Dark Splendor (21 page)

Then how could she be so connivingly
flirting with his brother? Had she only acted a very good part the
night before? And how many men would she attempt to attract? A
sharp pain stabbed at his chest. Roman clamped his jaw tight and
swung around, heading for the stables.

The harshness had not left his eyes when
Martha’s soft voice halted him as he tightened the girth on
Trader’s saddle.

“Roman.” She laid a hand on his arm. “May I
join you for a ride? Her voice sparkled with merriment. “That is,
if you were planning to ride alone.” A gentle beauty lit her smile
and from her blue-velvet eyes a special warmth flowed.

The pearl-gray habit she wore fit like a
finely stitched glove. Her fair hair was twisted into a coil that
rested on the back of her slender neck. She wore, set to one side,
a becoming cap of exactly the same shade of gray as her jacket, and
her silk blouse of pale pink was edged with white lace and
fetchingly ruffled at the neck.

“I would be delighted to have you ride with
me.” The angry frown left Roman’s face. “Martha, my sweet,” he
crooned, “you are as refreshing and pure as the clear water in a
brook.” Smiling lightly, he turned away to fasten a strap on the
saddle and to slap Trader’s neck gently.

Martha’s light laughter rang out. “Why,
Roman, how complimentary you are, when you haven’t had a moment to
spare me in days.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Your
afternoons, I believe, have been devoted to some new diversion of
late.” Her brows rose a little. “Will you saddle Cricket for
me?”

“Cricket?” He hesitated. Had he come to
think of Cricket as Silvia’s horse? His eyes swung back to Martha.
“Would you not prefer to try the new mare?”

“No,” she said purposefully. “It’s Cricket I
want. It was I who trained her to be a lady’s mount, you may
recall. I like a ride on her now and then.”

Roman exhaled his breath loudly. “Then
Cricket it shall be,” he said flatly.

“Roman.” He had opened Cricket’s stall and
stepped inside. Martha rested her gloved hands on the door, her
pert chin barely reaching over the top. “You asked me this morning
if I had seen Silvia. I told you I had not. Perhaps I was wrong,
but I didn’t want to upset you,” she purred in a voice as soft as
silk. “You seem fond of the girl.”

His back was turned to her, and she could
not see the flinty look in his eyes.

“I feel an obligation to see that she is
entertained. Nothing more.”

“Then it would not concern you that I saw
her in the garden with Morgan a while ago. I believe they were
quite intent on each other.” Martha’s voice was innocently cool.
“They may still be there if you wish to see her.”

Roman clenched his fists. Blood rushed
through his veins like a swollen river straining at his banks.

“I have no desire to see Miss Bradstreet.”
He deliberately crushed down a memory of Silvia locked in his
brother’s arms. “I am grateful to have my time free,” he ground out
ruthlessly. “It is, after all, only fair that we share the task of
entertaining Miss Bradstreet.”

Martha smiled and waited primly as Roman
tossed the saddle on Cricket’s back and jerked the cinch so tight
that the little mare snorted and made a wild kick in his
direction.

“Easy, girl,” he said, loosening the girth a
bit and patting her flank. His brow creased with a frown. It was
unlike him to let his temper bleed into his treatment of the
horses.

A moment later he led the mare from the
stall, and when she was beside Trader, untied the gelding and led
both horses from the stable. Outside, he hitched Cricket beside a
mounting block and Trader at a post nearby.

“I’ll need a boost, Roman,” Martha called to
him.

There was a new gentleness in his touch as
he gripped Martha’s waist and swung her around. She felt it and
responded, laughing merrily as her skirt flew out like the silver
wings of a summer butterfly.

“A boost. Not a flight to the moon,” she
said breathlessly when he set her down. A delighted sparkle shone
in her eyes and gaiety sounded in her voice.

Roman’s hands rested lightly on Martha’s
trim waist. He smiled, seeing the happiness in her face. Slowly he
leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Why, Roman,” she whispered, lifting her
lips to his. “One of your rare kisses? And you’ve not even been
away for months.”

He laughed. “It’s you who are the rarity,
love.” A smile broadened on his face. “Honest and beautiful, the
kind of woman who would make a wonderful wife.” He sighed and his
lids lowered over clouded eyes. “‘Tis a shame all women cannot be
so.”

Martha touched his cheek, lightly stroking
it with her fingers. A moment later he had lifted her to the saddle
and had bounded astride Trader.

***

Silvia kept to herself for the next two
days. Pretending to be ill, she spent most of the time alone in her
rooms. She did feel a kind of exhaustion, a deep weariness that
drained her strength and which no amount of sleep would relieve.
She went out only when she was certain she would not encounter
anyone in the house or on the grounds.

In time, the entire episode came to be like
a bad dream and she might have persuaded herself it had never
happened if Schlange’s health had not taken a turn for the
better.

Her spirits had actually begun to improve.
She was even able to face herself in the mirror without dissolving
into tears by the third day. On that morning she called for Anna to
help her dress. For the first time since her visit to Schlange’s
rooms she was mindful of which gown she chose.

Outside, a rippling breeze stirred and birds
filled the air with sweet melodies as she sat at the window.
Breathing deeply, Silvia forced herself to think coolly and
logically. She couldn’t shut herself away forever or hope to find a
way to escape her fate if she simply shut her door on the world.
Just the briefest flicker of determination showed in her eyes. She
made up her mind that she would go downstairs for lunch. It was
important that she sound out everyone and determine if she could
count on anyone to aid her. If not the family, possibly one of the
servants could be of help.

She shuddered, remembering the ominous
manservant Odin and wondering if he kept a watch on the house,
though it seemed no one was paying any mind to her the last few
days. No one had inquired of her health, and that only served to
strengthen her suspicions about Schlange’s hold on the family.

Only Vivien had stopped by her room each
day, and being satisfied she was simply frightened from her
encounter with Schlange, was content to leave her to herself. As it
turned out, Silvia’s newfound courage came too late. Vivien visited
her room an hour before lunch, and when she left later, Silvia was
too upset to see anyone.

“Mr. Schlange is much improved and will
announce the marriage at dinner this evening as planned. He has
arranged a special celebration. The others are prepared for a
surprise. It is all according to his plan.”

Silvia’s shoulders drooped and all her
brooded-over doubts of the past days returned.

“Must it be so soon?”

Vivien’s face darkened menacingly.

“He may have little time left. It is
essential it be done while he has the strength to attend to the
matter himself.”

Silvia swallowed hard. “And what is my part
in this evening other than to be on display?”

Vivien’s brows lifted sharply. “That is
precisely your part. To be on display. To be charming. To present
yourself as a lonely bride who longs for more male attention than
her husband can give.”

“Will that not look ludicrous when I am on
my husband’s arm?”

“Your husband will not be in attendance.
Willy never sees his cousins. Not since the accident. Mr. Schlange
realized the boy’s condition and has kept it secret all these
years. They have grown accustomed to what they believe are Willy’s
eccentricities. He communicates by letters, letters I have written
at Mr. Schlange’s direction.”

“Then they do not know of his mental state
or his disfigurement?”

“They believe he has chosen to live his life
as a recluse due to bouts of ill health and because he suffers
depression since his mother’s death. No one knows the boy’s true
state, save the three of us. From the letters he has written, they
think he is a learned and philosophical man who is cursed with poor
health. No one speaks of him, out of respect to Wilhelm. They all
believe their uncle has been deeply saddened by his son’s
withdrawal from society. His nephews have each tried to be a more
real son to Wilhelm; Martha has tried to become the woman Magda was
when Wilhelm married her.”

It was then that Silvia realized the depth
of the cousins’ devotion to their uncle, and her despair grew as
she knew she could count on no one. Yet the memory of Willy’s
vacant eyes and pitiable crushed face plunged her into the deepest
despair, for it was he who had been wronged most severely. Why
could Schlange not see the dreadful mistake he was making? Once
again she forgot her own unhappiness as her heart went out to
Willy.

She looked accusingly to Vivien. “It is
scandalous that he should have been shut away from people and
hidden like a madman. I cannot believe a father could treat his son
so.”

Vivien glowered at her reproachfully.

“Mr. Schlange has done what he thought best
for the boy. Had people known or seen him, they would not have been
kind. As it is, he has been shielded from the harshness of
life.”

“Willy has had no life.” Silvia’s voice
filled with anguish. “He has been kept like a caged animal. Surely,
Vivien, you cannot approve of his treatment or of what Schlange
proposes to do.” Her pride vanished and she pleaded. “You could
help me get away, to end this madness!”

“No! And I warn you not to think of defying
Mr. Schlange. The consequences would end us all. You, the boy, all
of us.” Her face grew grim and her eyes cold as ice. “You will do
precisely as I instruct you.”

Silvia sank weakly to the bed. She had no
allies. Willy’s life rested in her feeble hands, and she felt
obligated to preserve that precious gift at any cost.

A tortured dullness showed in her eyes as
they followed Vivien’s movements. Shortly the hawkish woman was
beside the bed spreading out a cream satin gown for Silvia to see.
It was the one dress she thought Schlange had been mistaken in
ordering for her. The style was plain and the color totally
unremarkable on her.

She wondered why, if she were to practice
seduction, Vivien would choose such a simple gown. The rounded
neckline dipped modestly low, the bodice molded to her figure but
was without ornament or decoration. The skirt, though full and
softly gathered, was cut in a simple line, and it too was without
adornment. The long sleeves puffed slightly at the shoulders and
tapered to long points at the wrists.

Vivien read the questions in her eyes. “This
is the gown Mr. Schlange wishes you to wear for the celebration,”
she announced. “I will instruct Anna how to arrange your hair. You
are to wait in your room until you are sent for.” She paused to
make her point. He wishes you to make an entrance, to dazzle.”

Silvia sneered. “I hardly see how he expects
me to behave normally or have a civil reception. They will think me
a fool for having kept the marriage a secret.”

“They will think nothing amiss. They have
been prepared for a surprise, as have the servants. It will seem
natural to them that he waited until he himself was well enough to
present you as Willy’s bride. They are accustomed to his ways.”
Vivien paused thoughtfully. Her voice lowered. “I warn you, though.
They may not be pleased that Willy has married.”

“I should think his cousins would rejoice
that he has found a companion, since they are not to know the
marriage is a charade.”

“You are naive. They know Willy is not
capable of heading an empire. They anticipate that at Mr.
Schlange’s death the power and wealth of the Schlange estate will
pass into their waiting hands.” She cackled, her eyes gleaming like
black beads. “Can you see the irony of it? He is a cunning old
devil and knows his nephews well. They aid him willingly while he
uses them to his own ends. And now one of them will father the
child who will take the scepter from their hands.” She cackled
again, louder. “I have never known one of his schemes to fail.”

This one would, Silvia thought defiantly,
feeling a tightness in the back of her neck. No man had the right
to manipulate lives as Schlange planned to do. She would beat him
somehow. She would find a way to protect Willy, but she would not
succumb to Schlange’s will. She would let him think he was getting
his way. It would give her time to conceive a plan for escape.

For most of the endless afternoon, Silvia
sat in a comfortable chair, her eyes closed, her mind ravaged by
mounting doubts and fear. When Anna came to help her dress, the
usually gregarious girl was tight-lipped, her face peaked and red,
showing the strain of her imposed silence. Silvia did not try to
begin a conversation. She knew warnings had been passed to Anna to
keep quiet. And now, as Silvia moved leadenly through the motions
of getting dressed, in spite of her resolution to defy Schlange, a
paleness stole into her cheeks and a deep tremor started in her
chest.

Her eyes were closed as Anna brushed and
twisted her hair, piling it in sleek, twisted coils high on her
head. When she looked at her reflection, she was surprised at the
elegant but simple coiffure. Again she wondered at Schlange’s
purpose. It was hardly the style to turn a man’s head.

Anna laced her into the cream satin gown and
took her leave once her work was done. Alone again, Silvia ran her
hands over the rich fabric. The cloth was smooth as glass and the
dress a lovely fit. Yet when she looked into the mirror, she saw a
woman who looked colorless and washed-out. Cream satin was for a
wallflower, not for a femme fatale as Schlange had demanded she
be.