The other had continued to speak as if unaware of his hesitation. "...And," the voice dropped low, tempting him, "I could offer you much the same. How does this sound: A dozen bolts of undyed silks, another dozen of the finest colors? Tapestries of hand-woven wool dyed with Persian stains? Or perhaps you prefer exquisite jewelry? Crafted silver and gold, gems cut flawless to any eye? Enough to provide for your family's care as well as for your trading house? Or maybe you would like both."
The host paused here and waited for Aloysius to raise his eyes. When their gazes met, the other said, "It would be a contract solely between us. In exchange for your daughter's hand, I will provide shipments every third month. For life. Transport at my expense. She will have an easy life. Rest assured. She will dine every night as you have, wear silks and woolens as fine as yours — be mistress of this palace and all the lands about it."
The faceless figure towered suddenly over him. "Tell me, merchant, does your daughter have a price?"
"Yes."
Mocking laughter rang in the air as his host turned. A glass of brandy appeared on the mantel just as a black-gloved hand reached out. The garbed figure tilted the liquid into the shadow where a face must have been and then replaced the empty glass on the mantle, where it vanished as if it had never been.
"But — but she must agree to it!" Aloysius stuttered, trying to regain some control over a situation spinning quickly from his grasp.
"Oh, yes!" The slow hiss of sarcasm taunted him. "Yes, she must. You understand nothing unless you understand that, my dear fellow."
"Why —? I don't follow?"
"Angelique must be told everything, Aloysius. She must be told how this marriage will save your poor, dying house and, more than that, restore it to rich splendor! She must be told about the pampering and benefits this marriage would bring your beloved, crippled wife. Of how it will launch her brothers into the best of circles!
"But!" and here that frightening figure once again rounded on him. "She must also be told of the enchantment."
"She'd never —"
"Oh, yes! She must know this is a magicked place with secrets too ancient to be revealed! She must know she comes to me... the most perverted, grotesque of creatures known to this earth!"
Silence descended like a fist. The host's gloved hands gripped the mantelpiece, head bowed and slightly turned away. The stillness lingered, and then was broken by the merchant's hoarse voice, "Shipments every two months."
The other drew in a sharp breath. A terrible tension engulfed the room. And then laughter sprang suddenly from the stranger, wild and almost hysterical, and echoed in the high vaulted ceilings and the corridors beyond.
Abruptly, and before Aloysius could get his answer, Culdun appeared at the man's elbow.
"I will show you to your quarters, sir."
Aloysius rose, shaking, and followed.
"Merchant!"
The man paused in the doorway; he did not dare look back.
"Every two months — until your death. Culdun will see the first lot is ready to go with you in the morning. In two week's time, I will send an escort for your daughter — or for return of the goods."
Aloysius stiffened. Had he really sold his daughter to this... creature?
"And merchant —"
His heart choked his throat in fear. What else would be asked of him?
"Tell her, I will not beat her."
Of everything he expected to hear, this was not among the possibilities. Disbelief muted him.
"You will tell her — swear it!"
"By my oath!" he nearly screamed in his anxiety and fear.
"Good." The other turned away and the merchant was led to his rooms.
When Culdun returned, the other was standing in the same place as still as stone.
"My Liege?" Culdun ventured.
"Yes, Culdun?"
"Will you send the token rose as usual?"
For a long moment, there was no reply. Then the cloaked figure nodded. "Everything as usual, Culdun. I'll leave it up to you."
"Yes, my Liege."
After he departed, the only company in the room was loneliness. The fire crackled as a log settled. A ticking echoed from the tall clock standing in the comer. The midnight hour chimed.
A hand lifted to push the red cloak back and uncover hair of the darkest ebony. Unruly and curly, it fell to shoulder length, poking out of the silver clasp which fastened at the nape. The face was shadowed with grief. The long lines of nose and delicate cheekbones were sharpened, almost gaunt, with a haunting despair. The dark eyes and the slender arch of brow reflected only emptiness.
Head bent, burying a smooth forehead against the still-cloaked crook of an arm, shoulders shuddering, the Liege cried.
Chapter 2
Angelique leaned against the wall, gazing down into the worn, empty courtyard from her window seat. She turned her neck a little, easing the stiffness in her shoulder. Behind her, in the small room, her mother's raspy breathing rose and fell in a familiar rhythm.
He had beaten her again, but had taken to using his bare hands — she would be sore for a while, but the bruises, if any, would be less than those from a strap. After all, his heart hadn't really been in it. Angelique couldn't remember what she had or hadn't done. She knew it really had nothing to do with her chores. Aloysius was upset because she had not agreed to this marriage, although she had not objected either. He had said she had two weeks to decide. It had barely been one.
In her hands, she held the silver rose. It was beautifully crafted, the shimmering light bright white against its polished finish. There were veins etched in its single leaf, and the petals were half-opened. The thorns pricked as sharply as those of any real bud. The thorns. They were unsettling reminders of life's realities. Despite Aloysius' assurances, Angelique hardly knew anything about this noble.
But Angelique knew Aloysius. He was a man who might mean well at one time or another, but his own selfishness often won out over the needs of others. A new pair of boots for his favored eldest, Ivan, would take precedence over coal for Mama's room, since outward appearances reflected well on him. And profit always won out over honesty. There wasn't much that didn't take precedence over his bastard daughter-by-marriage.
Angelique doubted that he had mentioned that little scandalous secret to her prospective suitor. It was something never mentioned outside the family, and she knew it must have been a relief when Aloysius discovered her mother's lover hadn't left some noticeable mark of paternity upon the daughter. Her eyes were the same color as her mother's and her hair the same burnished brown as Ivan's. Of the three of them, only Phillip had Aloysius' lighter coloring.
A droll smile tilted her mouth as Angelique thought of Ivan. Not for the first time did she wonder if perhaps he was her full-blood brother. There was a certain amount of irony in that possibility, given Ivan's favored position. But that was a private speculation that Angelique had never shared. Disgracing Ivan would not change anything; it would only cause pain. So she had kept her suspicions to herself. She was not one given much to vengeance.
Now there could be money enough to reopen the servant's quarters, which also meant more care for Mama. She knew Aloysius was wary of gossip, and he would find a nursemaid or two for his wife merely to ensure that the rest of the city did not accuse him of neglect. After all, such a reputation was not good for business. And finally there would be fuel enough to keep this little room warm, winter and summer both.
"Angelique?"
Her mother's voice called the young woman out of her musings and she went to the bedside quickly, her bare feet making little noise on the barren, wood floor. She smiled, the tenderness she felt for her mother bringing a warm glow to her face, and gently lifted the fragile woman into a sitting position. With practiced swiftness, she plumped up the pillows and re-tucked the tattered quilt.
"Do you have time to talk with me today?"
"I always have time to talk with you," Angelique replied with a smile, a
s she curled a leg up under her skirts and carefully settled herself on the bed.
"Do you still have the rose?"
"Yes." She reached to the bedside table to retrieve it.
Her mother's trembling hands took the slender sculpture. Her mother had been fascinated by the rose ever since Aloysius' return. Angelique felt no need to warn her of the thorns. She knew well of thorns.
"This noble must be a tender soul."
Curious, Angelique tipped her head, pushing the dark waves of her hair over a shoulder. "Why do you say that, Mama?"
"The detail." Fingers, joints thickened by arthritis, trembled beneath the leaf. "Only a man sensitive to beauty would send this rose. One such as my husband would have sent a less exquisite piece, a piece that was measured by the weight of silver rather than the workmanship. A man like my husband would find the silver more precious than the craft of sculpting it." Carefully, her mother handed the rose back to Angelique. "What has he told you of this man?"
"You know what Aloysius has said, Mama. I've told you a dozen times."
"Tell me again."
It was then Angelique realized how much her mother wanted her to marry this noble. It was not for the family business nor for the luxuries it would bring Mama, but because she wanted to know Angelique would have all those things she could not provide.
"Tell me, Angelique. What did he say?"
"Well, he's said a great many things." Gently, she took her mother's hand. "He says the palace is a magickal place with walls covered in beautiful tapestries and the finest carpets from the Orient covering the floor. He says the woodcraft of table and chair, clocks and railings could not be finer in a German Meister's shop."
"A prosperous house."
"Yes." Angelique smiled at her mother's child-like eagerness. "It is a very prosperous house, Mama. Garments only of the finest spun silk, food prepared with only the best ingredients and with most exquisite care. It is as prosperous as the village and lands beholden to it."
"You would never have want of anything."
"No, never in such a wondrous place."
"And the Liege?"
"Aloysius says the Liege is honorable. One who keeps promises and has brought prosperity to all in the land." Angelique's smile was strained as she remembered there was no specific name, no specific anything attached to this suitor. Aloysius' vagueness in describing the head of this household was legitimately disconcerting. She knew it was likely this noble was balding, pot-bellied and suffering from gout in at least one of his legs.
"But he values people, he said?"
"Yes... yes, he did say that." Angelique pulled herself back from her thoughts with an effort. "He said this Liege was respectful even of his servants — giving them little bows of acknowledgment and so forth."
"A kind man." Her mother patted Angelique's hand. "And he would not beat you."
"He said he would not." Angelique swallowed hard; her mother knew of Aloysius' temper, although they never spoke openly of it.
"Money, position, a home of beauty. So much you could never have here, my love."
Angelique moved nearer, slipping an arm around her mother's shoulders as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. "But if I left, I would not have you."
Angelique's mother shook her head tiredly. "You will not have me forever, child. And I worry that you will be too old for marrying if you wait for my death."
Angelique's reply was a soft chuckle and a gentle hug. "Then I simply will not marry."
"And when the boys do?"
Angelique shifted uncomfortably. The thought of being the kitchen maid to her brothers' families had never been an appealing idea, but it was a realistic one.
"There are many things that are uncertain in our lives, Angelique." Her mother's eyes began to close. The effort of talking and sitting had begun to take its toll. "It may be that marriage to an old pot-belly would be less terrible than the drafts of the kitchen maid's attic room. But it may be more repulsive to share your bed with someone like that than to scrub the hearthstones. You must decide which you will risk."
"It will be alright, Mama." Angelique fought her own tears as she settled the thin, small woman back under the quilt. Her mother's frailty, her skin so icy cold even on such a warm day, frightened her.
Her gaze fell to the nightstand where the silver rose lay. In spite of Aloysius' half-truths, Angelique knew what her decision would be.
It seemed inevitable.
Chapter 3
Although it was midmorning, the damp mists of dawn still lingered. Aloysius paced the parlor floorboards, muttering about the time and how he really ought to be in town with his sons. It didn't seem right to him to leave his new shop without its proprietor's care so soon.
But when Aloysius had started to mumble about the blessings of a house that skirted the city's edge, Angelique had fled to her mother's room. Her stomach was tied in enough knots without being reminded of his own misgivings. And she knew that he had them, even if he wouldn't voice them directly for fear of discouraging her.
So she had quietly taken her window seat above the courtyard and schooled herself to wait. Her mother's faint snore was reassuring, and Angelique was relieved that the sleeping powder had finally taken effect. She half-wished the woman would awaken but they had said their good-byes at dawn, and it had been days since her mother had slept well.
Below, boards creaked under Aloysius' feet and she sighed. A breeze fluttered past the tattered lace curtain. The scents of dust straw and sweaty horses mingled with a green freshness from the meadows beyond. The soft coolness of the woods that lined the road came to her too, and Angelique heard a bird begin a friendly squabble with its neighbor somewhere. Spring was here at last.
She felt vaguely sad at leaving. She had spent her entire life in this house. She knew every worn piece of linen, every unraveled thread in the carpets, every splintered edge of wood. It was familiar place, and her mother's room had always been welcoming But this had never been her home. She had never felt she truly belonged here. Aloysius and her brothers hadn't let her forget that she disgraced them, and therefore herself, with her very existence.
Then, suddenly, she had a choice. Since her decision to leave had been announced, Aloysius and her brothers had begun to treat her differently, almost considerately. The change amused her but it hadn't made her feel any more a part of their family.
It was strange, but as this day drew closer, Angelique had become aware of a growing excitement that was replacing her initial anxiety. A faint hope formed within her that somehow this new life would welcome her and she would find a place where she could belong. She held onto that hope tenaciously.
The clatter of horse and carriage across the cobblestone broke the quiet. Angelique pulled herself up with a start and peered through the thin lace. Her eyes widened at the sight of six matched grays and the white carriage. Aloysius hurried out to greet the small man who climbed down from his seat beside the driver. Her nerves fluttered as she realized the manservant was declining to enter the house. It was time. She was actually leaving.
Hastily Angelique stood, glancing at her dress and smoothing the blue-gray silk down over the layers of petticoats. She had never worn a dress this fine, although the fashion was simple as she was traveling. Since the journey would be two or three days, she had declined Aloysius' offer of a hoop skirt or tighter corset.
She picked up her heavy shawl. Hand-knitted and embroidered with small flowers along the fringed hem, it was not very fashionable. But it was her shawl, made by her mother years ago, and it was the only thing she was taking that truly belonged to her. Her trousseau was to be a gift from her betrothed, Aloysius had explained. All she needed to bring was the silver rose. She was to present it to the nobleman herself as proof of her promise to marry.
Angelique checked again to be sure the rose was in her drawstring purse. Then she touched a quick hand to her hair; the silver combs seemed secure. The usual tumbling mass of her hair was cooperating for
the moment.
She took a deep breath, a slow one since the little-used corset wouldn't allow any other kind. Her eyes fell tenderly on her mother's sleeping figure. She wouldn't risk a kiss but would remember the peaceful smile. It had been a long time since she had seen that special smile on her mother's lips.
Aloysius met her at the foot of the stairs. Angelique indulged him as he hugged her and murmured something about how beautiful she looked. Then he was hustling her through the house to the courtyard.
"Now be tolerant, girl. All servants seem a bit strange at times. Just remember you're the mistress, and everything will come out right."
Angelique looked at him sideways, not quite understanding what he was talking about and musing that he, of anyone, had little or no idea of how servants should be treated. Given her personal experience with his rather absurd expectations, she guessed their opinions were different on how any household should be run.
"Angelique, this is Culdun. He's the palace steward."
"Good day, miss." Culdun bowed politely, and Angelique tipped her head in acknowledgment despite Aloysius' protesting squeeze on her elbow. "Your father says you have accepted the terms of the proposal."
Angelique swallowed hard. "Yes."
Culdun studied her frankly, his dark gray eyes fastened or her face. As Angelique looked back, she got the impression his eye had seen much and that he was far older than he seemed. And she saw kindness, too. In that first instant, Angelique knew that Culdun was an extraordinary man. Aloysius was right; he was no mere servant. She thought she might like him, even if his little braid and odd-colored eyes seemed strange to her initially.
"I am to ask again." His eyes held her directly. "Do you come of your own free will?"
This time there was more determination in her answer "Yes, I do."
Culdun appeared satisfied, and Aloysius finally let go of the breath he'd been holding.
The steward stepped back to open the carriage door, the coach steps unfolding at a touch. "If you will, Mistress? Our escort is waiting."
Roses & Thorns Page 2
