Decision and Destiny (6 page)

The children’s glee followed her into her bedchamber.

“You two had better stop laughing,” he warned, “or else Mademoiselle Ryan will tan my hide. Kissing I can take. A spanking? Never!”

Paul was exhausted, but couldn’t sleep. The day had been blisteringly hot and his chambers were uncomfortably warm. Presently, he stood on the balcony taking in the cool night air. It was impossible to keep up the exacting pace of running Charmantes and developing Espoir at the same time. Thankfully, George was back, but even so, critical problems ultimately fell into his lap, the biggest of all, the infant tobacco fields. Not so terrible if he wasn’t needed on Espoir, but he was. Supplies had arrived, new construction had
commenced, and fresh cane tracts were planted. It demanded a week of his time. His brother had experience with tobacco. Paul wondered if John would agree to help out while he was away.

Voices seeped into Charmaine’s dreams, melded, then abruptly broke away, snapping her awake. It was dark, but the voices came again—from the children’s room—one of them deep and irate. She jumped up and opened the door.

John stood in the center of the room, holding a distraught Joseph Thornfield by the scruff of the neck and pointing to a crumpled sheet that lay at his feet.

“I told you, sir,” the boy stuttered fearfully, “I didn’t mean any harm!”

“
Didn’t mean any harm?
” John expostulated. “You come creeping through the French doors in the middle of the night, draped in a white sheet, and you’re telling me you didn’t mean any harm?”

“No, sir.”

“John—I mean, sir,” Charmaine corrected, “please—let him go.”

“
Let him go?
Can’t you see what he’s been up to tonight?”

“I can see, but it’s not all his doing. Is it, Yvette?”

John’s brow knitted, befuddled, but when Yvette threw Joseph a murderous scowl, he understood.

“It was only a wager,” she replied defensively. “And I tell you now, Joseph Thornfield, you did not frighten me, so you have not won the bet.”

“
A wager?
” John railed, shaking the lad hard. “You’re telling me you’ve crept into this room—God knows how many times—just to win a wager?”

“It was only tonight, sir!”

“That’s a lie!” Yvette blazed. “You’ve frightened Jeannette before!”

“I have not! I swear I haven’t! This was the very first time!”

“You’re just saying that so you won’t lose your dollar!”

“No, I’m not! Here, take the money and see if I care.” Joseph fished a crumpled dollar from his pocket and shoved it toward Yvette.

John quickly snatched it away, knowing it was a great deal of money for the boy. “Is this your half of the wager?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“And you think you’ve lost your stake because you failed to frighten her?”

“No, sir, but—”

“Then why in hell are you handing over your money? Never mind. I’ll just hold on to this.” He waved the note under the boy’s nose. “When you’ve shown me you won’t throw away a month’s wages on a ridiculous gamble, you can have it back. Now pick up that sheet and get out of here before I change my mind!”

“Yes, sir!”

The boy grabbed the linen and dashed through the French doors.

John raked his fingers through his tousled hair, pausing at the base of his neck when his eyes lifted to Charmaine. Her hair was plaited in a thick queue that hung over one shoulder and past her breast. She’d forgotten her robe in her haste to reach the nursery, and the thin nightgown highlighted her unbridled curves and heaving bosom. No wonder Paul found her attractive. He couldn’t have conquered her yet. She was too wide-eyed and innocent to have been with an experienced man.

“He’s just a boy,” she was saying, unaware of his sensate thoughts.

“Yes, he’s just a boy,” John agreed, “but he startled the life out of me creeping over to Jeannette like that.
I
should be paying him!”

Charmaine smiled, and Yvette snickered.

“Too bad he didn’t find the right bed.”

“He wouldn’t have frightened me even if he had,” Yvette objected haughtily.

“I’m sure,” John laughed, finally seeing the humor in the whole affair. “Let’s get back to bed. Move over, Pierre, and make some room for me.”

“Johnny?”

John regarded Jeannette, who’d remained quiet.

“Joseph said he didn’t come into our room until tonight. So who was it that other time?”

“It was Joseph. He was just too afraid to admit it.”

“I don’t think so,” Jeannette reasoned. “Because the first time it happened was before Yvette and Joseph made the wager.”

John frowned skeptically. “You’ve confused the dates, Jeannette.”

“I’m sure I haven’t. The first time was the night you came home—the night of that terrible thunderstorm. Remember, Mademoiselle?” Jeannette looked to Charmaine. “The storm was so bad, it even frightened you. That’s when you went to fetch us cookies and milk. You remember, don’t you, Mademoiselle?”

“I remember,” Charmaine whispered, conscious of John’s eyes upon her, worried her heady memories were publicized on her burning cheeks.

“That explains a few things I was wondering about,” he murmured thoughtfully. “But it doesn’t tell us when the wager began.”

“Yes, it does,” Yvette interjected. “You gave me
Frankenstein
the first morning you were home, and Joseph challenged me
after
he saw me reading it.”

“
Frankenstein,
” John grunted. “So, it’s my own fault I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

Charmaine was tickled with his assessment.

“All right. Back to my original theory,” he concluded, “the breeze and a faulty latch, which I’ll fix in the morning.”

“But, Johnny, I really did see someone else in here!” Jeannette pressed.

“No, Jeannette, you didn’t. You were dreaming. I promise, nobody has been creeping into this room at night.”

“Somebody has,” Pierre piped in.

“Really?” John smiled. “And who would that be?”

“I’m not ’apposed to tell,” he averred.

“Please?”

“Well…sometimes…Mama comes to see me.”

Everyone inhaled in unison, a huge sibilant sound that held.

John grasped the boy’s shoulders, stern in disbelief. “What did you say?”

Pierre remained unaffected, a winsome smile on his face.

“Pierre,” John persisted, “who did you say visits you at night?”

“Mama,” he reiterated happily. “She plays with me and tells me things.”

“He’s lying!” Yvette protested, but when Charmaine told her to hush, she grumbled under her breath: “Well, he is.”

“What does she tell you, Pierre?” Charmaine asked, stepping closer.

“Can’t tell. I’m not ’apposed to.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to?” John asked.

“Mama…she says never to tell.”

“Pierre,” Charmaine offered, “maybe you’ve been dreaming.”

“Oh no,” he replied resolutely. “She wakes me up, and sometimes she visits me when I take my nap. She took me to her big room that day when that auntie spanked me…”

Jeannette began to weep, her wounds reopened.

With an instinct born of love, Pierre crawled from his bed and cuddled next to her. “Don’ cry, Jeannie. I sorry I made you cry.”

Charmaine was at a loss and turned to John, but one look at his face—the pallor that rivaled the goose flesh that crawled up her neck—and she knew he’d be of little help. What was wrong with him? Men were supposed to be strong.

“He’s obviously been dreaming,” she reasoned with weak conviction.

Sometime later, she climbed back into bed, but Pierre’s bizarre story kept her awake, amplified by John’s grave eyes staring at the French doors, as if he fully expected the ghost of Colette Duvoisin to float through them.

Saturday, September 2, 1837

Surprisingly, Charmaine awakened early the next morning, so early in fact, she heard Paul descend the stairs at the crack of dawn. Coming to an abrupt decision, she threw back the covers. She’d breakfast with him. Perhaps he could make some sense of last night and the fantastic chain of events that had shaken all of them. Unlike John, Paul would prove sensible: laugh at her and then supply some logical explanation.

As she dressed, she wondered if John had remained in the children’s room the entire night. She crept to the connecting door and gingerly opened it. All four occupants were sleeping soundly. Pierre was cuddled in the crook of John’s body, his back pressed against John’s chest. He clutched his elder brother’s hand, a substitute for the stuffed lamb, which had fallen to the floor again.

Charmaine was captivated, the similarities between man and boy remarkable. Though Pierre’s hair was a shade closer to his mother’s, the cut of his face, the almond shaped eyes—Frederic’s eyes—were the same. Even in sleep, they worked beneath closed lids. So, too, did John’s, though the movement ended there. He was totally relaxed, his face youthful. He was rather handsome now, his even breathing stirring the fine locks atop Pierre’s head. Her gaze roamed further, to the two arms, juxtaposed, Pierre’s creamy white against its swarthy counterpart. Paradoxically, the limbs drew strength and comfort from each other.

She closed the door, freezing when it creaked on swollen hinges. It roused Pierre. He turned over, found John in his bed, and sat up.
Yawning, he leaned forward until his face was only an inch from his brother’s and tried to pry open an eyelid. John turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. The three-year-old immediately straddled his back.

“Have mercy on me, Pierre,” the man groaned as the boy began bouncing. “If I were a horse, I would have slept in the stable last night.”

Charmaine stifled a giggle, watching as Pierre slipped to John’s side and squeezed into the space between man and wall. To her surprise, he stuck a thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes. She shut the door and finished her toilette.

Paul sat alone at the table, sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. When Charmaine stepped closer, his eyes slowly lifted, and a smile broke across his face. “This is an unexpected surprise. Why are you up so early?”

“I don’t know,” she fibbed, dissembling under his charismatic charm. “I guess I just couldn’t sleep.”
Stupid answer! Tell him the truth…that is why you came down here!

“Well, then,” he said, “your insomnia has become my good fortune.”

He stood and helped her with her chair. She breathed deeply, intoxicated by his presence, the light scent of shaving lotion and cologne that lingered in the air. Impressions of last night’s haunting receded.

Fatima broke the spell, bustling into the room to lay a plate before him, taking Charmaine’s breakfast order as she poured two cups of coffee.

“I’m glad we have this quiet moment,” he said. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

“Yes, so do I…”

Again he smiled, and she hesitated, waiting for him to speak first.

“I’ll be leaving for Espoir on Monday,” he continued.

“Leaving?”

The word erupted with childish fervor, yet he seemed pleased.

“Only for a week or two. I’ve neglected her for a while. But there are important matters that can’t be postponed any longer.”

“Two weeks?” she asked sullenly. The day had quickly turned dismal.

“The time will pass rapidly, and I’ll be home before you know it. Why the glum face? This isn’t about John, is it? He hasn’t been troubling you, has he?”

“No, he’s been unusually courteous this past week.”

Paul scowled. “So I’ve noticed. What is the matter, then?”

She was about to tell him, but faltered. “It was nothing.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, quite certain. I’ll be fine while you’re away. We’ll all be fine.”

He cocked his head to one side, his expression thoughtful while Fatima served Charmaine’s food. “How are the children?” he asked.

“Lately, they’ve been very happy, especially with John entertaining them.”

“John?” he queried, rankled by her use of his brother’s Christian name, which fed his growing unease.
In that case, she is fair game. We shall see who is the better player.
“I don’t like it,” he objected. “He shouldn’t be ‘entertaining them.’ He’s a bad influence.”

Not one week ago, Charmaine would have readily agreed, but John’s conduct had been exemplary over the past few days.

“I will put a stop to it. I don’t want him taking advantage of my absence.”

“Put a stop to it?” she exclaimed.
Easier said than done!
John had gone from minding Pierre, to helping with the girls’ lessons, to sleeping in the nursery with them. One look at Paul’s face, and she prayed he’d not find out. “I don’t see how you can possibly order your brother around,” she reasoned. “He comes and goes as he pleases.”

“I will speak to him. He shouldn’t be interfering.”

“But you can’t do that!”

“Why not?” he asked, puzzled by her vehemence.

“What I mean is—that won’t be necessary. There is no sense in stirring up a hornet’s nest. He’s been cordial to me of late, and the children enjoy his visits. Besides, if you tell him not to pester us, he is sure to do just that. I’m certain if we do nothing, he will tire of visiting the nursery all on his own.”

Paul considered her comment. “You are likely right,” he said, allowing her to breathe easier. “At any rate, Charmantes must be managed while I’m away. That should keep him occupied during the day. Even so, you should remain wary of him, Charmaine. I know him well, know how he operates, the little games he loves to play. He will use the children to toy with your affections. I’ll not allow him to hurt you.”

Charmaine was certain his gallantry was sincere, but she smiled halfheartedly, ate quickly, and left his company.

She had just reached her room when John stepped out of his own chambers, bleary-eyed. Clearly, he’d be glad to be back in his own bed tonight.

“Good morning…I think,” he said, securing the last button at his collar. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I eventually drifted off, close to dawn. Are the children still asleep?”

“Surprisingly, no, but they appear well rested and are already begging to visit the stables to curry the foal. They are working on a surprise for you. We thought you were still asleep, and I suggested they not disturb you. So they’re attempting to dress themselves, Pierre included, though I think his knickers might wind up on backward. When I left, he had a leg in the arm of his shirt, but refused help.”