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."
"And now she's to be married to a peasant! I had hoped—we'd found any of several suitable matches—that a proper husband might ameliorate the situation."
As if Caroline would have been impressed by a string of young counts trotted before her. But Emelie left that unspoken. She also left unspoken the fact that her own marriage to a much older nobleman—her husband Ludwig Guenther, count of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, would be celebrating his fifty-third birthday in less than two months—had not particularly "ameliorated" her own attitudes, had they?