“But he is so handsome,” Anna whispered. “And the way the two of you were looking into each other’s eyes . . . I thought perhaps your uncle might set him up in business.”
Was it true? Had they been staring into each other’s eyes? “I do not think Uncle Rutger would do that. His last three cargos were lost, two at sea and the other to thieves. He is worried about his profits just now.” Her stomach flipped. “Were we really looking into each other’s eyes?”
“Do not worry. Probably no one noticed except me. And Peter.”
“Did he say something?”
Anna nodded. “Even though Peter was taught at home by a tutor, I think he must have known something about how the other boys treated Jorgen badly in school. He said several of the boys used to torment him because he was poor.” Anna frowned.
Odette knew how it felt to be tormented for being poor. Her heart squeezed at the thought. But she couldn’t let Anna think there was any possibility that she could marry Jorgen. If only Odette could acknowledge the real reason.
Anna nodded. “I was surprised your uncle allowed him to dance with you, even though he is not a gamekeeper anymore but the margrave’s forester.”
Odette did not contradict Anna’s reasoning about why she could not think of Jorgen.
“I’m sorry if I misjudged your uncle,” Anna said.
“No, you are right. It did seem strange that he would allow Jorgen to dance with me”—especially since he would arrest me if he knew who I really was—“and to invite him to dinner was even stranger.”
“But there’s something about him . . . He seemed gracious and humble, but humble in a . . . powerful way. That sounds foolish, doesn’t it?”
“No, you describe him very well.” Odette remembered how he had put his arm around her and guided her through the crowd of revelers, how he had made her feel so safe. She sighed.
“I must say, Odette”—Anna spit out another cherry pit—“I’ve never seen you look at a man the way you looked at Jorgen last night. I would not be surprised if you were falling in love with him.”
“I barely know him. You should not suggest such a thing.” Odette laughed to try to cover her discomfiture.
Jorgen was the last man she could ever allow herself to fall in love with.
5
JORGEN TREKKED UP the castle mount on the path that led to Thornbeck Castle. The guard at the gatehouse waved him through. At the front door, the servant said, “You are Jorgen Hartman, the forester, are you not?”
“Ja.”
“The margrave is waiting for you in the library. Follow me.” The articulate servant turned and marched down the corridor.
Always a bit nervous when he spoke to the margrave, Jorgen felt a trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades. He had to tell the margrave that there was a poacher hunting deer in Thornbeck Forest. He was certain to be displeased.
The servant motioned Jorgen into the room. The windows were open, but as it was a cloudy, misty day, lit candles stood in copper candlesticks on Margrave Reinhart’s desk. He sat behind it, staring down at some papers. Unfortunately, Ulrich Schinkel was standing at his shoulder.
While the margrave seemed to like Jorgen, his new chancellor did not, and the feeling was reciprocated. Jorgen could never forget how arrogant Ulrich had been when they were boys because his father was the margrave’s chancellor, and Ulrich would often boast that someday he would take his place. And now he had.
Jorgen strode forward as the margrave looked up at him.
Margrave Reinhart, or Lord Thornbeck as he was known, was not much older than Jorgen. He had become the new margrave when his older brother died in a fire in the west wing of the castle the year before. He had thick dark hair and eyebrows. He was just the sort one would want as a knight defender, broad and muscular shoulders and unusually tall. With the title of margrave, he was even more imposing.
The margrave’s forehead was creased, as if he was concentrating. “Jorgen,” he greeted and waved him forward.
Jorgen stepped up to the desk, doing his best to ignore Ulrich, but Jorgen could see out of the corner of his eye that Ulrich was sizing him up.
“As our forester,” the margrave began, “tell me how the game is faring in the park. Any problems to report?”
“Lord Thornbeck.” Jorgen bowed and decided to begin with the good news. “The mild weather has produced many new pheasant chicks, as well as many hares. In fact, it might be best, my lord, if you permitted the gamekeepers to snare some hares for your larder. Too many will cause the animals to be thin and sickly and might attract new predators, like wolves, to move into the game park.”