That was when the plan first began to formulate in my mind.
I had heard a great deal of talk about him, of course. I knew that he was still single, and I knew that his sister Meg was attending school in Germany. I had frequently wondered about her and the adamant young man who had been trying to persuade her to elope with him. Evidently, Schnieder had sent the girl away shortly after I had overheard that fiery conversation at the inn. Young James Norman had lost his plantation soon afterwards, and many claimed Schnieder was responsible. After losing his place, Norman had left for New Orleans and hadn’t been heard from since.
Gossips claimed that his sister was the only thing in the world Helmut Schnieder cared about, and they added that no man would ever be good enough for her as far as her brother was concerned. He had gone to visit her in Germany almost every summer since her departure. The girl was supposed to be returning to Natchez in just a few weeks, I understood. She would be twenty years old now. I remembered her pale, fragile face that would have been plain except for those violet-blue eyes which had been so tormented as she pleaded with her swain. I wondered if she were still as frightened of her brother as she had clearly been four years ago.
As a shopkeeper overhearing gossip and asking discreet questions, I probably knew far more about Helmut Schnieder than Bruce did, but I had no intention of letting him know that. Leaving Natchez proper behind, we turned down the sloping river road. I caught glimpses of the masts of ships that crowded the harbor, and then the road twisted and they vanished. Tall oaks trailing Spanish moss grew on either side of us now, and sunlight sifted through the canopy of limbs overhead. It was all very peaceful and lulling, but I wasn’t ready to drop the subject of Helmut Schnieder.
“They say that now that he’s finished Roseclay he’s looking for a wife,” I remarked. “Rumor has it that that’s why he’s giving this ball—he wants to look over the prospects.”
“Could be,” Bruce replied, uninterested.
“Aren’t we near Roseclay?” I inquired.
“It’s a mile or so up the road. You haven’t seen it?”
I shook my head.
“Driving out to watch the progress on the big house used to be a favorite pastime for folks around here, but now that it’s finished, Schneider doesn’t like anyone nosing about. We’ll go by just the same.”
“If you think we shouldn’t—” I began.
“We’ll have to trespass in order for you to see it properly, but Schnieder inspects his plantation on Sundays. He’ll never know we were there. It can’t hurt anything.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”
“What’s he going to do? Shoot me? I’m not afraid of Helmut Schnieder. If you want to see the house, we’ll go by and see it.” His voice was slightly defiant.
A few minutes later, we stopped before two tall pink brick pillars. The ornate wrought-iron gate between them was closed but not locked. Bruce climbed down to push the gate back. Getting back up beside me, he urged the horses up the private drive at a slow walk. The grounds on either side were beautifully laid out, the grass neatly trimmed, trees casting long shadows in the sunlight. There were elegant flower beds as well, and as the drive curved around I had my first glimpse of Roseclay.
It was stunning. The pink brick was light and mellow, and there were white shutters at all the windows. The roof was a blue-gray slate, and six tall white pillars in front supported the portico and second-story verandah. The house was enormous, with deep, cool-looking verandahs surrounding both floors. Tall elms growing on either side of the house brushed the walls with hazy shadows. As the horses slowly trotted along the drive that circled in front of the house, I caught glimpses of the spacious gardens in back. Bruce stopped the carriage directly in front of the house, holding the reins loosely in his lap.
“There it is,” he said.
His manner was slightly bored, and I could tell that he was determined to remain unimpressed. I gazed up at the house with something like awe, for it was quite overwhelming. Majestic without being ostentatious, the house’s simple elegant lines gave an impression of graceful ease. Although it was not at all like the stately homes I had seen back in England, it had a grandeur all its own. How glorious it would be to be mistress of a house like this, I thought.
“Impressed?” Bruce inquired.
“Extremely.”
“It’s altogether too large,” he remarked. “Schnieder has delusions of grandeur. He thinks he has the power of a king, and he’s built himself a palace.”
“Now all he needs is a consort,” I said quietly.
Bruce made no comment. I continued to gaze at the house, my resolution growing by the moment. If I hadn’t been sure of my plan before, I was now. Seeing Roseclay gave me an even greater incentive, and I was determined to go through with it at all costs. If I succeeded, the rewards would be staggering. If I failed, at least I would have made the effort. At this point, I had nothing to lose.
The horses began to stamp restlessly on the drive, and I could see that Bruce was impatient to be gone as well. I was just about to tell him to drive on when the front door opened. Helmut Schnieder stepped out onto the verandah, pulling the door shut behind him. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Thank goodness I had selected this particular dress and taken such pains with my hair.
Where another young man might have been at a loss, or nervous and upset by Schnieder’s unexpected appearance, Bruce was as calm as could be. Showing no surprise, he nodded at the German.
“Good afternoon,” he said politely.
Schnieder stared at us with cold blue eyes, and then he moved toward the wide front steps. He was exactly as I remembered: tall, heavyset, his features strong and blunt. He still had a belligerent look, and the pale yellow-blond hair still fell in a monkish fringe across his jutting brow. He wore brown breeches and a thin white shirt slightly damp with perspiration. His tall black boots were dusty. He had obviously just returned from inspecting his plantation.
“You wanted something, Trevelyan?” he inquired. His voice was deep and guttural, just as I remembered.
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Bruce replied. “Miss Danver wanted to see the house. I thought I’d bring her by to have a look. I suppose I owe you an apology.”
Ignoring Bruce, Schnieder stared at me. I met his stare with a cool, level gaze, not at all intimidated. I felt sure he didn’t remember me. If he did, he certainly gave no indication. I was amazed anew at the presence this man possessed. He would easily dominate the largest gathering without any effort. Those cold blue eyes seemed to be offering a silent challenge, one I was all too ready to accept.
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I insisted. I’ve heard a great deal about Roseclay—and about you.”
“Indeed?”
“The house certainly lives up to my expectations.”
I placed the slightest emphasis on the word “house,” subtly indicating that its owner did not impress me. Schnieder didn’t miss that. The eyes continued to challenge me. Bruce gathered up the reins. I had almost forgotten that he was there beside me, so strong was Schnieder’s effect on me.
“You must see the rest of it,” Schnieder said. “Let me show you around inside.”
“We have to be going,” Bruce replied.
“I’d enjoy showing you around,” Schnieder said, ignoring Bruce and speaking directly to me.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t time, Mr. Schnieder.”
“No?”
“Some other time, perhaps.”
“You must come to my ball, Miss Danver.”
“I—”
“Young Trevelyan can bring you.”
“That’s quite impossible,” I said.
“Not at all,” Bruce informed me. “It would give me great pleasure.”
“It’s out of the question, Bruce.”
“You don’t care to come?” Schnieder inquired.
“I hardly think it would be seemly, Mr. Schnieder. I’m a—a seamstres
s. I feel quite sure your other guests would be very perturbed if I were to appear.”
“I shouldn’t think that would bother you, Miss Danver.”
So he did remember me, after all. I could tell from his tone of voice that he had recalled that tattered creature in the soiled red dress who had wanted to book passage to New Orleans. He remembered, yet he had invited me to his ball. There could only be one reason: Helmut Schnieder was interested. I observed him coolly, sizing him up as an opponent.
He had commanding presence, yes, but he did not appeal to me physically at all. He was too large, and that powerful, heavyset body suggested brutal strength he would employ mercilessly to achieve his ends. Those blunt, harsh features augmented that impression, and there was an undeniable cruelty in the curve of that wide mouth. He might not attract me physically, yet that combination of power and authority was intriguing. What satisfaction it would be to use him as he used others. Schnieder awakened something hard and vengeful inside me. He would be a worthy opponent indeed.
“We’d better leave now, Bruce,” I said. “We’ve already taken enough of Mr. Schnieder’s time.”
“I shall look forward to seeing you both at the ball,” Schnieder said. “I feel sure you can persuade her to come, Trevelyan.”
“I imagine I can,” Bruce replied.
He clicked the reins and turned the horses around on the drive. The German’s eyes never once left me, and even as we drove away I could feel them boring into my back. I could hardly believe how well things had gone. How simple it had been. I intended to go to the ball, of course, had had every intention of doing so before we even set out this afternoon. But I had anticipated a subtle and rather taxing campaign to bring Bruce around to asking me, and Schnieder’s sudden appearance had saved me the trouble. As we drove back through the portals and Bruce alighted to close the gate, I felt a sharp sense of triumph.
Schnieder had been interested in me four years ago—had wanted to buy me—and I hoped to reawaken that interest. There could be no doubt about the fact that I had done so, today. He had thrown down the gauntlet, presenting me with a challenge no woman could mistake.
Bruce was silent for a long while after we resumed our ride toward the river road. Immersed in thought myself, I was pleased with the silence. After he took me to the ball, Bruce would be of no more use to me. I was pleased it hadn’t been necessary to build up his hopes. As it was, he would be able to get over me much more easily. I sighed, brushing a strand of hair from my temple. We were driving alongside the river now, blossoming dogwood trees on either side of the road, pink and white and soft, pale red. Bruce let the horses slow to little more than a walk, holding the reins loosely and turning to me with solemn eyes.
“You will come to the ball, won’t you?”
“I shouldn’t, Bruce.”
“Because of what people would say?”
“That’s one of the reasons. I’m a seamstress with a terribly wicked reputation. You’re a young man with … much to lose.”
“I don’t give a hang what people say, Marietta.”
“Your parents—”
“I’m twenty-two years old, no longer tied to any apron strings.”
“They’ll be outraged.”
“Let them be,” he replied.
The blossoming dogwood branches reached out over the road, almost touching us. I reached out and gently moved aside a branch laden with fragile pink flowers. Bruce had a determined look in his eyes, and his mouth was set in a stubborn line.
“I’m in love with you, Marietta. You must know that.”
“I know, and … I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I never meant you to fall in love with me. It—it could never lead to anything, Bruce.”
“Because you’re a seamstress? Because you’re a few years older?”
“Partly.”
“That doesn’t matter to me in the least.”
“I’m not in love with you,” I said gently.
“You will be. I’ll see to that.”
The horses had stopped of their own accord at the side of the road. We were almost engulfed in pink and white blossoms. The river was only a few yards away on the other side of the road, moving along with a pleasant music. A breeze caused the dogwood branches to tremble, and soft petals sprinkled down. Bruce was frowning. He looked so young and sincere. I wanted to smile and touch his cheek, but I knew I mustn’t. I couldn’t give him any sort of encouragement.
“I want to marry you,” he said firmly.
“I couldn’t marry you, Bruce. I … like you too much.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I suppose it doesn’t—not to you.”
“You’re trying to tell me something.”
“Yes, Bruce.”
“Look, I know about your …” He hesitated, the frown deepening. “I know all about your reputation. When we started going for our drives any number of people made it their business to inform me of your ‘past.’ I know you worked in a gambling house, know there was some sort of scandal. It doesn’t matter.”
I did not reply. A bird warbled throatily in a tree nearby. Bruce studied my face, and I feared he would pull me into his arms at any moment. So, I sat up very straight, deliberately hardening myself, refusing to be moved by this wonderful young man who had come into my life much too late. I must keep my mind on the goal in front of me, must curb any tenderness that might stir in my heart. I had let my heart guide me before, and the results had been disastrous.
“I’d like to go back home now,” I said crisply.
Bruce looked crestfallen. “But—”
“Please, Bruce.”
“Very well,” he said.
During the ride back to the shop, I could tell that he was both disappointed and hurt, but I couldn’t think about Bruce. He was merely a tool, and my need for him would soon be over. He climbed down from the carriage and helped me alight, then held the gate open for me. I stepped inside and closed the gate, shutting him out. Bruce caught hold of it, looking at me with eyes that were once again determined.
“You’re coming to the ball with me,” he said. His voice was firm. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
“As you wish, Bruce. If it means that much to you, I’ll go.”
“And you’re going to forget all this nonsense about—about class distinction and age differences and the past. I’m going to make you fall in love with me.”
“Goodbye, Bruce. Thank you for the lovely ride.”
“I’ll be here Friday at seven-thirty. You be ready.”
“I will be,” I promised.
XXIV
I didn’t keep my promise. I wasn’t ready when Bruce arrived. Wearing only a robe, I let him into the shop and led him upstairs to the sitting room to wait. That was over half an hour ago. As I stood now in front of the mirror, making a final inspection, I could hear him pacing impatiently. We were already late, would be even later by the time we drove out to Roseclay, but that was my intention. I planned to carry this through with all the verve I could command, and it suited my purpose to arrive after all the other guests had already assembled.
I had spent the past four days working on my dress, finishing it just this afternoon. It was a deep brown, embroidered with floral patterns in glittering black and bronze beads. The shimmering beads drew attention to my full, swelling breasts more than half exposed by the daring neckline. The dress was bold and dramatic and pleased me immensely.
My hair was carefully arranged on top of my head in glossy, coppery waves, three long ringlets dangling down, and I had applied my makeup carefully. The good ladies of Natchez were going to see their scarlet woman at her best. And Helmut Schnieder was going to find her cool and composed and, I hoped, irresistible. I was playing for very high stakes, and I had every intention of winning.
Opening the door connecting the two rooms, I stepped into the sitting room. Bruce was standing at the window, peering out at the night. He turned. He stare
d with something like incredulity, taken aback by the sight of me. I could see that he was most appreciative, but as he was essentially a conventional young man, he was also a bit dismayed by the amount of bosom the gown revealed.
“You’re dazzling,” he said. “It was worth the wait.”
“It was wicked of me to keep you waiting like this. I wanted to look especially nice for you.”
Flattered, convinced that I had gone to all this trouble for his sake, he smiled. He looked very handsome in his dark wine breeches and frock coat, his maroon-and-white-striped waistcoat and white silk neckcloth. He had never been so appealing, that wavy brown hair so dark and glossy, those serious blue eyes filled with pleasure. Some young woman was going to be lucky indeed, I thought.
The carriage was waiting in front of the gate, horses standing patiently in the moonlight. Bruce handed me into the seat, and I adjusted my skirts. There was hardly room for him to sit beside me, but I pulled the rustling material aside to make room. The seat made a groaning noise as he took his place and gathered up the reins. A moment later we were off. It was a lovely night, the sky an ashy gray-black alight with gleaming moonrays. The weather was warm, almost sultry, and the night air was laden with the perfumes of spring.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” he said.
“I had no choice,” I replied. “Remember?”
“I recall being rather masterful.”
“You were,” I agreed.
“I intend to be even more so in days to come.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve decided to change my tactics,” he informed me. “I’ve been altogether too polite, too considerate. From now on, I’m going to be insistent and very firm, and, incidentally, I’m going to make you very happy.”
He was like a young knight, I thought, a strong, handsome Sir Galahad who wanted to make me his lady fair. After tonight he would probably hate me, but that would ultimately be for the best. It would leave him free to find the girl he deserved, as young, as inexperienced as he, with whom he could build a future.
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