For a moment, she was too surprised to speak. At last she asked, “How do you intend to do that?”
“Have I not just told you?” he snapped. “My good friend, Dr. Rupert, will come and examine you. Once he has confirmed that you are able to bear a child, we shall see that you do.”
“May I ask, milord, what that means, exactly?” she asked, incredulous. “We are to have no romantic preamble—just, we’ll see to it?”
He stepped closer to the bathtub. “Are you making fun of me, Edwina?” His voice was menacing as he slowly lowered one hand into her bath water.
“No, of course not. But perhaps you could have put it more . . . tenderly.”
“Do not be so dramatic, my dear,” he whispered, lightly cupping one of her small breasts in his long, thin hand. “So now you understand what this marriage is to be. What your role is to be. Do you not?”
“Yes. I’m to provide you with heirs, like some brood mare.”
“One heir, to be precise. I care not whether it is a boy or a girl, and I need only one.” He gently squeezed the breast he held and then ran his hand deeper under the water, down her ribcage to her abdomen, and even lower. Though she tried to keep her legs together, he forced them apart. Pressing his hand firmly against the sensitive spot between them, he said, “Is this tenderly enough, contessa?”
“Yes,” she whispered, fighting back tears of shame. If she had felt one ounce of love emanating from him, she would not have thought his behavior so unnatural. But, even as inexperienced as she was, she knew he acted more from a sense of power than of desire. It was mortifying; it made her feel less than human, but she dared not protest for she feared it would drive him to further degrade her. He withdrew his hand at last.
“I do not wish to see the doctor,” she continued. “Especially Dr. Rupert. I will not abide him as my physician. Can we not try to have a child and then if I do not conceive—”
“You will see Dr. Rupert!” he roared. “He will examine you and I will be in the room when he does, to make sure you do as you are told. Do you understand?”
“No,” she said miserably. “In truth, I do not. If you don’t desire me, Paolo, then please—send me back to my mother.”
“Your dear mamma does not want you. She prefers the allowance I send her.”
Though this didn’t surprise Edwina, it brought tears to her eyes. Sternly, she refused to give way to such a show of weakness. “Then send me to my uncle, who will gladly receive me. If you do not want me, let me go.”
“Not until you have given me an heir. Dr. Rupert will dine with us this evening, and then he will examine you. I want you to rest until then. Do not excite yourself with your music. I will see you at dinner. Wear what I send up to you.”
**
The dress Paolo selected for her was black, low-cut and made of fabric so sheer it was almost transparent. Edwina was horrified by its immodesty. She dared not defy him by refusing to come down to dinner but she would not wear the dress in front of the doctor, not to mention the servants. She told her husband as much when she joined him.
“I am disappointed, my dear,” Paolo said as he poured her a glass of red wine. “Did you not like the gown?”
“It’s lovely, Paolo,” she replied. “But I thought this one more appropriate, since we have a guest. I’d be happy to wear it later—for you,” she finished, drinking the wine quickly.
“As you wish, contessa,” her husband said, filling her glass again.
They chatted pleasantly throughout the meal and as they were having dessert—a cloying, sweet pudding with a bitter undertone—Edwina felt lightheaded and a little giddy. When her handsome husband asked her to play a tune for their guest, she was so delighted she quite forgot the reason for Dr. Rupert’s presence.
It seemed she was swimming in quicksand as she walked to the library, with Paolo supporting her on one side and the doctor on the other; but in what seemed like a disjointed and somehow altered passage of time, she found herself sitting at her piano. As if from a great distance, she heard her husband whisper, “Good lord, Rupert! How much did you put in? I want her docile, not dead.”
Edwina pulled her little key on its velvet tie from the bodice of her dress, a simple dark blue satin that was part of her honeymoon trousseau. It took more effort than usual to fit it into the lock, and she wondered at her sudden inexplicable clumsiness. She was stunned when the key would not turn. After a moment, she looked with accusation at her husband as she realized what he had done.
“Oh,” he quipped. “Did I not tell you? I have had the lock changed.”
Fighting the despair that threatened to engulf her, she said, “May I ask why?”
“Your mamma told me it’s the surest way to get your cooperation. Now, put on the beautiful gown I bought for you, and I’ll allow you to play one tune for us. If you cooperate, I will leave the instrument unlocked for a day or two.”
“And if I do not?”
“I will chop it into little bits with my own two hands. And I will lock you in this house and you’ll never see another.”
A screen now stood in one corner of the library and there her husband directed her. Sophia was waiting there, with the dress draped over one muscular arm. The robust maid helped Edwina change, divesting her of all her undergarments. With mild surprise, Edwina realized that her reality was one soft dream drifting into another. She wondered if she had fallen ill, to feel so strangely; but then she realized the doctor, or perhaps Paolo himself, had put something in her food or drink.
That did not disturb her as much as the prospect of being without her music, especially after what she had already done in order to keep it. She had married a man she scarcely knew, a man who obviously did not understand the meaning of love. She would rather die than have her piano locked up again, a special torment her mother had suggested to him. She had lost. If her own mother had sanctioned—nay, had encouraged—her husband’s cruel behavior, what chance had she of winning, and what was the point in fighting? She had lost everything—Cleome, Garnett and dear Uncle Oliver. She could not lose her music, too. She wished only to play her piano. She could not live without it, so Paolo could have whatever he wanted in exchange for that one freedom.
The remainder of the evening was a merciful blur. The sheer fabric of the gown felt cool and soft against her skin. There was a sharp intake of breath from the doctor as she stepped from behind the screen, and she knew that her nearly transparent garment revealed every curve, for she wore nothing underneath. The piano was open and she went to it, sat down and played. She did not remember getting to the end of the sonata or back to her bedroom; but she recalled Paolo leading her over to a low couch. She had no idea how her dress came to be removed but she would never forget the feel of the doctor’s cold, clammy hands as he touched every intimate part of her while her husband watched with rapt attention, an odd light in his eyes.
And she remembered hearing the doctor say, “She is perfect, milord.” His breath came heavily as he gazed down at her naked body. “She is exquisite. Small, but certainly adequate. What will you do?”
“I have a plan, Rupert—now that I know it is worth carrying out.”
“I would be happy to volunteer my services, sir.”
“Oh, I wager you would!” The count chuckled, sounding greatly entertained. “Unfortunately, your coloring is wrong. I need someone who has a little resemblance to me. Just make sure I have enough of your tonic on hand to make her agreeable.”
“Of course—but she could still refuse.”
“She may not like it, but she will not refuse. At any rate, it can’t be helped. I’m expecting a guest in a fortnight or so, and he could be exactly the one I need.”
**
After the Lady Ramona docked in Palermo, Garnett made his way on foot to Drake’s shipping office. It was only a few minutes’ walk and he was in need of exercise after the confinement of his cabin, even though it was quite satisfactory, at least for a gentleman of his former standing. D
rake had been generous with shipboard accommodations as well as salary. Garnett inhaled deeply, taking pleasure in the relief that came to his muscles as he picked up his pace. His pleasure was short-lived as he remembered that the last time he was in Italy, he had enjoyed the country’s finest establishments and an array of elegant parties and receptions. Traveling was different now that he was broke. While in port, Garnett was responsible for the cost of his food, and what there was to be had on his slim budget did nothing to stimulate his appetite.
He was doing somewhat better as his travels progressed, but he was no merchant. Since his father’s downfall in the House of Crockford, Garnett was forced to consider seriously what he wanted to do with his life—what direction he should take—and he was hanged if he could think of anything. There were only two things that had ever given him a sense of accomplishment. Once, when he was a child, his mother told the gardener at Easton Place to let him plant his own little square of land. Garnett had filled it with seeds from her favorite flowers, and he was intrigued when they sprouted and thrilled when they finally burst into bloom. He’d had a love of growing things ever since and for years, he’d tramped behind the gardeners and farmers at Easton Place, watching them and learning their secrets. His second great achievement came years later, when he’d helped Cleome realize her destiny or at least, her rightful inheritance. That was the only truly noble thing he had ever done, for he was not a noble person. He was selfish, shallow and spoiled—and that’s why Cleome couldn’t love him.
He was a man unformed, with a blank slate where accomplishments and ambition should have been. He knew this, for he alone knew how low he’d sunk—or would, if the price was right. He would do almost anything to reverse his present situation. He was honest enough to admit that he would commit any crime short of murder, to restore his family to prosperity and regain even a portion of the life he had lost.
He was deeply gratified to find a message awaiting him at the shipping office. My dear Garnett, Paolo had written in a strange, spidery hand. I was delighted to learn of your impending arrival. I am an old married man now, and my bride and I would be charmed to receive you. A messenger will bring me word when your ship docks. Take the day to settle in and I will come myself in the evening and collect you. I hope you will stay a few days with us. We shall dine together at the Mario Albergo before making the trip back to my pleasant villa. I am eager to hear your plans and tell you mine.”
It was like an omen, Garnett decided. Now that Paolo was married, he seemed of a mind to talk business. Garnett was surprised, for in the few years he’d known the count, he had never thought him to be particularly interested in commerce.
**
Garnett waited anxiously in the hotel’s elegant dining room. The Mario Albergo was an expensive establishment and if Paolo overlooked their appointment (and he was known to be careless in social commitments, at least when it was another gentleman he was meeting), Garnett would have to pay his own bill. It was damned inconvenient to be poor, for he was embarrassed to order nothing but a single brandy. If Paolo forgot him, he’d be hard pressed to pay the price of a meal or even a second brandy and stay within his budget.
As he was about to order another drink anyway, Paolo arrived. Garnett stood, in order to catch his eye. The count nodded to him, then strolled over to the table where he waited. They shook hands and Garnett found he was glad to see a chum from school, if only that it reminded him of the old life, how much he had loved it and how terribly he missed it all.
“Good evening, my friend.” Paolo greeted him warmly. “Welcome. I am so delighted to see you again.”
“And I, you.” Garnett was sincere. “I believe congratulations are in order. I’d hoped you would bring your bride.”
“The lady is resting. You will meet her later.” Paolo motioned for the waiter to replenish Garnett’s glass and bring another. “This is the perfect time to visit,” he went on. “Before the fires of revolution become an inferno.”
“So you believe it is unavoidable?”
“Who can say? The nobility is much hated. There are new mobs every day marching on something or other. There is much unrest and I must keep my villa like a fortress—but let us speak of happier things. How long can we count on the pleasure of your company?”
“My business will keep me in port for a week,” Garnett told him. “Say, who did you marry, old man? Damme, but I was surprised to hear the news. I’d thought you rather a bachelor.”
“I found myself longing for a family.” Paolo replied simply. “My wife is from London. I believe you know her. But tell me, what business is it that brings you to Italy? I had heard of your father’s misfortune. My regrets, sir.” When Garnett hung his head, ashamed, the count went on, “If I can be of any assistance, Garnett, you will please let me know. Please do not take offense. I only mean to be a friend.”
“It is appreciated, but I have the matter in hand.” Garnett explained his contract with Drake. “At the end of my year’s commitment, I plan to go into business on my own.”
“In what capacity?”
“I . . . am investigating several opportunities. I’m determined to recover all that my father lost.”
“Please keep me informed. Will you need to raise capital?”
“Indeed, yes.” Garnett was surprised that it was going so easily. Before he could speak again, his host signaled the waiter and ordered them a sumptuous meal. The exquisite champagne was from Paolo’s own vineyards.
As they ate, the count said, “A year seems a long time to wait for an opportunity to be your own man.”
“Yes, it is,” Garnett agreed. “But I’m afraid I haven’t any choice.”
“I may have something for you, depending upon how adventurous you are.”
Garnett laughed, enjoying the food, the camaraderie and the heady wine. “What must I do?” he asked. “Is it legal?”
“Well . . .” Paolo pondered for a moment, then grinned broadly. “It must be legal somewhere, but you might consider it scandalous. It involves a lady.”
“Now I am intrigued.”
“Excellent!” The count’s face was more animated than Garnett had ever seen it. “We shall enjoy this wonderful feast, and then you’ll come home with me. You must see the villa that has been in my family for centuries. Then you will understand why I will do whatever I must to keep it.”
**
The Villa Paresi was as grand as Paolo had promised, although Garnett was too inebriated by the time they got there to fully appreciate its splendor. A hired carriage took them from the hotel to a gentleman’s club, where they had yet another bottle of wine, and then to a dock where they boarded a well-appointed sloop that took them to the Isola di Paresi. It was very late and Garnett and his host were both very drunk, so they bid each other goodnight and a servant showed Garnett to a luxurious room. With all the talk of revolution, he gave no thought to the armed guards standing at the gate that protected the entrance to the grounds, or to those outside the splendid house, or the two stationed in the hallway outside his room. They bowed to him as if he were visiting royalty, which gave him some satisfaction, as he stumbled to his bed. The windows were opened wide to let in the breeze and a boy was in his room, pulling a rope that operated a big fan overhead. Garnett drifted off to sleep still wondering who Paolo had married.
It was past noon before Garnett awakened to the sound of a light tapping at his door. Before he could respond, it opened and the boy who’d manned the overhead fan entered with a tray bearing sweet rolls, a fruit compote, dark, fragrant coffee and hot, steaming milk. The lad put the tray down, bowed awkwardly and said, “Good morning.”
“Yes, yes,” Garnett groaned. “What do you have for the morning-after miseries?”
The lad simply repeated the greeting and backed out of the room. Garnett got up and wrapped the sheet around himself and then poured equal parts of coffee and hot milk into a cup, added a generous amount of sugar and stirred. There was another knock at the door as he pu
t down the spoon.
“Come in!” he called as he settled himself back in the huge bed. Paolo entered.
“May I have a word with you, my friend?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Garnett replied and started to rise.
“No, no. Stay where you are,” Paolo insisted. “I have much to say. You will want to be comfortable. Have your coffee and one of those pastries while we talk. My wife will be about soon, and these arrangements should not be made in her presence.”
“Oh . . . yes,” Garnett said. “The business you mentioned last night. I assume you want me to arrange some sort of tryst for you. Isn’t it a bit soon, old man—even for you? I mean, wed but a few weeks and you’re already seeking comfort elsewhere?”
“Not at all.” Paolo’s smile was strange and unsettling, Garnett thought. After a moment, the count continued, “Allow me to explain. Let us say there is this . . . acquaintance . . . of mine. He needs the services of a surrogate.”
“A surrogate what?”
“I must first give you a bit of his sad history. He had an injury at birth. The careless midwife thought she was cutting the umbilical cord—well, it doesn’t matter how it happened, except to that unfortunate woman, whom his father had beheaded—but he was rendered incapable of producing an heir. Not incapable of desire, you understand; just unable to do anything about it.”
Paolo moved slowly to the window and stared down into the lush garden below. He seemed to be fighting some secret emotion and once he got it in check, he turned back to Garnett and continued.
“Now, as the years went on, he learned to amuse himself in various ways—he even found various ways to pleasure women who could never pleasure him. He thought he could go on like this forever, but for a strange codicil in his father’s will. If he does not produce an heir or, at the least, get his wife with child by his thirtieth birthday, the entire fortune, except for a modest allowance, will go to the church. He has married and he has less than a year to comply with the terms of the will.”
The Lodestone Page 30
