Decision and Destiny (12 page)

“Let her go,” John replied, as he hitched the surcingle about the small picnic basket and fastened it to Phantom’s saddle, “she just wants to graze.”

As predicted, the mare stopped when she reached the ponies, and her head plummeted to the lawn. Petrified, Charmaine held on to the reins for dear life, certain she was going to slide down the horse’s neck, breathing easier only after some minutes had elapsed and she remained in place.

John untied Phantom and swung up into the saddle. The horse snorted loudly and shook his head, fighting the bit and the iron hand that held him in check.

“Are you more at ease now?” John asked as he drew even with her, eyeing the leather straps entwined in her white-knuckled fingers.

“Yes,” she replied, pushing the inconsequential inquiry aside.

“Do you still plan on having Pierre ride with you?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I think we should leave him with Rose.”

John’s brow furrowed and his eyes grew stormy.

“I’m concerned for his safety,” she added. “That beast is so fierce.”

His visage softened, then the anger was gone altogether. “Mademoiselle, for all those who would love to see me land on my backside, he has yet to throw me. Pierre will be fine. Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?” His eyes traveled to the patiently waiting boy, whose face was alight with anticipation.

Charmaine knew she had been manipulated, emotion pitted against common sense. She could also tell John’s mind was made up.

“This day belongs as much to him as it does to his sisters. Do you think we could leave him behind in tears and then hope to enjoy the afternoon ourselves?”

“I suppose not,” she conceded. “But sometimes things are beyond our control and—”

“Charmaine, must I give my solemn word? Pierre is the
last
child who will come to harm because of me.” Dismissing further protest, he nudged the stallion toward George, and the boy was placed in front of him.

As John prodded Phantom into motion, Pierre squealed with glee. Now, she was glad they had not left him behind. He would have been miserable cloistered in the house all day.

Yvette balked at her elder brother’s riding instructions. “I mounted all by myself didn’t I?”

So, once again, John drew up alongside Charmaine and gave her a brief demonstration on how to prod the horse and use the reins. It seemed too simple to work. He cautioned her to loosen up on the straps, warning that clutching them too tightly wouldn’t prevent her from falling off, but could provoke the animal into throwing
her. “The mare doesn’t need to be broken. That has already been done for you,” he finished, chuckling at her renewed anxiety.

Yvette tugged on her reins and Spook abandoned his grazing for the cobblestone drive. Jeannette quickly followed suit. Their unquestionable ability left Charmaine shaken, and she breathed deeply when John nodded to her.

“Your turn,” he said.

In imitation of the twins, she steered her horse in the same direction, awed when the beast complied. They were on their way, bidding George goodbye and clopping through the iron fencing to the dirt road. Charmaine’s tension faded with the rhythm of the animal beneath her. As long as the route remained straight, the mare walked steadily along, obediently following the ponies.

Frederic remained on the veranda, haunted by fragmented memories.
You’re never home to spend time with them…I’d much prefer to have a horse…It wouldn’t have to be in a box, Papa…You could have him hidden in the stables with a big blue ribbon around his neck…John loves them…He’ll see they are cared for…The colt thinks we’re his masters, maybe he could be mine…Colette wrote to me…to supply the children with the love and affection they’d never get from you…Pierre is the last child who will come to harm because of me…

The riders were long out of sight when Frederic turned back into the nursery. He was alone and had only himself to blame. With a plaintive sigh, he looked down at the basket. The kittens were once again sleeping.

Kittens
…Yvette had begged for a horse on her last birthday, and he had decided to give her a stray kitten instead. Why did he think such a gift would please her? He knew what she longed for. But had he listened? John, on the other hand, had been home less than six weeks and already knew her deepest desires. His son was fulfilling Colette’s dying request.

Then there was Pierre. He was too young to lament what he could never receive from his sire—what his childhood and the circumstances surrounding his birth would deny him. But it wouldn’t be long before he, too, was turning nine and, like his sister, would grow disenchanted and unhappy.

Nine…was it possible Yvette and Jeannette were already nine? Frederic stared across time. Nine years ago today, his prayers had been mercifully answered; his young wife had survived the difficult labor and birth of twins.

Twenty-nine years ago tomorrow, he had not been so blessed, and he trembled with the memory. Images of that bleak night, just past midnight, assaulted him as if it were yesterday, and his chest tightened with the overwhelming loss of that first delivery.

“John,” Elizabeth had moaned, suffering another violent contraction. “If it’s a boy, Frederic, name him John.” They were her dying words.

Colette’s labor had mirrored Elizabeth’s, and though he’d always been stalwart, Frederic had been terrified the night the twins were born, certain he was going to lose his second wife as surely as he had lost his first twenty years earlier.

But God had been merciful, and Colette was spared.
Why?
Had the Good Lord heard his petition in those last few hours before midnight? Was Colette’s recovery a result of the vow he had made to the Almighty and to himself? He realized, if nothing else, it had propelled him to this point, scripting the present and marking the lives of his children in the most disastrous way. He sat down hard on Yvette’s bed and rubbed his throbbing brow. Would he allow the past to dictate the future?
Dear God,
he murmured,
what am I to do?

“Do you like the ride, Pierre?”

John’s voice interrupted the thud of hooves in the dust.

“Yes!” the boy giggled. “I like this big horse!” He craned his neck back to regard his saddlemate and exclaimed, “You’re upside down!”

“No, I’m not, you are.”

Pierre looked down at himself thoughtfully. “No, I’m not!” he disagreed, eventually noticing Charmaine. “I like this ride, Mainie!”

“I can tell,” she replied with a smile.

John smiled as well. “Have you put aside your misgivings?” he asked.

“Most, but not all. I’m becoming used to her movements. However, I’m not looking forward to getting down.”

“Don’t worry. It is much easier than mounting.”

Their short conversation lapsed into silence, and Charmaine began to enjoy the scenery around her. She directed her gaze away from John, taking in the foliage and wild birds, turning back to him only when her neck began to ache. She found him studying her thoughtfully and braved his unnerving regard. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Wrong?” he queried with arched brow. “Why should anything be wrong?”

“The manner in which you are staring at me leads me to assume the worst. Perhaps I’ve grown a wart on the end of my nose?”

“A wart? No, my Charm, your nose is just fine…perfectly shaped.” His gaze came to rest there.

“What then?” she pressed.

“Am I not permitted to admire your accomplishment? I do not mean to ogle you, Miss Ryan. It’s just, I never thought to see you sit a horse so well. Quite an accomplishment for a beginner.”

“Compliments are of no use,” she remarked, certain he mocked her.

But his next words were quick and sure, leaving her befuddled. “No compliment intended, merely an observation that answers a score of questions.”

“Such as?”

“Why you were employed as the children’s governess.”

“Surely you are not suggesting riding a horse has led to my present occupation? But then, the workings of your mind never cease to amaze me.”

His lips broke into a rakish grin. “I’m glad to hear that, no matter what else I might be, I haven’t been a bore.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” she rejoined.

“I wasn’t aware you had asked one.”

“What exactly is the connection you’ve made between my employment as the children’s governess and my achievement upon this animal?”

“Oh, that question. Well now, I was contemplating your ability to conquer a new endeavor, in this case, riding the mare. That particular facet of your character led me to understand how you gained the position you now hold. Even in fear, you pressed on. I commend you on your determination.”

“You mock me, sir,” Charmaine replied sheepishly.

“No, Miss Ryan, I do not mock you. That
was
a compliment. You play a very important role in the children’s lives.”

“You’ve just now realized that?”

“No. In fact, it was the reason I doubted your capabilities at first.”

“At first?” she asked in great surprise. “And you don’t now?”

“No, not anymore, not since I gave you a chance—watched you with them.”

She was too astounded to speak.

“You enjoy your job, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. I love the children.”

“Do you?”

Though his words were not unkind, they rattled Charmaine. “Yes!” she averred. “Don’t you believe me?”

“I believe you,” he answered resolutely. “I just wanted to hear you say it again, to reassure me perhaps.”

“Reassure you? Certainly that’s a curious remark?”

“Why should it be curious, considering the state of their lives? My father is a recluse, their mother is dead, and their stepmother hates them. They need somebody to love them.”

He grew pensive, his gaze traveling to the edge of the forest. She preferred the silence to his disturbing statements. Their odd discourse had taken its toll. She was certain of only one thing: she’d never in a million years understand him.

John Duvoisin. The man
was
an enigma, and more often than not, a thorn in her side. Life on the island, in the house, hadn’t gotten back to normal since his arrival. Granted, the great storms that had shaken the manor that first week were all but gone, and yet, his presence affected everyone.

Thoughts of his departure, one that had grown less likely with each passing day, came unwittingly to her lips. “When are you planning to leave?”

John’s attention was snared, his expression sharp, then devilish. “I’ll bet you can’t wait until that day arrives, can you?”

“I—I didn’t mean for it to sound that way,” she gushed.

“Forgive me if I refuse to believe you this time. No,” he laughed, “I’ll wager you meant every word.”

“I just wanted to know—”

“Know what? When you can expect things to get back to normal on Charmantes? When you and my brother can recommence your love affair?”

“It’s not a love affair!” she objected fiercely.

“No? I suppose I just imagined the passionate scene I walked in on that night. The question is, how much further has it all gone?”

Charmaine turned away in heightening embarrassment.

“Your red face would lead me to believe the worst. However, my growing faith in you would not.” He paused a moment as if in deep thought. “I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll offer you a word of warning concerning my brother.”

“Don’t bother!”

“Oh, but I feel it is my obligation.”

“Your obligation?” she queried incredulously. “Since when have you become so noble? Or do you think by maligning your brother, you’ll promote yourself?”

“I’m the first to admit I’m beyond redemption, Miss Ryan.” He chortled anew. “Now, don’t lead me off track. We were speaking of Paul and all the trouble—”

“And I told you, I’ve no interest in what you have to say.”

“Interest,” he repeated. “A perfect word, for it’s at the heart of my very next point. You should be
interested
to know, Paul has but one
interest
in you.”

Charmaine gaped at him.

“Don’t be offended. I’m only stating the facts as they are.”

“Facts? What would you know of facts?”

“Plenty. If you would like to—”

“I would like nothing, and I’ll not believe a word of it, anyway.”

“I assure you my facts are not fabricated,” he pressed on. “But perhaps you’d prefer a more reliable source, someone who could provide concrete evidence. I’m certain the maids of the manor could tell tales that would shock even me. You see, Paul has quite an affinity for the young ladies in my father’s employ. He must have been quite disheartened when your more distinguished position of governess placed an unusual obstacle in his one-track path.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Must I be more explicit, my Charm? My brother is a Don Juan with an insatiable appetite for women. Not that I’m condemning him morally. What is a man to do when the mansion is so well ‘stocked’? Before I left a few years ago, there was many a night when some young maid, who should have been sleeping virtuously in her own bed on the third floor, found
comfort
in my brother’s bed one floor below. I doubt those fair times have changed, especially if you are holding him at bay.”

“If?” she choked out, even as a distant memory surfaced.
I’m speaking of comfort—yours and mine
. “Well, if you’re hoping to trap me into confirming your crude speculation, allow me to dash those hopes right here and now! I have no intention of carrying this conversation any further.”

“I’m not speculating. I grew up with him. My brother is many things, but celibate is not one of them. He’s sampled the fruit many times, in assorted varieties. I know.”

“Really? And how do you know? Did you place a glass against the wall?”

“I didn’t have to,” John chuckled softly, amused by her feisty reply. “Paul never guarded his liaisons. In fact, he often boasted about them.”

“Many people boast,” she reasoned, “I’d hardly call that concrete evidence.”

“My, you are determined to defend him, aren’t you?”