Her mind went to Jorgen, then to the conversation she’d had with Rutger the night before. He believed Jorgen was attracted to her, and she didn’t really doubt it was so. But if she was also falling in love with him . . . That was very unwise.
If she could go back to sleep, she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.
A knock at the door made her sit up and listen. Muted voices, then soft footsteps she recognized as Heinke’s came from the corridor, then drew closer.
Heinke stuck her head in. “Mathis Papendorp is here to see you.”
Her heart lifted, then sank. “I will be downstairs in a few minutes.” At least he would be someone to talk to and take her mind off . . . other things.
“Good morning, Odette.” Mathis stood at the bottom of the stairs holding a large bunch of fresh pink roses. “These are for you.”
“Oh. They are exquisite.” She hurried down the steps and took the flowers from his hands.
“Careful. They have thorns.”
Odette breathed in the heady fragrance, letting the petals touch her face. “Thank you. They are lovely.” She called for Heinke to put them in a vase of water. “There was a vase here on this shelf, but I don’t see it now.” The beautiful vase Rutger had been looking at a few days ago when they were talking . . . It was gone. But Heinke took the flowers and soon brought them back in a ceramic vase that held them quite well.
“They are the same color as my mother’s roses, but I bought these from a seller in the marketplace.”
She sniffed them again, unable to stop looking at them.
“You look radiant this morning. Mornings must be your favorite time of day.”
She laughed. “Do not flatter me. I am not even usually out of bed at this time of day.”
“Oh?” He looked a bit disappointed. Perhaps she could further disappoint him.
“Nein, I sleep my mornings away and do very little in the afternoons besides visit my friend Anna, and sometimes I study theology.” No one wanted a lazy wife who would embarrass him in front of other men by boasting about how much she knew about the Bible and other holy writings.
“My dear, you can study all you want if you marry me. I can afford to buy you all the books of the Bible, Psalters, whatever pleases you. Odette, I want to marry you, if you will only say yes.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t go as planned. She forced herself to smile. Wasn’t that what she wanted—a husband who was as good to her as Rutger was, who would indulge her with books and tutors and leisure time? If he would indulge her with books, would he not also indulge her by letting her feed the children?
She looked into his pleading eyes. If he would be kind and generous . . . Perhaps she was being foolish by not wanting to marry him simply because she did not feel an attraction to him. Certainly no other maiden in Thornbeck would refuse him. Still, she wasn’t ready to pledge herself to this man.
“Thank you for not forcing me to make a decision yet.”
“Of course.” He took a step back and nodded. “I must go now. My father has appointed me to be in charge of a census of Thornbeck. Everyone must be counted. It is a lot of work, and I have many men I must oversee.”
She tried to look impressed. “I am sure you will do a very good job.” She reached out her hand, and he took it and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
“Fare well, Odette.”
“Fare well.”
Jorgen brought two more sacks of hares to the children, watching Odette’s face when she saw them. Her blue eyes grew round, a smile spreading over her face as the children cheered and ran toward him. It was to be the last of the hares, for their snaring was at an end, but he enjoyed seeing their enthusiasm—and Odette’s pleasure.
He had waited until time for Odette’s class to end, and now he handed out the fresh meat and watched the children run home with them.
Odette stood looking at him. “Thank you again. Do you know how unusual you are, caring about children most people would scorn?”
“Maybe because I was one of them after the pestilence killed my parents.”
Her expression sobered. “The last time you brought the hares, you looked sad, as though you were thinking of something else.”
He rubbed his chin. “I was remembering . . . something.” Should he tell her?
“What were you remembering?”
He stared down at the ground, not meeting her eye. “I was remembering when my sister and I were their age. I try not to think about those days anymore.”
“Was it very painful?”