"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.
CHAPTER 29
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.
My leaving Bruce had actually been a blessing in disguise, I reasoned. I thought of Denise's strong features, her intelligent brown eyes, and I remembered the fond way Brace had spoken of her the night of the ball. I was confident that the lovely young woman who shared so many of his interests would soon make him forget all about me.
As we drove along now, Helmut was scowling. His meeting with the other planters had not gone well at all. None of the six men who joined him in the cool, simply furnished plantation parlor was eager to accept loans for the improvements he suggested for their spreads. Each man was already deeply in debt to him and had no desire to increase the load. But the menace in his voice as he described the desirability of the improvements was hardly subtle. Finally, after he reminded them of the mortgages he held, all but one agreed to make the improvements with money he would put up. Only Robert Page rebelled, stubbornly refusing to give Helmut more power over him. I had no doubt he would soon find himself without a plantation. Helmut would take delight in crushing him.
I had married a thoroughly unscrupulous man, but I had known that from the beginning. Actually, I had found little personal reason to
be dissatisfied with my lot. Helmut expected me to play my social role to perfection, but beyond that he made very few demands. For some reason he seemed to have lost interest in me sexually after the initial conquest. He had taken me roughly the night of the ball with the brutal, battering strength of a bull, but once we were married, he had made little attempt to exercise his legal rights. I was puzzled, but I was also greatly relieved. Of course, he did own a house in Natchez-under-the-hill, which was a strong source of revenue, and I knew that he made frequent visits to that establishment. The visits were made secretly and well after midnight. I didn't care to speculate about them. I was merely thankful that there had been no repetition of that furious assault that had so closely resembled rape.
He treated me with cool civility, and if there was a slight derision in his manner, an underlying sarcasm in his voice, that was no more than could be expected. I knew what he thought of me, and he knew what I thought of him. Each of us had precisely what we had bargained for. I lived in a sumptuous mansion, surrounded by luxury, and Helmut gave me a generous allowance. He had also given me an incredibly beautiful diamond and emerald necklace with earrings to match, for Schnieder's wife must have appropriate jewels. I enjoyed giving dinner parties and acting as hostess, and, even more, I enjoyed the long hours alone at Roseclay when I could read in the library, stroll in the gardens, and sketch in the sunshine with sketch pad on my knees, free from any emotional commitment.
I tried not to think about the past. That could only lead to pain. Jeff was dead. Derek was gone. There was no love in my heart, and I was glad. If sometimes I felt empty, if sometimes I experienced vague longings I was unable to control, well, that was to be expected. I knew that this cold-blooded arrangement was far better than the frustration, the anguish, the terrible grief that love's tender fury had brought into my life. Marrying Helmut Schnieder had been an extremely sensible move. I was convinced of that. Only on rare occasions was I prey to small, niggling doubts, and I was able to squelch them almost immediately.
I hoped to have a friend and confidante soon, for Helmut's sister Margaret was arriving tomorrow afternoon, the boat due to dock shortly before three. I found myself looking forward to her arrival with great anticipation. Although she might well resent me, at first, I felt sure I could win her over. After four years in a German school Meg would surely welcome the friendship of a woman only a few years her senior. What fun it would be to share things with someone. Perhaps we could plan our wardrobes together. As Helmut deemed it unsuitable for me to make my own clothes, I made sketches and sent them to Lucille in New Orleans with minute instructions, and she sent the dresses back to Natchez, each one perfect in every detail. I would do the same for Meg. Every young woman was interested in clothes, and there must be many other interests we had in common, as well.
Immersed in thought, I didn't hear the horseman approaching our carriage. I emitted a startled cry as Helmut gave a vicious jerk on the reins, causing the horses to rear and stop abruptly. Had he not thrown his arm around my shoulders I would have been hurled forward. Shaken, I clasped a hand to my heart and looked at him for an explanation. His expression was thunderous, mouth turned down at the corners, his hard blue eyes filled with a cold fury. He gripped my shoulders tightly, completely unaware of the pressure he was applying. All his attention was focused on the man who rode slowly toward us on a sturdy bay stallion.
When the rider was almost upon us, the man brought his bay to a halt. I stared at him. Because of the dim afternoon light and my own alarm, I didn't recognize the man at first, but then I had only seen him once in my life.
"What are you doing here?" Helmut challenged.
The man on the bay was unperturbed by Helmut's menacing tone and murderous expression. He sat lightly in the saddle, hands on his knees, the reins draped across one thigh. When he spoke, his voice betrayed no emotion.
"That, Mr. Schnieder, is none of your business, but since you're interested, I'll tell you. I've just been hired to act as overseer at one of the plantations."
"You'll be out of work tomorrow, Norman."
The man allowed himself a faint smile. "My employer is Mr. John Kirkwood. He was a friend of my father's, you might recall. As he is one of the few independent planters who's never accepted a penny from you, you'll find it difficult to get me dismissed. Kirkwood has no great fondness for you, rest assured."
Helmut's arm squeezed my shoulders brutally. I gave a small cry in spite of myself and, scowling, he removed his arm. He looked as though he wanted to hurl me off the seat, but I knew his anger wasn't directed at me. I couldn't help but be frightened, nevertheless. I had never witnessed such fury. A tall bullwhip stood in its holder on his side of the carriage. I was afraid he would pull it out and slash the young man to ribbons.
"You've made a mistake coming back here, Norman."
"Have I, Mr. Schnieder?"
"If you know what's good for you, you'll leave Natchez immediately."
"You don't own the town yet, Schnieder."
The man who so calmly defied my husband had the lean, sturdy build of a young gladiator, hard and muscular. Four years ago James Norman had been a strikingly handsome youth charged with vitality and eager to elope with Meg Schnieder. His brown eyes had flashed with passionate urgency. Now, he was grave and confident, and there was a mature strength in his features that made him even more handsome. The impetuous youth had become a man.
"I broke you before, Norman. I'll break you again!"
"You caused me to lose my plantation, true, and yes, you were responsible for my leaving Natchez, but things are different now. You see, I'm no longer a boy."
"I'll crush you under my heel!"
"Don't count on it, Schnieder. I'll fight back this time."
"You've been corresponding with my sister!"
"Have I?"
"You know she's coming back tomorrow. That's why you've returned to Natchez."
"Is it?"
"If you come near her, I'll kill you! That's a promise."
"Meg is no longer sixteen years old. She's twenty now, capable of making her own decisions. If she wants to see me, I'll see her, and there's not a thing you can do about it."
The carriage rocked as Helmut leaped to his feet and jerked the whip out of its holder. I cried out as the thin black lash streaked through the air with a hissing crackle. The tip cut across Norman's right shoulder, tearing through his shirt. When Helmut swung his arm back to deliver another blow, I jumped up and threw myself in front of him, grabbing his arm.
"No, Helmut!"
"Get away, woman!"
"You mustn't!"
He tried to shake me off, but, as he did so, the carriage lurched and we both lost our balance, toppling back down onto the seat. Helmut dropped the whip. It fell to the floorboard like a coiling black snake. He thrust me away from him, his cheeks ashen, but he didn't reach for the whip. I could see him struggling to control himself, trying to overcome that blazing rage. Then, I looked up at the young man who sat so calmly on the bay. His shirt was torn, and there was a thin red streak on the exposed flesh. He hadn't so much as flinched.
"Please," I said urgently. "Please go now."
James Norman nodded. Taking up the reins, he tugged on them and nudged the bay gently with his knees. Horse and rider moved around the carriage and on down the road. Several moments passed. Helmut was breathing heavily, but his face had regained its normal ruddy color and his eyes no longer blazed with that insane fury. His pale blond hair was damp with sweat, the monkish fringe plastered against his brow. The carriage rocked slightly as the horses stirred in the shafts. Helmut finally reached down, picked up the whip, and stuck it upright in its holder. He was thoroughly composed now. That savage incident might never have happened.
"I was afraid you'd kill him," I said.
"I probably would have."
"I had to stop you."
"You needn't justify yourself, Marietta. You acted wisely. I lost control of myself. It doesn't happen ofte
n."
"Thank God for that," I retorted.
"You seem shaken, my dear."
I ignored the sarcasm in his voice, his mocking use of the term of endearment. Helmut would have enjoyed making me angry, but I was immune to his subtle derision. Turning away, I brushed a lock of hair from my temple and rearranged my skirts.
"Lucky for Norman you intervened," he said. "It would have given me great satisfaction to cut him to ribbons."
"I believe you actually mean that."
Helmut lifted a brow. "But of course I do."
"You hate him so much? Just because he wanted to marry your sister?"
"There are things you don't know. Things you don't understand," Helmut said, grimly, as he gathered up the reins. "It's time we got back to Roseclay."
We started back down the river road at a brisk pace, the wheels skimming over the hard-packed earth. His last remark had been curiously enigmatic. What didn't I know? What had happened in the past that would cause even the sight of Norman to arouse such violent fury? Helmut usually acted with cool premeditation, every move carefully planned with Machiavellian thoroughness, but for a brief instant back there he had actually taken leave of his senses. I had known there was a deep vein of cruelty in him from the first, but I had never seen it take such a violent form.
The incident disturbed me far more than I cared to admit.
Monday was a gloriously beautiful day, the sky, a pale blue, and the sun, a round white ball half-obscured by puffy clouds. It wasn't nearly as warm as it had been. I stretched lazily. A fresh breeze caught the thin curtains in my bedroom causing them to billow inward like white silk sails. Dressed only in a petticoat with a snug bodice and half a dozen ruffled skirts, I turned as my maid tapped nervously on the opened door and stepped into the room. Lelia, a small, delicately boned creature with skin the color of ebony and dark, luminous eyes, was quite lovely in her blue cotton dress.
"Yes, Lelia?" I asked.
"Th' mastah, he wanna know effin you feel awright."
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