Decision and Destiny (29 page)

Endeared to be home, Agatha issued a spate of orders from the foyer, then watched as each servant hastened to follow her directives. Her satisfaction was short-lived, however. John, paper in hand, stood in the study archway.

“Well,” he said with a tight smile, his shoulder propped against the doorframe, “you’re back.”

“Yes,” she said proudly, “in
my
home.”

“Tell me, Auntie, has my father accompanied you tonight, or did he have his fill of you this week and decide to remain on Espoir instead?”

“It’s not like that between your father and me,” she refuted with dignity. “He loves me. And yes, he has returned, by my side.”

“Really? Oh well, I knew heaven couldn’t last forever, but I
was
hoping to avoid hell. Where is he, anyway?”

“I have no intention of playing your little game,” she replied haughtily. “The week we spent on Paul’s island was too marvelous, and not even you can spoil its lasting pleasure. Goodnight.”

She’d just reached the landing when shrieks echoed from the front lawns, followed by thundering footsteps on the portico. The oak door was attacked, and Yvette stormed into the house as if demons chased her, Jeannette right on her heels. “Johnny! Charmaine!”
she cried. “Help! Please help me!” She spotted John and threw herself into his outstretched arms, sobbing mercilessly, “Oh no! He’s right behind me!”

“What the devil’s going on?” John demanded, attempting to peel her free.

But she offered no explanation, clinging to him fiercely, her face buried in his shirtfront, moaning the incantation: “Oh, Johnny!” over and over again.

˜This is not a farce,
he finally realized. Dismayed now, he looked to Jeannette for an answer. “What’s happened? Why are you up and out of the house at this late hour? And why are you dressed like this? Where is Charmaine?”

“Here!” she called from above, belting her robe as she hurried down the stairs. “The cries awoke me.” She took one look at the tattered twins and her worry increased. “What is going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to sort out,” he said in growing vexation. “
Yvette?
”

Still the girl whined. “You must save me! He’s going to kill me, I know he is! At the very least, he’ll beat me, whip me!”

“Who—who’s going to—?”

Frederic stepped across the threshold, and all went silent. Yvette choked back her tears, sniffling pitifully. She sidled behind her protector, her beseeching eyes lifting to Paul and George, who had drawn up alongside her father.

“I told you to wait for me outside Dulcie’s,” Frederic growled.

“Dulcie’s?” John queried in compounded shock. “She was at Dulcie’s?”

Frederic’s regard, which had been riveted on his delinquent daughter, shot to John, and his rage flared, spawning the words: “
Why are you still here?
”

The inquiry took everyone by surprise, save John, who smiled belligerently.

Checked, Frederic hurled his fury at an easier target: his trem
bling daughter. “You have much to answer for this night, young lady. Come here!”

“No!” she retaliated. But when he took one scraping step toward her, she fled the safety of her brother, skirted past Jeannette and Agatha, and raced up the staircase, hiding behind Charmaine.

“Don’t let him touch me!”

“Miss Ryan, bring her down here!” Frederic demanded.

John had had enough. “Take her back to her room, Charmaine.”

“Miss Ryan, stay!” came the master’s command, his eyes trained on her and not the son who was attempting to usurp his authority. “I hold you responsible. Bring Yvette to me—now!”

“Charmaine—” this time Paul stepped forward “—do as John says and take Yvette to the nursery.”

“Damn it!” Frederic bellowed. “This is my house! She will do as I say! Get out—all of you! This is between my daughter, her governess, and me!”

“That’s right, Father, you crack your whip!” John fired back virulently. “But don’t expect me to cower before you!”

The man wheeled around, his cane slicing up and over his shoulder. John didn’t move, his sardonic semblance piercing Frederic’s heart and staving his intent. Nauseated, he lowered the cane slowly. “Get out of my sight,” he croaked. “You pretend at being a man, but don’t have the backbone to claim what is yours.”

The declaration wiped clean John’s inveigling smile, and his face paled as if he had suffered a debilitating blow. He bowed his head and exited the house, deserting them all. To Charmaine’s horror, Frederic turned on her.

Mercifully, George stepped forward. “Sir, as I said in the carriage, this little calamity cannot be blamed on Miss Ryan. Certainly, she was asleep when—”

“Mr. Richards,” Frederic cut in, “I have no intention of discussing this matter any further with you. I’ve yet to discern how you are
involved; however, I do know you were at Dulcie’s while my daughter tried her hand at a game of cards, and, by every outward sign, meant to divert my attention from her. Now, don’t press your luck. Excuse yourself from this inquisition.”

“Father—”

“And the same goes for you!”

“No!” Paul rejoined heatedly. “The same does not go for me! Now, I realize Yvette’s behavior was unruly, and she should be punished. But your anger exceeds the bounds of rational thinking when you turn on Miss Ryan and hold her responsible. She couldn’t have known about this. Or George and accuse him of conspiring with Yvette. Surely he was only trying to protect her!”

Paul’s reasoning took hold, and Frederic’s ire flagged.

The terrible ordeal ended when Jeannette valiantly stepped forward. “Paul is right, Father,” she whispered. “Yvette and I waited until Mademoiselle Charmaine was asleep. Then we dressed in the clothes Yvette borrowed from the stable and slipped from the house. We knew we were doing wrong, but we didn’t think we’d be caught, especially in our disguises. We just wanted to see what Dulcie’s was really like, at night. When George saw us there, he was very angry, but Yvette had a good hand. She promised to leave after she’d played it out.”

Charmaine held her breath, relieved when Frederic’s response held a note of empathy. “And your sister couldn’t tell me this? It was her idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why you? Is she such a coward she cannot assume responsibility for her own actions, speak for herself?”

“She was afraid you would kill her,” Jeannette answered simply. “But I didn’t think you would. I suppose that’s why I wasn’t afraid to tell you the truth.”

Frederic absorbed the statement with a mixture of surprise and regret. He looked up at Yvette, just now realizing the effect his
naked wrath had on the rebellious nine-year-old. It was not the first time he had humbled someone to such quaking depths, and he was unhappy to realize he had not changed.

“I will speak with you tomorrow—the two of you,” he said. “You needn’t fear death, but you will be punished for your bad behavior.”

He spoke to Charmaine. “Take them back to their rooms and make certain they remain there until I call for them.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. Beckoning to Jeannette, she turned Yvette around, and they proceeded up the staircase.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Jeannette offered. “Truly I am.”

But he did not seem to hear as he labored toward the study, his hesitant gait mocking the swiftness with which he had stormed the house minutes earlier.

“Oh, Mademoiselle Charmaine, what have I done?” Yvette moaned from Charmaine’s bed, her head buried in the safety of her governess’s lap. “I’ve been so naughty, and now everyone I love has been hurt!”

“There, now,” Charmaine soothed, stroking the girl’s blond head. She’d never seen Yvette so repentant and was deeply moved. “It’s not quite so terrible as you imagine it to be.”

“Yes, yes it is! First Johnny. I didn’t mean to get him into trouble, but I did. Jeannette warned me it would be so, but I refused to listen. And then you. She warned me about that, too. But I didn’t think Father would rant and rave at you like that! Even Paul and George. Oh, George will never forgive me! He didn’t deserve any of Father’s anger. He was only trying to protect me, and now he might lose his job. And Jeannette. She should hate me for all the trouble I’ve gotten her into.”

“I don’t hate you, Yvette,” her sister reassured. “Really, I don’t.”

“You should,” Yvette argued, slowly lifting her head. “Tomorrow you will be punished, too, and it’s all my fault! Everything!”

Again she was sobbing. “I don’t know why I do the horrid things I do! I don’t even know why I think of them! Oh, why did I have to go to Dulcie’s tonight? Why couldn’t it have been last night when Father was still on Espoir?”

“Because you said there would be more action on a Friday night,” Jeannette reminded her. “You wanted to play poker, remember?”

Charmaine was shocked. Yvette wasn’t contrite over her intractable behavior, just sorry she’d been caught.

“And I was winning!” she wailed. “I’d more than tripled my money!”

“But that’s good,” Jeannette encouraged.

“Good?” Yvette exclaimed. “How can you say that? I ran out and left it all behind! Almost eighty dollars! One hundred, if you count the last pot! And those greedy, stinkin’, cheatin’, no-good lot of dirty swindlin’ seamen probably shoved it all into their filthy pockets when Father left! We’re out twenty dollars!”

George found John in the stable brushing Phantom’s flank to a brilliant luster, as if the chore could draw out all of the poison that festered in the wound his father had so deftly reopened.

“Isn’t it a bit late to be currying your horse?” George queried lightly.

“It’s a bit late for a lot of things, George,” the man bitterly replied. “I’m a fool, one damned fool.”

“No, John, you’re not. You did what was best. Don’t allow your father to lead you to believe otherwise. You did what was best.”

“Did I?”

“You know you did,” George finished. “This is Yvette’s night for mischief, not yours. No sense in acting the spoiled boy just because she’s stolen center stage from you.”

The remark brought a smile to John’s eyes, and he laughed with his friend in spite of himself.

“Look!” George weighed a hefty purse in his hand before tossing it over.

“What is this?”

“Count it,” George directed, watching John rake his fingers through the contents. “There’s over a hundred dollars there. More than eighty-five in winnings by my estimation.”

“Winnings?” John questioned bemusedly.

“Yvette’s winnings. According to the men she was playing poker with, she took a seat at the table with a purse of twenty dollars. She won the rest.”

“Won?” John asked incredulously. “Are you saying she won this off a surly lot of seamen?”

“Fair and square,” George replied, “though I’m certain her manner of play was at best baffling. On more than one turn of the card, she held a high ace, hoping to draw a second pair. But the men misread the three cards she kept as beginner’s luck, assuming she’d been dealt three of a kind. If your father hadn’t stormed the table, it would have been downright entertaining.”

“And how did you come to be there, Georgie?”

“Just stopped in for a drink,” his friend answered. “But I don’t mind telling you, I nearly crapped my pants when Paul and your father walked in.”

“I’m sure you did,” John agreed, a deep laugh erupting. “So, tell me more. From the beginning, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” George chuckled, and he launched into the entire story.

Saturday, October 7, 1837

S
PENT
of curses, Frederic found the morning less to his liking than the night before. Cloistered in his private chambers, he could spare others his miserable disposition. But for himself, his refuge was nothing more than a prison, an incarceration of the mind, plagued by the memory of the life he had lived, the many opportunities he had wasted, the schemes he had forged in their stead. Another plan had failed. When would he learn he could not bend destiny? The Almighty was determined to prolong the agony of his failure: failure as a father, failure as a husband.

Voices floated up from the gardens, drawing him to the French doors. John was there, squatting and settling Pierre on one knee, his arm encircling the child’s small shoulders. “Now, let me see,” he said, taking hold of the boy’s hand and turning it over for inspection. “Where is this terrible splinter Mainie can’t see?”

“There!” Pierre pointed out. Charmaine moved behind John, watching from over his shoulder.

“Not a very big one,” John commented softly, pulling the palm nearer his face, “but there all the same. They say the smaller ones hurt the most.”

Pierre looked up at his governess, and John’s gaze followed, the sun catching in his hair. He was talking to the lad again, the love in his voice disarming. “You won’t cry when I take this out, will you?”

Pierre shook his head, and John stood, hoisting him into his arms. The sun glinted again, playing a color game with the reddish tints in the brown-blond hair, Elizabeth’s hair.

The boy was a man already. Only yesterday, Frederic thought he had so much time. Suddenly, a distant memory transported him back to a time when John was a similar age to Pierre suffering his splinter. The ship pitched and plunged through the roiling waves. Bursts of thunder exploded, an untamed beast bearing down on them. The cabin door flew open, and the frustrated nanny rushed in, fretting over his wailing son. John could not be calmed, the darkness too great and the storm too fierce to dike his turgid tears. He was placed in Frederic’s care, a father vaguely known to him, a father who had all but disowned him, but could not bring himself to completely renounce the only remaining part of the woman he still loved. Frederic held the lad for the first time that night, knowing that, if nothing else, his strength and size could shield the three-year-old from the tempest and perhaps soothe him. As they settled in the cot, John buried his head in Frederic’s shoulder and his breathing grew steady. Frederic began to fancy the feel of Elizabeth’s son cuddled in his embrace. Then he remembered Elizabeth in that spot and began to cry, hot tears trickling into his hair as he mourned the woman he had lost…

“Damn!” he cursed aloud, ignoring the blur of his vision. Why hadn’t John just taken Pierre and fled?
Why?

Yvette stood meekly before her father, ready to accept her come-uppance, comforted only by the fact her sister stood next to her. It had been little over a week since she had last visited the master’s chambers; now she’d be pleased never to step into these rooms again.

“Two things I would have from you,” Frederic began roughly, his shrewd eyes scrutinizing the child from where he sat.

He did not delight in her submissiveness. Remembering Jeannette’s declaration of the preceding night, he berated himself for snuffing out the rebelliousness, the savvy, he admired. Still, she had recklessly hatched more trouble than John and Paul at that age and comprehended little of the danger she could have faced had he not intervened. Therefore, it was best to deal with her sternly.

“First,” he said, “I would have your promise, your word of honor, that what happened last night will
never
happen again. Beyond that, I want it understood you will never, under any circumstance, leave this house or its grounds without permission from either myself or your governess.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied softly, meeting his eyes. It appeared the man’s apoplectic anger had indeed dissipated, and she regained her aplomb with the pledge, “I promise.”

Frederic cocked his head. “I don’t want the words given casually. I expect you to hold by them, and not just when you think you may be caught. When you leave here, I want to know I can trust you, that your vow won’t be broken.”

“On my life, sir,” she pronounced, “I give my word. I won’t
ever
do anything so naughty again.”

He smiled for the first time, and Yvette wondered what he found so amusing. “I believe you,” he said.

“And the second?” she probed; he had mentioned two things.

“I want you to apologize to Miss Ryan. You could have caused her great alarm if she had gone to your room and found your beds empty. As it was, she was unjustly blamed for your misconduct, something she didn’t deserve.”

“Is that all?” Yvette asked, convinced the worst had yet to come.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, but aren’t you—I mean, I thought you—”

“No, I’m not,” the man interrupted, his brow raised. “As angry as I was when I found you gambling at Dulcie’s, I had no intention of beating you, Yvette. However, if something like this should happen again, I’ll not be so lenient.”

“Then—there’s to be no punishment?” the girl asked hopefully.

“I didn’t say that. After some consideration, I’ve decided my timely arrival at the tavern last evening will stand as punishment enough.”

Yvette frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Then let me explain.” Frederic rummaged through his desk drawer, producing the reticule the girl had stuffed with an assortment of gold coins and one-dollar notes only twelve hours earlier.

Relief washed over her when the pouch jangled, and in unmasked delight, she quickly calculated the value of the purse.

“There’s more than the twenty American dollars you started with,” he said, as if reading her mind, “close to five times that amount by George’s count.”

“George?”

“He confiscated all of your winnings. If your little adventure weren’t so naughty, I’d have to congratulate you. However,” he continued, his voice growing hard and uncompromising, “no daughter of mine is going to gamble—let alone with dirty, low-class seamen. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Yvette muttered, her moment’s elation quashed with the realization of what was coming next.

“Unfortunately, lessons are often learned the hard way. And the best lesson for you, my dear, is to lose this.”

“But—”

“I’m donating it to the poor.”

“Just the winnings, Papa, please, I promise I won’t—”

“No, Yvette, not just the winnings. You see, it was only luck that prevented you from losing last night. Do you realize what those men would have done had you continued to win? You feared a beating
from me, but I guarantee they would have inflicted far worse. They would have followed you and cornered you alone.”

She shuddered and meekly mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

Frederic eyed his other daughter. “What of you, Jeannette? Was any of this money yours?”

“Yes, Papa. Half of it was mine. Yvette said we’d split whatever she won.”

“Well, then, you’ve shared equally in the punishment. It had better not happen again.”

“No, sir, it won’t.”

They watched as Frederic slid open the deepest drawer in the desk, fumbled curiously with what looked to be a false back, deposited the purse there, and replaced the wooden panel.

“It would be safer in the safe,” Yvette offered.

“No, my dear, it won’t remain in the house for long. I’m certain there are a few families in town who could benefit from your generosity. I shall speak to Paul about it.”

He smiled at them, a self-satisfied smile that riled Yvette. She resisted uttering the recriminations that were rifling through her head, certain they would induce his wrath if they found their way to tongue.

“That will be all,” he finished.

Once they were in the south-wing corridor, Yvette took to grumbling. “Just wait until I see George. He snatched all of my winnings and told Father about it instead of me! Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Yvette,” her sister attempted to console. “But if Father didn’t use the money as our punishment, we could have gotten worse.”

“Worse? I don’t see how! All that loot and we didn’t even get to count it! It’s unfair, I tell you.”

“Tired?”

Startled, Charmaine looked up from the lawn and squinted
against the sun that silhouetted the man looming over her. He stepped forward, blocking the rays altogether. Disappointed, Charmaine smiled halfheartedly up at Paul.

“Not tired,” she answered as he sat beside her, drawing his knees up and locking his arms about them. “Just discontent, I suppose.”

“Discontent? You’re not blaming yourself for what happened last night?”

“Partially. I’m waiting for the girls now.”

She focused on Pierre, who was pushing the swing back and forth.

“Everything will turn out for the best,” he soothed, studying her with a sympathetic eye and an indefinable ache in his breast. “Charmaine, look at me.”

She faced him, surprised by the raw emotion in his eyes.

“I missed you,” he stated simply, his hand catching hers, squeezing it in understanding and support, instilling her with renewed strength. “How was your week?”

John left the terrace and stepped back into the house. Charmaine was already occupied. He no longer commanded her attention. His week had come to a close. Hadn’t he realized that last night? He’d be wise to shut the door. He rubbed his forehead and swallowed hard.

Why was he always denied? Why did he allow himself to be denied? He grunted across the words that chastised him, the gentle petition that haunted him:
Take care of them…live and love again, John
…

Coming to an abrupt decision, he crossed the foyer hurriedly and took the stairs two at a time. He knew it was a last resort, but because he had nothing more to lose, he set his pride aside and entered his father’s sanctum.

Frederic looked up from his desk.

John read the surprise in his eyes and got right to the point. “I
will be returning to Virginia tomorrow. I request your permission to take Pierre and the twins with me.”

Frederic was stunned by the direct petition, awed by his son’s valor to take this step, especially in light of the ugly episode of the evening before. Wasn’t this what he wanted, an honest give-and-take?

“For how long?” he asked.

“Forever.”

“And who will see to their care when you are occupied with business?”

Is my father actually considering this request?
John had expected a swift and unequivocal “no.” “Miss Ryan, if she is willing. She has friends there. A move back will allow her to be closer to them.”

Frederic breathed deeply and stood up. He walked to the French doors, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of such an arrangement. Here was an opening to begin setting things aright with his son, but in so doing, would he estrange his remaining offspring?

“And what of Yvette and Jeannette?” he asked.

“What of them?” John rejoined, exasperated. “What will they miss here, except a shadow of a father closeted in a room who pays them no mind, or when he does, rants and raves like a lunatic, and a stepmother who despises them? Where do
you
think they will be better off?”

Frederic smarted with the truth of the declaration, remembering his cowering daughters. Another grave mistake he needed to correct—for Colette, for himself. He turned back to John. “Why don’t you stay here?” he offered. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just stayed on Charmantes?”

“Easier for you,” John replied. “I refuse to participate in this—this evil charade any longer. You keep your children close not by giving them what they need, but by withholding it.” He snorted in disgust when his father didn’t respond. “Obviously, your answer is ‘no.’ I knew it would be. I come to claim what is mine—the courage
you don’t believe I have—and still I am denied!” Not waiting for a reply, he retreated.

But Frederic called after him, “Not all of it is yours to claim,” and then to the empty doorway, “I cannot release my daughters…certainly not forever.”

“I’m listening, John,” Paul said, annoyed when his brother quietly took a seat. “Surely you didn’t summon me here to watch you recline—”

“Sit down, Paul,” John interrupted mildly. “I have a number of things to discuss with you. I’m not kindling a row, I would like to speak civilly.”

Paul indulged him. “What is it?”

“I’d like to talk to you about Charmaine.”

“What about her?” Paul queried cautiously, warily.

“Charmaine is a decent woman, good and kind.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, John. Remember, it was I who knew her first, I who informed you of her integrity. It took you long enough to recognize it, the noble attributes you sought to scorn and scandalize.”

John concurred. “But I did recognize them. I admit I misjudged her at first. Likewise, you must agree few women can match Charmaine in worth.”

“I don’t discredit that observation,” Paul replied, his brow a study of a mind working. “But where is all of this leading?”

“Have you considered marriage?”

“Marriage?” Paul sputtered. “Are you suggesting I marry her?”

“In a word, yes. Is it so revolting an idea?”

Severely suspicious now, Paul pressed his chin into the palm of his hand and considered the man. “What is this about, John? What is this
really
about?”

“I’m fond of Charmaine. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“And you think marriage to me will prevent that?”

“Yes, I do. She loves you, you know, more deeply than I think even you realize. The night I came home, she kissed you with all the passion and love a woman can give a man. I didn’t comprehend how neatly her heart was sewn into the bargain until I came to know her better, heard her speak about you. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt—not by me, and not by you.”

“Then why don’t
you
marry her?” Paul baited, suddenly angry the man was placing them on the same level.