Midnight Rider

by Diana Palmer

  Once her hair was in its usual bun and she’d applied a trace of powder to her face, she went reluctantly down to face the rest of the household.

  It was an anticlimax to find her husband was already gone. It was later than they usually breakfasted, however, so perhaps it wasn’t unusual not to find him at the table. The condessa was there, and so was Lupe. They went right on talking as if she were invisible.

  She was incensed at their duplicity. Her eyes narrowed as she poured coffee. “I trust you both slept well?” she asked coolly.

  No one answered her.

  She helped herself to sausages and eggs that she didn’t really want, just to appear normal. “I slept quite well,” she said. “When I finally slept,” she added with a wicked glance toward them.

  The condessa was outraged. She put down her utensil with a thud. “Decent women do not speak of such things, especially at the table!”

  “But I’m not a decent woman,” Bernadette replied calmly. “At least, that’s what you told my husband. You led him to believe that I started gossip that ensured he would marry me.”

  Lupe glared at her with singular fury. “It was he who said it,” she replied.

  “You lie,” Bernadette returned shortly. “You said it. And more besides.”

  Lupe cast down her napkin and got up to storm from the room.

  The condessa remained, less hostile than she had been a minute before. She studied Bernadette carefully, her hand resting on the delicate china cup, which contained her sweetened coffee.

  “Hablás español,” she said. It was a statement. She knew that Bernadette spoke Spanish, had to speak it, or she could never have understood what was said in Eduardo’s room just after the wedding.

  “As well as you speak English,” Bernadette conceded.

  The condessa was less sure of herself now. She studied the other woman with open curiosity. “Why did you say nothing?”

  “I would not for worlds attempt to gain my husband’s respect now by admitting that I understand his language. He has accepted as fact that I went out of my way to antagonize you and Lupe, that I lied and spread gossip. He admitted to you,” she added painfully, because it hurt to remember, “that he has no love for me.” She lifted her face proudly. “Well, the marriage is an accomplished fact and divorce is impossible. We must all make the best of it.” She sipped her coffee and put the cup back down. “I am not what you wished for in a granddaughter-in-law, but I have more humanity than did your precious Consuela, who treated Eduardo like a monster.”

  The intake of the old woman’s breath was audible.

  “You didn’t know?” Bernadette asked coldly. “Oh, I see, you only manipulate other people, you don’t bother with learning the consequences of your meddling. You never saw Eduardo after the loss of his wife and son, but I did.”

  The condessa put a hand to her throat.

  “He never would have told you all he went through with Consuela, the loss of the child,” Bernadette said bitterly. “He loves you too much to burden you with it.”

  The condessa lowered her eyes to the table and touched, gently, the handle of the china cup. “You did not believe him a murderer.”

  “No,” she replied coldly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I love him!” Bernadette said with barely concealed anguish. She met the old woman’s shocked eyes evenly. “I love him more than my own life,” she said in a rough whisper. “Enough to bear any gossip, any censure, to be near him. He asked me to marry him, and even though I knew it was only because he needed my father’s money, I couldn’t agree quickly enough. I hoped...” Her eyes closed as she fought for self-control. “I hoped so desperately that he might one day come to care for me, just a little. But I see now, for myself, what a forlorn, desperate hope it was.” Her eyes opened, misty with pain. “I was a fool. I should have refused to marry him the day I met you and Lupe. I should have known that I couldn’t fight the two of you. Eduardo owes you loyalty and love. He would never disbelieve anything you told him.” She put down her napkin and got to her feet. “And of course, you would never lie to him, because you love him and wish only for his happiness,” she added with faint sarcasm, pleased when the old woman actually flushed. “That’s what he said to me last night. That I had no honor because I accused you of telling a lie and backing up Lupe’s lie.” She pushed her chair back under the table with hands that trembled. “But it is not I who lack honor, Señora Condessa. It is you. I curse the day I met you.”

  She turned and started toward the door.

  “You are a brazen woman!” the condessa said in a shaky tone. “My grandson would be well rid of you, as his father would have been well rid of his mother!”

  Bernadette had had quite enough of that holier-than-thou attitude. She walked back to the table, lifted the cream pitcher and poured its contents right over the old woman’s immaculate hair.

  “Cream for kitty cat,” Bernadette said haughtily, and left the sputtering old woman sitting there in the mess.

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE EDUARDO was, and she didn’t care. She was furious enough to pack her bags and leave. Which is exactly what she did. She took the suitcase to the front porch herself, shocking the servants and outraging Lupe, who came out into the hall and saw what she was up to.

  “What are you doing?” Lupe exclaimed.

  “Leaving,” Bernadette said through her teeth. “You and the condessa are welcome to my husband, who obviously has more feeling for you than he can manage to pretend for me.”

  “But it is the day after the wedding!” Lupe cried. “You will disgrace him!”

  “Do you think so?” Bernadette asked with mock delight. “Imagine how the servants will gossip when they change the sheets in my bedroom!” she added for good measure, smiling when Lupe almost swooned at the crude remark. “They’ll think that he wasn’t up to my expectations,” she added wickedly.

  Lupe looked as if she might faint. Bernadette walked right around her and back to her room to get her shawl and purse. She cast one last look at the rumpled bed and laughed coldly to herself. So much for her brief taste of married life. She would never be tricked into a man’s clutches again.

  She walked back to the front porch, where the servant she’d charged to hitch up the buggy was waiting with a pained expression. Lupe had obviously tried to forbid him to leave the ranch.

  “Never you mind,” Bernadette told him in perfect Spanish. “No one will blame you for this. It is my order, which you cannot disobey. All right?”

  “Sí, señora,” he replied gratefully.

  Bernadette allowed him to help her into the buggy after he’d loaded her case. “I’ll send for the rest of my things,” she told Lupe. “You can tell Eduardo whatever lie you like, I’m sure he’ll swallow anything now. Goodbye.”

  She nodded to him and he flicked the whip above the horse’s head, putting the buggy in motion.

  * * *

  ALL THE WAY HOME, BERNADETTE grieved for what might have been. She no longer cared what Eduardo thought or did. She was going to put him right out of her mind and go visit her brother, as she’d threatened. Eduardo could do what he liked.

  Her father met her at the front door, morose and unhappy when he saw her expression.

  “Sure and I never should have let you go there in the first place, lass,” he said through his teeth as he helped her down and waited for the servant to bring her bag before he gave the boy a tip and sent him home.

  “He should have married Lupe,” she said. “And that’s all I want to say about it. I won’t burden you by staying here any longer than I have to,” she added with frigid pride. “I’ll go to Albert as soon as I can get a ticket on the next train.”

  “Oh, lass, no, you’re not a burden,” her father said sadly. “You’re welcome here as long as you want to stay. I’m sorry for the whole miserable mess I’ve caused with my misplaced ambitions. Lass, I wouldn’t have wished that cold lot on you for all the world. I’ve
hardly slept thinking about the treatment you’ve had from that old woman and that Lupe.”

  Her father’s concern warmed her heart. It was so nice to have a relative care about her well-being for a change, especially this man, who’d never concerned himself very much with her feelings at all.

  “Thank you, Father. I must say, I’ve hardly slept myself,” Bernadette added without saying why. “I want to rest. Then I really do want to go see Albert. I think it would do me good to go away for a while.”

  “In a few days,” he agreed. “Once you’ve gotten over the ordeal.”

  A few days. A few weeks. What did it matter? Nothing was going to change the sad path of her life now. Married and discarded in less than a day, they’d say, and they’d be right. Nobody would blame the condessa or Lupe, they’d blame Bernadette. It was her lack of breeding, they’d say, that led to such a disastrous end to the marriage. Eduardo would still have his loan, because that had already been settled and paid. Her father was too honorable a man to call back the money now. And if Eduardo was willing to lie, perhaps he could have the marriage annulled. Then he could marry pretty Lupe and stand to inherit his grandmother’s fortune. How wonderful for him!

  But Bernadette’s hopes were as dead as her dreams. It was all she could do to keep from bawling her eyes out. Eduardo had been so different before the arrival of his kinfolk. Bernadette mourned the death of the beautiful relationship that had been building between them.

  She wondered if he’d even be upset when he returned home and found her gone. She seriously doubted it. The condessa would be furious at Bernadette’s treatment of her and was bound to want revenge. So would Lupe. Eduardo would believe anything they told him. And probably he wouldn’t care that she’d left. He hadn’t even spoken to her when he’d left her bed. That had hurt most of all.

  She went to her old room and settled down on the comfortable daybed by the window. In minutes, despite her misery and some coughing from the dust on the way home, she was sound asleep.

  * * *

  IT WAS WELL AFTER DARK WHEN Eduardo dismounted at the stable and walked quickly toward the house. His conscience was flaying him over the way he’d treated Bernadette. Not that he’d hurt her, because he knew he hadn’t. But he’d used her like a woman of the streets, and all because she’d made him angry with her accusations. It was dishonorable behavior at best. He was ashamed to face her.

  His grandmother and Lupe were in the parlor when he arrived, both involved in their endless needlework. He remembered that Bernadette was skilled at embroidery, but apparently she hadn’t been asked to join the women tonight.

  “Where is Bernadette?” he asked curtly.

  “Resting,” his grandmother said, throwing Lupe a speaking glance. “She is resting. She said that she wished not to be disturbed, so we have not disturbed her.”

  He relaxed a little. That was good news. At least she hadn’t packed her bags and left, which was what he’d truly expected. Perhaps her pride wasn’t as lacerated as he imagined it was.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.” The condessa got gracefully to her feet and put a gentle hand on Eduardo’s arm. “We waited for you, my boy. You must be very tired.”

  “I am. And very hungry. What about Bernadette?”

  “She had a tray earlier.”

  They went in to dinner. His grandmother reminisced; Lupe flirted with him and made him laugh; he allowed himself to be diverted.

  He paused at Bernadette’s room on his way to bed, but there was no light peeking from under the door and he heard no sound, so he assumed that she was asleep. It was just as well, he thought, not to have any more words with her now. Tomorrow, when they were both calmer, they could talk about what had happened, and what sort of future they could build on the damaged foundation of their marriage.

  He’d put the money her father had loaned him to good use so far. Equipment was being bought, the house was being painted, bad wood was being replaced and livestock was being added. His prospects were better than they’d ever been, and he owed all that to his new father-in-law. He would pay back the loan, he promised himself. And perhaps he could help Bernadette salvage some of her lost pride. He found her incredibly attractive. He wanted her; more than ever, since their sweet, hot night of passion. He could overlook what she’d done and said. He could start again. They could have a good life together. She could keep his books and help him to rebuild Rancho Escondido, and the future would be pleasant.

  He said as much to his grandmother at breakfast. She seemed uneasy and Lupe looked as if she’d swallowed a melon whole. The two of them acted guilty.

  His suspicions grew by the minute as breakfast finished and still there was no sign of his new bride. He finished his coffee and fixed suspicious eyes on them. “Where is Bernadette?” he demanded.

  Lupe actually jumped. The condessa lifted her head in a regal angle. “She has gone to her father,” she said coolly. “Where she belongs. She was never of a social class to belong in this great house, and she is not fit to be a wife to you. It is better that the marriage be annulled at once. Then, perhaps, you might marry Lupe.” She smiled at her niece. “She has an excellent background and is quite healthy. With her family’s wealth and mine, you could found an empire together in Spain. For certainly, you would inherit when I die, if you married her.”

  “And what of Luis?” he asked, his voice barely audible as he controlled it.

  “Luis?” She waved her frail hand. “Luis has the vineyards and his wife’s property.”

  Eduardo put his napkin down with deliberate care. “Did you not offer him marriage to Lupe before he announced his betrothal to Carisa Morales?”

  The condessa frowned. “Yes. But, of course, he was not good enough for Lupe,” she added quickly. “Is that not so, my dear?”

  Lupe started to answer, but Eduardo’s black eyes burned into her face and silenced her.

  “When did Bernadette go home, Abuela?” he asked quietly.

  The old woman toyed with her napkin. “Last evening, I believe.”

  “Last evening!” he exploded. “You told me she was upstairs!”

  The condessa looked vaguely distressed. “You were tired, my dear. I thought it just as well not to upset you. I told Lupe, and she agreed that it was better to say nothing until you were more...rested.”

  He stood up, his bearing autocratic and menacing. “Bernadette went home alone in the dark. Is this what you are saying?”

  “It was still light,” Lupe replied quickly.

  “Ay, Dios.” He breathed harshly. “That long ago, and I knew nothing of it.”

  “She is a vicious girl!” the condessa said with equal harshness. “She poured a pitcher of cream over my head!”

  Eduardo gaped at her. “What?”

  “She did!” Lupe said. “Your poor grandmother, she might have caught a chill! I had to fetch a servant to clean up the mess! How can you wish to remain the husband of such a savage woman?”

  Both his eyebrows lifted. He was staring as if he didn’t recognize either of them.

  “Why did she pour cream on you, Abuela?” he asked.

  The old woman frowned. “We were arguing. She simply lost her temper.”

  “She would never attack without provocation. So what did you say to her?”

  The old woman glowered. “She said that she was going home and that you deserved no better than the company of Lupe and myself. She said that we were creatures without honor.”

  He was beginning to wonder about that, himself. His black eyes narrowed. “And you said...?” he prompted.

  She sucked in a breath. “I said that you would be well rid of her!”

  “Why?”

  She colored red. Her eyes averted. “She said...”

  “Yes?”

  She swallowed and lowered her eyes. “She told Lupe that she would leave deliberately, so that the servants would gossip about it. So that they would say that you did not live up to her...expectations!”

/>   He threw back his head and laughed. It was the first bit of amusement he’d felt in such a long time. He could picture Bernadette throwing cream over his grandmother, blatantly accusing Eduardo of disappointing her in bed and leaving him to face the renewed gossip about his prowess. He should be furious, but he wasn’t. Bernadette had neatly turned the tables on his grandmother, and he was filled with admiration for her. He was beginning to get a very clear picture of what was going on in his house. He’d been blind in every way, it seemed.

  “It is not amusing!” his grandmother said furiously.

  “Yes, it is,” he returned. He smiled down at her. “You are my family, and I love you very much. But you have been most unfair to Bernadette, who never meant you any harm. Her life has been a very difficult one. Her father blamed her for the death of her mother in childbirth. He has treated her like a burden for all these years. In a sense she married me to escape him. And you have sent her back into the fire.”

  The condessa averted her eyes. “She is uncivilized.”

  “She is spirited and independent,” he corrected. “She is the sort of woman who will stand beside a man and fight the world with him and for him. Sadly, it will not be me,” he added, surprised to find that it disturbed him to know that. “You should have given her a chance. So should I have,” he added quietly.

  His grandmother waved her hand. “It is done,” she said. “She has gone and I think she will not come back.”

  “We will see.” He bent to kiss his grandmother’s solemn face gently. “You care for me, in your way, but you have no idea what sort of man I am, or what sort of wife I require. You made a disastrous choice in Consuela, and I never told you for fear of hurting your feelings. I should have been less caring and more honest. Consuela hated this place and hated me. Her hatred turned her into a cold, bitter woman. She became demented, turned her back on her own baby and let him starve to death,” he said harshly.

  The condessa’s face went white. “No!”

  “Yes,” he affirmed. “I came home and found him in his cradle. She had dismissed the servants. She was sitting in the parlor doing her needlepoint as if nothing in the world was wrong. When I told her about the child, she simply looked at me with a total lack of comprehension or guilt. Two days later, just after the funeral, she took one of my guns and walked up into the mountains behind the house. We found her hours later, with a bullet through her head.” His gaze fell to the floor. “There was much gossip afterward. At least a few people thought that I blamed her for the death of the child and killed her in revenge.” His head lifted proudly. “It was not the truth. In fact, Consuela went mad after the birth of the child and was no longer competent to be either wife or mother. I had servants with her all the time. But when I left that once, on a business trip, she dismissed them and there was no one to reason with her about the child. She hated me, she said, for the attention I paid the child. She made sure that I would never pay him attention again.”