Decision and Destiny (3 page)

The boy attempted to wave from his lofty perch, but quickly changed his mind, clasping both hands over John’s eyes. John peeled them away with the complaint: “I can’t see, Pierre! If I trip, we’ll be like Humpty Dumpty and all fall down.” Charmaine giggled when the three-year-old let go of John’s face only to grab fistfuls of his hair.

“That’s not Humpty Dumpty,” he declared, “that’s Ring a Ring a Rosy.”

Moments later, they found “Fang” grazing in the middle of a wild field, his great head bent to the long grass, his tail swishing in the breeze.

“Come quickly!” Yvette urged, breaking into a run.

“Yvette!” John shouted. “Wait for me.”

She stopped immediately, arms akimbo. “Then hurry up!”

When he reached her, he set Pierre down and squatted, looking her straight in the eye. “I’ve told you never to go near Fang without me. I thought you understood.”

Yvette bowed her head. “But—”

“There
are
no buts, Yvette. The horse can be dangerous if he’s startled. You are not to go near him unless you are with me. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she replied meekly.

John’s genuine concern surprised Charmaine. After patting Yvette’s back, he placed his cap on her head, a privilege that regained her friendship. Now she tugged at his hand and called for Charmaine to follow.

“So, this is Fang,” Charmaine remarked apprehensively, jumping when the horse shook its head.

“Yes,” John acknowledged, stroking the black mane, “this is my horse.” He threw an arm over the animal’s neck and proceeded to introduce them. “Fang, this is Miss Ryan, formerly of Richmond, Virginia. Miss Ryan, this is Fang, my loyal steed.”

The twins were giggling, and Pierre joined in.

Suddenly, the horse stepped forward and, to John’s delight, neighed a greeting that petrified Charmaine. “That means ‘pleased to make your acquaintance’ in horse talk,” he explained, drawing more laughter from the children.

Charmaine smiled in spite of herself.

“Do you like him, Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette asked.

“He is quite remarkable,” she replied nervously, “however, I have yet to see why he’s named Fang. I still say that’s a dog’s name.”

John stepped closer. “You use the perfect word to describe Fang, Miss Ryan,” he replied, taking hold of her wrist to lead her nearer the steed. “You see, Fang has a
remarkable
characteristic that distinguishes him from other horses.”

She cringed with the contact of his warm hand and pulled away quickly.

“He was born with one overly large, very sharp, front tooth. Right, girls?”

They nodded vigorously.

“One overly large front tooth?” she asked. “Surely you jest.”

“No, I do not. Fang has a reputation for nipping fingers and other horses. That’s why they all steer clear of Fang. He uses his tooth as a weapon.”

The twins hadn’t stopped laughing. How had she been drawn into this ridiculous conversation? If the children weren’t enjoying themselves so immensely, she’d be walking back to the blanket.

“You don’t believe Johnny, do you?” Yvette demanded. “It’s really true!” She looked up at her brother. “You better show her.”

John pulled the stallion’s head up from the grass and grabbed his muzzle. When Fang whickered in objection, Charmaine stepped back.

“Why are you moving away?” he asked. “Don’t you want to see the oddity of the century? You’d pay a fee to glimpse something like this at the circus.”

“Actually,” Charmaine faltered, “I’d hate to put you through all that trouble. I’m sure I can do without seeing the ‘oddity of the century.’”

“Go ahead, Mademoiselle,” Yvette implored. “He won’t bite you.”

Charmaine wondered whether the girl was referring to the horse or John. She decided to placate them and be done with it, or she’d never hear the end of it.

John produced a lump of sugar from his pocket. The stallion’s lips curled back, and the treat was devoured, but Charmaine witnessed nothing unusual.

“Did you see it?”

“Well, actually, no.”

“How could you miss it? It was right there, plain as the nose on your face!”

“Now, Yvette,” John chided, “give Miss Ryan a chance. She doesn’t know where to look like you do. Perhaps if she stepped a bit closer, she’d see better.”

This time when John held out the sugar, he drew back the horse’s lips and Yvette pointed to the area of interest. “Look! See it there? See that big fang?”

Charmaine didn’t see a thing, but the girl’s huff of frustration prompted her to scrutinize the animal’s mouth further.

John let go of the huge head and pressed his brow into the steed’s neck. Charmaine frowned.
Is he ill?
He looked heavenward,
his entire face one tremendous smile. Tears were welling in his eyes, and in a flash, she realized he was laughing. The twins rivaled his mirth, doubling over in painful glee, unable to speak. Even Pierre was giggling.

“You are the first grown-up that prank has worked on!” Yvette gasped.

Charmaine’s heart plummeted. They were enjoying themselves at her expense! Suddenly, insidiously, her throat constricted with tears. Why was this man so determined to make a fool of her? Now he had the children ridiculing her! In great despair, she grabbed Pierre’s hand and set a brisk pace back to the bluff.

“Mademoiselle!” Jeannette called after her, running to catch up.

“You’re not angry, are you? We didn’t mean to make you angry. It was only a prank, but we wouldn’t have done it if we thought you wouldn’t find it funny, too!”

Charmaine struggled not to cry and was comforted when she received an affectionate hug from the gentle twin. Yvette and John were fast approaching, and she quickly composed herself, not wanting the man to know he had once again reduced her to tears.

He saw her dab at her eyes.
Such a deft little actress. Now I’m supposed to feel guilty because I made the little lady cry.
He shook his head derisively and chuckled to himself.
She is quite fetching with her curvaceous figure and wild hair—her best assets by far. And she uses that sidelong glance to disarm a man. No wonder Paul and George have fallen for her. Well, George is Mr. Earnest, and Paul likes to be the hero so he can seduce her. And Johnny? Well, Johnny isn’t taken in so easily. Still, if she wants to play, then why not? Johnny has nothing to lose. With Paul in her pocket, she thinks she can take on the best of them. But she hasn’t played with the likes of Johnny. Well, Miss Ryan, you shall see what it’s like to play with Johnny.

“Race you back to the blanket!” Yvette challenged. “The last one there has to carry the picnic basket home!” The girl broke into a
run and bounded into the path, Jeannette and Pierre in hot pursuit.

John drew alongside Charmaine. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

She was determined to ignore him and stared off into the distance. But he wasn’t about to be dismissed, so he stepped in front of her. When she turned her face aside, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

He only chuckled. When she sidestepped him, he hastened to catch up. “I’m sorry if my jest offended you,” he apologized, garnering her utter astonishment. “It’s a prank the twins enjoy playing. I thought you’d go along with it.”

Doubting his sincerity, Charmaine withheld comment, relieved when they reached the bluff.

“You didn’t even try to catch us!” Yvette complained.

John scooped up Pierre, who had run to greet them, then set him down again. “Now, Yvette, you would pout all day if I had outraced you.”

“You couldn’t have done that if you tried!”

Pulling his cap off her head, she brandished it before him. “I still have this! Let’s play ‘keep away’ from Johnny!”

When John lunged at her, she darted out of reach. As he closed in, she sent the cap sailing through the air to her sister.

He grinned. “All right, Jeannie, now give it back.”

She hesitated, then squealed as he dove at her, scurrying away with his cap in hand. Then she, too, sent it flying.

John played along, indulging their tossing escapade. With hands on hips, he strategically placed himself between them. But Yvette recognized the ploy and threw the cap to Charmaine this time. She caught it and was drawn into the game as well. Now John was tracking her.

“Are you going to give me the cap, my Charm?” he asked, arm extended.

“Don’t give it to him, Mademoiselle!” Yvette cried. “Throw it to me!”

Charmaine launched the cap in Yvette’s direction, breathing easier when John swung away. When it eventually came sailing back, it fell short of its mark, hitting the ground near Pierre. He picked it up, giggled, and clumsily shuttled it to her, enabling John to close in. Charmaine tucked it behind her back and blindly retreated. John steadily advanced, blocking her view altogether. Her foot struck the trunk of the tree. She was trapped!

He was only inches away, and as her eyes traveled up from the buttons on his shirt, past his neck to his clean-shaven face, memories of their first encounter rushed in. Somehow, he seemed taller than that night, even more imposing than the morning he’d barged into his room and found her reading Colette’s letter. But he wasn’t angry now. He leaned in close and, with a victorious grin, placed his hands flat against the tree trunk, imprisoning her there. His eyes were magnetic. At that moment, he struck her as being very handsome, his wavy hair falling low on his brow, his usually stern features turned boyish. He seemed to read her thoughts, and the rakish smile widened, boring deep dimples into his smooth cheeks. All at once, the blood was thundering in her ears, and she felt her face grow crimson.

“May I have my cap back, my Charm?” he asked huskily, “or must I remove it from your backside forcibly?”

Her limbs were quaking as she handed it over. He stood there a moment longer, restoring it to its original shape, complaining of the damage done. “I’m afraid it hasn’t fared well in the battle. It will never be the same.”

Yvette was outraged. “You’re lucky you even got it back!” She turned on Charmaine. “You’re no fun! You didn’t even try to keep it away from him!”

“Well, Yvette,” John said, “all good things must come to an end.
Even games
.” Though he spoke to his sister, his eyes remained fixed
on Charmaine, who was still leaning against the tree. He fixed the cap on his head and walked over to Pierre, affectionately ruffling his hair.

The twins sneaked up behind him, bent upon dislodging the cap and engaging him in the game again. But he stepped out of their reach. They danced around him still, trying to jump high enough to snatch it. Charmaine had never seen them so gay.

“Up to no good again, eh?” he accused mischievously.

“Just like you, Johnny!” Yvette rejoined.

“Just like me? When am I up to no good?”

“You’re always up to no good,” Yvette exclaimed, as if it were common knowledge. “That’s what Father says.”

A black scowl darkened John’s face. Impulsively, Charmaine took a step closer to Yvette, fearful he might strike the girl. Instead, he demanded more information. “He told you that?”

“No, not me. Just Paul.”

“But you were there.”

“Not exactly. Paul had something important to discuss with Father, and I wanted to know what it was. So, I went to the kitchen and took a glass from the cupboard and listened through the wall of the water closet next to Papa’s dressing chamber. It worked fine, because I could hear every word they said. Paul was angry about something you did, something about sending a ship here without papers. Anyway, that’s when Papa said you were up to no good.”

Suddenly, John was laughing heartily. “A glass against the wall,” he murmured, shaking his head in amazement.

Yvette nodded, pleased with his reaction. “You remember when you showed me how to do that, don’t you?”

“Ah yes,” he sighed. “You are an astute pupil, Yvette.”

Charmaine was both astonished and irate. “So, her eavesdropping on Saturday was my fault, but this incident is just splendid because the instruction came from you, is that it?”

John laughed harder and spoke to Yvette. “My advice to you,
my little spy, is: keep up the good work, but take care
not
to get caught. If Paul finds you with that glass, he’ll lock you up in the meetinghouse cellar with all the drunkards.”

“Where you belong, no doubt!” Charmaine snapped.

“What do you mean by that?” John asked.

“You had better think twice before you teach the children your antics. They may come back to haunt you.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” John replied in overemphasized seriousness. With a theatrical flourish, he produced an imaginary paper and quill and pretended to write. “Miss Ryan, an authority on high morals and untainted virtue, warns me I had better watch my step, or else!”

“Or else what?” Yvette asked.

“Paulie will give me a sound thrashing. Isn’t that right, Mademoiselle?”

Charmaine’s eyes narrowed, but she refused to answer, as once again her caustic retort failed to meet its mark.

When John saw she had nothing more to say, he chuckled softly and bade the children a farewell. He turned back to her, pulled the cap off his head, and held it over his heart. “Thank you, Miss Ryan, for graciously allowing me to join your picnic luncheon. I’m sure you’ll agree it was most enjoyable, but please don’t beg me to stay any longer, since I really must be leaving now.”

Enjoyable, indeed! She almost laughed outright at the absurd statement. Still, she sighed with relief when she realized he really meant to depart. Not even the children were able to change his mind, and he soon disappeared down the pathway. Not long afterward, they, too, headed for home.

Saturday, August 26, 1837

I
T
was an hour past daybreak and Charmaine and the children were already out of the house. Late last night, George had informed the twins Chastity would finally foal. And so, they were up and dressed at the crack of dawn, pestering Charmaine to visit the stables. Once there, they reveled in the miracle of new life. But Pierre had quickly tired of the spectacle.

Presently, he giggled uncontrollably as Charmaine spun him round and round in wide circles. Dizzy and exhausted, they collapsed onto the dewy lawn, where Charmaine affectionately kissed the top of his head. He scrambled away and stood before her, his cheeks rosy. “I wanna do it again!” he demanded, presenting his back to her and throwing his arms up into the air.

“Pierre,” she complained breathlessly, “you are going to be ill!”

“One more time!” he pleaded, turning his baby-brown eyes upon her.

“That is what you said the last time,” she replied, placing a finger to his protruding belly and marking her words with a tickle. He squirmed and giggled. “Very well,” she sighed, rising again. “But this will be the last time, yes?”

He shrugged with head cocked, an adorable pose that made it impossible to say “no.” She chuckled and gave him a fierce hug, then twirled him again. His glee echoed off the façade of the manor. When she set him down, he scrutinized her with another tilt of the head. Spontaneously, he threw his arms around her waist and hugged her as tightly as she had him moments ago.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “I love you, Pierre—so very much!”

As she released him, he espied a butterfly flitting over the flowers in the lawns and was off, chasing it down. He stopped to examine it each time it alighted. Charmaine sat in the grass and watched his carefree pursuit.

John strode back into his bedchamber, perplexed. Laughter had awoken him, drawing him out onto the veranda. He stood in awe of Charmaine Ryan’s gentle play and genuine affection for Pierre. Quite unexpectedly, he felt reassured the orphaned boy had found the surrogate mother he needed. Perhaps the young governess was not just another of Paul’s hussies. He rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

The butterfly forgotten, Charmaine watched Pierre toss pebbles across the cobblestone drive. Though she appeared a tranquil figure in the cool morning breeze, her thoughts were turbulent.

The week had ended less eventfully than it had begun. After Tuesday’s picnic, she came to accept the futility of hiding from John. Though the past three days had been a tedious exercise in self-control, she was getting better at holding her tongue, learning the hard way it was impossible to win a war of words with him. He was far too quick on the comeback, another trait that rankled her.

As for Paul, he’d grown aloof, resuming his hectic work schedule on Charmantes. They hadn’t shared another moment alone. It was for the best, she reasoned. The last thing she needed was for John to catch her in his brother’s arms again. Nevertheless, Paul had
been at dinner every evening, and for that, she was grateful. Tonight would be different. He had headed for Espoir before daybreak and wasn’t expected back from the other island until late. This evening, she would have to face John alone.

The twins scampered through the stable doorway, shattering the serenity as they raced up the lawns shouting and waving. “Mademoiselle Charmaine, don’t you want to pet the new foal?”

“I think he and his mother need to be alone, and we must go inside to eat.”

“Only for a little while,” Jeannette pleaded as they reached her.

“And we can tell Johnny that Phantom sired a colt!” Yvette exclaimed.

“Johnny?” Charmaine queried quizzically. “Phantom sired?”

“Well, of course! Why else would his coat be so very black?”

“Why else, indeed?” she murmured.

It wasn’t until they had eaten, and Pierre, who’d grown cranky by the end of the meal, was settled for an early nap, that Charmaine accompanied the girls back to the stable. The foal was a sight to behold: jet black, long of leg, and fuzzy all over. He began nursing just as George returned. Confident the twins were in safe hands, Charmaine left them in order to check on Pierre.

The boy was not in his bed. She entered the playroom, but it, too, was empty. She checked her own room next. Nothing. Where could he be? She headed toward the stairs, counseling herself calm. Pierre was fine. He’d awoken and left the nursery looking for her. Perhaps he was in Paul’s chambers again.

The sound of shattering glass told her she was wrong. It had come from farther down the corridor, from Colette’s sitting room, a place where Pierre had often played, a place now forbidden to him. Instantly, Charmaine was at the door, cursing her ill fortune when the opposite door was yanked open and the mistress of the manor swept out of her husband’s quarters.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, but when a child’s giggle drew their
attention, those eyes turned evil. In a rush, she pushed past Charmaine and threw the door open. Pierre was crouched amid shards of glass and fresh flowers.

“You spoiled little brat!” she hissed, descending upon him in a fury. She grabbed him by the arm and lifted him clear off the floor.

“I’ll teach you not to touch what doesn’t belong to you!”

Charmaine flew at the woman. Stunned, Agatha let go, and Pierre scrambled behind Charmaine, where he pinned his quaking body against her legs and buried his face in her skirts.

“How dare you?” Agatha demanded.

“I—I’m sorry—”

“
Sorry?
Is that all you have to say? You allow him to escape your supervision, enter my private chambers and break a priceless vase, presume to interfere, and then assume an apology will suffice?”

“It was an accident. You can take the cost of the vase out of my wages.”

“Take the cost out of your wages?” Agatha echoed snidely. “You underestimate the value of that piece. But even if I were able to replace it, I refuse to tolerate your insubordination. For some reason you think you can speak to me as if you are a member of this family—initiate an assault of my person! Well, let me remind you who you are—an employee, an inferior!”

“I did not mean to be insolent—”

“Step aside, Miss Ryan, and hand the boy over. Since you are unable to discipline the children, it is time somebody taught you how.”

“No, please!” Charmaine begged, shielding Pierre with her arms.

“I said, step aside,” Agatha ordered, incited by the boy’s whimpers as she tried to pry him from Charmaine, “or I shall dismiss you!”

Charmaine had no choice. Agatha had the authority to carry out her threat, especially today, with Paul gone. In great shame, her arms dropped away.

“Mama! Mama!” Pierre desperately cried, clutching her legs.

Agatha yanked him free and carried him across the room to her dressing table chair, where she sat, laid him across her lap, and bared his bottom. She grabbed her hairbrush and struck him with it.

“Don’t!” Charmaine shrieked. “Please, don’t!” But her horror was muffled beneath Pierre’s wails, which grew louder with each brutal whack, spilling an ocean of tears on the carpet. She finally dove at the woman. “Let him go!”

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, Charmaine broke away. But Agatha cowered, for a livid John stood over them, beholding her defenseless victim. The boy’s bottom and lower back were covered in purple welts. Repulsed, he turned acid eyes on his aunt.

“By God, woman, what is the matter with you?”

Ashen-faced, Agatha abruptly released Pierre, who ran to Charmaine. Then, she rose regally from her chair and smoothed her rumpled skirts, a pathetic pretense at dignity.

“The boy needed a firm hand,” she replied imperiously, attempting to conceal the hairbrush in the folds of her skirt.

“
A hand?
” John snarled, seizing her arm and ripping the brush away. “You nasty bitch! I should take this to you!”

Agatha flinched when he hurled it across the room, then gasped at his profanity. “How dare you? I am mistress of this manor! I demand your respect! You will not speak to me like that! You will apologize!”

“Hell will freeze over before I apologize to the likes of you!”

“How dare you?”

“How dare
you
abuse the boy over a vase that can easily be replaced?” he shot back. “I warn you now, Agatha, if you ever raise a hand to any child in this house again, I will tear it off and cast it to the dogs!”

“How dare you? How dare you?”
she shrieked.

John ignored her, turning to Charmaine, who cradled Pierre to
her breast, the boy’s grip tenacious, face buried in her hair, his muffled sobs little more than shuddering whimpers. John placed a comforting hand to his back, then grasped Charmaine’s elbow. “Come with me, before I strangle her.”

He nudged her forward, faltering momentarily. Frederic stood in the corridor doorway, his face grim. John pressed on, and the elder immediately stepped aside. Charmaine felt a frigid gale of resentment pass between them, the icy tentacles made manifest by Agatha’s cries of indignation. “He has abused me, Frederic! You didn’t hear what he called me in front of the house staff! I am…”

They continued down the south wing corridor. When they reached the nursery, Charmaine looked at John askance, bracing herself for a battery of irate questions. “Where are the girls?” he asked instead.

“In the stables with George, watching the new foal.”

She was surprised when the inquiry ended there. John was already at the bell-pull, summoning a maid.

Charmaine placed Pierre on his bed and sat down next to him. He cuddled his pillow for comfort, compounding her misery. She had failed him, and her heart was heavy with guilt. “Pierre, I’m sorry—so sorry,” she whispered.

He shoved a thumb into his mouth and closed his eyes to the world.

A hand came down on her shoulder, and Charmaine looked up at John. He had rescued them both. “Thank you,” she choked out, uttering words she never thought she’d say to him.

“For what?” he asked softly, his eyes earnest.

“For stopping Mrs. Duvoisin, for—”

“I was a bit late.”

Charmaine gazed down at the boy, silently shouldering her culpability; she should never have handed him over to the wicked woman. “How could she do that to an innocent child?” she lamented.

“It is beyond reason,” John snorted. “Horsewhipping is too good for her.”

A knock fell on the outer door, and John opened it to Anna. “We need a basin of cold water and fresh washcloths,” he directed.

With a bob, the maid disappeared, returning minutes later with the requested items. Rolling up his sleeves, John dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, gently laying the cool compress across Pierre’s buttocks.

“This should keep the swelling down.”

Pierre awoke with a start, not at all pleased with the comfort placed upon his bruised posterior. He moaned, and Charmaine knelt beside him, massaging his back while John continued to apply the cloth.

“I’m sorry, Mainie.”

“I know you are, Pierre, but you mustn’t go near those rooms again.”

“I won’t go there no more.”

“Good,” she murmured and placed a kiss on his forehead.

Pierre turned his head deep into the pillows. Charmaine took the cloth from John. The welts had already gone down, but she feared he wouldn’t be able to sit for the next day or two.

“Don’t worry, Miss Ryan,” John reassured, reading her mind.

“Children heal quickly. I’m sure we can find a soft pillow for Pierre’s bottom.”

“This should never have happened. I should never have left him alone, and I should never have allowed that woman to raise a hand to him, threats or no.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Mademoiselle. It would have been far worse if you weren’t there. You saved Pierre from Agatha, and he knows that. There is no sense in punishing yourself over it.”

She was astonished; his words were compassionate and comforting. Just as amazing, he hadn’t taken her to task for allowing Pierre to escape her supervision.

“Better?” he queried.

She nodded, nonplussed.

“Good. Then I’ll be on my way. Take care of him for me now, will you?”

When she nodded a second time, he smiled at her—a genuine smile, devoid of mockery. Then he was gone, leaving her in stunned disbelief over all he had done for them.

Sunday, August 27, 1837

John and Pierre sat at the dining room table. Almost everyone, family and servants alike, was at Sunday Mass. But the wooden pews of the chapel were too hard for the boy’s bruised buttocks, so John had suggested Pierre remain behind with him. Thus, the boy’s injury had allowed them this time to be alone together.

John leaned forward, pretending to study Pierre as raptly as the three-year-old studied him. A fine boy, he decided. “Well, Pierre, what are we going to do for the next hour?”

“Go fishin’.”

“Fishin’? How do you know about fishin’?”

“Jawj said you fish-ed wif Gummy off’a the dock, ’member?”

John chuckled, amazed by the boy’s recollection. “One day we shall go fishing,” he promised, “but we will use a rowboat.”

Pierre tilted his head to one side. “What’s a woeboat?”

“It’s a small boat that only a few people can sit in at one time,” John explained patiently. “It’s the best way to fish in a lake or on a river. Maybe I’ll purchase one for your birthday, and we can go fishing then. Would you like that?”

“Uh-huh,” Pierre nodded emphatically.

“Good. In fact, where I live, there’s a large river called the James. Do you think you’d like to go fishing there?”

Pierre puzzled over his elder brother’s words. “Where you live?”

“Yes—in Virginia. I’ll have to travel back there soon.”

“Why?”

“Because I have work to do there.”

“Why?”

“Because…” John was at a loss and chuckled again. “Because I just do. Do you think you’d like to come with me? We would captain a giant ship across the ocean and sail right up the James River. And when we landed, you could see the buildings in the big city and my house. Do you think you’d like that?”