Golden Paradise (Vincente 1)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Taking Marquis's hand in hers, Valentina stared into his sleeping face. His features were not rugged like Tyree's, but finely chiseled. His eyebrows arched over his eyes. Long lashes lay like shadows against his cheeks, covering those wonderful dark eyes that always disturbed her peace of mind. His nose was in perfect proportion to his firm lips—lips that could ease into a smile or clamp tightly together when he was displeased about something.

  Hair as dark as a raven's wing was swept across his forehead. Gently, so she would not disturb his rest, she touched his hair, finding it soft and silky. There was nothing soft about the man, she thought. He was a man who was made to lead, to command other men—and to break women's hearts.

  Her hand drifted down his face. This moment belonged to her alone. This was the first time she had been able to watch Marquis—to touch him—to allow her love to shine in her eyes. His olive complexion was not as pale as it had been earlier. Dark stubble covered his lower jaw, for it had been almost a full day since he had shaved.

  Valentina's eyes moved lower. Since Marquis wore no nightshirt, she could see his smooth, bare chest. Unable to resist the urge to touch him, she laid her hand against his chest, thankful to feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath her fingertips. He was the handsomest man she had ever known, and probably the most complicated. She wondered if she would ever understand Marquis or his mood changes.

  Leaning back, Valentina lifted her legs into the chair and curled up, still watching her sleeping husband. Everything had happened so quickly, and she was dazed and bewildered. She was a wife, but she did not feel like one. She would soon be a mother, but she did not want to be one. Her own mother would be shocked at the suddenness of her marriage. How would she ever make her mother understand why she had married Marquis without consulting her?

  When Marquis groaned in his sleep, Valentina reached for his hand and spoke to him in a soothing voice. "Sleep, Marquis. I will stay beside you."

  After that, Marquis seemed to settle down and Valentina began her long vigil through the remainder of the night. When he became restless and threw off the covers, she would hold his injured legs and talk to him quietly until he became calm again.

  When the doctor came a few hours later, he found Valentina still at Marquis's bedside watching over him. "What a pretty nurse you make," he said, placing his black bag on the foot of the bed. Moving past Valentina, he picked up Marquis's hand, taking his pulse.

  Valentina gave the doctor a tired smile as she watched him check Marquis's eyes to make sure he was sleeping and not unconscious. "What time is it?" she asked, standing up and stretching her aching muscles.

  "The sun is not yet up. It must be near six o'clock. How did our patient fare during the night?"

  "He was restless at times, but for the most part he slept peacefully. His fever seems to be gone."

  "What about yourself? Did you rest?"

  "Yes, some."

  "Do you feel up to assisting me while I redress the bandages on Marquis's legs?"

  "Of course. Just tell me what you want me to do."

  "Good girl. I am going to remove the bandage and see if the infection is better or worse. Since he has no fever, my guess is that he is on the way to recovery."

  Valentina was quick to follow orders as the doctor issued them. She helped him unwrap the bandages and held Marquis's leg while he examined it carefully. She could see that the wound still appeared to be inflamed, but it did not look as bad as it had the night before; some of the swelling had gone down. Marquis did not even stir or open his eyes when the doctor cleansed the wound.

  "He is better, isn't he?" she asked the doctor as he applied ointment and rewrapped his legs.

  "Considering all he has been through, I'd say he was making a remarkable recovery."

  Valentina was afraid to ask, but she had to know. "Is it too soon to tell if he has lost the use of his legs?"

  "Yes, much too soon to tell"—Doctor Agustin studied her over the rim of his glasses—"unless you noticed any movement in them last night that was not in conjunction with his body movements. Did you see the legs move on their own?"

  "When he was restless last night, I held his legs on the pillow. I got the feeling all the movement came from his body, not his legs."

  "Give it time, Valentina." He snapped his black bag together and smiled at her. "You do not mind if I call you Valentina, do you?"

  "No, of course not . . . please do."

  "Walk with me to the door. I have a few things to say to you and I would rather not risk being overheard." Without waiting for her to comply, he took her arm and steered her away from Marquis's bed. When he thought they were out of earshot, he released her arm and smiled.

  "You are feeling bewildered by this family, are you not?"

  ". . . Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

  "I have known the Vincente family for longer than I care to remember. I brought Marquis and Rosalia into this world. I even brought Marquis's father into the world. God be willing, I will be on hand when your and Marquis's son comes into this world. There is love in this family. Don Alonso and Rosalia give it willingly, while Dona Anna is much more reserved with her feelings. She has a kind nature, and, if you are patient, she will soon warm to you."

  "I have guessed that already. I know Marquis's sudden marriage to me came as a shock to his family. It will be an equal shock for my mother when she finds out. I will try to be patient, knowing how important Marquis's family is to him."

  Agustin's eyes danced. "Oh, how you are going to liven up this old house. You have brought new blood to this family. Whether or not they realize it, you are just what they needed. Even though I am Spanish, I never approved of an arranged marriage. Marquis is very fortunate indeed to have found you."

  Valentina was surprised by his words. When he bent and kissed her on the cheek, she smiled.

  "Fight for what you want, Valentina," he urged, "but only after you have discovered who is your true enemy. Watch for trouble and be ready for it."

  Without further explanation, Doctor Anza opened the door and disappeared. Valentina tried to make sense out of his conversation. First he told her to be patient; then he advised her to fight for what she wanted. Who was the enemy he had tried to warn her of? He had issued her a warning—that she knew.

  Moving back to Marquis's bed, she stood over him for a long moment. Would she fight to hold him? They were man and wife, but he did not truly belong to her and probably never would. Could she fight against the love he felt for Isabel? Turning away, she walked over to the window, quietly slipping between the heavy green velvet window hangings. She discovered a wide door, with two windows on each side running from floor to ceiling.

  Valentina pushed open the door, moved out onto the balcony, and stepped into another world. The master suite balcony connected Marquis's bedroom and her room next door. There were stairs leading into the courtyard. Valentina wished she dared go down into the garden.

  She watched fascinated as the first golden rays of morning sunlight chased the last remaining night shadows across the courtyard. The birds were singing and the scent of flowers filled the air while the fountain sparkled and shimmered.

  The beauty of this gentle world took Valentina's breath away now, just as it had the first time she had viewed it. This was Marquis's home. This was where the Vincentes had reigned supreme for generations. She could see why Marquis was proud of his home and wanted it to remain in his family.

  Hearing voices below, Valentina watched two brightly dressed Indian women carrying trays of food. When the delicious aroma reached Valentina, she remembered she had not eaten since the morning before, and her stomach growled in protest. When the two women moved out of view, Valentina glanced at the long table below her, which was covered with the snowy white cloth. It was laden with several different kinds of fruit, meat, eggs, and many dishes she did not recognize. It was a table fit for a king, and Valentina reminded herself that on their land the Vincentes were kings.

 
There was a vine next to her that climbed up the iron grillwork to the balcony. She smiled, reached out, and plucked a bright red flower. Raising it to her nose, she smelled its sweet fragrance. Casting a last glance below, she wondered if this would ever seem like home to her. She remembered that on first seeing Paraiso del Norte she had felt as if she had somehow belonged, yet now that she was married to the son of the house, she no longer felt that belonging.

  Reentering Marquis's bedroom, Valentina saw that Dona Anna was standing beside her son, her eyes blazing, her hands resting on her hips in a sign of agitation. "You said you would stay with my son. Why have you left him alone?"

  "I only went out—"

  "I knew you were not to be trusted," Dona Anna broke in. "I should never have left him with you."

  Valentina felt her temper rising, but remembering Doctor Anza's words, she kept it under control. "I was only on the balcony a moment. I would never—"

  "You are free to leave now. I do not need your help to look after Marquis."

  Valentina saw the anger burning in Dona Anna's eyes and knew the woman was being unfair and unreasonable. She had done nothing wrong, but now was not the time to defend herself. Looking at Marquis's sleeping form, Valentina walked toward the door. "I will be back later in the day," she announced in a soft whisper. "At that time I will sit with my husband."

  Once in the hall, Valentina leaned against the door, feeling completely drained. Was she going to be forced to battle Marquis's mother every day for the rest of her life? Valentina had never before dealt with anyone who so blatantly disliked her.

  Gathering her thoughts, she walked slowly toward her bedroom. She wished for her own mother and Salamar, and she longed for peace of mind and spirit.

  The night before, Valentina had paid little heed to the bedroom that had been given her. Now her eyes moved over the room and she realized it was only half furnished. There were no curtains for the windows, and the wooden floor had no rug. The only furniture in the room was the bed and a chair, and against the wall stood a tall wardrobe.

  Valentina knew at once that this was to have been Isabel's bedroom. Apparently the decorating had stopped when the wedding had been canceled. Walking over to the wardrobe, she opened the door and stared at the gowns that hung there. She did not need to be told that the flamboyantly colored gowns belonged to Isabel Estrada.

  An ache started in her throat and spread throughout her body. She closed the wardrobe door and turned away from the grim reminder of the woman Marquis loved. She wondered if she would ever learn why the wedding had been called off.

  Walking stiff legged to the bed, she lay back and closed her eyes. It took too much effort to think about anything. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  Isabel Estrada picked up the vase of flowers and threw it across the room, where it smashed against the wall. "How dare Marquis replace me with that puny English woman!" she screamed. "I will not take this kind of treatment from anyone. Who does he think he is!"

  The Estrada family had been having breakfast when Dona Carmela Lopez, a neighbor known for her malicious gossip, brought them the news of Marquis's marriage to Valentina. Isabel had quietly smoldered as Carmela suggested that Marquis must have fallen in love with the English woman when she had stayed at his home.

  After Carmela had finally gone, Isabel flew into a rage, venting her anger on anyone who was within earshot.

  "I am ruined. Everyone will think—like that idiot old woman, Carmela—that Marquis got rid of me so he could marry the English woman. I will not stand for anyone pitying me."

  "Now, now, Isabel," her mother spoke up. Her eyes darted nervously to her husband at the head of the table, hoping he would help her handle their daughter. "You know it was you who broke off the betrothal, Isabel. Everyone knows it was you who did not want to marry Marquis."

  Isabel turned angry eyes on her mother, and the woman cringed. "You are as simpleminded as Carmela. Surely you did not believe me when I told you that I threw Marquis over?" An evil laugh escaped Isabel's red lips. "Marquis is the one who did not want me. He despises me." In a burst of anger, Isabel whirled around, raking her arm across the table and scattering dishes and food on the floor. Broken glass flew everywhere; food ran down the walls, staining the green rug on the dining room floor.

  Eleanor was the only one who seemed unaffected by her sister's rampage. She had often seen Isabel fly into rages. She had learned long ago that if she kept her mouth shut, her sister's anger was less likely to be directed at her. Eleanor picked up her tea, now tepid, and took a sip. She acted as if she were detached from the frenzy going on around her.

  "But Isabel," her father said, trying to assert his authority as head of the house, "you told me and your mother, right here in this room, that you did not want to marry Marquis Vincente. Had I known that it was he who did not honor our agreement, I would have demanded that he make things right—immediately. I will go at once to Don Alonso. I will demand satisfaction."

  A sneer curled Isabel's lips. "You do that, Father, but be prepared to face the consequences. Marquis will tell the world how he found me in the hay with one of your vaqueros."

  Senora Estrada licked her dry lips. "What were you doing in the hay?"

  Isabel glared at her mother. "You are a simpleton." Leaning into her mother's face, bracing her hands on the table, she spoke slowly and distinctly. "To put it in simple language, so even you can understand it, Mother, I was coupling with one of the hired hands."

  Senora Estrada's face whitened in disbelief, and she dropped her eyes. She had never known how to talk to her daughters, least of all Isabel. Perhaps it was because they had been reared only by her and an old-maid aunt in Spain.

  Turning burning eyes on her father, Isabel dared him to say anything against her behavior. Pretending he did not hear, he took a bite of food and concentrated on chewing it. One by one, Isabel looked down into the faces of each family member, daring any of them to speak. At last her eyes fell on her sister, and she moved slowly toward her.

  "You are glad about this, Eleanor, and do not deny it. You like to see me degraded and humiliated. You are happy that Marquis married someone else."

  Eleanor moved off her chair to face her sister. She took courage in hand, ready to voice her opinion, knowing it would bring her sister's anger down on her head. "No one degrades you but yourself, Isabel. I do not blame Marquis for choosing the English woman—she is a lady, and he knows a lady when he sees one."

  Isabel screamed out in her rage. Rushing at her sister, she hit her across the face countless times. Eleanor cried out in pain, which brought her father to her rescue. When he tried to stop Isabel, she vented all her anger in one final blow that sent her sister flying across the room, as if she had been a tiny rag doll.

  Seeing Eleanor lying in a heap against the wall, Isabel stormed out of the room, vowing she would have her revenge on Marquis and his slut of a wife.

  Eleanor felt her father lift her in his arms and heard him tell her mother to send for the doctor. Through the pain, she smiled. Isabel had finally found a man she could not manipulate. Marquis had seen through her right from the start. She was happy that he had taken the English woman as his wife. They would be happy together.

  When her father laid her on the bed, she turned her face toward the window so she could see the bright sunlight. "Isabel will have to be watched," she said in a weak voice. "She is quite mad and extremely dangerous!"

  24

  Valentina had been married to Marquis for four days. In that time, she had seen him awake only once. His mother was determined to keep Valentina away from him. Every day she would go to Marquis's bedroom, only to find the door locked and to be told by servants that Marquis's mother was with him. Not wanting to cause trouble at a time like this, Valentina did not insist on her rights as Marquis's wife.

  She kept hoping Marquis would ask for her, but apparently he had not. Each day, Valentina waited in the hallway, all but forgotten by the Vincente family.

&nb
sp; Doctor Anza kept Valentina informed about Marquis's progress. He told her that the wound was healing nicely, but still he would not commit himself as to whether or not Marquis would ever be able to walk again.

  As time passed, Valentina began to scan the western horizon, looking for some sign of her mother and Salamar. Valentina needed someone around her that belonged to her—a friend in an otherwise hostile camp.

  Never invited to dine with the family, Valentina ate. her meals alone in her room. She had been told that Don Alonso was ill and spent most of the day in his bed; otherwise, she knew she would have had a friend in him. Valentina wondered where Rosalia could be spending her time, because she rarely saw her at all.

  Dona Anna had been spoon-feeding Marquis a portion of puchero, when he pushed her hand away. "I do not want any more; take it away," Marquis said in a tired voice, turning his head to the wall.

  "Doctor Anza says you should eat to keep up your strength, my son. Eat just a bit more to please me. I will tell you all that is going on with our neighbors."

  "I do not want any more." Now his voice sounded irritated. "Do not mistake me for Rosalia, Mother. I am not your baby who needs constant attention."

  "You are just tired of this bed, my son," dona Anna speculated. "You will get used to it after awhile. It is only natural that you should find this life dull at first."

  He turned his head sharply and his eyes met hers. "What do you mean, I will get used to it? Are you saying that I will be confined to this bed?" Disbelief clouded his mind. "Are you saying I will never walk?"

  His mother lowered her gaze. "I do not wish to take hope from you. Doctor Anza does not know if your legs will again be of use to you."

  "My legs?" Marquis looked deeply into her eyes, trying to find answers. "What do you mean?"

  "Now, Marquis, do not upset yourself. Doctor Anza says—

  "Yes, Mother, what does he say?" Marquis's mind was in a frenzy. It was true that he was unable to move his legs. When the legs had first been injured, there had been excruciating pain; now he felt nothing. For the first time, it occurred to him that his legs might be paralyzed.