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.”