A Melanie Dickerson Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  The little boys smiled and ran off toward Bakers Street, laughing playfully. And Lord Thornbeck gave Magdalen her coins back.

  “Thank you for your generosity, but they will be provided for.” He bowed and walked on.

  What did he mean by “they will be provided for”? She had never seen beggars who behaved like those boys had—carefree and joyful, a ready smile on their faces. Something was odd.

  She and Magdalen exchanged a look. Avelina glanced behind them. Just as she thought, Chancellor Jorgen was marking in his little book with his piece of charcoal.

  Lord Thornbeck walked back and spoke quietly again with his chancellor, then the margrave announced, “Let us fetch the horses and return to the castle.”

  “Isn’t it strange we didn’t even make it to the Marktplatz and the town center?” Avelina leaned close to Magdalen’s ear. “We didn’t even see the Rathous or the guild houses.”

  “Perhaps he was afraid we were tired.”

  But that did not make sense. Also, she was beginning to think the begging was a mummery and the mud-smeared boys were players. But why?

  9

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON Reinhart sat at his desk in the library, Jorgen nearby at his own desk with Odette beside him.

  Reinhart had not missed the way the ladies had more or less cringed away from the boys from the orphanage who had volunteered to put dirt on their faces and go begging to them. They had done a good job of it—it probably wasn’t their first time to beg.

  He also had not missed Lady Magdalen giving them coins and Lady Dorothea calling to him and asking him to buy them food.

  And when they had passed the Jewish part of town, Lady Dorothea had had a look of great concern on her face and stared long at the little boy and young woman. It was very telling of her character, he thought.

  “I shall write out my notes in a more legible form and get them to you later today,” Jorgen said.

  “Lady Dorothea and Lady Magdalen certainly have the most Christian charity toward orphans,” Odette said, “and they never complained about having to walk in town.”

  It would be worth all the indignity of the testing of the ladies’ characters if he were able to find a woman who had similar values. There was no reason why this process should not work well, no reason why he should not get precisely what he wanted.

  Odette seemed to think his silence was a hint that she should leave, because she stood and curtsied. “I shall go now, Lord Thornbeck, and allow you and Jorgen to discuss his notes.”

  He nodded to her. “You and Jorgen have done well.”

  She curtsied again and left the room.

  Reinhart tried to concentrate on the numbers and lists on his desk, of the expenses of the previous month, but his mind kept wandering, mostly to Lady Dorothea.

  “Here are my notes from today’s outing to town.” Jorgen stood by his desk, holding out a sheet of parchment.

  He took it from him. “I suppose you wish to tell me your impressions, which ladies you think distinguished themselves.”

  “Lady Magdalen and Lady Dorothea were the only ones who passed the compassion test in my estimation, my lord. And you, my lord? What did you think?”

  Reinhart was not used to confiding in anyone. Growing up as a squire in a castle of men whose tastes and humor were often ribald and unrefined, he had avoided spending his spare time with them. And as a knight, he often found a quiet place to be alone, to read or study or pray. The knights who never seemed to want to be alone were often the troublemakers, and he preferred to spend as little time with them as possible. Perhaps that was why he rose so quickly to become the captain of the Duke of Pomerania’s guard. The duke commented many times on his “serious” nature and his superior knowledge, how he did not carouse with the other men who had a penchant for women and strong spirits.

  “They both seem like good choices for you, my lord.”

  “They are both good prospects, perhaps. Though Lady Magdalen is too young for me.” Was he saying this because he already felt a preference for Lady Dorothea? Certainly Dorothea was beautiful, and he thought her appealingly forthright in her private audience with him. But he must not allow himself to be swayed by fickle, unreliable feelings. He did not want something as silly as beauty to cloud his judgment. After all, once he was married, beauty would mean little. But she was passing most of their tests.

  There was the little matter of Lady Dorothea’s father betraying him by telling the king that he believed Reinhart to have murdered his own brother. Could he trust the Earl of Plimmwald or his daughter? The king obviously thought it would be wise for him to heal the breach by marrying the earl’s daughter, but might Lady Dorothea become like his mother, resentful and unfaithful?

  “True, Lady Magdalen is a bit young,” Jorgen said.

  “We shall learn more about them both as the two weeks progress.”

  Jorgen nodded his agreement, a small smile on his face. Reinhart fought back a growl and cleared his throat instead. Jorgen and Odette were enjoying this wife search, as if they thought he was “falling in love” like an addled youth or a peasant farmer. He hardly found this enjoyable. For him, too much was at stake.

  Avelina and Magdalen sat in the two cushioned, throne-like chairs in Avelina’s bedchamber. The sun was going down and the windows were closed and shuttered against the wind that whistled just outside.

  “I think the margrave, the chancellor, and Odette are setting up tests for us,” Avelina confided.

  “Tests?” Magdalen’s brows lowered, then lifted. “Oh yes! You mean the way the chancellor and Lord Thornbeck were watching us when we were in town.”

  Avelina nodded, tapping her chin with her finger. “He has only a short time to choose a wife. He probably wants to find out how we will react in different situations. I can hardly blame him, I suppose, but it seems a bit . . . cold and deceptive.”

  “No.” Magdalen shook her head. “I would not say cold. He doesn’t want to marry someone who does not care about the same things he cares about. Perhaps it is a bit deceptive, but it is wise, and it shows he takes his marriage vows seriously. I think it is endearing.”

  Avelina hardly had the right to criticize him for being deceptive when she herself was deceiving them all. She lowered her voice a bit. “I think the tour of Thornbeck was a test. And they had the children begging because they wanted to see what we would do.”

  “I did remember thinking the children didn’t look like beggars. They were dirty and their clothes were worn, but their eyes . . . they were cheerful. Not really sad at all.”

  “Yes, exactly.” Avelina sat up and leaned toward Magdalen. “And did you see the way the chancellor was writing in his little book? And the way Lord Thornbeck took the money and gave it back to you, then gave the children some money himself and said that they would be provided for? I think they were from the orphanage that we passed, and he, or perhaps Odette, had the children come and beg for money and say they were hungry.”

  Magdalen’s eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. She was so sweet and beautiful. She would make a wonderful margrave’s wife. Avelina had already made up her mind that the margrave had not killed his brother. She simply could not believe anyone who was so particular about who he was going to marry, and who seemed so concerned about orphans, could have done such a despicable thing. At least, she hoped not.

  “I think the margrave wanted to see if we cared about orphans—to see who among us would be kind to them and who would treat them as if they were offensive. And you, my dear Lady Magdalen, have surpassed their trial.” Avelina clasped her hands and grinned. This was going to be easy. He might even choose Magdalen without any help from Avelina.

  Magdalen shook her head. “He could have simply asked us what we think of the poor.”

  “He could have asked, but we might say whatever we think he wants to hear. By testing us he can be more certain of what is in our hearts. Our actions are more truthful. Do you not agree?”

  “It does sound
likely.”

  A knock came at the door.

  “That is probably Hegatha worried about me getting to bed late.”

  Avelina opened the door to Magdalen’s maidservant, who looked old enough to be her grandmother.

  “Forgive me, Lady Dorothea, but Magdalen needs to be in bed soon. Come, Magdalen.”

  “I shall be there in a moment, Hegatha.” Magdalen nodded to her, and the servant closed the door with a grumpy look.

  Magdalen smiled apologetically. “Come to my room tomorrow. We can speak about it some more, before the ball.”

  They wished each other a good night and Magdalen left.

  Irma wandered into the bedchamber and plopped down on Avelina’s bed. “I thought she would never leave. I’m always afraid I will call you Avelina instead of Dorothea when other people are around. Keeping the secret that you are not an earl’s daughter . . . I don’t know if I can do it for two entire weeks.”

  Avelina expelled the breath from her lungs. “Don’t even say a thing like that. You must keep the secret. Everything depends upon it—our very lives. Do you know what Lord Plimmwald will do to us if—?”

  “Yes, yes, I know. I know.” Irma waved her hands. “Do not bring about a resurrection of the saints because of it.” She sighed. “I shall be careful not to say anything. The earl threatened me too, you should know.”

  Somehow it didn’t seem that difficult to Avelina to keep the secret. She was already feeling less and less deceptive in her role as a lady.

  “Irma, do you ever feel . . . as if you should have been a lord’s daughter? I mean, did you ever feel as though you are the same as they are?”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Humph! No, and neither should you. Don’t be getting too high and mighty just because Lord Plimmwald was in a well of trouble and had no one else to send in his daughter’s place besides you. Just because you get to wear Lady Plimmwald’s old dresses and strut around like a princess and do nothing all day.” Irma shook her finger at Avelina’s nose. “You’ll be back at Plimmwald Castle soon with the rest of us lowly servants.”

  Avelina put her hands on her hips, trying to think of an apt retort. Finally, she turned away and crossed her arms.

  She should not have confided in Irma. Perhaps she was getting puffed up, being around earls’ and dukes’ daughters all day, being indulged and treated like a lady. But the truth was, for as long as she had known the daughter of the Earl of Plimmwald was vain and selfish and petty, Avelina had felt that she was no less noble than Lady Dorothea. A person’s heart should be what she was judged by, rather than whose blood ran in her veins. She had told herself she could behave with as much nobility of spirit as any lady she had met so far.

  Except for Lady Magdalen. Unlike Avelina, Magdalen was kind and gentle and probably never had a selfish thought in her life.

  Magdalen deserved someone wealthy and powerful, and most importantly, she deserved someone kind and good. And though Lord Thornbeck sometimes looked quite severe and frightening, and he had a bad temper at times, he was much better than most other noblemen Magdalen might end up married to. And if Avelina had anything to do with it, Magdalen would end up married to him.

  “The truth is,” Avelina told Magdalen the next day, “I cannot dance. I never learned.”

  Magdalen stared at her in shock. “How is that possible? Did no one try to teach you?”

  “My father never hired a tutor for me.” In the strictest sense, this was true. While Lord Plimmwald had made sure his daughter had learned every dance known to the noble class of the Holy Roman Empire, Avelina’s father told her that her duty was to Lord Plimmwald and his daughter and had never let her go to the festivals with the other peasant girls, where they danced and played games. She should be grateful that she had a place in the earl’s household and did not have to work in a field all day in the sun and rain and mud.

  But she couldn’t tell Magdalen that.

  “Did your father never hold balls and parties at Plimmwald Castle? Did he not want you to attract the attention of a nobleman who would want to marry you?”

  “No.” Avelina shook her head, trying to look innocent. And there had been very few balls and parties for Lady Dorothea either. She had once heard the earl say that he planned to arrange Dorothea’s marriage, and therefore there was no use in holding dances at the castle or sending her elsewhere to balls.

  Perhaps that was one reason she ran off with Sir Dietric.

  “What if Lord Thornbeck is angry with you for not dancing? You must let me teach you how.” Lady Magdalen looked at her thoughtfully.

  “Do you think you can teach me in one afternoon?”

  “Perhaps not all the dances, but most of them are simple.” Magdalen explained and demonstrated some of the dances, helping Avelina practice them.

  “But how will I know which dance they are dancing?” Avelina asked. “I am certain to make a fool of myself in front of everyone. Besides, I told Lord Thornbeck that I would not dance, and he did not say anything.”

  Magdalen merely smiled in her pleasant, calm way. “You will have ever so much more fun if you dance. Come. It is not so difficult. We shall go through the steps again. You can learn these two dances, and if they are dancing something you do not know or recognize, you can say you are tired. But you must dance.”

  It did seem as if it would be fun, if she knew what she was doing. So they continued to practice until they were both laughing and out of breath.

  Hegatha came into the room, a stern, disapproving look on her face. “Dear Magdalen, you must not tire yourself before the ball tonight.”

  “I shall go.” Avelina clasped Magdalen’s hand. “Thank you ever so much.”

  “You are most welcome.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I am sorry Hegatha is so rude. You do not have to go.”

  “I should go get ready for the ball. Thank you again.”

  Avelina hurried down the corridor to her own chamber. It was a bit exciting to think of going to a ball and actually dancing.

  10

  HE NEVER SHOULD have let Jorgen and Odette talk him into having not one but two dances.

  Reinhart stood in the large ballroom at the bottom of the stairs. Already the men were assembled. He had asked several young noblemen to come to the ball so the ladies would have enough partners for the dances.

  He couldn’t dance, with his permanent limp and injured ankle. But the ball was another of Jorgen and Odette’s tests, a trial of vanity and pride. They would not have quite enough men for all the ladies to have a partner, so they would be able to observe how each lady dealt with this. Would they vie for partners? Or would they allow another lady to dance by sacrificing a dance or two? Would they compete for the best-looking and wealthiest men with the highest titles, or would they flirt with the margrave?

  The second ball would take place on the last night of the two weeks. There he would reveal whom he had chosen to be his wife.

  Already they were starting to come down the stairs to the ballroom floor.

  The leader of the musicians was looking to Reinhart. He gave him a nod, and the musicians started to play, a sound that should draw the rest of the ladies from their rooms.

  Jorgen strode toward him. “My lord, you are in a very good place from which to observe while everyone is dancing. Are you sure you do not wish some paper and a piece of charcoal for taking notes?”

  “I shall rely on my memory.”

  Jorgen bowed and hurried away.

  Reinhart spoke to his male guests. When they had all been properly greeted and stood talking with each other, he counted the men silently. Only nine, just as planned.

  Lady Fronicka was coming toward him. No other ladies had dared to approach him, but he should know already that Lady Fronicka was not timid.

  “Lord Thornbeck, your castle is perfectly suited for a ball. I am very eager to dance, for I love to dance and could dance all night.” She smiled at him. At least her lips smiled, but her eyes seemed to be calculating exact
ly what kind of reaction she was getting from him.

  She chattered on about balls and dancing. He signaled the musicians once again to announce the first dance.

  “I shall find myself a partner,” she said, “but I wish I could dance with you, my lord.”

  When he did not react to her statement, she turned away and approached a group of young men. One of them immediately led her to the middle of the dance floor. Quickly more couples followed. Soon the only person left was Lady Dorothea. She was standing alone on the other side of the room.

  The music began. The dance was a rather complicated one, but the dancers all appeared to be proficient. For the first time Reinhart was glad for his lame ankle, since he was completely unfamiliar with the steps of this dance.

  By the end all the ladies were smiling. There must be something about dancing that they enjoyed. Perhaps it was the way he used to feel when he had practiced sword fighting and jousting with the other knights—invigorated and alive. But with his lame ankle . . . he wondered if he would ever feel invigorated and alive, if he was always to feel somewhat weak and useless.

  A second dance was immediately announced. The couples changed partners. One of the young men left the group and appeared to be asking Lady Dorothea to dance. She shook her head, smiling. He went back to his partner, and the dance began.

  Reinhart started walking around the perimeter of the room and made his way to the other side and to Lady Dorothea. “So you do not wish to dance?”

  Instead of smiling with all teeth showing, as Fronicka did, there was only a slight upturn to the corners of her lips.

  “I never learned this particular dance, I’m afraid. Please do not concern yourself, though. I am perfectly content to listen to the music.”

  He was not so sure he believed her. After all, what lady had never been taught these well-known dances? But it might embarrass her if he pressed her to join the dancers. And since she wished to listen to the music, he said no more.