Decision and Destiny (4 page)

Pierre studied him speculatively. “Would I live in your house?”

“Would you like to live with me?”

“Only if Mainie could live there, too.”

“Only if Mainie could live there, too,” John mumbled under his breath. “Well, Pierre, we’ll have to see about that.” He ruffled the lad’s hair affectionately.

Father Benito droned on, and Charmaine caught herself daydreaming. Agatha sat directly in front of her, a constant reminder of John’s profanity.
Bitch
…the label had had an effect. Agatha had kept to her boudoir until this morning, and Charmaine could thank the man for that, too. Nevertheless, she anguished over Frederic’s reaction. He hadn’t confronted her as yet; surely he would.

John. By no means did his blessed intervention excuse his reprehensible behavior, but it had brought about a most unexpected cease-fire. For this reason, she bowed her head and said a prayer for him. It was as if her mother were there, telling her it was the right thing to do. Even at dinner last night, he had been pleasant. With Paul and Agatha absent, the mood had been relaxed, and to the children’s delight, he and George carried on throughout the meal, telling jokes, playing tricks, and acting silly. Not once did he send a cutting remark her way, and so it had been easy to place Pierre in his care this morning. Perhaps the worst was behind them; perhaps they had reached a truce.

When the Mass ended, Stephen Westphal approached Paul.

“What brings you to services here?” Paul asked.

Westphal, who hadn’t returned to the manor since that terrible dinner last December, glanced at Charmaine. “It is difficult to track you down during the week, so I had hoped to catch you at home.”

“What is it?”

Agatha moved to Paul’s side, and Stephen nodded a greeting.

“Perhaps we should go to the library. This is a business conversation, private in nature.”

“You can tell me here,” Paul replied, suspicious of the man’s reticence.

Westphal plunged in. “Some of the Richmond accounts you attempted to liquidate were closed out earlier this year.”

“Closed out? What do you mean, closed out?”

“The funds were withdrawn in March—” Westphal cleared his throat “—by John. By all indications, there are no monies left in the Virginia State Bank.”

Paul massaged the back of his neck, perplexed.

“This is outrageous!” Agatha exclaimed.

Westphal rushed on. “Don’t worry, I had Edward Richecourt contact the Bank of Richmond. Those accounts are still intact, and the shipping firm has been paid; however, it would be prudent to find out whether other accounts have been terminated before future notes are written against them.”

“We can find that out right now,” Paul replied, “that is, if I can locate John. He’s probably still sleeping.”

“No, he’s not!” Yvette piped in. “He’s in the dining room with Pierre.”

“Pierre?” Paul queried, noting for the first time the three-year-old’s absence. “Alone?” he added, his anxious eyes now leveled on Charmaine. “You left the boy alone with John?”

“Yes—” Charmaine faltered “—but I’m certain he is fine.”

Paul rushed from the chapel. Stephen threw a quizzical look at Agatha and hastened after him. Trembling, Charmaine and the
girls did the same. She worried over the expression on Paul’s face, the implication Pierre was in some sort of peril. Surely John wouldn’t endanger his own brother.

They found Pierre seated in John’s lap, giggling.

“What’s the matter, Paul?” John asked as his brother stepped up to the table, a small entourage behind him. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Paul exhaled.

Greatly puzzled, Charmaine studied both men, but their faces bore no answers.
Pierre is fine—so why the alarm?

Stephen broke the perplexing tableau, stepping forward with hand extended. “John, how good it is to see you again.”

John made no move to rise. “It is?” he asked, ignoring the proffered hand, which hung suspended in midair long enough to become embarrassing.

“Of course it is,” the banker rejoined in confusion, his arm dropping to his side. “Anne has written a great deal about you of late. I’m pleased to hear you’ve been getting along so famously.”

John snorted. “Famously? Is that how she describes it?”

“Well, yes.”

Westphal began fiddling with his collar. He’d forgotten how brutally blunt John could be. Ten years in America hadn’t smoothed the man’s rough edges.

“Did your daughter write she was chasing me all over Virginia and I traveled to New York to get away from her?”

“No—no, of course not!” Westphal blustered, then laughed pretentiously as if John were only joking. “She led me to believe that—that—well, that—”

“Well, Mr. Westphal, it appears your daughter has
misled
you. So let me clear the matter up for you right now: I have no intention of ever proposing marriage to her. Is there anything else you’ve been led to believe?”

To Charmaine’s delight, the banker’s face reddened in disgrace. “I don’t know what to say,” he jabbered further. When John held silent, he beat a hasty retreat toward the foyer.

“I know he’s annoying,” Paul commented as everyone took their seats, “but you didn’t have to break it to him quite like that.”

“No? Trust me, Paul, it is for the best. Unlike Mrs. London, he got the message, so perhaps he will convince her she is wasting her time. I’m tired of her incessant pestering and would see an end to it.”

Paul shook his head, but didn’t pursue the matter. “I need to speak with you about the Virginia bank accounts. You closed two of them. Why?”

John leaned back in his chair. “I thought it unwise to have all our money in the South, so I transferred funds to New York. Why do you ask?”

“I wrote notes against those accounts. Why didn’t you let me know they’d been moved?”

“I didn’t know about the notes. Why didn’t
you
let
me
know?”

Paul didn’t answer. He grabbed a journal, sat, and began to read.

The children had just finished changing out of their formal Sunday attire and into clothing suited for the stable when a knock fell on their nursery door.

Jeannette opened it. “Papa!”

Charmaine finished tying Pierre’s shoelace and stood slowly, bracing herself for the man’s upbraiding.

“Good morning, Jeannette,” he greeted. “Where are you off to today?”

“The stables, Papa. We’re going to check on the new colt!”

“Chastity foaled yesterday,” Yvette added. “We’ve spent so much time at her stall, the colt thinks we’re his masters. Maybe he could be mine?”

“I don’t know, Yvette,” her father answered seriously. “If the foal
grows to be anything like his sire, he may be too much stallion for you to handle.”

Yvette grumbled, but he chuckled softly. “Why don’t you and your sister run along to the paddock now? I’d like to speak with your governess.”

They needed no further encouragement. Other than Pierre, who was on hands and knees playing with his blocks, Charmaine and Frederic were suddenly alone.

He must have read her apprehension, for he spoke directly. “Miss Ryan, I apologize for my wife’s conduct yesterday morning. It won’t happen again.” Charmaine was dumbfounded, but he didn’t seem to notice, his attention on Pierre. “How is he?”

“Recovering,” she said, and then, by way of justification, “I thought he was napping, sir. When I returned to check on him, he was gone. I suppose he went into Mrs. Duvoisin’s chambers because they used to belong to his—”

“Charmaine, I’m not asking for an explanation. I am quite pleased with your care of my children. It is the single thing I don’t worry about.”

Amazingly, the ugly episode was closed, Frederic calling to the boy and requesting a hug, which the child eagerly bestowed.

That evening, John came to the nursery to say goodnight to the children. He hesitated on the threshold, his eyes resting on Charmaine, who was struggling to dress Pierre for bed. The boy giggled up at him, squirming against the garment.

“He’s improved throughout the day,” she commented with a tentative smile.

“Johnny,” Yvette interjected before he could respond, “is it true you’re not going to marry Mr. Westphal’s daughter?”

“I’m not going to marry her,” he reassured.

“Good,” she said. “I don’t want you to marry
anyone,
especially her!”

John smiled at her naked honesty.

“Is she really rich like her father says she is?” she pressed.

“Her husband was a wealthy man, and she’ll most likely inherit her father’s money some day, too.” He eyed her quizzically. “Why do you ask?”

“If she is already rich, why would she want to marry you?”

John laughed heartily. “Because I’m so charming, of course!”

Charmaine rolled her eyes, not caring that he had turned to see her reaction.

“I don’t think so!” Yvette refuted. “That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”

“For some people, no matter how much money they have, it’s never enough, so they make their fortunes bigger by marrying someone with even more.”

“But you won’t do that, will you, Johnny?” she asked.

“If I marry, Yvette, it will be to a woman who won’t care about the size of my fortune; a woman who is happy just to be married to me. And someday, that’s how it should be for you, too.”

Charmaine was stunned by his declaration and bowed her head, not wishing him to see she approved of the values he was imparting to his sisters.

“Like Cinderella?” Jeannette interjected, bright-eyed.

“Like Cinderella,” John nodded.

“Only the wicked stepmother will belong to the prince’s family,” Yvette added. “But she’ll never get you to sweep the floors, will she, Johnny?”

John sniggered. “I wouldn’t dream of taking her broom. How ever would she travel?”

Monday, August 28, 1837

With Fatima at market and the children hungry, Charmaine prepared a snack tray in the kitchen. She looked up when Anna and Felicia entered the room, then set knife to bread and tried to ignore them.

“Like I was sayin’,” Felicia began pointedly, chafed by Charmaine’s aloofness, “I’ll satisfy him. Just you wait and see, and it won’t be by pretendin’ to be some innocent virgin. He don’t want some backward chit, anyway. What do you think, ‘Ma-de-mwah-zelle’? Do I got a chance?”

Charmaine began buttering the slices. “A chance at what?”

Felicia laughed spuriously. “There you go again, actin’ all naïve, with your high-and-mighty airs. You think you’re better than me, don’t ya? Ever since you got your room moved to the second floor. Well, you might think you’re somethin’ special, but you ain’t. You’re still hired help, just like me and Anna. So you oughta stop pretendin’ ’cause everyone knows you’re just the riffraff daughter of a murderer! Worse than us, in fact.”

Charmaine grimaced, hurt, yet perplexed. The maid’s verbal abuse had died down long ago, so why this?

“What I’d like to know is what you’re up to,” Felicia proceeded.

“You’ve been stringin’ Paul along for a year now, and that ain’t worked. So maybe you think you can make him jealous by fishin’ for a bigger catch. Is that what she’s up to, Anna?”

Anna nodded, bolstering Felicia’s fantastic theory.

The jaded woman smiled wickedly and continued to speak to Anna as if Charmaine weren’t there. “Ma-de-mwah-zelle Ryan will have her hands full if she thinks she can mewl after John the way she’s mewled after his brother.”

“
John?
” Charmaine gasped. “I leave him to you, Felicia!”

“Ain’t that generous of you!” the maid exclaimed, eyes hard as granite, voice cold as ice. “But I’ve seen the changes ’round here—enemies one day, friends the next. What did ya do, lift your skirts behind Paul’s back?”

Revolted, Charmaine grabbed the tray and rushed up the servant’s staircase.

“That’s right, Ma-de-mwah-zelle,” Felicia called after her, “you run back to the children and leave the men in this house to me. But
if you’re gonna keep playin’ your games, stick to Paul and stay away from John!”

Charmaine was still simmering when she reached the nursery. She forced a smile for Rose and Pierre, offered them the snack, then settled next to Jeannette, who was absorbed in a book. “It must be interesting,” she commented, pushing Felicia from her mind.

“Hmm?” the girl queried, her eyes rising slowly to Charmaine.

“Oh yes, it is! Mademoiselle, do you really think a person can become a vampire?”

“A vampire? Is that what your book is about?”

“Yes! They’re terrible creatures that awaken from the dead,” Jeannette explained, her eyes wide with wonderment and fear. “By day, a vampire’s body remains asleep in its tomb, but at nightfall, the vampire rises up and stalks the earth, searching for victims—”

“Jeannette, you’ll frighten your brother! Why ever would you want to read such a novel, anyway?” She took the book and leafed through the pages of folklore. “Wherever did you get this?”

“Yvette found it in the library a couple of days ago,” Jeannette explained. “She’s going to read it after she finishes
Frankenstein
.”

“
Frankenstein?
” Charmaine asked, her eyes going to Yvette, who lay on the floor next to the French doors, also reading.

“This is even more frightening than vampires,” the girl imparted. “Just listen…” and she began reading excerpts from the ghastly story.

Having heard enough, Charmaine walked over to the girl and wrenched the book from her hands. “Mary Shelley…Where did you get this?”

“From Johnny. And Mary Shelley claims a corpse stood over her—”

“
Corpse?
” Charmaine gasped. “Why would anyone, let alone a woman, want to write something like this?”

“To win a wager,” Yvette replied.

“A wager?”

“Johnny said Mary Shelley and her friends were trying to see who could write the most frightening story.”

“And did she succeed?”

“I think so. After all, wouldn’t you be frightened by Dr. Frankenstein’s experiments to bring the dead back to life?”

“Bring the dead back to life? Yvette, this story is sacrilegious—”