Decision and Destiny (26 page)

Mrs. Faraday scoffed. “Miss Ryan, I’m no simpleton. That remark you made at the dinner table has the whole house talking. I thought you were attempting to make Master Paul jealous at the time, but now—well, now I don’t know.”

Humiliation yielded to outrage. “Mrs. Faraday! You may pick up your linens and kindly leave my room!”

The woman was silenced. She pursed her lips and bundled the sheets.

“And the next time I’m sleeping,” Charmaine added, “do not disturb me! I’m not being paid to endure your verbal abuse.”

The door thundered shut, but Charmaine remained planted in the center of the room, fists balled at her sides, teeth clenched in unspent fury. She was proud of her mettle, yet, still so very angry. The audacity of the woman! At this moment, Charmaine was certain she was worse than Agatha.

Slowly her ire ebbed. As she turned to make her bed and get dressed, John seeped into her thoughts, reviving those exquisite feelings of the night before. She had slept peacefully; nevertheless, she knew, without specific recollection, John had occupied all of her dreams. How would he greet her this morning? How would she greet him? Unlike the first time he had kissed her, she could not hide behind a façade of injured pride or pretended disgust. She had enjoyed his embrace completely, and her pulse raced with the memory. She prayed he’d heed his own declaration and keep silent about the intimate encounter. But knowing John as she did, she feared he would not.

“Anything?”

“Anything within reason,” John answered, his gaze fixed on Yvette across the dining room table. They were eating lunch!

Pierre spotted Charmaine first and scrambled from John’s lap. “Mainie’s here!” he announced, grasping her hand and drawing her into the room. “Come…you hafta help us plan the week!”

“What week?” she asked, avoiding eye contact with John.

“This week, silly,” he giggled. As she sat down, he climbed into his own chair and gave John his full attention. “All right,” he said most maturely, elbows propped and chin cradled in his hands, “we’re ready now.”

“As I was saying to the children, Miss Ryan, the week belongs to them.”

She looked directly at John in spite of herself, surprised to find
his smile assuasive rather than sardonic, and her heart skipped a beat.

He turned back to the twins. “Your wish is my command,” he continued. “We’ll spend the next four days in any manner you’d like. And, to be fair, I’ll give each of you a day of your own. We’ll begin with Pierre. Today will be his day. Tomorrow, Jeannette may decide what we’ll do. Thursday will belong to Yvette, and Friday will be Mademoiselle Charmaine’s. How does that sound?”

“Why do I have to wait until Thursday?” Yvette objected.

“I thought you would like time to plan the best possible excursion.”

“Oh,” his sister pondered aloud, quickly warming to the idea. “Yes, I suppose I would, and I promise it will be something extra special, something no one else would ever dream of.”

“I’m certain,” he said. “So, Pierre, what should we do today?”

“I want Fi-day,” the boy insisted. “I need more time, too!”

John chuckled. “I suppose that can be arranged, if Mainie doesn’t mind exchanging days with you.”

He looked at Charmaine, and she quickly consented, realizing too late she would have to contrive some fabulous plan for the afternoon.
But what?

John folded his arms across his chest and, with an exaggerated yawn, propped his boots atop the tablecloth. He pushed back, and balanced the chair on two legs.

“Johnny!” Jeannette scolded, “Cookie is going to tan your backside if she comes in here!” Yvette and Pierre giggled.

“I said anything,” he replied, ignoring his sister’s reprimand as he rocked the chair to-and-fro. “Miss Ryan, we are awaiting your pleasure.”

“It would please me to see you sitting properly in that chair. You are teaching the children terrible things, and if you’re not careful, you’ll topple over and injure your back.”

As if on cue, the chair wobbled precariously, then fell away from
the table entirely, spilling John on the floor. The children screeched, but Charmaine flew to his side, worry creasing her brow. “Are you all right?”

“I think I’ve fractured my spine!” he groaned, his face a mask of pain.

“I knew it!” she gasped, crouching closer and looping an arm around his shoulders. “Do you think you can get up?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Please try,” she coaxed, so focused on assisting him she was unprepared for his swift movement that stole a kiss.
Tricked!
John was laughing up at her, and her cheeks burned red from the momentary contact.

“Johnny kissed Mademoiselle Charmaine!” Jeannette squealed in delight.

“On the lips!” Yvette gagged.

Charmaine shot to her feet. “Ssh! Do you want the entire house to hear?”

“What’s going on in here?” Fatima Henderson demanded as she barreled into the dining room, her thick girth heaving. “What are you up to Master John?”

“Nothing, Cookie,” he reassured as he slowly stood and righted the chair. “I took a little spill, but I’m fine.”

Unconvinced, she cocked her head. “Master John, I don’t know what mischief you’re calculating in that handsome head of yours, but I say it’s about time you went about your business for the day. Didn’t Master Paul ask you to do some work for him?”

“He asked, but I didn’t answer.”

The children laughed, but Fatima sucked in her cheeks.

“Later,” he promised, “I’ll do some work later. Right now I’m waiting for Miss Ryan—”

“Miss Charmaine ain’t your concern. She hasn’t even eaten yet, and already you’re in here harrassing her.”

“Harassing? Me? I assure you that was not my intent. As soon as she tells us how we are to spend the day, she may eat in peace.”

“A swing,” Charmaine replied, drawing all eyes to her.

“What?” John queried, confounded.

“A swing,” she repeated. “I would like you to construct a swing for the day’s enjoyment.”

“A swing?”

“Yes, a swing. S-W-I-N-G,” she repeated for a third time, smiling as she imagined John high in the branches of one of the oak trees, where she’d be safe from his capers.

“You spell quite well,” he complimented with a twisted grin. “Still, I don’t see much fun—”

“Are you saying you won’t do it?”

“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just, I don’t think—”

“That you can’t do it?” she pressed.

“I didn’t say that, either,” he argued, his amusement fading. Damn, she was playing the game too well.

“What then?” she asked with arms folded across her bosom, eliciting a chuckle from Fatima Henderson as she returned to her kitchen.

“If you’d let me finish, I was going to ask: where would we hang it?”

“From one of the oak trees nearest the front portico. Yes, that should do nicely…A capital way to spend the day.”

John only snorted. “Actually I think it’s rather—”

“It doesn’t matter what you think, does it? You said the day was mine and I could spend it in any manner I wished. That was what you said, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that was what I said.”

“In that case, why don’t you locate the materials you will need: a nice smooth board and a good length of rope. When I’ve finished eating, the children and I will join you.”

Yvette clicked her tongue. “But I’ve already eaten. I want to go with Johnny!”

“Me, too!” Pierre chimed in. “I wanna build me a swing!”

“See,” Charmaine pointed out, “they like the idea.”

“So they do,” John replied debonairly, “so a swing we shall build.”

He winked at Pierre as if the idea had been his all along, then took the children with him.

An hour later, the swing was suspended, a feat less difficult than Charmaine had at first imagined, especially with the aid of the stable-hands. Presently, she sat on the terrace and watched the children as they took turns on it. Yvette quickly mastered the rudiments of pumping the board to dizzying heights, squealing each time she plummeted toward the earth. Next, it was Jeannette’s turn and finally Pierre’s. The latter had to be pushed gently, a chore Jeannette eagerly assumed once Yvette plopped in the grass some feet away.

“Well, my Charm, you have your swing,” John said as he climbed the steps of the colonnade and sat next to her. “Aren’t you going to at least try it?”

“Later,” she answered, “when the children have tired of their play.”

He considered her, his eyes eventually resting on her lips, a point of interest that caused her to shiver. “I thank you for this favor,” she said, hoping to distract him, relieved when his regard lifted to her eyes. “I would ask another.”

“And what would that be?”

“Refrain from displays of affection toward me,” she replied.

“Displays of affection? If you’re speaking about my passionate kiss this morning—”

“Exactly,” she interjected, not allowing him to finish.

“I’d hardly call such an overture passion, my Charm. I assure you, it was completely innocent.”

“Innocent to you, perhaps,” she argued, fighting hard to retain
her poise, “but what do children know of innocence and passion? To them, the two are one and the same.”

“And to you, Charmaine?”

She’d lost the battle, and she felt her face grow warm. She couldn’t answer; neither could she look his way.

“Very well, my Charm. I do not want to spoil our week together, so you need not fear any further overtures from me, passionate or otherwise.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, studying the hands in her lap.

“And I’ll speak to Mrs. Faraday as well, if you’d like.”

Stunned, her eyes flew to his face. “How did you know—”

“I didn’t. Not for certain, anyway. But the look she gave me this morning when I insisted you not be disturbed…let us say, I realized my mistake. Don’t worry, Charmaine, she won’t be telling Paul. And even if she does, it could work in your favor.”

Charmaine’s shame turned to anger, but she bit her tongue when she noted the deviltry in his eyes, that familiar expression that meant he was teasing her.

“You know,” he goaded when she refused to retaliate, “a bit of jealousy could work wonders at bringing my brother around.”

“Bringing him around?”

“To the altar, Charmaine. That
is
your deepest desire, is it not?”

Holding silent, she stared out across the lawns. John allowed the minutes to accumulate, and Charmaine knew he studied her. Then, he dropped the subject altogether. “So, what are we going to do for the remainder of the day?” he asked. “It’s still early. Perhaps a visit into town?”

“You could play the piano for me—and the children.”

His smile broadened as if he’d extracted a confession from her. He waved off the idea. “You play for them every day, surely there’s something else—”

“Not nearly as well as you do. After last night, I understand why you…”

“Why I what? Why I inferred your musical ability was lacking?”

She didn’t answer.

“You play very well, Charmaine, and I enjoy hearing the children sing along when you sit at the piano. I was an ogre those first few days home, especially to you. I misjudged you. George tried to tell me I was wrong, so did Paul, but I guess because I was hearing it from my brother, I refused to believe it.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why do you mistrust each other? Why are you constantly at odds?”

“There are a number of reasons. Most of them revolve around my father.”

“Are you angry with your father for giving Paul an island?”

“No, I’m not angry. At least, I don’t think I am.”

She frowned at his curious reply. “Is it the enthusiasm he’s given Paul’s endeavor? I imagine you must have your own accomplishments in Virginia that deserve recognition.”

“If my father knew of my accomplishments in Virginia, he’d probably put Paul in charge there, too.”

She digested the sardonic statement. “Still, it means a lot for a parent to show an interest in an offspring’s undertakings. I know how it feels to be unappreciated, to be scorned.”

“You were scorned?”

“Yes, by my father I was.”

“Well, then, my Charm, it seems we have something in common.” He was quiet for a while and then asked, “What happened to your mother?”

Charmaine inhaled. Even after two years, the memory was painful. Strangely, she didn’t feel she had to hide the truth from him any longer. She could tell him about it, and he would understand.

“My father, he was drunk and angry. He brutally beat my mother, and she died of the injuries he inflicted. He disappeared, and nobody has seen him since.” Tears sprang to her eyes without warning. “It was my fault,” she choked out, turning her face aside.

“Your fault?”

“I was hiding my wages from him. He was a lazy good-for-nothing, who rarely worked. When he did, the money was spent on spirits. Most times he relied on my mother to tarry. When I found employment with the Harringtons, he felt he was entitled to my earnings as well. Then one night, when he was good and drunk, he came to their house hoping to collect my wages. When he didn’t find me there, he went after my mother instead, assuming we were conspiring to hide my salary. He’d never have touched her if I had given him the money.”

“No, Charmaine, it wasn’t your fault,” he refuted in disgust. “There is no excuse for a man to beat a woman. I’ve known men like him. If it weren’t about money, it would have been about something else. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

She was comforted by his sincerity. She’d never told anyone she held herself responsible for her mother’s death. She wondered why it had been so easy to tell John, why his reaction relieved her burden of guilt.

“What is your father’s name?”

“His name? Why do you ask?”

John shrugged. “Just curious, I guess.”

“John Ryan.”

A sudden, perspicacious grin broke across his lips. “John, eh?”

Uncomfortable that he’d be examining her soul next, Charmaine redirected the conversation. “Your father has scorned you as well, hasn’t he?”

The smile vanished. “You were at dinner the other night, Charmaine. You tell me? It is just another reason why Paul and I don’t get along.”