Sonnet to a Dead Contessa (31 page)

David kicked at a clod, but he gave a smile. “Don’t be too long. Grown-ups talk too much.”

Serafina smiled at that last remark. “I don’t know where he gets those ideas. He’s very firm though. Come along, let’s get in the shade. It’s getting warm.” She noticed he did not speak as she led the way to some chairs underneath a spreading chestnut tree. She sat down, and as he took a seat opposite her, Serafina waited for him to speak. His hands were clasped tightly, and there were two vertical lines between his eyebrows—a sure sign that he was thinking hard and trying to put words in order. To make him at ease, she said, “I’d like to go to Mr. Spurgeon’s church with you next Sunday.”

Dylan looked up at once and said, “I’d like nothing better than to take you, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why, are you going out of town?”

Dylan rubbed his forehead. “No, Serafina, I’m not going out of town, but I’m in a position now where I can’t—” He broke off and looked down at the ground and shook his head in despair.

“What’s wrong, Dylan?”

Serafina watched as he lifted his head. She saw that his eyes were cloudy with some sort of doubt. When he spoke, his voice seemed almost harsh. “Meredith and I are going to get married.”

Serafina could not think of a single remark. She stared at Dylan and realised that she had seen the possibility of this, but she had always put it out of her mind. “I’m—surprised to hear that.”

“It’s something that’s out of my past.”

“I don’t understand, Dylan.”

“My best friend was Lewis Brice. I’ve told you about him. He and Meredith married after I left Wales. He was dying, and Meredith said his very last request was that she find me and tell me that he would like very much if I would be a father to Guin—and a husband to her.”

Bells went off in Serafina’s mind. She analysed what he had said and saw that he was terribly unhappy.
I can’t tell him she’s lying because I have no proof.

Dylan waited for her to speak, and then he said, “I hope you understand my position.”

For one moment Serafina did not speak, and then she decided to speak the absolute truth. “Dylan, I thought—I thought you felt something for me.”

“I did, Serafina, but you’re of nobility, and I’m just a plain man.”

“That doesn’t matter. Do you love her, Dylan?”

“Not like—” He paused then and swallowed hard. “Not like I should, but I owe Lewis a great deal. And I can help Meredith and Guin.”

She stared at him and could not identify her feelings. She knew there was anger there and also jealousy. She had felt it before. “I don’t know much about real love, Dylan. I didn’t have any of it in my marriage. You know I haven’t believed in romance, that I fought against it because I thought that all the romances in books were made-up things.” She paused, then made a decision. “I want to tell you about my husband—and about my marriage.”

“Are you sure, Serafina?” He was watching her closely, for he had long known that her marriage had been unhappy, though he knew only a few details. He was aware that her parents knew little enough, though they had seen that Serafina was miserable. “You don’t have to tell me if it will hurt you to say it.”

“I—I think I need to speak of it, Dylan. I know I told you that Charles liked . . . boys . . . and I was afraid for David, though, as far as I know, he stayed away from him because David was the heir he desperately wanted. But I have never told anyone how he treated me.” Her voice was unsteady, and Dylan was aware of the pain in her eyes. From the time he’d met her, he had guessed at her depth. No woman could show the world so much pride without harboring somewhere the power of great emotions. He was startled as he sensed the undertow of her spirit. There was a richness, a completeness in her that he had always admired, and he was still while she gathered her thoughts.

“You’ve seen how I resist anything romantic, but I wasn’t always like that. Before I married, I had wonderful dreams about how marriage would be—like a storybook romance, with a prince and a princess. I was so happy! And then the dream became a nightmare. I knew almost nothing about the physical details of a marriage,
but I assumed I would learn. But—he came to me, and he did—things I can’t—” She broke off, and tears came to her eyes. “I was so innocent. He tortured me, physically and emotionally. Oh, Dylan! He killed the innocence that was in me, and I grew afraid of romance of any kind. I determined never to marry again, but then I got to know you.”

Dylan was looking down into her eyes, and he saw the longing and the love that had been held captive by a beast. He touched her cheek, and she came to him, leaning against him and sobbing. Finally she grew still, and taking out a handkerchief, she turned and wiped the tears away. She said, “You know how I feared anything romantic, how I fought against it, but you came, and you’ve opened my eyes to what a man and a woman ought to be.”

Dylan’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at her with incomprehension. “What is it you’re saying, Serafina?”

Serafina said, “I love you, Dylan.”

Tears came to her eyes then, and she whirled and ran away. Dylan stood and watched her helplessly, and finally he turned and walked slowly away. When he got to the driveway, he kicked viciously at a rock, then he got into the cab he had come in and said, “Back to London, driver,” in a dead voice.

“What happened to Dylan? I saw him coming.”

“He had to go back, Dora.”

“Why didn’t he stay? I know David was looking forward to his visit. They’ve been making big plans about that tree house.”

“He came to tell me something.”

Something in Serafina’s tone caught Dora’s attention. She came closer and peered into her sister’s face. “What is it? Can you tell me?”

“He’s—he’s going to marry Meredith Brice.”

“No, that’s impossible!”

“I’m afraid it’s very possible.”

“You can’t let that happen.”

“How can I stop it?” Serafina said sharply. She felt the tears rising, and despite herself she could not keep them back. She yanked a handkerchief out, wiped her eyes, and said, “There’s no help for it. She’s told him that her former husband, who was Dylan’s best friend, was dying, and he asked her to find Dylan and ask him to be a father to Guin—and a husband to her.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute!”

Serafina shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, apparently, what you believe or what I believe.”

“But you love Dylan. I’ve seen it.”

“Well, he’ll never love me. I asked him to take me to church. It should have pleased him, but he said he couldn’t do it because he was an engaged man.”

Dora started to speak, but Serafina cut her off. “I can’t talk about this.” She fled to her room, shut the door, and threw herself across the bed. She felt the sobs rising and was shocked at her own feelings. She did not know that she had this kind of emotion stored up in her, and for a time she simply gave way to it. Finally she said in a muffled voice, “This won’t do.” She got up from the bed and walked back and forth. Her eyes fell on the Bible, and she said, “Dylan’s always saying that God leads people, that he hears them when they pray. But how can I expect God to help me when I’ve given him nothing?”

For half an hour she paced back and forth, and her mind kept going back to the Bible that lay on the table. Finally she stopped and realised that she knew deep down that Dylan was making a big mistake, and she whispered, “God, I don’t have any right to pray to ask you for anything, but Dylan Tremayne is a good man, and he’s about to throw his life away. If you would tell me some way to help him, I would be so grateful.” She was amazed at her own action, for prayer was as foreign to her as Sanskrit. She finally sat down, picked up the Bible, and held it. She did not know much about the Bible; she had read parts of it, and now she wished desperately she had studied it more carefully. “God, please help me with this. I don’t know what to do.” She began to turn the pages, and for a long time it seemed useless. There were stories there of kings long dead, of wars, of men and women who were so alien to modern people, they seemed like creatures from another planet.

Finally she turned a page, and her eyes fell on a verse that had been underlined. It had been her grandmother’s Bible and was very old. The paper was yellow, but the underline was plain enough. She read it aloud very softly, noting that it was in the Thirty-second Psalm: “I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.”

At that moment Serafina Trent was as convinced that God had spoken to her and promised to guide her as she had ever been in any scientific experiment she had ever performed. She closed the Bible, and a sense of purpose came to her.

“All right, God. You promise to teach me the way I should go, and I promise you that I will go any way you show me.” She sat there for a long time, her head bowed and waiting, and finally she arose with a look of determination on her face and left the room.

TWENTY

S
eptimus sat in his favourite chair, and as Alberta came in he did not even look up. Glancing at her husband, she asked, “What’s the matter with you, Septimus? You haven’t said ten words all day.”

Septimus reached up and grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling as if attempting to lift himself out of the chair. It was a strange gesture that Alberta had tried to break him of, but he seemed to be unconscious of it. “I’m worried,” he muttered. “Don’t know when I’ve been so worried.”

“What are you worried about?”

“About Serafina, dear. She’s not acting right.”

Alberta sat down across from him on a horsehide-covered chair. “I know. She’s abnormally quiet.” Her face mirrored the worry on her husband’s. “Has she said anything at all to you?”

“No, but then I’m not the sort of man that people confide in when they have troubles.”

“That’s not so. I always confide in you.”

Septimus gave her a thin smile. “Yes, my dear, but I haven’t been able to establish that kind of communication with our children. I’m just not—I’m not loving enough, I suppose.”

“Why, Septimus, our children know you love them!”

“Yes, I do love them, and that’s why I’m worried. She hasn’t said anything at all to you?”

“Not a word.”

“What about Dora?”

“She may have spoken to Dora, but Dora won’t say anything about it. Maybe she’s ill.”

“She doesn’t look ill. She looks as healthy as ever. She’s a deep thinker, that girl is! I don’t think we know how deep. Something’s gnawing away at her, and I can’t just go in and demand she tell me.”

“No, I’ll talk to her. Maybe it will all come out.”

“I hope so, dear.”

Meredith was obviously angry. “I can’t see why I wasn’t invited.” Dylan was on his way to a reception for Dora’s wedding. Matthew had pressed Dylan into duty as best man, so naturally he would attend the affair.

“They wanted to keep it as small a party as possible.”

“They’re a bunch of snobs is what they are!”

Dylan
started to respond and saw the futility of it. He had endured Meredith’s bad humour, for there was nothing he could do about it. “I didn’t make up the invitation list, Meredith.”

“All right. You come over as soon as it ends.”

“Well, I’ll do my best. Sometimes they want to talk for a little bit.”

“You can talk to me.”

He saw that there was an adamant expression on her features and said, “All right. I’ll be here as soon as I can.” He heard the carriage pull up and looked out the window. “There’s Matthew.” He turned to go, but she caught him and turned him around. “You never kiss me good-bye.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly, then left.

“That’s not much of a kiss,” she called after him.

Dylan did not answer. He got into the cab with Matthew, who said, “We’re a little bit late.”

“I suppose that doesn’t matter too much for these things, does it? I’ve never been to one.”

“Neither have I. We’ll do the best we can, won’t we? Don’t lose the ring.”

“You haven’t given it to me yet.”

“I’ll give it to you just before the ceremony. You’ve been so absentminded lately I wouldn’t trust you with it.”

“Have I been?”