleasant, the margrave was definitely scowling. “And what kind of things do you like to read?”

  “I don’t actually—” She was about to say, “I don’t actually have any books of my own.” Her heart skipped a few beats. An earl’s daughter would never say that. “That is . . . my father does not approve of my reading romances, so I must read them in secret. I also read the Bible.” When I can sneak the German-translated version out of Lord Plimmwald’s library.

  “Do you like to hunt? We will form a hunting party at least once while you are here.”

  “Oh no, I cannot abide hunting.” Truly, she had never been hunting before, but the prospect filled her with horror. “I shall stay at the castle during any hunting parties.” That should annoy him sufficiently.

  “Do you enjoy dancing? We shall have two balls.”

  “I am not a good dancer.” She had never learned to dance. She was too busy working at the castle to dance in the streets during festivals with the other villagers, and she had never learned the courtly dances Lady Dorothea knew, the ones the margrave’s guests would no doubt be dancing at the ball. “I shall watch all the other ladies dance during the ball.”

  His brows low and drawn together, he did not look pleased. With her strident answers, he’d never guess she was a lowly servant. And voicing such strong opinions made her hold her head a little higher.

  “I see. And what are your thoughts about marriage?”

  “My thoughts about marriage?”

  He nodded.

  The question made her heart speed up and her breath grow shallow.

  Her feelings about marriage were . . . fanciful and unrealistic. The other servants laughed at them, and Lady Dorothea rolled her eyes and called her “daft.” Noblemen and women saw marriage as a contract, a means to an end, and most of all, a duty. But why change her tactics now? She would tell him the truth.

  “I have always thought one should marry, if at all possible, not because the person you marry can give you the most position or wealth, but out of love. After all, if there is no love, if you have no romantic thoughts about each other, then you are much more likely to treat each other badly. And all the position and wealth in the world will not make a person happy if they feel unloved.”

  The margrave opened his mouth as if to answer but said nothing. She couldn’t resist going on. She had given this a great deal of thought, after all.

  “A woman wishes to be swept up by a man’s fervent feelings for her, by love and longing and depth of feeling. She does not wish to be married for her father’s coin or her noble birth or because she is a sensible choice. She wants to be wooed, even after she is married, to be cherished and loved for her very self, not just because she has a beautiful face, long after she has passed the age of freshness and youth.”

  She had said too much. She sensed it by the way no one spoke or even seemed to breathe—besides she herself, who was breathing rather fast. The chancellor was still writing furiously. The slight scraping of his quill was the only sound.

  Her face burned and she suddenly was quite smothered in the closed-up room. “That is, if one does not have to marry for duty. For, as I already said, a lady must think of her people first and foremost . . . not about love or feelings or any of those . . . things.”

  What a clumsy, unrefined person she must seem to the sophisticated margrave, the chancellor, and the chancellor’s beautiful, polished wife. Ach. She must have frightened him away from ever wanting to marry her, at least.

  She pulled at her sleeves, wishing it were permissible to push them up past her elbows. Was it hot in this room? Sweat was starting to trickle down the center of her back.

  While the silence stretched on, she examined her fingernails, which were rather more chipped and stained than any lady’s nails should be. She curled her fingernails inside her palms. When would this be over?

  Had she made a complete fool of herself? She shouldn’t even be here, talking to the Margrave of Thornbeck as if her opinion mattered.

  The margrave cleared his throat again. He seemed amused. He wasn’t exactly smiling, so it could be her imagination. My, but he was appealing, in a large, rugged sort of way. She imagined him as he was before he became the margrave, when he was a knight and the captain of the guard. He must have looked even more formidable than he did now. Power was etched in every line of his face, in the proportions of his shoulders and chest and stature. Even his voice was deep and powerful.

  “My last question is, what do you hope to gain from your stay here at Thornbeck Castle?”

  “Oh.” A dowry, and a goose, and a side of pork every month for my family. “I hope to meet some new people—I do not have opportunities to meet other ladies very often—and . . .” Should she admit to wanting to see what books he had in his library that she might read? She shrugged. “To enjoy your hospitality, my lord.”

  The scowl was back on his face. “Thank you, Lady Dorothea, for answering my questions so honestly and openly.”

  Ach. She had said too much. Honestly and openly. She must have sounded like the furthest thing from a dignified, self-possessed daughter of an earl.

  “And thank you for coming to Thornbeck.”

  That seemed to be Frau Hartman’s
cue to escort her back, because she stood and walked over to Avelina.

  Avelina curtsied to Lord Thornbeck. He bowed, leaning on his cane, and she hurried out of the room. This must have been how Daniel felt when he was drawn out of the den of lions.

  Reinhart listened until Lady Dorothea’s footsteps could no longer be heard, then walked to Jorgen’s desk. “May I?”

  Jorgen handed him the paper he had been writing on.

  He read Lady Dorothea’s answers. He had not quite believed his own ears, but here it was from Jorgen’s pen. Her very answers as he had heard them.

  She did not like to dance. She did not—and would not—hunt. She liked to write tales—romances. And . . . here it was. “A margrave’s wife should have lots of ideas—and should share those ideas with her husband and other prominent men of the region. She should tell the margrave how to solve the problems of her region.”

  Odette swept into the room, her eyes wide open, looking like she was bursting to speak.

  “What did you think of her, Frau Hartman?” He might as well hear her opinion.

  She smiled. “She certainly did not make all the usual replies, did she?”

  “I am sure you liked her comments about helping the poor among her people.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Odette’s smile grew wider. “And then she held up Lady Magdalen as the example.” She shook her head, a disbelieving look on her face.

  This whole business of choosing a wife had made him uncomfortable, including the way he had ultimately decided to go about it. He had been looking at each lady in a rational way, basing his opinion of each of them on facts, weighing each word they had spoken to decide whether they would make him a compatible wife. But with Lady Dorothea . . . Several of the ladies had been fair of face and form. None of that had swayed his intellectual approach. Lady Dorothea’s opinionated answers had been exactly what he did not like, and yet . . . he had felt his usual rationality slipping from his grasp. He had felt drawn to her in a most irrational way.

  Odette was still smiling. “I liked what she said about love too. Something about a woman wishing to be loved and wooed for herself and not her wealth. That was beautiful. And so true.”

  Yes, that was the part Reinhart had wanted to read again, to show himself how unreasonable and foolish it had been. Swept up by a man’s fervent feelings for her. Irrational. Doesn’t wish to be married for her money or alliances or her noble birth or because she is a sensible choice. Nonsensical. So why did he feel his breath quicken, remembering it? She wants to be wooed, even after she is married, to be cherished and loved for her very self. His heart thumped hard against his chest at the honest sentiments. What did she think of him? Did she scorn his limp as much as he hated it himself?

  “I admire that she feels so strongly about love, and that she was brave enough to say it.” Odette and Jorgen were gazing at each other.

  “Yes,” Jorgen replied, “she has spirit and an air of innocence and honesty. And she was not as stiff and formal as the other ladies, although she did seem nervous.”

  “True.” Odette turned to Reinhart. “What did you think of her, my lord, if I may ask?”

  “I cannot say she has passed the first test.” After all, he had wanted someone who knew her place as a woman and a wife, who would not be opinionated.

  “Are you saying you did not like her?” Jorgen looked surprised.

  He grunted. “This is not meant to be a sentimental process.”

  After a pause Odette said, “I have not yet given Lady Dorothea a tour of Thornbeck Castle. Will you come with us? Say polite things, ask her about herself, maybe offer her a book from your library since she likes to read?”

  “Of course, my lord. I think it is a very good idea,” Jorgen said, a bit too eagerly.

  “And don’t snarl at her if she asks you about your injury, the way you did to poor Lady Beatrix.”

  Reinhart glared at Odette and resisted the urge to growl.

  Had his chancellor and his wife become enchanted by Lady Dorothea? He was not enchanted. He only wanted to delve deeper into her temperament. In truth, she was the only lady whose answers had piqued his curiosity. But she was not at all what he had thought he wanted—a docile, quiet, simple maiden.

  Besides, he only had two weeks to mine the jewels—or rocks, as the case might be—of each woman’s character; two weeks to choose who he would take as his wife; two weeks to find the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

  6

  “OH, IRMA, IT was terrible.” Avelina covered her eyes with her hands. “I babbled on and sounded ridiculous. I don’t even remember half of what I said, but what I do remember . . . it didn’t sound anything like what Lady Dorothea would have said.”

  Irma sighed as she reclined on her sleeping couch, eating pastries from a plate she was balancing with one hand. “What does it matter?” She took another bite, then spoke through the crumbs that blew from her lips. “No one here knows Lady Dorothea, and after we leave, no one will be the wiser.”

  “I still have to get through the next two weeks. I feel so out of place. I don’t know what to do or what to say or how to behave. I was never taught to be an earl’s daughter. I feel every moment as if someone is going to accuse me of being an imposter—which I am.”

  Never before had she been treated like her opinion mattered. If only she could enjoy it without feeling like someone was going to brand her a fraud and order her to leave at once.

  But in her heart she truly believed she was a better lady than Lady Dorothea ever was. Was it wrong to think she was nobler in her heart than the true nobleman’s daughter? If only she had been born the daughter of an earl instead of Dorothea. If only she had not been born to a poor man who himself was only a servant.

  A pang of guilt smote her breast at the envious, disloyal thoughts. Her own father might not know how to read or write or control his own fate, and he might never tell her he loved her or appreciated all she did for her little brother and sister, but he was still her father, and he had never tried to marry her off to the first person who asked for her, or betroth her to some rich and powerful nobleman she had never even met, as a titled father would do.

  A knock at the door made Avelina jump. “That will be Frau Hartman to take me on a tour of the castle. I think you are supposed to come with me so you can learn where everything is.”

  Irma jumped up. She set down the plate of cake and hastily brushed the crumbs off her chest.

  “At least Lord Thornbeck won’t be along.” Avelina glanced in the mirror. “It should only be you, me, and Frau Hartman.”

  Irma was still brushing herself, muttering, “Very well.”

  Avelina took a step toward the door, then remembered she was supposed to be an earl’s daughter. “Irma, you have to get the door.”

  “Oh yes.” Irma scurried to the door and opened it.

  Frau Hartman entered. “Is Lady Dorothea ready?” Her gaze fell on Avelina. “Shall we take a look around the castle?”

  “Of course.” Avelina came forward. “This is my maidservant, Irma.”

  Irma curtsied.

  “Lord Thornbeck is also coming with us. Shall we go?”

  Avelina’s throat suddenly went dry and she swallowed. Why was Lord Thornbeck coming with them? She distinctly remembered Magdalen saying he had not accompanied the other ladies on their tours around the castle. Oh dear. He looked just as severe as she remembered.

  Irma actually started back at seeing him behind Frau Hartman.

  Avelina faked a smile and placed her hand at Irma’s back, trying to be discreet as she pushed her forward.

  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?”