Jorgen stopped, and Odette looked up to see that they had arrived in front of her house. Holding on to Kathryn’s arm, she turned to Jorgen. “Please come inside.”
Inside the first-floor room, Odette asked Jorgen to wait for a moment, then she took Kathryn to the kitchen.
“Heinke, I need you to prepare a bath for Kathryn. And, Else,” she called to the older woman who helped Cook in the kitchen, “will you take care of her and help her wash her hair?”
“Of course.” Else put her arm around Kathryn’s shoulders. She was a motherly type, exactly what Kathryn needed. “Come, love, and you can get a good scrub. Nothing like a warm bath.”
Odette hurried back to where Jorgen was standing just inside the front door. He didn’t see her come in. He still looked a bit angry, as if he was thinking of something unjust. He was so tall and strong, and his hair looked soft, the way it curled around his ears. If only she could gaze at him forever. Tears stung her eyes.
Jorgen turned and reached out to her. Tears spilled from her eyes and she stepped into his open arms, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“My brave girl,” he whispered against her hair as he swept it away from her face. “Do not cry.”
How could she cry now? She made an effort to stop, taking deep breaths, but oh, how good it felt to be held in his warm, strong arms, to press her face against his broad chest. Concentrating on the warmth of his body made the tears dry up.
She had no right to let him hold her like this. She didn’t want to hurt him, and she could not marry him, so she should step away from him right now.
But she didn’t have the strength to push him away. She would stay like this for a bit longer. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes, memorizing how warm, how safe, how exhilarating it felt to be embraced by him. She breathed him in as guilt assailed her. “Thank you for saving us today. I do not know how we would have escaped had you not helped us.”
“I am pleased I was there, where Anna could find me. And grateful you were not hurt. You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Not at all.” It was time to break away. She must. She took a deep breath, trying to make sure she remembered his smell—like evergreen trees, fresh air, and something else, something enticing—and let it out slowly.
With reluctance, she loosened her arms from around his waist and took a step back. But Jorgen did not let go. His hand stayed on her back, while the other came up and pressed against her cheek as he looked into her eyes.
The moment seemed frozen as they gazed at each other. When his eyes focused on her mouth, her heart started to pound and her breath left her chest. Would he kiss her? Did she dare kiss him? It would be easy to rise on her tiptoes and pull his head down to hers. She did not think he would resist.
A door slammed, causing Odette to jump. Cook’s voice came from the back of the house and called for Heinke to come and help her. “Make haste! The milk will sour before you get here.”
Odette let out a nervous half giggle, and Jorgen mumbled, “I should not,” as if to himself. He was still staring down at her, but his expression had lost its intensity.
He pulled away, stroking her cheek so quickly she wondered if it was accidental. “I must go. Take care of Kathryn.”
“I will.”
Did he want to kiss her? Was he thinking about it? Or had she imagined it?
19
THE NIGHT OF the margrave’s masquerade ball had arrived.
Two weeks had gone by in which Odette saw Jorgen only a few times when she gave her lessons to the children. And Mathis had visited her twice, to bring her flowers and to tell her about his costume for the masquerade ball.
“What are you wearing to the ball?” Mathis had asked her.
“I cannot tell you, or else, what is the fun of having a masquerade ball? You shall have to guess which maiden is me.” Perhaps it was not a good idea to tease Mathis, but she hoped he would not recognize her for a while and she could dance with Jorgen for the first few dances.
Rutger told her that many titled ladies and men would be attending the ball, as well as the most distinguished residents of Thornbeck. Odette and her uncle were invited, but she was sad that Anna and Peter were not. At least Jorgen would be there. Although she should not indulge her attraction to him so much, being able to talk with him would soothe the nervous flutterings in her stomach at being around so many highborn people.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t help being excited about her swan costume. Rutger had spared no expense with Odette’s mask. It was made of white swan feathers, and the eyeholes were outlined in black, but the rest of the mask was snow white. Her matching headdress framed her hair with white feathers.
Her gown was also white, with silver stitching on the bodice. The belt was decorated entirely with silver thread, and white feathers were attached to the shoulders of the gown. Her blond hair had been arranged high on her head but fell down her back in loose curls, with white and silver ribbons woven throughout.
Rutger was employing his carriage for the occasion, and Odette was grateful not to be walking or even riding a horse, which might have ruined her costume. She hoped the other ladies at the ball were dressed as elaborately as she was.
Sitting on the cushioned carriage seat, she reached up and touched her mask. It felt strange having something on her face. Would anyone guess she was hiding as many secrets as the mask might suggest?
Rutger was not wearing a mask, but he wore a turban in the style of the Saracens, as well as an elaborate matching robe, also in the style of the people who lived in the Holy Land. He said the men would not be expected to wear masks, and some of them might not even wear a costume.
Odette alighted from the carriage feeling like a princess. Rutger escorted her up a few steps to the castle entrance. She might have imagined it, but the servants at the entrance seemed to open their eyes a little wider and let their gaze linger when they saw Odette.
Was her headdress too elaborate? Had her mask become askew? She reached up and put her hand on the mask, but it seemed to be in its proper place.
Once inside, they joined a line of guests waiting to greet the Margrave of Thornbeck.
The other ladies also wore masks. The woman in front of her wore a bright blue-green mask with elaborate designs on the sides to imitate the tail feathers of a peacock. She wore a headdress of real peacock feathers that matched the mask.
The men wore very fine clothing, but only a few others besides Rutger were wearing costumes. One was dressed like an Indian sultan, another like a Roman senator, and another like a Far Eastern Mongol.
Odette caught a glimpse of a man who stood talking with the margrave. The back of his head reminded her of Jorgen. He was dressed in a fine brocaded cotehardie of various shades of blue and gold that came below his hips. The sleeves were slit in several places all the way down his arms, showing white linen underneath. White ermine cuffs accented the wrists, hem, and shoulders of the outer garment. He also wore a felt hat with a peaked brim and a feather.
Just as he finished speaking with the margrave, he turned and smiled at Odette. Her breath caught in her throat at how good he looked.
A moment later, he was hidden from view as a large man wearing an enormous turban moved between them. When the man was finally out of her line of vision, Jorgen was gone.
When Odette and Rutger were face-to-face with the margrave, she was struck by how young and handsome he looked. The margrave was not at all the boorish former knight she had imagined. His hair was dark and slightly wavy, his eyes brown, and his cheekbones high. He was tall and broad shouldered, and he looked them in the eye as Ulrich, the chancellor, read their names from their invitation and introduced them.
Pity squeezed her heart at the way he leaned on his cane, no doubt due to his injury when the west wing of Thornbeck Castle burned. Odette and Rutger made the appropriate greeting, and the margrave said the proper acknowledgments, and they moved on to allow him to greet the guests waiting behind them.
No
w they were just outside the ballroom, and there was Jorgen, waiting for them. He smiled with his eyes as he watched her, the corners of his mouth tilting up. But as Rutger stepped ahead of her, Jorgen greeted her uncle first, who paused to converse with him.
Odette could hardly concentrate on what they were saying as she stared at Jorgen—clean-shaven, skin browned by the sun, his blond hair perfectly in place, the bright blue of his waistcoat contrasting with the white of his shirtsleeves. His eyes had never looked brighter as he turned from Rutger and smiled.
Jorgen reached out to her and, moving as if in a dream, she placed her hand in his. He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
She had been kissed on the hand numerous times before and never felt a thing. So why did his lips on her skin send a tingle through her, across her shoulders and down her back?
“Odette, you are the most beautiful swan I have ever seen.” He held out his arm to her.
“Thank you. And you are the most handsome prince I have ever seen.”
The humor returned to his eyes as they made their way inside the ballroom. “For one night only. These clothes must be returned tomorrow to their rightful owner.”
“It is not the clothing of a man that makes him a prince.”
His smile grew wider. “You are very clever tonight, as well as very beautiful.”
“How do you know I am beautiful? My face is covered by a mask.”
“Only half of your face. I know what the other half looks like.” He gazed down at her, his eyes mesmerizing. “And it is beautiful.”
“I never took you for a flatterer, Jorgen. You will make me think more of myself than I should.”
“I do not think that’s likely.”
The musicians and singers began a lively tune as Jorgen and Odette entered the ballroom.
“Will you tell me who is here?” Odette spoke near Jorgen’s ear. “I am afraid I hardly know anyone except you.”
“I will do my best. I believe the woman with the red dress is the Duchess of Peisterberg, and the young woman with her, wearing the blue mask, is her daughter.”
How exciting it would be to meet a duchess! Or a duchess’s daughter. They both had feathers on their masks, which were even larger and more elaborate than her own. “Their gowns and masks look lovely.”
“Not as lovely as yours,” Jorgen said without hesitating.
Her heart seemed to fly out of her chest and soar around the arched ceiling of the ballroom of Thornbeck Castle. Jorgen Hartman, rescuer of damsels in peril, might . . . perhaps . . . love her.
But she should be ashamed of feeling joyful about such a thing! Jorgen was too good and kind, and he had seen too many tragic things in his life, for her to hurt him and break his heart. He should not love her. She should shun him, reject him now, before his heart was engaged.
But glancing up at him, she knew that her heart was in just as much danger. Oh, dear saints in heaven. It seemed just as likely that she was in love with him.
“How is Kathryn?” he asked.
Of course, he had no idea what she was thinking. With the mask covering half her face, she could think anything and no one would know. She felt almost as if she were someone else, someone bolder, someone who could be flirtatious and carefree. Tomorrow she could go back to being sensible, to understanding that no matter how strong and noble and kind and good Jorgen was, he was still a forester and not the person her uncle—or she—would ever choose for her to marry. But for tonight, inside this formidable castle and this beautiful, palatial ballroom, she could think outrageous thoughts and imagine the impossible.
“Kathryn is well. She is staying with Peter and Anna, as you know. She insists on sleeping in the servants’ room and helping them with their work and also with the children. Allowing her to work as a servant seems to be the only way to keep her from leaving.”
She peeked out at Jorgen through the eyeholes in her mask. He had no idea how many secrets she was keeping from him. Was he keeping any secrets from her? Or was he truly what he seemed: a hardworking forester, loyal to the margrave, who wrote stories and rhymes that children loved? Well educated for his station in life, he also danced well and was protective of women.
In her heart, she believed his conscience was as uncovered as his face, as untarnished as his clear blue-green eyes.
He nodded in answer to her information about Kathryn.
“There is the margrave’s sister.” Jorgen nodded toward a man and woman just entering the ballroom. “And that is her husband, the Earl of Augenhalt.”
Odette marveled at her beauty. Even with the mask, her perfect lips and translucent skin shone in the candlelight. Her gown was pink silk, shimmering with metallic embroidery and trimmed in fur. She smiled as she greeted the other beautiful people, moving gracefully about the room.
Her husband did not smile, and he was not as handsome as she was, but he had an air of deference as he walked beside her, as if he was ruled by her wishes as he allowed her to greet whomever she chose and talk as long as she liked.
“So much beauty,” Odette breathed, shaking her head.
Jorgen nodded, but he did not seem nearly as awed as she was.
Rutger stood on the other side of the ballroom. He was talking with a man. Odette wasn’t sure who he was, but he looked like Mathis Papendorp, wearing a strangely shaped hat and colorful robe.
The dance ended. The swish of the dancers’ shoes and hems ceased with the music. Jorgen turned to face her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing the next dance with me?”
“It would be my pleasure, my lord.” She bowed formally and placed her hand in his. The touch of his fingers sent her heart to dancing, and her mind flitted to being held in his arms after he had saved her and Kathryn from The Red House. How pleasant to be touched by Jorgen. She might have felt a bit of conviction and guilt at such a thought, but behind her mask, she smiled flirtatiously at him, letting the warm sensations spread all through her, from her hand to her cheeks.
The music started, and he led her toward the center of the floor. The dance was slower and more complicated than the folk dances they had danced at the Midsummer festival. Fortunately Rutger had made sure she knew how to dance them by hiring her a dance master when she was younger. Was Jorgen familiar with the more formal dances?
The dance started before she had time to decide whether to ask him. He moved with confidence, and she followed his lead. Even though the dance floor was filled with beauty and color enough to dazzle any eye, Odette had no desire to look away from Jorgen as she stepped toward him, clasped his hands, then let go as they stepped back. They turned around one way, then the other way, and then came back to the center to clasp hands again.
Jorgen, in his blue brocaded cotehardie with its ermine trim, looked every inch as princely as any prince or duke or margrave at the ball. And the look in his eyes made him even more handsome.
The music and the dance stopped, and Jorgen glanced around the room. He leaned toward her and said softly, “Everyone is looking at you, the most beautiful woman here.”
“I think they are looking at you, Jorgen. They are asking themselves, ‘Who is that handsome prince?’ ”
He looked as if he didn’t believe her, lifting one brow and one corner of his mouth. “Thank you, but I was being truthful.”
“As was I.”
“Jorgen!” Mathis strode up to Jorgen’s side. “I hope you are not going to dance with this lovely swan all night.”
“I had hoped I would.” Jorgen winked at her.
Odette smiled at him. When she looked back at Mathis, his brows had drawn together in an angry V. Quickly she said, “I am a little tired. Perhaps Jorgen could find a place where I might sit.”
Mathis still did not look pleased. “I will find you later, Odette, when you are feeling better.” He took her hand and kissed it before walking away, as though he saw someone over her shoulder he wanted to talk to.
Jorgen led her away from the dancers as another song began.
“There are some chairs in the gallery.”
Just outside the ballroom, the gallery was a long room dimly lit by candles with many small windows along one wall. The entire opposite wall was covered by a large painting of a battle scene. Chairs were placed between the narrow windows. Odette sat in one and Jorgen sat down beside her.
“I was not actually tired.” Odette glanced at Jorgen out of the corner of her eye. “I just did not feel like dancing with Mathis.”
“Then you will not have to dance with him. I will tell him myself, if you want me to.”
“It isn’t that I do not want to dance with him. It’s more that I do not want to dance . . . at this moment.”
Jorgen stared at the battle scene on the wall in front of them, a pensive look on his face. “A good painting, is it not? So lifelike.”
Odette turned in her chair to study it. “Yes, except for the ladies there at the edge. I do not think ladies would be at a battle.”
“No, probably the artist wanted an excuse to paint something more beautiful than a battle.”
“They do bring more color to the scene.”
Loud laughter drifted through the doorway leading to the ballroom. She watched to see if others would intrude on them.
“Perhaps we could take a walk,” Odette said without thinking first. “Oh, that is probably not possible. Where would we go, after all?”
“There is a balcony at the end of this gallery. You could get some air.”
“That sounds lovely.”
A Melanie Dickerson Collection Page 16