Wilde, Jennifer (64 page)

He
spoke of her with considerable fondness, and I felt much better. I had seen the
look in the girl's eyes when she was dancing with him, and I thought she would
be a great consolation to him in days to come. Bruce led me over to one of the
elaborately laden tables. Another liveried servant in powdered wig filled our
plates, and Bruce carried them to a sofa upholstered in gold silk, passing me a
plate when we were seated.

The
drawing room was spacious and, in its way, as spectacular as the ballroom. It
was done in white and gold, with French furniture and a ceiling painted with
nymphs and figures from mythology against a pale-blue sky, golden-pink clouds
surrounding them. The room was as beautiful as anything to be found in the
stately homes of England. I was beginning to see why it had taken Schnieder so
long to finish his mansion. The artist must have spent months on the ceiling
alone.

As
we ate, the girl named Denise came into the drawing room on the arm of one of
the young men Bruce had been talking to earlier. She had intelligent brown eyes
and strong, attractive features, and her dark hair gleamed in the candlelight.
Bruce waved, grinning, and the girl waved back, then turned away with studied
disinterest. She might not know how to flirt, but it was clear to me that she
was in love with Bruce. If he didn't know it, it was because she didn't want
him to, not yet. She and her escort carried their plates out into the gardens, moving
through one of the open French windows. Bruce frowned.

"Blake
Gutherie has a very bad reputation as far as the ladies are concerned. I hope
Denise knows what she's doing."

"I
rather imagine she does," I replied.

When
we had finished our food and had more champagne, Bruce took me back into the
ballroom for another dance. His sister Cynthia claimed him then, and I danced
with a rather tipsy young man who was positively fascinated by my low-cut
dress. There was another round of dancing, and some of the guests were already
beginning to leave when Helmut Schnieder took me by the hand and led me down
the hallway that connected with the main entrance hall.

"Time
for our tour," he said.

"I've
been looking forward to it."

"I
imagine you have."

He
opened a door and led me into a beautifully appointed library with a white
marble fireplace and floor-to-ceiling white shelves filled with exquisitely
bound volumes, brown, tan, dark gold, red. Windows on either side of the
fireplace looked out over the front lawn, and there was a lovely Sheraton desk.
I studied book tides with great interest, finding half a dozen I longed to pull
from the shelves and read. Schnieder watched me with heavy lids hooding his
eyes.

"Your
library is very impressive," I said. "Do you read?"

"I
have neither the time nor the inclination. I assembled this library with my
sister in mind. She reads a great deal."

He
led me out of the room and into another, a smaller drawing room with a grand
piano of gleaming mahogany, a blue sofa, a fireplace of light-gray marble. For
all its luxury, the room was cozy and inviting. Purple flowers stood in tall
white porcelain vases. The draperies were a soft lilac velvet. Schnieder showed
me the elegant dining room, the masculine study, and eventually we ended up in
front of the majestic staircase with its polished mahogany banister and
deep-blue carpet.

"The
bedrooms are upstairs," he said.

"I
think I'll forgo seeing them just now"

"Nervous,
Miss Danver?"

"Not
in the least."

"I
don't frighten you?"

"Should
I be frightened?"

Schnieder
nodded, his eyes holding mine. "I'm a ruthless man, Miss Danver. I use
people. Sometimes they get hurt. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

"I
think I can look after myself, Mr. Schnieder."

He
smiled, and again I sensed some private amusement in his eyes. Now was the time
to retreat. Now was the time to bid him farewell and get away as quickly as
possible. He had just warned me that I was likely to get hurt. But I stood my
ground, my eyes meeting his with a level gaze.

"You
haven't seen the gardens," he remarked. "They're quite lovely by
moonlight."

"I'd
love to see them."

Moving
ahead of me down the hall toward the back door, he held it open for me. I
stepped outside, denying the apprehension that stirred inside me. Schnieder
closed the door and led the way toward the gardens. The carriage house and
servants' quarters were on our right. We could hear music streaming out into
the night, the sound growing dimmer as we strolled under the elms toward the
spacious gardens. I had expected to find guests strolling about, but there was
no one else in sight.

The
gardens had been laid out in levels by a master landscape artist, shallow
marble steps leading from one level to the next. There were ponds and fountains
with water splashing softly, and there were elegant flower beds and evergreen
trees tall and dark in the moonlight. We paused behind a trellis of climbing
roses. Everything was brushed with silver, white marble gleaming, shadows a
deep blue. Leaves rustled with a scratchy noise. A lonely bird called out. The
music from the ballroom was barely audible.

"You've
changed in four years," he remarked.

"Then
you remember?"

"Vividly.
I very much wanted to buy you from Rawlins. I assume you're still for
sale?"

"You
might find the price a bit steep," I replied.

"I
doubt that, Miss Danver."

"I
want security."

"And
luxury," he said.

"That,
too."

"I
can give you both."

"I'm
talking about marriage."

Schnieder
was silent. I studied his face in the moonlight. That fringe falling across his
brow made him look like some crafty peasant monk from the middle ages, sensual
and avaricious, capable of any crime. The eyes were hooded again. He was
standing in front of me, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.

"It
just so happens I need a wife," he said.

"Oh?"

"That
was the reason I planned this ball. I intended to select one of the nubile
young women with mothers eager to make a grand match. Then I saw you, and I knew
there was no need to look further."

Schnieder
plucked one of the roses and idly crushed it in his hand.

"One
of the others would have been... uh... extremely difficult to break in. You
suit my purposes ideally. You're beautiful and intelligent, and there would be
no emotional nonsense. It would be a very sensible arrangement."

"I—don't
quite understand."

He
chuckled quietly. "I've no doubt you're confused. You came here in your
seductive gown prepared to use your wiles on me, prepared to tease and
tantalize until you brought me round, had me under your spell. Then you
discovered it wasn't at all necessary."

"What
exactly do you want, Mr. Schnieder?"

"A
wife," he said. "Oh, not in the usual sense of the word. I don't want
love and devotion. That would be extremely tiresome. I want someone to act as
hostess at Roseclay, someone to entertain my guests and be at my side at all
the social functions where a wife is called for."

"Your
sister could do that when she returns."

Schnieder
scowled. "I want a
wife,"
he said harshly.

"What—what
else would it involve?"

"A
good rousing tumble every now and then. I've no doubt you could handle that
well enough. I've no doubt you'd enjoy it. In return you'd have the security
you mentioned, and all the luxuries a very rich man's wife could expect."

This
was too simple, and it was happening too quickly. It was all so cold-blooded. I
felt that he despised me, that he had some ulterior motive he kept concealed.
But
isn't this what you wanted?
I asked myself.
Isn't this why you came? You
planned to ensnare him, and here he is offering the very thing you were after.
With
Helmut Schnieder there would be no need for any pretense of emotional
involvement.

"Well,
Miss Danver?"

"I
accept your offer."

"I
imagined you would," he replied. "We'll be married tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?
But—"

"I
see no reason to wait. I can arrange it easily enough. Don't look so
apprehensive. You're going to be the wife of the richest man in the territory,
mistress of the grandest house in America."

Footsteps
approached us. Over Helmut's shoulder I saw a dark figure moving through the
shadows. Schnieder turned around, irritated, just as Bruce stepped into the
moonlight. Bruce looked distraught. I felt my heart lurch. Oh, no, I thought,
not this way, not so cruelly. Schnieder and I were half-concealed by the
trellis, and Bruce hadn't seen us yet. He peered into the shadows, came nearer,
and then he spied us.

He
stood very still in the moonlight, staring at us. I could see him striving to
control his emotions, striving to conceal the shock. My heart went out to him.
I wanted to rush to him, to try to explain, but I knew I couldn't. It was too
late to soften the blow. Bruce took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice
was amazingly calm.

"I've
been looking for you, Marietta. Everyone's leaving. It's time for us to
go."

"Run
along, Trevelyan," Schnieder said.

"You
go to hell," Bruce replied. "Are you coming, Marietta?"

"She's
staying with me tonight."

Bruce
clenched his fists, and his facial muscles tightened. For a moment I thought he
was going to fly at the German with fists swinging. But Bruce controlled himself
and took another deep breath.

"Is
it true?" he asked.

"Yes,
Bruce," I said quietly.

"You're
going to stay with him?"

I
nodded. Bruce stared at me, incredulous. I knew what he must be feeling. It
could scarcely be worse than what I was feeling myself.

"I
see," he said. "All those things they said about you are really true,
aren't they?"

"Bruce—"

"I
actually fell in love with you, and all the while you were laughing at me,
using me. I guess I made a fool of myself. Goodbye, Marietta. I wish you
well."

He
turned then and walked quickly away into the shadows. I could hear his
footsteps moving back toward the house. I felt my heart would break, and then I
sighed, forcing the emotions aside. I wasn't supposed to feel. I was supposed
to be hard and cool and calculating. I was going to have exactly what I wanted.
I had tried to remind myself of that. As the sound of Bruce's footsteps died
away, I turned to Helmut Schnieder. Roughly he caught hold of me and, pulling
me to him, covered my mouth with his own.

My
husband was in a foul mood as we returned from the plantation that Sunday
afternoon two and a half months after our quick, business-like marriage in a
dusty, cluttered office in town. I hadn't particularly wanted to go with him to
inspect the plantation, but Helmut had insisted. Several other planters, each
heavily indebted to him, were there to meet him to discuss various improvements
on their land. He wanted me on hand to pass out cigars and serve cool drinks
and add a touch of domesticity. He seemed determined to establish the fact that
he was respectably married at every opportunity.

We
had entertained at Roseclay several times. Curiously enough, those formal
dinner parties had been quite successful. The very women who had refused to
patronize my shop were eager to be my friends now. There had been an initial
resistance, but my accent, my breeding, my gracious welcome had won them all
over. Mrs. Charles Holburn herself had firmly announced to her circle that I
must have been forced to work in that dreadful gambling house in order to
survive. It was amazing what wealth could do, I mused. The ladies doing a
complete turnabout in their attitude toward me, were eager to make excuses for
me. That shockingly low-cut gown I had worn to the ball was the height of
fashion in New Orleans, for example, and those rides I had taken with Bruce
Trevelyan were, in retrospect, perfectly innocent.

Bruce
had never mentioned that scene in the gardens to anyone. When Helmut and I
married so suddenly, Bruce informed family and friends that he wasn't at all
surprised. He told them that I had met Schnieder years ago while visiting
Germany with my family. When Schnieder had returned from his trip to Europe and
discovered I was in Natchez, orphaned, trying to run a dress shop, he had been
aghast. Brace's glib, gentlemanly lies had done much to reverse the town's
opinion of me. He was indeed a gallant knight, defending his lady even after
she had betrayed him.

Brace
had married Denise Brandon only a few days ago. The newlyweds were now on their
way to Boston where they intended to live, despite the rebels who had driven
both their families away in the first place. In fact, Brace planned to take a commission
in the army and do his part to put those rebels down. Both he and his wife were
extremely loyal and actively interested in the conflict that most of Natchez
preferred to forget. Denise Trevelyan had declared herself proud of her
husband's decision and, for reasons of her own, had been eager to get him away
from Natchez.