The Wildest Heart

It did not take me long to scribble a short and carefully worded note, and when Jules had taken it and left I went back to my room to plan what I would wear. For a change, I found it easy to keep my mind a deliberate blank. I spent an endless amount of time on trivialities, a bath in warm, scented water. One of my pretty, Paris-bought dresses to wear. And my hair piled high upon my head, with ringlets falling to my shoulders. To my reflection in the glass I said aloud: “There, and now you look more like yourself, my girl. You should never have allowed yourself to forget what you’ve been taught.”

Thirty-Five

Mark came early, and I was glad to see him come. I held out my hands to him, and as he took them I thought I saw a quickly veiled spark in his eye, a look I had seen in other men’s eyes before. But now I needed it, as I needed the reassurance that only Mark could give me. I needed to be reminded who I was, and that I, like Mark, came from a civilized world of elegance and beauty and subtle wit, where birth and breeding and education counted for something.

As usual, Mark was carefully, impeccably dressed; his neatly trimmed blond hair gleaming in the lamplight. As usual he seemed to understand my mood; and he didn’t press me about the urgent message, but complimented me on my appearance instead. We said all the polite things, as Jules brought out the decanter of wine and two thin-stemmed crystal glasses. We watched the light fading through the open windows, and talked casually of New York and London. Mark’s mother, the same Mrs. Shannon who had been so kind to me in Boston, sent him copies of all the newspapers—even, several months late—the London Times. He told me what was playing at all the large theaters and opera houses and related clever anecdotes that made me smile.

“My mother says that Corinne has been dragging her to all the concerts. Jack is becoming quite famous now, you know. And Corinne, of course, basks in his glory and tells everyone who will listen how clever she was to choose such a talented husband!”

Mark’s wry, comical expression reminded me that he had been her family’s choice at first, until my father had p

ersuaded them to let Corinne have her way and marry her orchestra leader. But he seemed to have no regrets.

He held his glass up against the light, smiling at me.

“A toast, Rowena?”

“To the misfits, then!” I said it lightly, speaking my thoughts aloud, but his face had suddenly become serious as he studied me over the rim of the glass.

“So you feel it too?” he said quietly. “I have never felt you belonged here, Rowena. Anymore than I do. And yet here we are, trapped by circumstances…” with a deliberate attempt at recovering his former lightness of tone he added banteringly: “There is one thing that I will never regret, however, and that is the privilege of having known you.”

I sipped my wine too quickly, and felt it rush to my face, leaving it uncomfortably warm. It was more to avert the sudden constraint that had risen between us that I murmured offhandedly, “I’m afraid your uncle doesn’t feel the same way any longer. I hope he did not give you too difficult a time? I would not have asked you to come this evening if I had not…”

“I was already on my way here when I met Bill Klein,” Mark broke in, his voice hardening. “Did you think I could force myself to stay away, invitation or no? Oh, God, Rowena! I’m well aware of the kind of man Uncle Todd is and I think his arrogance blinds him to everything but his own feelings! He has no sympathy, no delicacy. I would have given anything to have spared you such an ugly scene as he must have forced on you this morning, but it was hardly my place to interfere in a matter that concerned the two of you.”

I put my glass down on the inlaid table with such force that I felt the thin crystal vibrate.

“Did he tell you that whatever might have existed between us before is over? I think he’s my enemy now, Mark.”

I thought there was an odd hesitancy in Mark’s voice before he said quickly, “But I hope you will count me your friend, as I have always felt myself to be. As for my uncle, he has always been a man of extreme moods. He flies into a rage too quickly and shouts and blusters, but later, when he’s had time to think… well, I did not come here to defend my uncle, but to ask if there was anything I could do for you.”

Without asking, he leaned forward and filled my glass again, his eyes not leaving my face as he said quietly, “There is something wrong, isn’t there? I have felt it all along, in spite of your brave attempt at gayness and insouciance. Are you ready to talk about it now, or shall we wait until after dinner? I have no wish to disturb you, or to bring that sad, preoccupied look back to your face.”

“Oh, Mark!” I said, as I had said so many times in the past, “What on earth would I do without you?” And caught his rather wry smile.

“Why, I hope you will never come to think yourself so self-contained that you cannot turn to me!” Mark said lightly, and then, with unwonted firmness, “Drink your wine, Rowena. And then we will speak of whatever is troubling you.”

Once I had begun, Mark made it easier for me to continue. He was silent when my words tumbled over each other in my eagerness to have them said and over with; and when I hesitated and stumbled in my recital, he prompted me gently.

This time, I held nothing back, as I had with Todd; not even that part of the blame which attached to myself. I had been a fool. In the face of everything I had heard and been warned of, going against all reason, I had loved, and had thought myself strong enough to overcome all obstacles… this was one of the few times that Mark interrupted me. His agitation visible, he stood up and began to pace about while he spoke to me, until I begged him to sit down again.

“Good God, Rowena! Why do you continue to blame yourself? You—a gently brought up young woman who had never been exposed to such treachery and such miserable, unhappy circumstances before. You were a helpless victim of a twisted, perverted group of people who… but don’t you see now how it happened? You had had one shock after another, and he played upon your sympathy. You must open your eyes and realize for yourself how you came to imagine yourself in love with this unscrupulous scoundrel! You were violated by his brother, the so-called gentleman who wished to marry you. In a state of shock, you ran away. And found yourself isolated for days on end with a man who would stop at nothing to gain his own ends, who knows no law but that of the jungle. You gave yourself to him because you had no choice; he would have taken you by force otherwise, and I think you knew this subconsciously. And afterwards, you felt forced to rationalize, to find excuses that would enable you to live with your own conscience.”

“Mark, no!”

“That is all it was, Rowena,” he said adamantly. “Face the truth. A few stolen hours on a mountaintop with a man you hardly knew, who discarded you soon afterwards as callously as he had taken you. You cannot go on thinking that was love. Love needs something on which to sustain itself, a foundation on which to grow. Use your mind, as you were always capable of doing before! Why, that was one of the very reasons I admired you and why I still continue to love and respect you. And now”—he released my hands abruptly and went back to sit down across from me—“now you must tell me the rest—and quickly, before you lose your courage.”

To this day, I don’t know how I found the strength to go on. I heard myself speak, in a coldly distant voice, and I hardly remember what I said, for my mind was in such a state of turmoil. I pictured myself in a court of law, and Mark as my attorney, who wanted to help me. And as I repeated what I had learned, I saw all over again how damning it all was. Evidence—each piece fitting so neatly into the other that there could be no other solution than that which I had been afraid and unwilling to face earlier.

And Mark, very much the lawyer now, with all the cold logic of his training at his disposal, tore away even the last thread of hope to which I had clung so stubbornly all this time.

“You say he explained away his part in the attempted murders of Mr. Bragg and my uncle, and even his virtual abduction of Flo? But Rowena, surely you can see why he bothered to give you an explanation at all, and at that late stage? It was because he had already planned what he was going to do with you. Perhaps he hoped that after you were freed you would continue to believe in his innocence, and proclaim it. Perhaps he meant to make use of you again, if he had to.”

Mark’s words were like hammer blows in my head, and I pressed my fingers against my temples, wanting to shut them out.

“No…” I whispered, but he was inexorable, his voice firm with conviction.

“If he was capable of killing your own father, who had done so much for him, do you think he would stop at anything else? Your father had learned something damning—had become disillusioned enough to destroy his letter to you requesting you marry one of Elena Kordes’s sons. You were expected any day, and you must not find out he had changed his mind. Don’t you see now how carefully calculated Luke Cord’s every action has been? I should have asked more questions of the servants myself, but we were all so upset at the time, and of course there was the possibility it was an accident—that he had forgotten he had already taken his medicine and taken more. Perhaps Mr. Bragg suspected, and that is why… but I need not go on. My dearest, bravest girl—you have had quite enough for one evening, have you not?”