Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) (32 page)

"I have guessed that already. I know Marquis's sudden marriage to me came as a shock to his family. It will be an equal shock for my mother when she finds out. I will try to be patient, knowing how important Marquis's family is to him."

Agustin's eyes danced. "Oh, how you are going to liven up this old house. You have brought new blood to this family. Whether or not they realize it, you are just what they needed. Even though I am Spanish, I never approved of an arranged marriage. Marquis is very fortunate indeed to have found you."

Valentina was surprised by his words. When he bent and kissed her on the cheek, she smiled.

"Fight for what you want, Valentina," he urged, "but only after you have discovered who is your true enemy. Watch for trouble and be ready for it."

Without further explanation, Doctor Anza opened the door and disappeared. Valentina tried to make sense out of his conversation. First he told her to be patient; then he advised her to fight for what she wanted. Who was the enemy he had tried to warn her of? He had issued her a warning—that she knew.

Moving back to Marquis's bed, she stood over him for a long moment. Would she fight to hold him? They were man and wife, but he did not truly belong to her and probably never would. Could she fight against the love he felt for Isabel? Turning away, she walked over to the window, quietly slipping between the heavy green velvet window hangings. She discovered a wide door, with two windows on each side running from floor to ceiling.

Valentina pushed open the door, moved out onto the balcony, and stepped into another world. The master suite balcony connected Marquis's bedroom and her room next door. There were stairs leading into the courtyard. Valentina wished she dared go down into the garden.

She watched fascinated as the first golden rays of morning sunlight chased the last remaining night shadows across the courtyard. The birds were singing and the scent of flowers filled the air while the fountain sparkled and shimmered.

The beauty of this gentle world took Valentina's breath away now, just as it had the first time she had viewed it. This was Marquis's home. This was where the Vincentes had reigned supreme for generations. She could see why Marquis was proud of his home and wanted it to remain in his family.

Hearing voices below, Valentina watched two brightly dressed Indian women carrying trays of food. When the delicious aroma reached Valentina, she remembered she had not eaten since the morning before, and her stomach growled in protest. When the two women moved out of view, Valentina glanced at the long table below her, which was covered with the snowy white cloth. It was laden with several different kinds of fruit, meat, eggs, and many dishes she did not recognize. It was a table fit for a king, and Valentina reminded herself that on their land the Vincentes
were
kings.

There was a vine next to her that climbed up the iron grillwork to the balcony. She smiled, reached out, and plucked a bright red flower. Raising it to her nose, she smelled its sweet fragrance. Casting a last glance below, she wondered if this would ever seem like home to her. She remembered that on first seeing Paraiso del Norte she had felt as if she had somehow belonged, yet now that she was married to the son of the house, she no longer felt that belonging.

Reentering Marquis's bedroom, Valentina saw that Dona Anna was standing beside her son, her eyes blazing, her hands resting on her hips in a sign of agitation. "You said you would stay with my son. Why have you left him alone?"

"I only went out—"

"I knew you were not to be trusted," Dona Anna broke in. "I should never have left him with you."

Valentina felt her temper rising, but remembering Doctor Anza's words, she kept it under control. "I was only on the balcony a moment. I would never—"

"You are free to leave now. I do not need your help to look after Marquis."

Valentina saw the anger burning in Dona Anna's eyes and knew the woman was being unfair and unreasonable. She had done nothing wrong, but now was not the time to defend herself. Looking at Marquis's sleeping form, Valentina walked toward the door. "I will be back later in the day," she announced in a soft whisper. "At that time I will sit with my husband."

Once in the hall, Valentina leaned against the door, feeling completely drained. Was she going to be forced to battle Marquis's mother every day for the rest of her life? Valentina had never before dealt with anyone who so blatantly disliked her.

Gathering her thoughts, she walked slowly toward her bedroom. She wished for her own mother and Salamar, and she longed for peace of mind and spirit.

The night before, Valentina had paid little heed to the bedroom that had been given her. Now her eyes moved over the room and she realized it was only half furnished. There were no curtains for the windows, and the wooden floor had no rug. The only furniture in the room was the bed and a chair, and against the wall stood a tall wardrobe.

Valentina knew at once that this was to have been Isabel's bedroom. Apparently the decorating had stopped when the wedding had been canceled. Walking over to the wardrobe, she opened the door and stared at the gowns that hung there. She did not need to be told that the flamboyantly colored gowns belonged to Isabel Estrada.

An ache started in her throat and spread throughout her body. She closed the wardrobe door and turned away from the grim reminder of the woman Marquis loved. She wondered if she would ever learn why the wedding had been called off.

Walking stiff legged to the bed, she lay back and closed her eyes. It took too much effort to think about anything. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Isabel Estrada picked up the vase of flowers and threw it across the room, where it smashed against the wall. "How dare Marquis replace me with that puny English woman!" she screamed. "I will not take this kind of treatment from anyone. Who does he think he is!"

The Estrada family had been having breakfast when Dona Carmela Lopez, a neighbor known for her malicious gossip, brought them the news of Marquis's marriage to Valentina. Isabel had quietly smoldered as Carmela suggested that Marquis must have fallen in love with the English woman when she had stayed at his home.

After Carmela had finally gone, Isabel flew into a rage, venting her anger on anyone who was within earshot.

"I am ruined. Everyone will think—like that idiot old woman, Carmela—that Marquis got rid of me so he could marry the English woman. I will not stand for anyone pitying me."

"Now, now, Isabel," her mother spoke up. Her eyes darted nervously to her husband at the head of the table, hoping he would help her handle their daughter. "You know it was you who broke off the betrothal, Isabel. Everyone knows it was you who did not want to marry Marquis."

Isabel turned angry eyes on her mother, and the woman cringed. "You are as simpleminded as Carmela. Surely you did not believe me when I told you that I threw Marquis over?" An evil laugh escaped Isabel's red lips. "Marquis is the one who did not want me. He despises me." In a burst of anger, Isabel whirled around, raking her arm across the table and scattering dishes and food on the floor. Broken glass flew everywhere; food ran down the walls, staining the green rug on the dining room floor.

Eleanor was the only one who seemed unaffected by her sister's rampage. She had often seen Isabel fly into rages. She had learned long ago that if she kept her mouth shut, her sister's anger was less likely to be directed at her. Eleanor picked up her tea, now tepid, and took a sip. She acted as if she were detached from the frenzy going on around her.

"But Isabel," her father said, trying to assert his authority as head of the house, "you told me and your mother, right here in this room, that you did not want to marry Marquis Vincente. Had I known that it was he who did not honor our agreement, I would have demanded that he make things right—immediately. I will go at once to Don Alonso. I will demand satisfaction."

A sneer curled Isabel's lips. "You do that, Father, but be prepared to face the consequences. Marquis will tell the world how he found me in the hay with one of your vaqueros."

Senora Estrada licked her dry lips. "What were you doing in the hay?"

Isabel glared at her mother. "You are a simpleton." Leaning into her mother's face, bracing her hands on the table, she spoke slowly and distinctly. "To put it in simple language, so even you can understand it, Mother, I was coupling with one of the hired hands."

Senora Estrada's face whitened in disbelief, and she dropped her eyes. She had never known how to talk to her daughters, least of all Isabel. Perhaps it was because they had been reared only by her and an old-maid aunt in Spain.

Turning burning eyes on her father, Isabel dared him to say anything against her behavior. Pretending he did not hear, he took a bite of food and concentrated on chewing it. One by one, Isabel looked down into the faces of each family member, daring any of them to speak. At last her eyes fell on her sister, and she moved slowly toward her.

"You are glad about this, Eleanor, and do not deny it. You like to see me degraded and humiliated. You are happy that Marquis married someone else."

Eleanor moved off her chair to face her sister. She took courage in hand, ready to voice her opinion, knowing it would bring her sister's anger down on her head. "No one degrades you but yourself, Isabel. I do not blame Marquis for choosing the English woman—she is a lady, and he knows a lady when he sees one."

Isabel screamed out in her rage. Rushing at her sister, she hit her across the face countless times. Eleanor cried out in pain, which brought her father to her rescue. When he tried to stop Isabel, she vented all her anger in one final blow that sent her sister flying across the room, as if she had been a tiny rag doll.

Seeing Eleanor lying in a heap against the wall, Isabel stormed out of the room, vowing she would have her revenge on Marquis and his slut of a wife.

Eleanor felt her father lift her in his arms and heard him tell her mother to send for the doctor. Through the pain, she smiled. Isabel had finally found a man she could not manipulate. Marquis had seen through her right from the start. She was happy that he had taken the English woman as his wife. They would be happy together.

When her father laid her on the bed, she turned her face toward the window so she could see the bright sunlight. "Isabel will have to be watched," she said in a weak voice. "She is quite mad and extremely dangerous!"

24

Valentina had been married to Marquis for four days. In that time, she had seen him awake only once. His mother was determined to keep Valentina away from him. Every day she would go to Marquis's bedroom, only to find the door locked and to be told by servants that Marquis's mother was with him. Not wanting to cause trouble at a time like this, Valentina did not insist on her rights as Marquis's wife.

She kept hoping Marquis would ask for her, but apparently he had not. Each day, Valentina waited in the hallway, all but forgotten by the Vincente family.

Doctor Anza kept Valentina informed about Marquis's progress. He told her that the wound was healing nicely, but still he would not commit himself as to whether or not Marquis would ever be able to walk again.

As time passed, Valentina began to scan the western horizon, looking for some sign of her mother and Salamar. Valentina needed someone around her that belonged to her—a friend in an otherwise hostile camp.

Never invited to dine with the family, Valentina ate. her meals alone in her room. She had been told that Don Alonso was ill and spent most of the day in his bed; otherwise, she knew she would have had a friend in him. Valentina wondered where Rosalia could be spending her time, because she rarely saw her at all.

Dona Anna had been spoon-feeding Marquis a portion of
puchero,
when he pushed her hand away. "I do not want any more; take it away," Marquis said in a tired voice, turning his head to the wall.

"Doctor Anza says you should eat to keep up your strength, my son. Eat just a bit more to please me. I will tell you all that is going on with our neighbors."

"I do not want any more." Now his voice sounded irritated. "Do not mistake me for Rosalia, Mother. I am not your baby who needs constant attention."

"You are just tired of this bed, my son," dona Anna speculated. "You will get used to it after awhile. It is only natural that you should find this life dull at first."

He turned his head sharply and his eyes met hers. "What do you mean, I will get used to it? Are you saying that I will be confined to this bed?" Disbelief clouded his mind. "Are you saying I will never walk?"

His mother lowered her gaze. "I do not wish to take hope from you. Doctor Anza does not know if your legs will again be of use to you."

"My legs?" Marquis looked deeply into her eyes, trying to find answers. "What do you mean?"

"Now, Marquis, do not upset yourself. Doctor Anza says—

"Yes, Mother, what does he say?" Marquis's mind was in a frenzy. It was true that he was unable to move his legs. When the legs had first been injured, there had been excruciating pain; now he felt nothing. For the first time, it occurred to him that his legs might be paralyzed.

In a panic, he strained, trying to move his injured legs. Again and again, he tried to raise them, first one and then the other, while his mother looked on helplessly. Finally, he fell back weakly against the pillows, gasping for breath, facing defeat for the first time in his life. "My God, no," he moaned. "I am a cripple."

Dona Anna's eyes filled with tears, and she threw herself across his chest. "You are not to worry about anything. I will always look after you. Every day I will read to you. The kitchen will be instructed to make only your favorite meals. I will never leave you alone."

Marquis gripped his mother's shoulders and pushed her away. His mind would not accept what she was trying to tell him. She was implying that he would be an invalid confined to his bed! He shook his head. "I will walk again. I will not stay in this bed one day longer than I have to."

Dona Anna feared that if Marquis recovered enough to get out of bed, she would lose him to the English woman. As long as she could keep him dependent on her, she could hold onto him. "After awhile you will be able to be carried to the garden. Perhaps one day you can even ride in a carriage. For now, just let me take care of your needs."

Marquis could see nothing but bleakness and emptiness in his future. His thoughts turned to his wife, the only bright spot in his life. Before today, he had been too ill to question Valentina's absence. He could not remember her coming to his room at all. Why was she not here with him now?

"How is Valentina taking to her new home, Mother?"

"I have had no time to see to her comforts." Dona Anna's eyes narrowed. "I was busy taking care of you."

"Has she been to see me?"

Dona Anna ducked her head. "Not since the first night you were brought home."

Marquis glanced down at the legs that kept him prisoner in his own room and would probably make him a cripple. Who could blame Valentina if she did not want to spend time with him? he thought bitterly. She was young and beautiful. She did not want to be tied down to half a man. The one thing he could never accept from her was sympathy. He could not stand to see those beautiful silver-blue eyes looking at him with pity.

"If Valentina tries to see me, tell her I do not want her in my room. Is that clear?"

Dona Anna nodded, her eyes gleaming with delight. "I will see that she does not disturb you."

"Leave me now." He needed to think about what his mother had just told him. "I want to be alone."

Dona Anna gathered up the tray and paused. "Word has come that the English woman's mother and servant will arrive today. Where shall I put them?"

"Put them in this wing. I believe her mother is ill. Valentina will want her nearby."

"And the servant?"

Marquis's lips curled into a smile. "I believe Salamar will put herself where she wants to be. I doubt that anyone will tell her what to do."

Marquis's mother brushed a kiss across his cheek, saddened by the dull look in his eyes. "I will be back soon. Rosalia will come to sit with you after awhile."

Marquis was not even aware that his mother had left the room. He was thinking how horrified Valentina must be at finding herself married to half a man. There was no will in him to get out of bed. He felt as weak as a babe. He had lost his strength, his pride. He would not allow Valentina to see him this way. It had been a mistake to marry her. He could never be a husband to her now. As his wife, she would be a prisoner the same as he—a prisoner of a cripple.

Doubling his hands into fists, he clamped his jaws tightly together. Would he have to be carried everywhere he went? Could he never hold Valentina in his arms, never give her a child of his body?

Closing his eyes, he saw visions of her beautiful face. He also saw another face, the veiled face of Jordanna— Jordanna, the woman who was having his baby, the woman and the child he had rejected. He could never sort out his feelings where Jordanna was concerned. Perhaps if he could put a face to her, it would help.

Marquis pounded his clenched fists against his legs, feeling no pain, feeling nothing. This must be his punishment for having denied his own flesh, he reasoned. He had to see Tyree and tell him to find Jordanna. Something had to be done for her. She had to know he hadn't deliberately deserted her.

Lying quietly on the bed, lulled by the soft musical sound of the fountain in the courtyard below his balcony, Marquis fell in a troubled sleep.

Since there was no mirror in Valentina's bedroom, she could not see whether or not her hair was parted straight. Brushing the golden tresses until they crackled, she wrapped them around into a coil and secured it to the top of her head.

Rosalia had brought Valentina several of her gowns to wear, but since Rosalia was not as tall as Valentina, the gowns were too short. Valentina preferred to wear her own wine-colored riding habit, now that the tears from the cave-in had been mended.

Valentina could feel herself being drawn up like a fish in a net. She had no rights in this house. She did not really belong here and probably never would. She realized if she were not careful, she could be swallowed up by the traditions of the Vincente family and lose her own identity.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Valentina pushed her feet into her riding boots. Time lay heavily on her hands, and she did not know what to do with herself. As always, her eyes traveled to the wardrobe, where Isabel's gowns still hung. They were a constant reminder to Valentina that she had not been Marquis's first choice as a wife.

Pacing back and forth restlessly like a caged animal, Valentina noticed something on the wall that made her stop in her tracks. There had once been a connecting door between this bedroom and Marquis's. It had been sealed up and painted over, but she could still see where the hinges of a door had been.

Her shoulders sagged as the meaning of what she saw became clear. If Marquis had married Isabel, the door would not have been removed. After he decided to marry her, he must have sent word ahead that he wanted the door sealed.

"No," she told herself, "I will not cry. I will not let anything Marquis does make me cry again." Valentina thought saying it out loud would give her courage, but it did little to stop the tears that spilled down her face. Having a door removed might seem a small thing to some people, but to Valentina it had great significance. Marquis was showing her her place in his life. They might have a private wing to themselves, but the only access to his bedroom would be through the hall or across the balcony.

In that moment, Valentina made a firm decision. She would no longer humiliate herself by trying to see Marquis. If he had wanted her, he would have sent for her by now. She could feel the gap between them widening. Marquis was proving to her that he wanted nothing to do with her. Even from his sickbed, he was making it clear that she had no place in his life—neither she nor her baby.

Hearing a rap on the door, Valentina smoothed her gown and moved across the room to admit whoever it was. As the door swung wide, Valentina cried out with joy. Salamar smiled brightly before wrapping Valentina in her arms.

"Salamar, you are here! I thought you would never arrive." She glanced over Salamar's shoulder expectantly. "Where is Mother? Didn't she come? Was she too ill to make the journey?"

Salamar laughed and moved into the room, turning around and assessing the scant furnishings with disapproval before she answered Valentina. "Your mother has been tucked into bed just down the hallway and has already fallen asleep. She took the journey well and will be anxious to see you when she wakes."

"Do you have a room yet?"

"There is a small room just off your mother's. I have told a servant to put a bed in there so I can be near her."

Valentina clasped Salamar's hand. "You just cannot know how glad I am that you and Mother are here. I have been so . . . everything is different here."

"Tell me all about what is going on," Salamar said, removing her brown leather gloves and tossing them on the bed. "How is Marquis?"

"I only know what the doctor has told me. It isn't known if he will regain the use of his legs," Valentina admitted sadly. "He may not be able to walk."

"Nonsense. It is probably an injured nerve."

"It's serious, Salamar."

"I would not lose heart yet. There are many things we can do to help him."

"I haven't been allowed to see Marquis since the first day. He hasn't sent for me. His mother stands guard over him, as though he were the family jewels, and I the thief."

Salamar heard the hurt in Valentina's voice. "Have you accepted his mother's word as law? The Valentina I know would never allow anyone to dictate to her."

Valentina made a hopeless gesture. "What can I do? I am an unwanted stranger here."

"Have faith, Valentina. You can be instrumental in helping him heal."

"How could—"

Valentina was interrupted by another rap on the door. "We will talk later," Salamar said, opening the door to admit several servants carrying Valentina's trunks. She directed them as to where to place the heavy pieces. After the men had gone, she walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, giving Valentina a questioning glance.

"These are not quite your style. Besides being too big, you would never wear the bright colors."

"They belong to Isabel, the woman Marquis was supposed to marry."

Without ceremony, Salamar pulled the gowns out of the wardrobe and walked across the room like a woman with a purpose. Opening the door, she tossed the gowns into the hallway. "I am surprised you did not do that yourself. Has marriage made you soft in the head, or did you lose your courage somewhere between here and San Francisco?" Salamar inquired with a gesture of dusting her hands.

Valentina smiled brightly, feeling better than she had in days. "You are my courage," she admitted with tears in her eyes. "You give me the strength to stand up and battle the world."

Salamar nodded. "Good! That's the Valentina I know. But your courage does not come from me. You have always stood up for what you believed in. You just forgot for the moment what it was that needed defending."

"I don't know where to start, Salamar."

"You can start by throwing away that rag you are wearing and slipping into one of your lovely gowns. You are wearing your hair in the style of a woman twice your age. A woman needs to look her best in order to be armed with courage when she faces the enemy."