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‘I’ve no idea.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I never expected you to cut off all your hair and drink wine either.’
‘Sometimes appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Yes, they can. By the by, how did you enjoy your walk in the snow?’
‘Very much. I found the sword in the stone.’
‘Any success?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘It seems I’m not destined to be a queen.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. If you were, then I’d have to wait for you to propose.’
‘But then I wouldn’t need to marry you. I’d already have my freedom.’
‘Then I’m doubly glad. I won’t call you Guinevere after all.’
‘Good. I always felt sorry for her.’
‘For Guinevere?’
‘Yes. In the stories, her husband—’ she avoided saying the name Arthur ‘—was always putting her on trial and then leaving it to Lancelot to save her. It was no wonder she preferred him.’
‘I never thought of it that way.’ He looked faintly amused. ‘So you think she loved him because he rescued her?’
‘Not necessarily. Maybe she never wanted to marry Ar—that is, her husband in the first place. But I always thought it was a tragic love story. Lancelot had to do the honourable thing in the end and leave her.’
‘You wanted a different ending?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought she deserved a better husband.’
‘A lot of women do.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘Do you like reading?’
‘Yes, but...’ Her voice trailed away and he arched an eyebrow.
‘Let me guess. Your
father didn’t approve?’
She gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘He chose what I read, although I had a few of my mother’s old books for a while. I found them in a chest in one of the guest chambers and read them all in a month. There was Malory and Marvell and Thackeray and Richardson, too, I remember, but when Father found out he took them away. I don’t know why, or what he did with them.’
‘Well, feel free to read whatever books you want while you’re here.’ He looked at her broodingly. ‘Speaking of your being here, have you given any more thought to my proposal?’
‘I have.’ She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. ‘I just have a few questions.’
‘Such as?’
This time she picked up the glass and took a fortifying mouthful, starting to understand why he liked alcohol so much. It made certain subjects easier. ‘I was wondering about...bedrooms.’
‘Bedrooms.’ He repeated the word quizzically. ‘What about them?’
‘If I stay, will I keep the room I’m in now?’
‘If you wish.’
‘So I—we—wouldn’t move back into the old family quarters?’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you can choose whichever bedroom you like.’
