The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(38)
“Did you see the flowers that are still blooming?” he finally asked.
Avelina let Magdalen walk ahead of her. “I like the yellow rose with pink around the edges.” Avelina stopped and leaned down to get a better look. When she straightened, Lord Thornbeck and Magdalen were staring at her.
Avelina pretended not to notice as she turned and wandered away to find another fully bloomed rose. When she glanced over her shoulder again, the margrave and Magdalen were talking. Avelina resumed examining the roses and bushes and trees. Her plan was working perfectly. So why did a pang of regret shoot through her middle?
“Lady Dorothea, come and join our conversation.” Lord Thornbeck was seating Magdalen on a wooden bench between two large rosebushes.
Avelina walked forward and sat beside Magdalen, then the margrave seated himself on the bench facing them. He was not smiling.
Silence stretched between them until Magdalen said, “We were just speaking about how difficult it is for our lord to choose a bride from among his guests.”
“I did not say it was difficult,” Lord Thornbeck said. “I said it was uncomfortable to invite ladies to one’s home for the express purpose of choosing from among them whom to marry.”
“Then why do it?” Avelina wished she hadn’t been so quick to speak, but she couldn’t take back the question.
His expression was stern as he stared back at her. “I am doing it because I do not wish to marry someone who will be . . . less than what I am expecting in a wife. I do not wish to have the king choose my bride for me. If I can find a suitable wife, one that he approves, I shall not be forced to marry someone whose character may be less than exemplary or someone who may not wish to marry me and therefore will be unhappy in our marriage.”
“That makes sense.”
“Do you think so?”
His obvious interest in her opinion surprised her. “Yes. You are the margrave. You can do anything you want, and if you want to find a wife you consider to be suitable and a woman of good character, then you should use any reasonable means to do so.” Again, she probably should not have said so much. She sounded terribly impertinent. Once she returned to Plimmwald she would have to watch what she said, lest she speak her opinions the way she had here and offend Lord Plimmwald.
Before that happened, Irma would put her in her place, no doubt.
“I do not wish to force anyone to marry me who does not wish to.”
Was he thinking of Magdalen? She did seem a bit unenthusiastic around him.
“I am sure you know that a woman of good character, modesty, and prudence would not make her wish to marry you very obvious. She will not be hovering around you, trying to force your attention to her every moment.” She spoke carefully, hoping he would see the contrast in her description between Lady Magdalen and Lady Fronicka. “She would not try to make you look unfavorably upon another woman to make herself look good. She might seem quiet and reserved, but that is only her Christian meekness and sobriety shining through.”
Magdalen was staring at her with wide eyes and a wisp of a smile on her lips, and Lord Thornbeck’s expression was nearly the same.
“Are you saying that if a lady does not show great interest, it does not necessarily mean she does not wish to marry me?” He lifted one brow, waiting expectantly.
He had never looked so handsome. Ugh. She should not be thinking such a thing.
“Precisely. You are a man of great character yourself, are you not? Wishing to show kindness to the poor, a man of godly ideals in every area of your life?”
“I try to be.”
“Then a woman of good character will be very attracted to you, will consider you a wonderful potential husband, even if she does not show it.” Avelina had to swallow the lump that rose into her throat. “She will count herself fortunate to have secured your good opinion.”
He stared back at her, unblinking.
“Is it getting warmer?” Avelina stood. “Perhaps we should walk around and see all the roses before the sun burns through the fog and overheats us.” She turned away and wandered toward the wall behind them. Truly, there was little likelihood of it becoming that warm, but she needed to free herself of his penetrating stare, and a sudden fear had gripped her. Could he have thought she was speaking of herself instead of Magdalen?
She wandered over to the climbing rose clinging to the stone wall and fingered the soft red petals of a stray rose, closing her eyes as she tried to slow her breathing. Behind her, the voices of Lady Magdalen and Lord Thornbeck drifted toward her, but she could not make out the words.
She could not have faced him another moment. When she was with Lord Thornbeck, it was so difficult to keep from talking to him. She was so drawn to him, to his opinions, his deep-brown eyes, and his rich, rumbly voice—which was exactly why she needed to stay away and let him talk to Lady Magdalen.
She leaned closer to the rose, so close that the cool, velvety petals caressed her cheek. She breathed deeply of the scented flower, pressing this moment into her mind so she could remember it in the future when she was a servant again, cleaning up after someone else, or helping in the kitchen now that Lady Dorothea was gone, or building a fire, or leaning over a boiling pot of pea-and-oat pottage she was cooking for her family.
She wanted to remember being in the company of the Margrave of Thornbeck—a noble man who was so conscientious about choosing an equally noble wife that he would go to such lengths as this. And to remember the sweet and proper Lady Magdalen, who never put herself forward and would not even do so now, when the margrave obviously was thinking of marrying her.