Twelve

SECOND CHANCES

Is it possible that ten years could pass as one? A single afternoon with Marcus could demand an hour’s telling: the feel of the sun on my face, the looks that passed between us, the things he said to make me blush. Yet I can recount the decade after our parting in a few words: My life carried on, unchanged. Within the castle, day followed day, month after month, the rituals of court unaltered by the passing of time. Yet beyond our walls the shadows gathered. The evil we had sought to hold off for so long swirled inexorably closer, spreading suspicion and panic in its wake.

The kingdom had become a land ruled by fear rather than strength. Lord Steffon’s was the first in what would be a series of mysterious deaths, the victims all nobles traveling in far-off regions. A year would pass without incident, even two, but by and by word would come of a terrible fall or an unexplained collapse suffered by a relation of the royal family or a courtier’s nephew. Was it Millicent’s doing? We could never be sure, and the uncertainty pushed King Ranolf to govern with an ever-harsher hand. Soldiers were sent northward, where they confiscated the homes of the deRauleys and their supporters, then fortified the dwellings into citadels from which they could patrol the region. Networks of paid informers sifted through even the most innocuous gossip, and the castle dungeon filled with those who had foolishly uttered disloyal thoughts aloud. Queen Lenore turned inward, spending hours at prayer in the royal chapel. Desperate for God’s forgiveness and protection, she traded in most of her finery for humble black gowns and became easy prey for traveling nuns and so-called seers who sold her religious talismans meant to ward off evil.

And yet, despite the anxious rumors that were our constant companions, we thought ourselves safe inside that towering ring of rough-cut stones. Until the very end, we believed that the castle would protect us.

I was no longer the shy country girl who had quaked at the sight of the castle’s imposing gates. Unmarried at the age of twenty-eight, I might have been an object of pity to some, but never to myself. I was a fixture of the court, confident in my role and my position. The touchstones of my former life were gone: My sole surviving brother, Nairn, sent word that our father had died, unmourned, and that he was off to seek his fortune at sea. Marcus and his parents had long since moved from their shop in town, and Flora, my teacher and ally, had become a sickly, bedridden recluse. I spent an occasional Sunday with Aunt Agna, whose household had grown less lively as her children married off and moved away. Only my cousin Damilla and her husband, who had taken over the family’s cloth business, remained, along with their daughter, Prielle. She had grown into a quiet but curious girl who reminded me of myself at her age. I did my best to draw her out with my tales of court life, which she listened to with rapt attention.

Prielle’s reticence could not have been a greater contrast to thirteen-year-old Rose, who delighted in lively conversation and did not hesitate to make her opinions known. She was a beacon of light in those somber times, her sturdy health a daily defiance of Millicent’s hatred. She had her father’s rich auburn hair and the large, expressive eyes of her mother’s people; her full red lips brought to mind the bud of her namesake flower. Such looks would have inspired marriage proposals even without her title and vast wealth, but the king did not wait to secure her future, betrothing her at the age of ten to Sir Hugill Welstig, a distant relation whose family owned a vast estate in the western part of the kingdom. A girl of royal blood often said her vows at fourteen or fifteen, but Rose begged not to be married until her eighteenth birthday, and King Ranolf, as always, acceded to his daughter’s pleas. He could never deny her anything.

Feeling no great pull toward marriage myself, I sympathized with Rose’s reluctance. I could have married a fellow servant, kept my place, and done no more than move my bedroll to a different room. More than one man had signaled with admiring stares or flirtatious jokes that he’d have me. But my sights had been set perilously high. I never came close to feeling what I had for Marcus. I’d had love once, and modest affection was not enough to tempt me.

I was not such a fool as to think love necessary for a successful marriage. Women marry to be assured a roof over their head and food on the table. They marry because they need a protector or because they wish for children. All perfectly sensible reasons, and none to do with love. But my needs were met: I had a fine home and fine food and fine clothes. As the queen’s attendant, I was respected and respectable even without a husband. Having seen what I had of childbirth, I was relieved to have been spared that suffering, but I did feel a pang whenever I held a swaddled baby. I wondered how it must feel to be bound by flesh and blood to such a tiny creature. The love I might have showered on my own children went to Rose and Prielle instead.

Only once in all those years did I question my decision not to wed. Walking the streets of St. Elsip after a visit to my aunt, I was jolted out of my daydreaming by a familiar face. Marcus had lost all trace of boyishness in the five years since we’d parted, and he carried himself like a man of substance, walking through the cathedral square with a short, stout woman and a young girl. He pressed his hand against the woman’s back, guiding her through the crowd, and I remembered, immediately and viscerally, how it felt to be the object of his gentle concern. Here, before me, was the life that might have been mine. A wave of longing churned in the pit of my stomach, and I turned to go before he could see me.

But it was too late. Marcus had stopped cold, his eyes fixed upon me. Waiting for me to determine what would happen next.

My first impulse was to flee. But the queen had trained me well. I set my mouth in a polite smile and walked forward. Marcus greeted me as he would any old acquaintance, with formal good manners, and introduced me to his daughter, Evaline, and his wife, Hester. Looking at her up close, I saw her roundness for what it was: proof of another child on the way. I took petty satisfaction in noting her dowdy dress and freckled, plump face; my hair was braided in the latest style, with curly tendrils framing my face, and my skin, protected from the sun by the castle walls, was smooth and unblemished. Yet she had claimed the prize I once thought mine.

“You are well?” Marcus asked.

Unlike so many who ask the question, he appeared genuinely interested in my reply. I answered as best I could, but there was little to tell. His life had been transformed since we last saw each other; mine had not much changed.

“So you have not married?”

I shook my head. If Marcus was surprised by the news, or pleased, he did not show it. “I have found life at court rich enough without a husband,” I could not resist adding.

Hester scowled in disapproval, and Marcus made a halfhearted attempt to rein in a smile. Whether it was my words or his wife’s reaction that amused him, I could not tell.

“I am glad your loyalty to the queen and Princess Rose has been well rewarded,” he said.

Our eyes met, and the stiffness between us softened. For a moment it was as it had been, when Marcus was my friend. Time had eased the pain of our parting, and I remembered the easy rapport we had once shared, when we could make ourselves understood with no more than a glance.

“It is good to see you,” I said, glad I had resisted my first impulse to avoid him. “Good to see you happy.”

He smiled warmly, and I could sense, without a word said aloud, the message he wished me to hear: My love is not easily given, nor is it easily revoked. No matter what happened between us, I will always care for you.

As I care for you, I replied silently.

Hester tugged at the girl’s hand to pull her along. “Come,” she ordered Marcus. “The service will be starting.”

“The cathedral,” Marcus explained. “It is Evaline’s birthday, and we thought it right to give special thanks on this day.”

“Yes, of course. The queen will be expecting me back as well.”

And so we parted, with kindness and forgiveness. We were both healthy and content, which was more than most could say. It was enough.

The passing years were a kindness, for they had dulled the memory of Marcus’s hungry kisses and the feel of his fingers upon my skin. The longer I went without a man’s touch, the less I felt the need of it. Not until I had fully resigned myself to a life alone did a suitor come along who could not be easily refused. A suitor who showed me how little I understood my own desires.

It was Queen Lenore who told me. I had just returned from a visit to Flora’s room, my spirits dampened by the signs I had noted of her further decline. Her cures were helpless against the relentless ravages of old age: weakened legs that could no longer walk to the garden, faltering eyesight, a mind that lit more easily on stories of the past than on events of the day before. I came to her now as companion rather than student, my presence an assurance she had not been forgotten.

“Elise! What news!” the queen trilled with uncharacteristic enthusiasm when I entered her chamber. She patted the bedcover next to her, urging me to sit. Proper etiquette between a maid and her mistress did not concern her when we found ourselves alone. “You will scarcely believe it. You have received an offer of marriage.”

The thought so stunned me that I took a moment to reply. Over the years Queen Lenore had asked me occasionally if I had a special man, and I always replied no. In time she no longer asked.

“It cannot be,” I protested, thinking the offer could result only from a misunderstanding. “I have no suitors.”

“Surely you are aware of a certain person’s interest in you?” she asked, her eyes wide with delight.

“In truth I do not.”

My bewilderment was plain, for Queen Lenore’s smile faded, and she regarded me curiously.

“Dorian has said nothing?”

Dorian? The name was so unexpected, so mystifying, that it must be proof that I had been confused with some other woman. Dorian’s talent for riding and hunting had brought him into the king’s inner circle, and he had recently returned from two years commanding a troop of soldiers in the north, a commission that was considered a sign of special favor. From what I had seen, his knightly exploits had only enhanced his appeal among the castle’s young noblewomen, any of whom would have wed him in an instant. That he might ask for my hand was absurd.

“We have scarcely exchanged two words in all the time I have lived here,” I said. “There must be a misunderstanding.”

The queen looked puzzled. “I will send for Sir Walthur,” she said. “It was he who told me of his son’s intentions.”

A visit by Sir Walthur to Lenore’s chambers would set off a storm of gossip, with myself at the center.

“Please, my lady,” I offered, rising to stand beside her. “It’s best I clear up this confusion myself.”

The king’s advisers and their families were housed along a corridor just above the Council Chamber. As the king’s chief counselor, Sir Walthur was granted the largest suite, blessed with more light and space than the inner apartments. When I entered his front room, I saw him seated at a large desk. Though not fat, he gave an impression of solidity, from his broad shoulders to his jowly cheeks and wide nose. His thick white hair sat like a cap over his forehead and ears, and it stood out even more against the somber black clothing he favored. Were it not for the heavy gold chain with the royal seal that hung around his neck, he might have been mistaken for a particularly well-fed monk. But he had none of a clergyman’s humility, be it real or feigned. Sir Walthur wore his position proudly and cultivated his reputation as one who dared speak the truth to the king. His seriousness of manner was a striking contrast to his son’s jocularity; I did not think I had ever heard Sir Walthur laugh.

He looked up as I entered, and I saw an echo of Dorian in the way his eyes moved over my face and down along my body. It was the habit of a man accustomed to surveying and assessing a woman’s charms, or lack of them.

“Sir Walthur,” I said, bobbing in a curtsy. “May I speak with you?”

He nodded brusquely, extending his hand toward the chairs that sat opposite him. For a moment I paused, torn. Customarily a servant would not be permitted to sit in the presence of such a high-ranking official. Slowly, I took a seat facing Sir Walthur, half expecting to be admonished for impertinence.

“The queen has told you of our offer?” he asked.

It crossed my mind to ask if both he and his son were intending to take me as wife. Instead I nodded and waited for him to continue.

“I hope you appreciate the honor done you.” His voice rumbled as he talked, giving even the simplest words a ring of authority. “I mean no insult when I say Dorian has had other, better prospects. Yet, given the circumstances, we must make the best of things. I hope you will rise to the occasion.”

“Excuse me,” I spoke up. Sir Walthur was not used to having his monologues interrupted, for he scowled with irritation.

“Yes?”

“Begging your pardon,” I said in my most obsequious manner. “Your son has said nothing to me of marriage. Indeed he has not spoken to me on any matter that I can recall. Is this an offer that comes from him or from you?”

Sir Walthur stared at me impassively, betraying no emotion. “Do you know anything of my family?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I have two sons. Dorian is the younger, Alston the elder. Alston is a man of steady nerves and very little thought. He will never do great things, but he takes care of my estate in the country and performs his duties well. He married a respectable girl from a neighboring village some years ago, and they’ve produced three children, with more to come, God willing. With the family bloodline secure, there was no rush for Dorian to marry. Why should he? He had the run of the castle, and young men of his disposition need time to sow their oats before they settle down.”

I wanted to cut off his smugly confident flow of words, to tell him that rich young men such as Dorian left a trail of brokenhearted women behind them. But I kept my mouth closed and my expression respectful.

“These are uncertain times,” Sir Walthur went on. “We have kept the peace, thanks to the efforts of my son and his fellow soldiers. But the deRauleys are wily devils, and they continue to foment discontent. It is only a matter of time before we face an open rebellion.”

I was shocked. Isolated as I was from the rest of the kingdom, I had no idea that the king’s rule rested on such a shaky foundation.

“Dorian is young enough to welcome the thought of bloodshed. I trust his skills on the battlefield as much as any man’s, but I cannot push aside the thought that he may never return. It would set my mind much at ease if he left an heir. If the unthinkable should happen and he were to be killed, he must leave a legacy behind. Do you understand?”

I nodded, thinking it the right thing to do, though I still did not see how this story might wind its way around to me.

“I did my duty as a father and found a girl for Dorian to wed, a distant relation of my late wife. He was betrothed a few years ago, with the wedding to take place this summer, once the girl was of age. Alas, we received word that she has been taken by a fever. The other women I had considered as possible brides have all been married off or promised to others. I was preparing to look farther afield for a match until Dorian came to me with a suggestion. You.”

The thought had come from Dorian himself. I still had no idea why.

“A servant, and one of your age, was hardly the partner I imagined for my son,” Sir Walthur continued. “However, it has come to my attention that your bloodline is less humble than I thought.”

Sir Walthur watched me with his large, bulging eyes, fixing me with the glare that caused weaker men to crumble before his demands. He knew. He knew that Prince Bowen had fathered me, and that was the only reason he favored this union.

“I have never spoken of my parentage, with good reason,” I said hastily. “Please, I beg you to say nothing of it, not even to the king and queen.” If I were revealed as Bowen’s child, I might lose everything: Queen Lenore’s trust, my position at court, Rose’s friendship.

“I agree, we should keep it quiet. Now, what do you say?”

My first inclination was to say I was unworthy of such an honor; I was well schooled in feigning humility. But as I stared at Sir Walthur’s haughty face, my obsequiousness hardened into anger. Sir Walthur had concocted this plan as if my own preferences were an afterthought. He expected me to agree without question, to fall to my knees in gratitude. But I would not. A surge of recklessness burst through my body, pounding against the restraint I wore like armor. It was the same feeling I had when I walked off the farm, determined to forge a new life for myself. The same feeling I had when I lay in Marcus’s arms in that meadow, ready to throw aside caution and virtue. It was a feeling that overcame all reason, demanding only to be satisfied.

I fixed Sir Walthur with my sweetest smile and said, “I could hardly accept a proposal of marriage without seeing what my future husband has to say for himself. I will speak to Dorian before giving you my answer.”

Let him fume at my rudeness, I thought recklessly as I strode from Sir Walthur’s room. Before I faced Dorian, I must seek out the only other person in the castle who knew the truth of my parentage. A person I thought would never betray me.

I stormed into Mrs. Tewkes’s room without knocking. She was sitting at her table, writing in an account book, and started when I entered.

“How could you?” I demanded. Though my chest was tight with fury, my voice came out as a whimper.

“Elise, take hold of yourself,” she said briskly. Years of experience with hysterical housemaids had taught her well. She put down her pen and took me by the shoulders, planting me firmly on a stool by the fireplace. She sat in a rocking chair opposite me and leaned forward, her hands on her knees.

“Now, what is this all about?” she asked gently.

“Sir Walthur,” I said. “He knows, about me and Prince Bowen. You were the one who said that knowledge must be kept secret.”

“When I thought it might be a danger to you, yes,” Mrs. Tewkes said.

“The queen herself does not know!” I exclaimed. “What business is it of Sir Walthur’s? And what does Dorian want with me?”

Mrs. Tewkes sat back and folded her hands across her chest. She regarded me with an expression I knew well, one that proclaimed her wisdom in the ways of the world. It was a look she used often to silence any young servant who dared question her edicts.

“I can see it’s been a shock, and I’ll make allowances for that, but you must see you’ve been offered a great privilege. I expected thanks rather than a scolding.”

I stared at her, perplexed.

“Yes, I’m the one who put you forward as a possible wife for Dorian, and I’m glad I did. Do you think your mother would have wanted you to remain unmarried? I know you had your heart broken—most of us have. But we learn to pick ourselves up and move on.

“When you were twenty or twenty-one, you could have made a good match. Yet you cut off any man who showed an interest. What do you think happens to an unmarried woman as she ages? When you’re no longer lively enough to tend to the queen? You have no family, no home of your own. Oh, you may have saved enough to live in a rooming house, with enough for a meal or two a day. But do you not wish for better?”

I might be considered an old maid, but I was hardly old; I’d never given a thought to what would happen to me in twenty or thirty years. Now, considering Mrs. Tewkes’s words, I realized that there were no elderly female servants at the castle. Of course not. Room and board were granted only to those who could work. If you were heard gasping for breath as you climbed the stairs or your hands could not keep a firm grip on a tray, you would be dismissed. And what then?

“I will tell you what happened, and you may reserve judgment until I finish,” Mrs. Tewkes said. “Yesterday Dorian strode up to me in the Great Hall, with that wide grin of his, and said, ‘Mrs. T., I have a problem only you can solve.’ He told me his father was pressing him to marry, and he wondered if I knew of any good prospects. ‘You know everything that goes on at court, far better than my father,’ he said, and that’s true enough. I mentioned a few ladies of suitable age and family, and he hemmed and hawed, but I could see he had already considered and rejected them. I do not know what made me mention your name. It was a thrown-off suggestion, made in passing, but he perked up immediately.”

My suspicious, stiff posture had gradually loosened, and I listened to her intently.

“I remember his words exactly: ‘She intrigues me.’ Fancy someone of Dorian’s rank saying that about you! But it’s often that way with men. A woman who succumbs quickly loses her charm, while one who holds herself apart retains her appeal. You may well be the most attractive woman at court he’s never gotten his hands on.”

“For good reason,” I said indignantly.

“He’s always been a rascal,” Mrs. Tewkes agreed. “But he’s older now, looking to the future. Imagine, being daughter-in-law to the king’s counselor!”

“So you sweetened the pot by telling him of my parentage,” I said.

Mrs. Tewkes shook her head. “No, Dorian was ready enough to take you. It was his father who needed convincing. He came barging in, much as you did a few minutes ago, demanding I give him an account of your background and temperament. I told him of your loyalty to the king and queen, along with assurances of your virtue. Still he wavered. So I offered a final point in your favor, and it was as I’d hoped. At the mention of your true father, he dropped his objections.”

I sat hunched over on the stool, the strength of righteous anger drained from my body.

“Courage, girl,” Mrs. Tewkes urged. “Your future is secured!”

The most handsome man at court wished to marry me, and his father, Mrs. Tewkes, and the queen favored the match. What did my own desires matter? As Mrs. Tewkes made so clear, such a chance would never come my way again.

I rose to leave and thanked Mrs. Tewkes for her efforts on my behalf. Just before leaving, I paused in the doorway.

“I have not forgotten the promises Dorian once made Petra, only to throw her aside,” I said. “How many other maids has he seduced?”

Mrs. Tewkes shrugged. “He has had his way with those he wanted. Mind you, none of them were seduced unwillingly. I know of only one who bore him a child. Sir Walthur saw she was well taken care of.”

I nodded, but Mrs. Tewkes noted my distaste. “Things are not always as clear as you imagine,” she warned. “Karina was never one to deny a man her favors. The child may not even be his. She may have tricked Dorian into paying her to raise another man’s bastard.”

It was hardly comforting. All I had heard of my future husband only confirmed my worst suspicions.

When I returned to Queen Lenore’s chambers, a few of her ladies were gathered in the sitting room, working quietly at their sewing.

“You’ve had a visitor,” one of them said. Her eyes remained fixed on her stitches as she said Dorian’s name, but I could hear the curiosity threatening to burst through her indifferent air. “He said he’ll be in the armory should you wish to speak with him.”

I wondered if rumors of his proposal had already wafted through court. As soon as I walked from the chamber, I could hear Lenore’s ladies whispering. As one who had never been the subject of noblewomen’s gossip, I found the sound troubling.

The armory was a brick building behind the stables, abutting the castle walls. It was defiantly male territory, filled with swords and spikes and noxious with the smoke that clouded from the blacksmiths’ bellows. I stared into its murky depths from the arched entrance, then stepped cautiously inside, anxious not to be hit by an errant weapon. Directly before me stood two men drenched with sweat, trading insults in harsh, angry barks. Breaking off their argument when they noticed me, they assessed my nervous posture and delicate gown and scowled with suspicion. I feared I had made a mistake in coming.

“Ah! Miss Elise!”

Dorian approached from the middle of the dim room, holding a sword that flashed as it reflected nearby flames. With his broad shoulders and vigorous gait, he was the very picture of a soldier. His hair had lost the golden glow of youth, but his looks remained striking: clear blue eyes that appeared incapable of anger, a strong chin, muscular legs and arms. In the shadowy armory, he alone appeared lit by a magical glow. My eyes could not help being drawn toward him.

I held back, waiting. He nodded in my direction, then said a few words to the metalsmith at his side. He waved the sword quickly back and forth, perhaps for my benefit, for he did look striking doing so, and Dorian was well aware what effect his looks had on women. Satisfied, he handed off his weapon and walked toward me.

“It’s time we talked,” he said. “Come.”

He was accustomed to being obeyed, and I was accustomed to being led. Without asking where we were going, I followed him past the stables and toward a staircase that scaled the castle wall.

“Have you ever been up there?” he asked, pointing to the walkway that led around the top.

I shook my head.

“The view is worth seeing. Besides, we are less likely to be overheard.” He ascended the stone stairs two at a time; concerned for my skirts, I walked slowly, feeling my head reel as I approached the top. Standing on the narrow stone path at the top of the wall, Dorian held out a hand to steady me. He led me a few paces along the walkway, toward a small enclosed guard tower.

Dorian pointed out the window, and I saw lush farmlands spread below my feet, stretching far as I could see. To my right was St. Elsip; directly ahead the mountains of Allsbury loomed on the horizon. Surveying the land before me, I realized with a start that I was looking down on the woods where Marcus had taken me years before. Somewhere in those trees was the meadow where we kissed. And nearby the tannery, his tannery, the place he worked and lived with his wife and family. I pulled my eyes away and looked outward. Fields of late-summer crops covered the land in a pattern of golds and greens. Brown country lanes snaked across them like twisted vines.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Soldiers grow accustomed to such sights,” Dorian said. “You look upon it with fresh eyes.”

The sound of his voice brought me back to the reason for our visit. “Dorian . . .” I began.

He pressed a finger to my lips. The familiarity of the gesture surprised me. I was not sure whether to be offended by his presumption or flattered.

“I must first offer my apologies,” he said. “I had hoped to approach you myself, to make my case as a gentleman. Instead I find that my father has spoiled my gallant plan with his meddling. I never intended to have my offer discussed by half the castle before we had a chance to speak.”

His hand moved away from my face and came to rest on my arm. The skin beneath my sleeve warmed at his touch.

“We are little more than acquaintances, Elise, but you have all the qualities I seek in a wife. Loyalty, discretion, patience. And other charms not so easily apparent. Your modesty has kept your loveliness well hidden.”

The warmth from my arm spread up toward my face. I remembered, with shame, the moment he had spotted me eavesdropping on his seduction of Petra. The pleasure he had taken in my attention. How I wished myself incapable of blushing, for it revealed emotions I preferred to mask.

“I am greatly honored,” I murmured, pulling away from him. “Yet I believe you were pledged once to another more beautiful than I.”

“Freydig?” he asked, puzzled, and I guessed she was the intended wife who had recently died. “She was hardly a beauty, God rest her soul.”

How soon he forgot. I could see my friend’s desolate countenance as clearly as if I had just come from her side, and my stomach lurched with anger at his treachery. Then his face fell, and suddenly I glimpsed another side to the man I had spent so long disparaging.

“Petra.”

He said her name in a whisper, and it was enough. Enough for me to know that he had loved her.

“Is she well?” he asked, his voice returning to the smooth, polite tone of a courtier.

“She married and moved from town some years ago.” I decided to say nothing of her husband. A man of Dorian’s position would hardly consider a blacksmith a great match.

“And you have heard nothing from her since?”

I shook my head.

For a brief moment, Dorian’s face was shadowed with disappointment. He turned and looked down into the courtyard, where a group of riders were preparing to depart with much jostling and shouting. If he had intended to be one of the party, he must have changed his mind, for he soon brought his attention back to me.

“She always spoke well of you,” he said.

“She also had much to say about you.”

He let out a whoop of laughter, and his unexpected joviality took me aback. Was he mocking me or admiring my spirit?

“I imagine she did. Petra never minced words. It was one of her most admirable qualities.”

“Yet such qualities were not enough to make her your wife.”

Dorian’s eyes fixed on mine, the crinkles of amusement gone. Up close I could see the signs of hard living etched on his face, but they enhanced rather than marred his good looks. I’d felt little attraction to the pretty boy Petra had swooned over, but this Dorian had earned the right to carry himself with a knight’s swagger.

“I never intended to wrong Petra,” he said. “We were young and foolish, and we spoke of marriage as two besotted children would. With very little thought to the future.”

For years I had thought Petra the victim of Dorian’s cunning. But what if he was telling the truth? What if he believed his promises when he made them?

“Since I was knee-high, I’ve followed my father’s commands,” he continued. “He chose my companions and horse when I was a boy, and I knew he would choose my bride when the time came. Like any headstrong youth who fancies himself a man, I toyed with defying him. Yet I never had the courage to do so. Until now.”

He reached out and pulled my hands into his. “Elise, I’ll speak plainly. My father would like nothing better than to arrange another marriage with a suitably wealthy girl. But this time I will make the choice for myself.”

“And you choose me? Why?”

“I believe we would make a good match. You understand the ways of court, and you can see to yourself if I am called to battle. I do not have the makings of a perfect husband, but I can promise you the full honor of my family’s name.”

His rough thumbs caressed the delicate skin of my wrists.

“Will you have me?”

It was by no means the declaration of love I had imagined from my future husband. But he made no false promises, and perhaps that was more valuable than poetry.

“I am hardly worthy,” I said.

“Spoken like a true lady,” he said with a delighted grin. “I have seen women far more wellborn become a discredit to their husbands. I do not fear that with you.”

His hands moved to my waist, drawing me gradually closer.

“If you agree, we could be husband and wife by harvest time.”

His hips pressed against mine, and his powerful hands pressed against my back, pulling me ever closer, until our bodies were melded together. I could have fainted yet remained upright, such was his hold upon me. Dorian leaned over to kiss my forehead, then my cheek, then my lips. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the warm sensation that rushed across my skin, numbing any resistance. Indifferent as I thought myself to Dorian’s wiles, I could not deny the longing that his touch provoked, the sudden quickening of my pulse, the powerful urge that impelled me to return his kisses with ever greater force. Freeing my arms from his grasp, I ran my hands over his back, then downward; I could feel the hardness of his legs through my skirts, and the sensation weakened whatever resolve I had left.

Slowly, Dorian disengaged his lips from mine, smiling in amusement. “May I take this to mean you accept my offer?” he asked.

Blushing and avoiding his eyes, I nodded, belatedly mortified by my boldness. Dorian placed his hands on my cheeks and turned me back to face him. At first I thought his smile was at my expense, but I soon realized he was pleased by my fervor. Abandoning any attempt to compose myself, I acquiesced willingly when he ran his fingers under the edge of my cap and through my hair, drawing me toward him once again.

I had taken Mrs. Tewkes’s admonitions to heart. I knew that the prestige and wealth of Dorian’s family would assure a comfortable future, and as wife or widow I would be cared for in my old age. But that is not the reason I said yes to Dorian’s proposal. I did not love him, and I did not entirely trust him. Yet the moment he kissed me, my body submitted to his. Once we were married, such passionate embraces would be no cause for shame. My thoughts raced to an image of our wedding night, and suddenly I could not wait to discover what pleasures I might find in my new husband’s arms.