It was inevitable that they comply. Wilhelm Schlange was lord of his castle and all therein. Without hesitation glasses clicked, wine sparkled, and voices murmured congratulations. Emotions and true feelings were quickly hidden beneath a cloak of good manners and deference to an uncle on whom all their fortunes rested.
Eric spoke first, proposing they all voice a toast to the bride. Silvia crushed down her feelings of panic and at the prodding of a black look from Schlange forced a tremulous smile to her lips.
Eric was by her side, easing her away from Schlange. His arm went about her shoulder, warmly guiding her to a spot at the far end of the table.
“My toast, dear cousin,” he said boldly. Eric took her hand, squeezed it more than was required, and touched the back of it softly to his lips. She saw a growing look of admiration in his downcast eyes before he saluted his cousins and turned back to her to offer his toast. “Silvia.” He squeezed her hand again. “I welcome you to my home, my heart, and my family.” Eric drank his wine quickly, draining the whole amount away and then bowing, held the glass out until a servant stepped from a doorway to quickly pour a refill.
Silvia muttered a polite but faint word of thanks. Morgan was next and crossed the room to stand beside her. Her spirit wavered but she knew from the set of Wilhelm’s face she must play the part and feign a bit of shyness.
Morgan was not content with a kiss to the hand, but instead put his hands on her shoulders and lightly kissed both her cheeks. If she had wanted a lesson in perseverance, she would have it this night. She longed to drink the entire glass of wine, several. Anything that would lessen her misery and drown the mounting bitterness in her heart.
Schlange looked pleased and Silvia determined she would not let him see her buckling to the raw hurt of the injustice he had done her. She threw her head back proudly, her eyes challenging the resentment she felt filling the air.
Morgan spoke boldly, making his toast: “The sea flower has become the island rose, may she bloom with happiness, good health, and contentment.” He raised his glass. “To Cousin Willy and his bride.”
The tumult of her emotions spiraled upward. The island rose? Was there some hidden meaning in the reference? Silvia was reminded of the intrusion into her room and the snipping of a lock of her hair. Had it been Morgan, and was this his way of telling her he harbored a secret feeling for her? Silvia fretted, nervously wishing a quick end to what she knew would be a long and difficult evening.
Martha, whose place at the table was next to Eric, had come to her side. Martha’s cheeks were still bright but her eyes now bore a look of interested amazement. Her voice was warmly gentle; not a trace of her momentary shock remained. She gave Silvia a sisterly hug and expressed her pleasure at the match. A truly generous gesture under the circumstances, for Silvia knew that Martha’s was not an enviable position. It was, after all, Martha who had acted as mistress of the house and now had been replaced suddenly and unexpectedly.
“I am delighted to welcome you anew as Willy’s bride. We now must certainly be great friends,” she said excitedly. Martha turned and lifted her glass. “To our dear Cousin Willy, and to Silvia, his bride, an abundance of happiness and a fruitful marriage.”
Silvia tensed. Fruitful? Martha’s toast stung like a swarm of angry bees disturbed from the hive. She blinked back tears that threatened to flood her face. Would they think them tears of happiness? If only Martha knew the barb of her innocent words. Strangely enough, she had hit on the very crux of the situation, and the reminder brought a grimace to Silvia’s face.
Wilhelm, growing weary, had taken his seat in the armchair at the head of the table and failed to notice her look of despair. No doubt he had also failed to note the irony of Martha’s remark. Silvia released a quivering sigh as a new terror hit her. Roman’s toast remained to be made.
His wintry eyes found hers. He read the anguish in her face but would not be deterred by it. He wanted her to feel the same twist in her heart that he felt when she entered the room on his uncle’s arm, wearing the Cerastes necklace as evidence of her position at Serpent Tree Hall.
Silvia felt herself go pale when Roman’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders. The cold blue eyes regarded her contemptuously, and beneath his harsh touch, her heart hammered in her chest and her pulse throbbed wildly. She was near to hysteria when he spoke.
“I for one believe in giving a warmer welcome to a bride.” His fingers, resting on her shoulders, felt like tiny daggers, digging into her flesh, trying to reach her soul.
Silvia winced. She wondered in desperation if there would ever be another moment of sanity in her life.
Roman lowered his lips to hers, ignoring the pain and pleading in her face. His mouth clamped to hers, smothering the protest on her lips. It was a kiss to punish, to burn, to remind her of a betrayal, but when it was done he was as much a victim as he had meant her to be. Roman pulled away, leaving her weak and trembling and robbed of pride.
He raised his glass and issued the final toast: “To Willy.” He lifted his glass higher. “And to Silvia.” His eyes betrayed the contempt he had kept from his voice. “May the sanctity of marriage prove to be an eternal bond. I toast your happiness.” He downed the wine in a gulp and with a sudden tightening of his grip snapped the delicate stem of the goblet and dropped it to the floor, where it shattered, like Silvia’s heart, into a thousand jagged fragments.
All were startled by Roman’s outburst, but Wilhelm looked quite pleased as he motioned for them to be seated. Roman left her and returned to his place across the table. Beside her, Morgan held her chair. When she was seated, Morgan took his place next to Roman. Eric had attended his sister, lowering his head to whisper something in her ear. Soon they were all in place, this strange group whose lives had been unstrung by the mania of an old man.
Silvia sat opposite Wilhelm, he at the head of the long polished table, looking small and sickly in his high-backed chair. The gold brocade upholstery brought out the sallowness of his skin. And as ever, his eyes were phlegmatic yellow flames reminding Silvia of what he required.
The meal seemed interminable, and when it was over Silvia could not remember what she had eaten, only that she had gone through the motions and responded to the slight conversation in a way that apparently satisfied Schlange. He had the task of explaining the wherefores of the marriage and how he had deemed it essential Willy have a companion and wife now that he and Vivien were growing old.
“Ahh, yes,” Schlange contended. “A proxy marriage in London many months ago. It was an exhausting search to find just the right bride for my son.” He chuckled. “Silvia was as anxious to be the chosen one as was I to make a suitable choice,” he lied. “She was certain she could be content with a husband in frail health.” His eyes met hers. “You have not been disappointed, have you, my dear?”
She regarded him under her lowered eyelids, wishing she dared to shout the truth. “I am most pleased,” she whispered.
Schlange went on to explain the boy would need someone to attend him when they were gone, and it was not a job to be left to servants. Though not a conventional marriage, certainly it was one that was mutually beneficial. Serpent Tree Hall needed a proper mistress, he remarked, and Silvia could not ignore Martha squirming in her chair, growing paler with every indirect insult Wilhelm so carelessly dropped. Silvia’s heart went out to the woman who had been so kind to her, and silently vowed to do all in her power to lessen the sting of Schlange’s callousness.
“Indeed, Uncle, I need a reprieve. I shall be happy to relinquish my duties and enjoy the solitude and liberty of an unhampered life.” Martha’s voice was soft and velvety as she looked at Silvia. “It is past time Willy took a wife and this house had a Schlange mistress.”
Silvia’s heart sank within her. She could not believe Wilhelm had not at least bothered to express his thanks to Martha for her years of diligence and devotion in running his house.
Wilhelm continued his talk as if he had done no more than a
sk a morsel of bread from Martha’s hand. He boasted of what new prosperity would come to his empire now that his line was to be continued. A short time later the meal was finished and he insisted the special occasion required their retiring to a small parlor for brandy. And since Silvia was the honored person, she must sit by his side on the low green couch near the windows.
In the little parlor, the chairs made a neat half-circle facing the couch, and had the gathering been so inclined, would have been an ideal arrangement to foster a lively conversation.
But as it was, there were only the perfunctory and expected inquiries into Silvia’s background—which Silvia circumvented—and a comment by Eric that she had done a remarkable job of keeping Uncle’s secret.
“Though that comes as no surprise,” Eric said blandly. “Uncle inevitably has his way, and none of us yet has proven a match for his wit.”
Silvia had drunk too much wine, hoping to dim her misery. Now, as she sipped the fine old brandy Schlange had bidden Odin pour, the amber fluid burned her throat and made her temples throb. After a while the conversation turned to other matters, and even Wilhelm seemed to forget she was in the room. He was lodged deeply into talk of shipping and trade.
Martha left her chair and strolled to the windows. She stood there nervously wringing her small hands, her back turned to them all. When she faced them again, her eyes went first to Roman, but he was engaged in a serious discussion of business and took no notice of her. Her eyes then sought Silvia’s, and she nodded for Silvia to join her as she moved quietly toward the parlor door. Willingly, Silvia rose.
“We’ll leave them to their talk,” Martha whispered as she took Silvia’s arm. “Good night, Uncle.” Martha touched Wilhelm’s shoulder as she passed. “Silvia and I ask to be excused.”
“As you wish, ladies,” Schlange replied without a glance.
“Good night, sir,” Silvia addressed Wilhelm. Her head throbbed but she forced herself to speak calmly. “It has been a memorable evening, one I am certain never to forget.” Her eyes rested briefly on Roman’s face but he countered her plea for understanding with a look of heated loathing.
Wilhelm’s thin brows raised significantly, his voice indulgently moderate. “Nor do I think you will easily forget the significance of this occasion.” He smiled. “I bid you good night, my dears.”
Eric stood momentarily, his eyes lighting appreciatively on Silvia. He bade both her and Martha a hasty good night. From Roman there was merely a nod.
Morgan, ever the eager gentleman, quickly rose and escorted Silvia to the doorway where Martha waited. Did she imagine Morgan’s hand resting too familiarly at her waist as he also bade her good night? She could not forget that Wilhelm had wanted her as bait for all his nephews. The horror of it both sickened and frightened her. A sense of relief flooded her senses as she saw the three cousins once again deeply engaged in talk with their uncle before she and Martha had walked more than a few steps away.
“They will talk for hours,” Martha said with an air of conviction. “And I think for you this has been a strenuous evening.”
You are kind, Martha, when you have little reason to be so disposed toward me. It pains me that I have taken what should more justly belong to you.”
“Dear Cousin Silvia. It is of no consequence. Let us not speak of it.” Martha’s face was possessed of such gentleness that Silvia’s own troubled spirit lessened a mite.
Silvia’s eyes reflected her agony. “You have been mistress of this house a very long time. I will need your guidance, and only hope I can learn to be half as efficient as you.” She managed a shaky smile. “I thank you for rescuing me, and you are right. This night has been a great strain and I would like to get to bed. Though—” Silvia paused to sigh sadly. “—I think I am yet too filled with nervous excitement for sleep to come easily.”
“Nonsense.” Martha shook her head and reached out almost absently to lay slender white fingers on the fiery emerald at Silvia’s throat. “The stone does you great justice, Silvia. I have always admired it, and now I admire the woman who wears it.” Her fingers lingered on the stone for a moment while the emerald reflected hypnotically in Martha’s blue eyes. Silvia thought she saw wistful envy in her expression. Yet Martha’s solicitous attitude emerged instantly. “You only need a pot of my tea, and you’ll sleep like a lamb. Like a sweet little lamb. I’ll have it sent to your room directly.”
The special bedtime tea had become a ritualistic end to Silvia’s day. Martha explained that the blend of herbs she added to the tea leaves was from an old recipe handed down in her mother’s family and had long been used as a soothing beverage.
Silvia left Martha in the foyer and hurried up the stairs. She had no more than gotten out of sight on the second floor when she heard the sound of Martha’s voice below. Silvia stopped and turned, thinking Martha might have called to her, but she quickly realized it was Wilhelm to whom Martha was speaking.
“Uncle, are you going up so soon?”
“Yes, child. It has been a splendid evening, but I confess it has taxed my strength greatly.” He paused. “I thank you for the preparations.”
“Uncle, there is a matter I would ask you about.”
“Then be brief, girl.”
“You said the necklace would be mine, yet you never allowed me to wear it. And then tonight...”
“The Cerastes Stone? It would have been yours had not Willy married.”
“You might have told me in advance that I had lost a family heirloom I treasured above all else. It was shocking and embarrassing to learn with everyone else tonight.”
Wilhelm scoffed. “You haven’t the fire for the emeralds, girl. Diamonds. Those are the jewels for you.” He coughed and his voice rang with finality. “She is fire. You are ice.”
Odin’s heavy footsteps thudded on the marble stairs. Silvia supposed he was carrying Wilhelm to his room, and she quickly hurried to her own door and shut it behind her.
Fire? Why had he compared them that way? Fire and ice? It was a momentary diversion for her mind, but one she could not dwell on when she was thinking of something much more pressing. If the group in the parlor had broken up, there might be a chance of seeing Roman before the night was out.
Making certain Odin had had time to reach Schlange’s rooms, she eased the door open again and slipped out, gliding silently down the corridor and stairs. She walked with quiet caution toward the parlor, where they had gone for brandy. The candles were out and in the dark room Silvia’s pulse quickened with the disturbing thought that she had missed seeing Roman. She was barely aware of a movement from a corner of the room until there was a flicker of light and a candle flared into flame.
The light spread through the darkness, revealing Roman standing by the mantel. She could see the reckless anger in his face, feel the heavy barriers building between them. With a few bold steps he came to a spot no more than an arm’s length away. Her face turned ashen under his angry gaze and her heart pounded so violently in her chest that she could feel the weight of the necklace beating at her throat. Silence hung between them like a cold barrier of ice.
Roman crossed his arms over his chest and smiled a sarcastic, hateful smile that made her feel she had been slashed with a knife.
Has the mistress come to survey her castle?” He stood hostile and challenging, his eyes piercing hers. “Or perhaps you cannot find your way to the marriage bed.”
Silvia felt heat rising to her face as she breathed in sharply. His cross words hurt more than all the wrong Schlange had done her. Her eyes tightened against the tears she hoped to hold back. Did he mistake her flushed cheeks and distraught air for impudence? Could he fail to see the anguish in her expression? Suddenly, desperately, she ached to tell him all that had happened, how his trusted uncle had deceived her. Yet her mind only fastened on the incredibility of her plight as she became acutely conscious of the rigidity of his body and the mockery in his eyes.
“Roman, please,” she begged. “You must let me
explain what I can.” If only there were some way of letting him know she had not deceived him, that she was not an artful, discontented wife who had tricked him into making love to her.
“Is that to say you cannot explain it all? Can you not tell me why you let me bilk my cousin out of his marital rights?” His eyes blazed through with deep blue flames.
Silvia choked back a sob. Roman’s harsh tone amplified her shame. “You were not guiltless in that.”
“No. But I have a care for those I love. God knows Willy has little enough to enjoy of life. It appalls me to know that I have robbed him of having a virgin bride.”
“It was never my intent to hurt Willy.” A wretchedness of spirit swept over her. “Can’t you know that? Can’t you believe it?”
“I can only believe you have played me for a fool. I have been a witless participant in some crafty game you devised. First you act the shy virgin on board ship, then you become a practiced seductress here. I can only marvel that you retained your virginity to this late date.”
Silvia’s cheeks flamed at the onslaught of his fury. “Surely, Roman, you cannot believe what you say. I practiced no deceit on you. What has happened was our destiny. I could not have changed it, nor could you.” She lowered her eyes, and her lips quivered tremulously. Yet there was one small spark of joy in her heart, one small pearl of happiness that had formed in the depth of her sorrow. If Roman blamed her, if he thought himself wronged, then he had not been part of his uncle’s plan. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Nor would I have done so if I could.”
“Was it your destiny to go from my bed to the arms of my brother?”
“No!” Silvia couldn’t imagine what Roman was suspecting.
“Good. Or I think you will find destiny leaves you with very little rest.”
“You are callous.”
“Do you call me callous? I am no recent husband who has violated my marriage vows. No other has a claim on me. Can you say the same, madam?”
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