Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  We reached Roseclay ten minutes later. It was ablaze with lights, and the sounds of laughter and music spilled out into the night. The drive was lined with carriages. As Bruce stopped the horses in front of the house, a black footman came down the steps to meet us. He wore black pumps, white stockings, and sky-blue satin knee breeches. His frock coat was blue satin, too, and he wore a wig powdered in the French style. After helping me alight, he told Bruce that he would tend to the carriage and drove it away as we went up the steps to the front door.

  Another footman in identical attire met us at the door and led us through the enormous hall. I was thoroughly composed, but I saw that Bruce was both nervous and apprehensive. I took his hand and smiled as yet another footman, this one carrying a silver-headed cane, asked our names and led us toward the ballroom. The music had temporarily ceased, but we could hear voices and polite laughter. Bruce made a valiant effort to control his apprehension. I gave his hand a squeeze as we paused before the wide archway leading into the ballroom.

  The footman rapped on the floor with his cane. The assembled guests immediately fell silent and turned to see who was arriving. When he had their full attention, the footman announced our names in a deep, resounding voice, then stepped aside. Bruce led me down the two narrow steps and into the room. I could see shocked expressions on most faces, and there were several gasps. Bruce held himself straight, his demeanor both haughty and disdainful. He had heard the gasps, too, and they made him furious. I had never admired him so much.

  Several moments passed, and still no one spoke. It was exceedingly awkward, but Helmut Schnieder soon mended that. He sauntered toward us with a smile, greeted us both warmly, shook Brace's hand. Bruce relaxed a bit, relieved that the worst was over.

  "I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Schnieder told me. "I would have been extremely disappointed—and surprised."

  "Sorry we're late," Bruce said.

  "You're the last to arrive, but it's of no consequence."

  "I'm afraid it's my fault," I remarked. "It took me longer to dress than I had anticipated."

  Schnieder looked at me. Those hard blue eyes took in every detail with slow deliberation. He liked what he saw. His wide, sensual mouth grew taut at the corners, and I had the feeling that if we had been alone he would have crushed me to him in a brutal embrace. It gave me a feeling of power.

  "The time was well spent," he said.

  "Thank you, Mr. Schnieder."

  "The orchestra has been playing, but we haven't yet started dancing. If Trevelyan has no objections, I'd like to open the ball with you as my partner."

  Bruce was taken aback, but he could hardly object. He gave his assent in a tight voice that caused Schnieder to smile.

  "It's settled, then, but first you must let me introduce you to a few of my other guests, Miss Danver. I'm sure Trevelyan would like to say hello to some of his friends before the dancing starts."

  The other guests had resumed talking by this time, but almost everyone in the room was observing us while trying to appear not to. Schnieder took my hand and led me toward a statuesque woman in a deep-purple gown. She had a large, pale face with pursed mouth and dark, hooded eyes that widened in horror as we approached. Her black hair was arranged in an elaborate coiffure, and as we drew nearer, I saw that the diamonds dangling from her ears and dripping over her bosom were a very good imitation of the real thing.

  "I'd like you to meet Mrs. Charles Holburn, Miss Danver. Her husband is one of our leading citizens."

  "How do you do," I said.

  Mrs. Holburn nodded curtly, unable to bring herself to speak. I knew she was the grandest of grand dames, the self-appointed leader of Natchez society. Schnieder was enjoying himself, relishing the outrage she wasn't quite able to conceal.

  "Miss Danver is an old friend of mine," he continued, "connected with one of England's best families. I believe you mentioned something about sending your daughter Arabella to school in England. Miss Danver might be able to give you some advice. She attended the academy at Bath, the finest of its kind, I hear."

  Mrs. Holburn was clearly nonplussed, not certain how she should react. My reputation was unsavory, yet I had the manner and the accent of an aristocrat. Could she possibly have been mistaken about me? The fake gems told me quite a lot about the woman, primarily that she couldn't afford to offend her wealthy and powerful host. She forced herself to smile.

  "We must discuss schools some day soon, Miss Danver," she said.

  "We must," I agreed politely.

  "Why did you say that about the academy at Bath?" I asked as Schnieder led me toward another group.

  "It was important to get in the first word. I knew you must have attended one of those exclusive schools, so I selected the first that came to mind."

  "I understand your sister will be returning from school in Germany a few weeks from now."

  "In June," he replied, somewhat tersely I felt.

  "How wonderful for her to come back to such a magnificent house. I believe you'd scarcely begun it when she left."

  "It was a mere shell. Come, let me introduce you to a few more people."

  I wondered about his motives as he introduced me to first one, then another distinguished citizen. Most were chilly, one or two actually friendly, but all were polite, however restrained their politeness might have been. I hadn't realized before the extent of Schnieder's power. How many of these people were indebted to him? Ordinarily they would have been as disdainful of a man like Schnieder as they had been of me. Was it fear of reprisal that kept them in line?

  "I hear the plantation is coming along nicely," he remarked to one of the men whose wife had just been forced to chat with me. "There should be a rich yield. You must keep me informed, Ashton."

  "I shall," Ashton replied. "If all goes well, I should be able to repay you in—"

  "No need to discuss that now," Schnieder interrupted. "This is a party. Enjoy yourself."

  His manner was brusque. Ashton smiled nervously, but his eyes were full of resentment. Schnieder chuckled to himself as we moved on. It gave him pleasure to be rude to people who were obviously his betters.

  "They're getting restless," he remarked. "I think we should open the ball and let them dance."

  "As you wish."

  Schnieder stepped over to speak to the musicians, and as he did so, I took the opportunity to examine the ballroom more closely. It was a wonder of grace and beauty. Four enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the elaborately molded ceiling of gold gilt patterns against a pale-yellow background. There were yellow silk panels on the tall white walls, framed in gilt, and the floor was a dark-golden parquet. High French windows opening onto the gardens were hung with luxuriant yellow silk draperies held back with golden cords. The elegant French sofas upholstered in pale blue were surrounded by gilt chairs and fragile tables holding porcelain vases abrim with pink roses. At least a dozen black footmen in blue satin livery and powdered wigs circulated among the guests with silver trays laden with drinks. It was hard to believe such splendor, impossible not to be impressed.

  I noticed Bruce standing across the room with two other young men. He was drinking a glass of brandy and pretending to listen to his companions' merry talk, but he was keeping an eye on me. His expression told me that he was both hurt and resentful. Coming back to join me, Schnieder turned to see whom I was observing. Bruce scowled and turned his back on us. Schnieder chuckled.

  "Your young man seems upset."

  "With good reason. You took me away from him the moment we arrived."

  "He's served his purpose," Schnieder said.

  "Oh?"

  "We both know that, Miss Danver."

  Before I could reply, there was a roll of drums. Guests began to clear the floor, and as the musicians began to play a slow minuet, Schnieder took my hand. Everyone watched as he led me onto the floor. I had expected him to be rough and clumsy, but he executed the steps with a subdued energy that made the rather stilted movements seem b
oth natural and virile. After we had danced for a few moments alone, other couples joined us on the floor. Schnieder never took his eyes off me. A half-smile played on his lips. It was as though this exceedingly formal dance were some kind of intimate mating ritual between the two of us, the other dancers merely background.

  "You dance well, Miss Danver," he said.

  "Thank you."

  "It seems you have a number of accomplishments."

  "I try to do my best, no matter what I undertake."

  "You've doing very well at the moment."

  The polite conversation was full of double meanings. We were already fully aware of each other's motives. His hard blue eyes held mine as we went through the paces of the dance, and his lips lifted slightly at one corner as though at some private amusement.

  I suddenly had the feeling that I was out of my depth, that I should retreat before it was too late. Instinct told me that Helmut Schnieder was much too formidable an adversary, one I was ill equipped to handle. Even though I might achieve my goals, I would be at his mercy, and he would use me brutally for some secret purpose. I immediately dismissed the idea. Things were going exactly as I had planned, even better than I had hoped. It would be madness to turn back now when success was clearly within reach.

  "You find Roseclay impressive?" he asked.

  "Very."

  "You must let me show you more of it later on."

  "I'd be delighted."

  "We have much to discuss, Miss Danver."

  "Do we?"

  He nodded slowly, looking at me with that half-smile that so resembled a leer. We continued to dance, the chandeliers shedding a dazzling light, the women's gowns making a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of color. When the music finally stopped, Schnieder bowed politely, thanking me for the dance.

  "I must perform my duties as host," he informed me, "must dance with all the ladies and their daughters, but I'll get back to you before the evening is over."

  "I'm quite sure of that."

  "Till later, Miss Danver."

  He sauntered away, and I was relieved to see Bruce moving purposefully toward me. There was a tenseness about him I had never seen before, and I sensed anger boiling up beneath the surface. He clasped my elbow tightly and led me off the floor as the music started again. I felt that in his present mood he might easily become unmanageable, and that wouldn't do at all. I made a concentrated effort to soothe his ruffled feelings, chatting lightly, letting him fetch us some champagne, flattering his vulnerable young ego.

  Bruce finally relaxed, and after we finished our champagne he took me to meet his parents. Alicia Trevelyan was a plump, pretty woman in pink satin, her blond hair a bit wispy. There was a dreamy vagueness about her as if she weren't certain who I was. George Trevelyan was sternly handsome, his sharp blue eyes studying me as his son made the introductions. His manner made it quite clear that he considered me a predatory adventuress with a penchant for cradle-snatching. There was a few moments of forced conversation, Trevelyan barely civil, his wife vague, and then Bruce asked me to dance. He was a poor dancer, as clumsy as I had expected Schnieder to be, but I found that somehow touching.

  If the women at the ball were less than enthusiastic about accepting me, most of the men were more than eager to make my acquaintance. When the dance with Bruce ended, Charles Holburn asked me to be his partner, and he was merely the first of a long line. I danced for well over an hour and a half without pause. When Bruce finally rescued me and took me into the drawing room for refreshments, I was most grateful. His neckcloth was beginning to wilt slightly. That errant wave had flopped over his forehead again, and his cheeks were flushed a faint pink.

  "You've been very busy with the ladies," I teased.

  "Cynthia made me promise to dance with all her friends. Tiresome lot, full of silly chatter."

  "Who was that lovely brunette in blue velvet? I saw you dancing with her twice."

  "You mean Denise? She's just a friend, not at all like the rest of 'em. She wants to argue about politics and doesn't give a hoot if her petticoat is showing. She reads a lot, just like I do. We exchange books now and then."

  "I see."

  "Her family lived next door to us back in Massachusetts. We grew up together, used to get into fierce wrestling matches when we were kids. I always beat her soundly. Denise wouldn't know how to flirt if her life depended on it. You've nothing to fear."

  He spoke of her with considerable fondness, and I felt much better. I had seen the look in the girl's eyes when she was dancing with him, and I thought she would be a great consolation to him in days to come. Bruce led me over to one of the elaborately laden tables. Another liveried servant in powdered wig filled our plates, and Bruce carried them to a sofa upholstered in gold silk, passing me a plate when we were seated.

  The drawing room was spacious and, in its way, as spectacular as the ballroom. It was done in white and gold, with French furniture and a ceiling painted with nymphs and figures from mythology against a pale-blue sky, golden-pink clouds surrounding them. The room was as beautiful as anything to be found in the stately homes of England. I was beginning to see why it had taken Schnieder so long to finish his mansion. The artist must have spent months on the ceiling alone.

  As we ate, the girl named Denise came into the drawing room on the arm of one of the young men Bruce had been talking to earlier. She had intelligent brown eyes and strong, attractive features, and her dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. Bruce waved, grinning, and the girl waved back, then turned away with studied disinterest. She might not know how to flirt, but it was clear to me that she was in love with Bruce. If he didn't know it, it was because she didn't want him to, not yet. She and her escort carried their plates out into the gardens, moving through one of the open French windows. Bruce frowned.

  "Blake Gutherie has a very bad reputation as far as the ladies are concerned. I hope Denise knows what she's doing."

  "I rather imagine she does," I replied.

  When we had finished our food and had more champagne, Bruce took me back into the ballroom for another dance. His sister Cynthia claimed him then, and I danced with a rather tipsy young man who was positively fascinated by my low-cut dress. There was another round of dancing, and some of the guests were already beginning to leave when Helmut Schnieder took me by the hand and led me down the hallway that connected with the main entrance hall.

  "Time for our tour," he said.

  "I've been looking forward to it."

  "I imagine you have."

  He opened a door and led me into a beautifully appointed library with a white marble fireplace and floor-to-ceiling white shelves filled with exquisitely bound volumes, brown, tan, dark gold, red. Windows on either side of the fireplace looked out over the front lawn, and there was a lovely Sheraton desk. I studied book tides with great interest, finding half a dozen I longed to pull from the shelves and read. Schnieder watched me with heavy lids hooding his eyes.

  "Your library is very impressive," I said. "Do you read?"

  "I have neither the time nor the inclination. I assembled this library with my sister in mind. She reads a great deal."

  He led me out of the room and into another, a smaller drawing room with a grand piano of gleaming mahogany, a blue sofa, a fireplace of light-gray marble. For all its luxury, the room was cozy and inviting. Purple flowers stood in tall white porcelain vases. The draperies were a soft lilac velvet. Schnieder showed me the elegant dining room, the masculine study, and eventually we ended up in front of the majestic staircase with its polished mahogany banister and deep-blue carpet.

  "The bedrooms are upstairs," he said.

  "I think I'll forgo seeing them just now"

  "Nervous, Miss Danver?"

  "Not in the least."

  "I don't frighten you?"

  "Should I be frightened?"

  Schnieder nodded, his eyes holding mine. "I'm a ruthless man, Miss Danver. I use people. Sometimes they get hurt. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"r />
  "I think I can look after myself, Mr. Schnieder."

  He smiled, and again I sensed some private amusement in his eyes. Now was the time to retreat. Now was the time to bid him farewell and get away as quickly as possible. He had just warned me that I was likely to get hurt. But I stood my ground, my eyes meeting his with a level gaze.

  "You haven't seen the gardens," he remarked. "They're quite lovely by moonlight."

  "I'd love to see them."

  Moving ahead of me down the hall toward the back door, he held it open for me. I stepped outside, denying the apprehension that stirred inside me. Schnieder closed the door and led the way toward the gardens. The carriage house and servants' quarters were on our right. We could hear music streaming out into the night, the sound growing dimmer as we strolled under the elms toward the spacious gardens. I had expected to find guests strolling about, but there was no one else in sight.

  The gardens had been laid out in levels by a master landscape artist, shallow marble steps leading from one level to the next. There were ponds and fountains with water splashing softly, and there were elegant flower beds and evergreen trees tall and dark in the moonlight. We paused behind a trellis of climbing roses. Everything was brushed with silver, white marble gleaming, shadows a deep blue. Leaves rustled with a scratchy noise. A lonely bird called out. The music from the ballroom was barely audible.

  "You've changed in four years," he remarked.

  "Then you remember?"

  "Vividly. I very much wanted to buy you from Rawlins. I assume you're still for sale?"

  "You might find the price a bit steep," I replied.

  "I doubt that, Miss Danver."

  "I want security."

  "And luxury," he said.

  "That, too."

  "I can give you both."

  "I'm talking about marriage."

  Schnieder was silent. I studied his face in the moonlight. That fringe falling across his brow made him look like some crafty peasant monk from the middle ages, sensual and avaricious, capable of any crime. The eyes were hooded again. He was standing in front of me, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.