Decision and Destiny (10 page)

Charmaine reserved comment, having refused to shop on the Sabbath on more than one occasion, doing so only today because he had offered his nursemaid services. It had been an ongoing dispute—
Keep Holy the Lord’s Day.
Charmaine embraced the Third Commandment and stood as the exception among the churchgoing islanders who, every Sunday, directly after noon Mass, discounted Father Benito’s vehement threat of eternal damnation and patronized the many businesses that opened their doors.

“Would you like me to drive you back to the house?” George asked. “Or would you prefer to visit Stephen Westphal?”

His teasing induced a frown and then a giggle. “We had better head home, or we will be late for dinner.”

“Not yet,” Yvette protested. “We’ve been waiting to see Gummy.”

“Who?”

“Gummy Hoffstreicher,” the girl reiterated. “You remember—the boy who stole sandwiches from Johnny and George. He comes past here every day.”

“Yvette, he’s just a man,” Charmaine reasoned. “There will be other chances to meet him, and when you do, I hope you remember he is a human being, and should be treated as such, no matter what stories you’ve heard.”

Yvette rolled her eyes, prompting George to intercede. “Charmaine, I’m sorry. We were just jesting a bit.”

“I know, George, and I don’t hold
you
responsible—”

She was interrupted by shouts from the dock and the push of bodies gravitating to the wharf. “What is it?”

“A ship must be arriving,” he replied, shielding his eyes to look.

Charmaine did the same, concentrating on a smudge of white passing into the cove. They, too, pressed nearer the quay.

“Can you see it?” Yvette asked excitedly, tugging on George’s shirt. “Where’s it coming from? Can you tell by the mast? Is it flying our flag?”

“Yes,” George replied. “It must be the
Gemini.
The
Raven
isn’t due in port until next week. Paul will most likely be aboard.”

“Wonderful,” Yvette mumbled in sudden disgust.

The girl’s reaction did not dampen Charmaine’s soaring spirits as she peered longingly at the white masts that were steadily growing larger. Finally, everything would be right again.

Not ten minutes later, the creaking vessel thumped against the dock. With admiration, Charmaine watched Paul command her crew, throwing himself into the mooring, much like the day she’d arrived on the
Raven,
one year ago. He was even more handsome now, the finest figure of a man she had ever beheld, and her quickening pulse forced her to look away.

Paul donned his discarded shirt and left the sailors and longshoreman to finish up. As he descended the planking, he noticed the welcoming party, Charmaine in particular, a bit of loveliness he hadn’t expected to see until he got home and a painful reminder of his lack of female companionship for the past three weeks. When he reached them, their eyes locked.
Is that lust in her gaze?
It ignited his passion. As if perceiving his need, she averted her face. He focused on George, determined to quell his rutting instincts.

“Good afternoon, weary traveler,” that one greeted jovially, “and how is the work coming along on Espoir?”

“Quite well, and what a nice greeting this is,” Paul returned,
putting an arm around Jeannette, his eyes traveling to Charmaine again. “Charmaine, you are looking lovely.”

“So are you,” she blundered. “I mean—you are looking well.”

The girls laughed, bolstering the deep blush that rose to her cheeks.

“I
am
well,” he replied, “though I’m looking forward to Fatima’s cooking. I won’t even tell you what the men prepared at the camps. Some of it wasn’t fit for consumption. I’m glad to be back. Espoir doesn’t have the feel of home.”

“One day it will,” George replied, “just give it a little time.”

“I suppose so,” Paul concurred. “Have you missed me, Pierre?” he asked, gesturing for George to hand the boy over.

“Uh-huh. But I wanna go home. I’m hungwee.”

“So am I!” Paul agreed, holding Pierre high in his arms. “Home it shall be.”

George ran ahead to the livery, leaving Paul, Charmaine, and the children to walk slowly down the boardwalk. “Well, then,” Paul mused, “you’ll have to tell me everything that’s happened while I was away.” His words were directed at the children, though his eyes remained trained on their pretty governess.

Frederic paced his chambers for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening, his quandary mounting in the dark. So, Wade Remmen had been Colette’s lover. Or had he? Should he bring the man in and question him? He snorted at the thought. The young man would admit nothing. Nevertheless, Frederic knew he would be able to read the truth in Wade Remmen’s eyes. And then what? What could he do? What should he do? And what of his children? Did he want his children to know? They would certainly find out if he pursued it. They loved their mother, thought of her as an angel. Sadly, he realized he still loved her; even in her infidelity, he still loved her. Paul was right: Colette
was
good and kind. If she
had taken another lover, it was because of him and his deplorable disposition. He was through blaming her for every miserable thing that had befallen him, and he refused to torture his children with assertions about her unfaithfulness. Let them hold on to their precious memories. Colette was dead and buried, and this nasty affair would be as well. Reaching that resolution, he stretched out on his empty bed and slept.

Charmaine had intended to sew tonight, but after three aborted attempts, she set the fabric aside. Her mind was not on the task. It ran rampant with images of Paul and the overwhelming feelings his arrival home had incited, foreign desires that tingled her fingertips one moment and drained her limbs the next, leaving her strangely agitated. She recalled the indescribable look he had leveled upon her at the harbor, the rush of blood that had left her lightheaded. Even now, she shuddered in wanton yearning. Dear God, what was wrong with her?

It had been difficult to converse with him for the remainder of the day. She was grateful when he, John, and George retired to the library after dinner, and she and the children were able to slip upstairs unnoticed. Thankfully, they crawled into their beds without so much as an argument and fell asleep earlier than usual.

Right now, she longed for a walk in the gardens, but quickly dismissed that idea. Though it might help clear her mind, she couldn’t chance meeting up with him. She no longer trusted herself. No, until these inexplicable sensations dissipated, she would avoid Paul at all costs. Thus, she said her prayers and climbed into bed.

Paul stepped out onto the balcony. It had been a productive evening. Come morning, he would see if his brother had accomplished all he purported. According to George he had, lending an invaluable hand—with the tobacco in particular. If that were true, Paul wouldn’t be swamped tomorrow.

Thoughts of Charmaine took hold again. He longed to corner her alone and finish what he’d postponed for far too long. She wanted him, perhaps as much as he wanted her. But she had escaped to her room, leaving him to chomp at the bit.
Is she sleeping?
On impulse, he decided to find out…

The nightstand lamp burned low, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. She was asleep. He stepped up to the bed and stared longingly down at her. Lovely…she was so lovely, with dark lashes fanned against creamy white cheeks, kissable lips slightly parted, a stray hand raised beside her pillow, and her luscious breasts rising beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. How he yearned to make love to her. What would she do if he awoke her with a kiss? His pulse accelerated as he imagined any number of reactions. She might struggle, and he found that possibility highly sensual. But no, it would be her first time, and he wanted the experience to be exquisite, an awakening she would agree, perhaps even beg, to engage in again. With that thought, he backed out of her room. He would never sleep tonight—
Never!

Charmaine’s eyes flew open, and she grabbed hold of her coverlet for support. How long had she held her breath?
You weren’t holding it, silly! You feigned absolute serenity. And all the while, your heart was thundering in your ears.
Surely he had heard it! How could he not? She had waited for the kiss that never came. Prayed that he wouldn’t—longed that he would. Then he was gone…
Gone!
With a moan, she turned over and attempted to breathe, to sleep.

Thursday, September 28, 1837

W
ILL
you marry me, Charmaine?”

The words were soft in her ear, caressing her neck, and at first she was certain she was dreaming. Yet Paul pulled her closer, his plundering mouth returning to her lips, his desperate plea speaking to her body as well as her heart…

Charmaine woke with a start, and it was a full minute before her erratic breathing lulled. Then, as the euphoria of impassioned sleep waned, piercing reality took hold, and she groaned. Paul had disturbed her slumber for four consecutive nights, ever since he’d crept into her chamber and stood over her bed. The recurrent dream was so vivid it plagued her waking hours as well.

A dream, only a dream!
Dare she hope for more—for the ardent proposal whispered only in sleep? Or was she doomed to stand on a summit of uncertainty, expectant one day, disappointed the next? There were no answers, only a wistful wish spun upon one word: perhaps. She rose and began her daily routine.

The clip-clop of horse’s hooves drew her to the veranda. She watched Paul lead his white stallion from the stable, mount, and gallop away. Since his return, he’d been so busy, it was no different
than when he was on Espoir, almost as if he were avoiding her. But that was silly. She knew what he demanded of himself. It was only six in the morning, and already he was gone, probably for the day. Once again, she’d have to wait. But, for what? Another indecent breach of her bedchamber? It was just as well he kept away.

Forget him
, she told herself as she turned to dress.
It’s the twins’ birthday. Use the occasion as a distraction.
She had promised they could spend the day in any manner they wished, and that would certainly keep her mind occupied.

She had been quite sly in her preparations. They knew nothing of her late-night efforts with needle and thread, nor the presents she had wrapped and neatly stacked on the dining room table only a few short hours ago. Jeannette would be delighted with the dresses for her china doll. Yvette was a different matter. Charmaine hoped the girl would be pleased with the feminine breeches she’d concocted. Certainly, Agatha would disapprove. However, the damage was done; best not to fret over the consequences now.

A rap fell on the connecting door, and Charmaine opened it to a sleepy-eyed Pierre. “Good morning, my little man,” she greeted, scooping him into her arms. “What do you think of your lazy sisters? Should we let them snooze their birthday away, or should we wake them up?”

“Wake ’em up,” he directed, squirming from Charmaine’s embrace and bouncing on Yvette’s bed.

The girl groaned. Then, realizing her birthday had indeed arrived, she was across the room, coaxing her sister to rise. When Charmaine mentioned presents in the dining room, they dressed hastily and were gone.

Ten minutes later, she and Pierre found them seated empty-handed at the table, their presents nowhere in sight, their angry eyes on their elder brother.

“That’s unfair!”

“Ah, but it is more fun,” John replied, sipping his coffee.

Charmaine stepped up to the table, annoyed. “What is this?”

“Good morning, Miss Ryan,” he responded, ignoring her displeasure.

“Good morning,” she returned stiffly, helping Pierre into his chair.

John’s eyes traveled to the three-year-old. “How are you, Pierre?”

“Good,” the boy answered. “Can we go fishin’ again?”

“Not today. Today I have other plans.”

Charmaine interrupted. “Where are the presents I wrapped?”

“They’re hidden,” John replied.

“Hidden? And who hid them?” she demanded, as if she really had to ask.

“Now, my Charm, please allow me to explain. First, seeking them out can be as much fun as opening them. And second, your gifts aren’t the only ones hidden. Rose supplied me with a few, and there were the two large ones I—”

“Truly?”
the girls exclaimed in tandem. Sanguine anticipation replaced anemic disappointment, and Charmaine was forgotten as Jeannette and Yvette bombarded their elder brother with questions.

“I’m not about to tell you where they are,” he chuckled. “It took me the whole night to hide them. It is up to you to conduct a treasure hunt.”

“Treasure hunt?” they queried, the words echoed by Charmaine.

John noted her smile. “I take it you approve of this innovation in gift giving?”

“I suppose so,” she answered honestly, unable to remain hostile, her attention snared by Yvette, who had pushed away from the table.

“Oh no, you don’t, young lady. Breakfast first.”

“But—”

“No buts,” John admonished, enforcing Charmaine’s edict.

“Besides, I have a few clues you might be interested in hearing while you eat.”

Yvette eagerly complied, and they ate quickly. The girls’ alacrity was contagious, and even Charmaine was caught up in it, fed by John, who committed to nothing, but seemed to promise everything. She began to worry they would be disappointed. Her presents were sadly lacking next to the picture he was painting, and though his gifts also awaited discovery, she doubted even they could measure up to the twins’ expectations.

“Now, remember,” he warned when they rose from the table, “with every treasure hunt, there is always an adversary—a rival—who is searching for the treasure as well. So, you must be careful not to be caught.”

“Caught? By whom?”

“Who else?” he snickered. “Auntie Agatha—the deadliest enemy of all!”

The ease with which he garnered their mirth still astounded Charmaine.

“Don’t laugh,” he chided seriously. “If she catches you, the fun is over.”

“Yes, yes,” Yvette said, and tugging her sister’s arm, they bounded off.

“Me, too!” Pierre declared, pushing away his bowl of half-eaten porridge.

“You, too, what?” Charmaine asked, tucking in the napkin that had come loose from his collar.

“I wanna look for them presents, too.”

“When you’ve finished,” Charmaine answered, lifting a spoon to help him.

He grabbed at it, insisting, “I do it myself!”

Charmaine relinquished the utensil with a squeeze of his shoulder and a kiss on his head. But as she turned back to her own food, she caught John’s warm gaze upon her, a self-conscious moment when their eyes locked. To her surprise, John broke away first, returning to his newspaper.

“Good morning, everyone!” George hailed from the hallway. He espied the serving bowl of porridge, sat down, and pulled it in front of him. “Is anybody eating this?”

John snickered. “Have all you like, though the hogs will be disappointed.”

George ignored John’s japing and poured liberal amounts of cream and sugar atop the oatmeal, and then, to Pierre’s delight, ate from the large dish using the serving spoon.

“I suppose, George, you have come to the table for another reason?” John interrupted. “Aside from a second breakfast, that is.”

“Reason? Oh yes. I’d almost forgotten. The children’s birthday…”

He caught John’s swift shake of the head and fell silent.
Too late!
Charmaine’s attention had been snared, her inquisitive eyes on him. “It is the twins’ birthday,” he repeated, attempting to mask his blunder, “isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she agreed suspiciously, “but you knew that.”

“And I was just wondering how you were celebrating it. Do you have something special planned for the day?”

“Only their presents and now this treasure hunt. But I did promise them no lessons. They can decide what they’d like to do, within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” George nodded, his brow arched in John’s direction.

Though Charmaine’s curiosity was piqued, John smiled passively in return; the strange exchange yielded no clues.

“So George, did all go well?” John asked.

“I moved the shipment early this morning, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Then everything is settled?”

“Everything is in order, just the way you wanted it, except—” George held up one finger “—there is the matter of finances.”

“Finances?” John queried. “I gave you the money weeks ago, or have you forgotten?”

“No, John, I haven’t forgotten. But neither am I a fool. That money was for the payment of the p—eh…the merchandise. It did not cover
my
fees. Now, I do admit I am your friend, but after I spent a good portion of yesterday avoiding Paul to work on this project for you, I do believe you owe me something in return, and I don’t mean gratitude.” With that, he held out his hand, palm up.

Charmaine giggled, for he looked like a beggar. Intrigued, she watched John pull out a wallet and hand him a sheaf of bank notes, a sum that rivaled her week’s wages. What favor could have merited such a hefty allowance? George straightened the bills, counted them meticulously, and smiled at her as he tucked them into his pocket. She was oddly disconcerted by that smile, as if she were an involuntary participant in the transaction. Her eyes traveled to John for an answer, but he was reading his newspaper again. She did not trust him. George, however, was her friend and wouldn’t lead her to harm. Neither would he lie to her. She’d question him about it when they were alone.

Pierre scattered her thoughts when he began banging his spoon on his empty dish. She quickly confiscated it, sending him into a fit of tears.

“I’m sorry, Pierre,” she said, “but it’s impolite to make such a racket.”

He continued to wail, refusing the milk she offered him and turning his face aside when she tried to wipe it.

John abruptly stood and stepped behind the boy’s chair. Certain he intended to usurp her authority and seize the utensil, her grip tightened on it. But he ignored her completely and lifted Pierre from his seat, holding him high in his arms. “What is all this fuss about?” he asked. “Surely you’re not crying over a lost spoon? Or maybe you are not the Pierre I know. Could that be it? Maybe you’re some other lad come to take his place, because the Pierre I know never cries. He is always smiling, especially at Mainie. Isn’t that so?”

The tears stopped. “I’m Pierre,” the boy declared. “But I have to go potty.”

“No,” John corrected wryly, “you
had
to go potty.”

“Oh my!” Charmaine groaned, immediately comprehending the boy’s crankiness. “Come, Pierre, let’s go to the nursery and change you.”

But John drew back as she reached for the child. “Let me carry him. There’s no point in soiling your dress as well.”

Before she could object, he headed into the hallway. There they found Jeannette, sitting on the landing, knees drawn up to her chin, shoulders sagging.

“What is this?” John asked. “Have you uncovered all your gifts already?”

“No,” she pouted, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I’ve only found one…a rock! Yvette found three of hers, and they were all real presents: candy, a book, and some funny-looking knickers. But all I got was a wrapped-up rock!”

“Well, perhaps that’s all there is for you,” he jested.

“Don’t say that!” Charmaine hissed. “You’ll have her crying as well!”

He took her point to heart. “Don’t give up so easily, Jeannette. There are just as many presents for you.”

“But where can they be? I’ve searched everywhere!”

“Everywhere?” he probed.

“Everywhere but out—” Her words gave way to comprehension, and her face brightened. “They’re not in the house, are they?”

“One clue is all you get.”

It was enough. Jeannette stormed the front portico, leaving John to chuckle all the way to the nursery.

He’s having as much fun as the girls,
Charmaine thought.

“Put him on his bed,” she directed over her shoulder, retrieving a set of undergarments, knickers, and a towel from the armoire.

John deposited his wet charge, then stood with arms spread wide, surveying his saturated shirt and damp jacket. Charmaine stopped in her tracks, dropping everything but the towel on a nearby chair. “Oh, no! Your jacket is ruined! And your shirt! Oh, I’m sorry!” Without thought, she began to wipe vigorously across his shirtfront and down to his waist, blotting the fabric dry. Suddenly, she realized her impropriety, and her hands dropped to her sides. Cringing, she looked up at him, then slowly stepped away. “I—I’m sorry.”

He didn’t move, his raised arms mourning the space she had vacated, his crooked smile nourishing the blush that was deepening upon her cheeks.

“I—I’d better see to Pierre.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his smile broad now, “and I had better leave before I develop a further complication that won’t be remedied with a dry cloth.”

Once Pierre’s clothes had been changed, Charmaine led him out onto the balcony to look for Jeannette. The main doors opened below and George and John came into view. John had changed into a white shirt, fawn-colored pants, and high boots. Completing the ensemble was the leather cap he wore, the garb lending itself to a day in the saddle. Evidently, he and George planned on riding out together.

They were absorbed in conversation, and although Charmaine couldn’t catch the phrases, their easy banter bespoke a deep-rooted friendship. Even after six weeks, she puzzled over their camaraderie: a chuckle here, the shake of a head there, a raised hand to emphasize a point, or an arm clasped around the other’s shoulder. Most brothers would envy such a bond.

A squeal of delight punctuated the air, and the twins bounded from the stable, racing to their brother. Yvette reached him first, hugging him fiercely. “Oh, they’re beautiful, Johnny! Wherever did you get them?”

His response was too soft to hear. Then both girls were dancing around him, grabbing his arms and pulling him toward the paddock. “We can go right now!” They stopped when he spoke again. “Yes!” Jeannette laughed.

“Let’s get her!” Yvette added, turning toward the house, espying Charmaine in the process. “There she is!”

The troop took a few steps in her direction. “Mademoiselle Charmaine!” Jeannette shouted. “Wait until you see what Johnny gave us!”

“Stay right there,” Yvette interjected, “and we’ll bring them out!”

Charmaine surmised what the presents were, and she watched as the girl disappeared into the stable with George. Jeannette continued across the lawn with John, her face radiant. “Just wait until you see!” she reiterated. “They are the most wonderful presents in the whole world! Better than anything I expected this morning! Better than any treasure!”