As she'd been talking, the older dowager countess of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt had come into the room also. Anna Sophia took a chair; then, with a loud and disdainful sniff:
"As if he could anyway! The offer of betrothal was made in front of witnesses. Well, more or less. But her acceptance of the offer certainly was. Scandalous, that business. The whole town's still talking about it."
Taking her own seat, Emelie almost laughed. There were times she found her middle-aged sister-in-law's definition of "the whole town" quite amusing. What Anna Sophia really meant was proper society-and solely the Lutheran portion of it, at that.
Emelie didn't doubt at all that the regiments of the army had been talking about the betrothal, also. But the dowager countess wouldn't know about that, and wouldn't care if she did. Her concern, and that of her intimate circles, was that Caroline Platzer had made a most unsuitable match for a husband-and, alas, there was now very little that could be done about it. Seeing as how the impetuous and foolish young woman had made such an incredible public display of the business.
"I have no idea what's happening to him!" Caroline wailed, slamming the letter onto the desk under her hands.
Thankfully, Anna Sophia said nothing-and Caroline wasn't looking at her. Thankfully, because it was clear from the expression on the dowager countess' face that her thoughts were running along the lines of: Well, you know he's still alive. More's the pity.
The problem wasn't even so much a clash of cultural attitudes as it was a clash of expectations that were shaped and colored by those very different attitudes. Perhaps because of her youth, or perhaps simply because she'd spent so much time with Caroline and Maureen Grady and other Americans, Emelie could see both sides of the issue where neither Caroline nor Anna Sophia could see any but theirs.
For Caroline, as for all the up-timers, the issue was simply and solely one of a prospective marriage. And since issues of class didn't matter to them, Thorsten Engler made a perfectly suitable match for Caroline. End of discussion.
There were subtleties there, of course. As she'd gotten to know them better, Emelie had come to realize that the American indifference to class was not so much indifference as it was a very different assessment of how class was defined in the first place. Unless issues of race complicated the matter-and she'd found up-timer attitudes on that subject both varied and often contradictory-then the "blood" of the prospective marital partners was simply irrelevant, especially in this instance. The Americans were a hybrid stock, whose second-largest national component after the Anglo-Saxons was German to begin with. That was certainly true of Caroline Platzer, as her surname alone indicated.
What did matter was, first, a person's economic status; and second and still more important, a person's prospects for economic advancement.
And there was an enormous cultural weight thrown onto the latter, reinforced over and over again in every aspect of American society. It was one of the standard themes of their popular literature, whether in the form of books or those moving visual depictions that Emelie found so fascinating. Show any American a story where a lively young woman's "hand in marriage," as they put it, was being sought by two rivals, one poor but industrious and the other wealthy and indolent, and the audience automatically knew which rival they favored.
From the standpoint of down-timer nobility, exactly the wrong one.
Everything about Thorsten Engler fit that model image. Poor, yes-but his poverty was no fault of his own. Born a farmer, an occupation which American popular culture romanticized, and then stripped of his farm by soldiers employed by that same class of idle rich whom up-timers were predisposed to detest in the first place.
A virgin birth, you might say, untainted and unsoiled in any particular. Then, he went forward "from his bootstraps," to use the up-timer expression. Something else which they found admirable. And advanced himself quite well, not letting his patriotic duty slide in the process. Two more plus marks to add to his column, as they would think of it.
Finally-no one argued this, not even the sourest Elle-he was a very nice man. There was nothing about his personality that anyone could point an accusing finger at.
From Caroline's standpoint-and Maureen Grady's, and her husband Dennis', and that of every up-timer Emelie knew-what more could you ask for?
Throughout, and this was perhaps where the cultural divergence was greatest, there was not a trace of consideration given to the blindingly obvious political aspects of the problem. Indeed, Emelie was quite sure that the political side of it had never even occurred to them.
"Caroline, you've glared at the letter long enough!" proclaimed the princess. "You promised you'd let me take you riding!"
Emelie glanced at her sister-in-law and saw that the dowager countess was restraining a quite visible grimace.
That political problem. So obvious that Emelie was still amazed the up-timers didn't even seem to recognize it at all. But also understanding that it was that very blindness on their part that made the issue so explosive.
Kristina Vasa, only child and heir of Gustav II Adolf, king of Sweden and emperor of the United States of Europe. Arguably already-they'd know in just a few more months-the most powerful ruler in Europe. Seven years old or not, she was herself one of the most politically important figures in the continent.
And the headstrong child had chosen for her principal lady-in-waiting one Caroline Platzer. The fact that neither the princess nor the lady-in-waiting herself used the term-didn't even occur to them, in fact-made the situation all the worse. There were none of the usual accepted limitations of the post to contain the potential damage being done.
Or the potential benefits, for that matter, which Emelie herself thought far outweighed the drawbacks. But she was almost alone among the Elles-or their spouses, or their relatives, or their advisers-in her view of the matter.
To say that proper Lutheran noble society was appalled by the situation-nay, aghast and flabbergasted-would be to put it mildly.
All the worse, that the situation had snuck upon them like the proverbial thief in the night. The German nobility and their Swedish counterparts had been so concerned with the potential damage that might be done by the rambunctious princess' regular outings into the disreputable Freedom Arches and her associations with the detestable Committees of Correspondence that they'd been quite oblivious, in the beginning, to Kristina's growing attachment to the Platzer woman. Indeed, they'd even seen it as a useful counterbalance. While Caroline shared all of the usual attitudes of up-timers, she was not particularly inclined toward political radicalism. Indeed, she seemed generally not very interested in politics at all, being preoccupied entirely by social matters.
Such is the folly of mankind. Watch for the wolves, and let the weasel slide in the door. That most bloodthirsty of all predators, size be damned.
"Yes, I promised. Fine." The weasel rose and headed for the door, taking by the hand the future ruler of central Europe. The innocent chicklet, to the slaughter.
Seeing the sour look on Anna Sophia's face, it was all Emelie could do to keep from laughing.
"But no galloping, this time!" she heard Caroline's voice coming from the hall outside.
"We didn't gallop last time. That was just a canter. Well. A fast canter."
"I was scared to death."
"You didn't fall off, did you?"
Beneath the banter, the mutual affection was so thick it practically dripped like honey.
"What are we going to do?" Emelie heard her sister-in-law mutter.
The words had been spoken loudly enough that Emelie decided a response was called for.
"Live with it, that's all."