Elusive Flame

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  If she had ever spoken words that wrung her heart more deeply, Cerynise couldn’t remember them. These took all her strength and will to say.

  Beau neither smiled nor frowned. In silence he inclined his head ever so slightly and withdrew. It seemed an end of an era he had immensely enjoyed, but more than that, he was sure his heart had ceased its motion.

  Cerynise was trembling uncontrollably by the time she closed the door behind him. She returned to the small desk beside the cot, feeling in no mood to continue her work on the canvas. Instead, she sat with her hands folded listlessly in her lap, her eyes unfocused, with a burgeoning emptiness filling every niche and fiber of her being.

  It was that same horrible sense of being hollowed out from inside that sucked much of the joy out of her life through the days and weeks that followed. She kept to herself as much as possible and no longer felt fully connected to life aboard ship. It was as if invisible walls had descended around her, shutting her off from the world outside her cabin. She didn’t even feel alive; she was just existing from moment to moment until the voyage came to an end. Then, somehow, she would have to collect her shattered heart and put it back together again in some semblance of order.

  Following Beau’s visit to her cabin, Cerynise had gone up on deck at Stephen Oaks’s gentle urgings, just long enough to avoid inquiries from any quarter about her health. Once there, she responded to the greetings of the men but never initiated any conversation of her own. The mate tried to draw her out, as did Billy Todd and Monsieur Philippe, who oftentimes came to fetch her tray himself and would stay long enough for a quick chat in French. They all felt driven by the same kind of concern that she had seen in the eyes of other crew members. Deflecting it all with a soft smile, she let the well of emptiness draw her further in.

  Christmas still found them close to a month from their destination. Cerynise consented to share the evening with her husband in a quiet dinner attended by Stephen Oaks. She gifted Beau with a lavish painting of his ship, and to the mate she presented a portrait she had painted of him on canvas, as she had done earlier for Billy and Philippe. In return, Oaks presented her with a miniature replica of the Audacious that he had carved and outfitted with string rigging and handkerchief sails. He grinned widely as she praised his talents, which took no enormous feat by any means, for she was mightily impressed that he had constructed it all so closely to scale.

  They enjoyed a delectable repast, compliments of Philippe’s enthusiasm for the season, and as Mr. Oaks took his leave, Cerynise made to follow to her room, but Beau laid a hand upon her arm and begged her indulgence a moment more. Seeing the wariness in her eyes, he assured her that he hadn’t yet presented her with a gift, which he had wanted to do in private. Her nod of acquiescence hardly portrayed the emotions she was struggling with. Almost as soon as she had entered his quarters, she had become aware of a potent sense of longing growing within her. It was a desire so strong that she wanted to cry at the lack of progress she had made in her endeavor to detach her heart from Beau Birmingham. With everything that she was capable of feeling, she yearned to return to the familiar comfort of his cabin and his arms. Feeling precariously vulnerable with such renegade thoughts racing through her mind, she waited in uneasy silence as he went to fetch the gift from a cabinet beyond the washstand.

  Beau brought out an intricately carved rosewood box and swept it open to reveal a pair of jade figurines with carved lotus flowers adorning the teakwood base. They were the most exquisite pieces Cerynise had ever seen, but she could well imagine the cost of such treasures, too much for her to take from a temporary husband.

  “They’re beautiful, Beau, but I don’t really think I should accept them.”

  He lifted the male figure of the matched pair and examined it closely. “I was told that these two are supposed to be fabled lovers who were finally able to marry after surmounting great difficulty. I thought the gift appropriate, madam, considering our adversities, and I’ll be quite put out with you if you don’t accept them.”

  “Suppose you should marry another someday?” Cerynise murmured and swallowed against the emotional knot that rose in her throat. Expressing the thought exacted a harsh toll on her composure, for she wanted to burst into tears at the idea that Beau might repent of his bachelor’s status and wed another. “Would you not prefer to give them to your wife?”

  “I’m giving them to my wife,” he stated, commanding her gaze, “and I’d be honored if you’d accept my gift.”

  The tenderness in his eyes was so compelling, Cerynise could feel her heart already plucking a chaotic rhythm. She fought an overpowering longing to press close to that stalwart male form and rest her head in relief against his chest. She knew he’d welcome her gladly, and just as surely, she knew that her will would crumble beneath the kisses that would follow. Unable to trust herself within reaching distance of him any longer, she thanked him breathlessly and hurriedly took her leave, escaping to her room, where she spent another wakeful night wishing she didn’t have to hold herself from him.

  A returning bout of seasickness caused Cerynise to sequester herself in the loneliness of her cabin, and although she managed to retain what little she ate, she was nevertheless stricken with an unfathomable exhaustion. She hardly felt like painting anymore and spent much of her time sleeping, sometimes taking long naps in the mornings as well as in the afternoons. After waking her on three different occasions, Billy reported his growing concern to his captain, and when Beau hurried down to make inquiries and feel her brow, Cerynise assured him that sleeping was just her way of coping with the boredom of a lengthy voyage and that she hadn’t really been afflicted with some strange malady. She also expressed confidence that she would revive once they reached Charleston and that she didn’t need a nursemaid watching over her. Reluctantly Beau accepted her excuses and left her to her privacy, which was what she seemed to want.

  Thereinafter Beau observed her with close attention, but only from a distance. Their paths crossed often, and with emotions carefully masked, they spoke briefly or merely nodded politely to one another. One evening, when Billy came in with her dinner tray and left the door open behind him, Beau paused beside it, having been on his way to his own cabin. As usual his tall, hard body radiated strength and healthy vitality, but his dark green eyes were cautious as they swept her.

  “Are you feeling well this evening, Cerynise?” he asked courteously.

  “In excellent health, Captain. Thank you. And you?” Cerynise replied with feigned gaiety, making every attempt to appear the epitome of what she had just boasted.

  Beau chewed his cheek reflectively as he pondered her paleness. She had seemed far too solemn of late to please him, and her forced smiles did nothing to convince him that she was feeling all that chipper. Yet, as much as he was inclined to, he could hardly command her to tell him the truth about her health.

  “You are well, are you not, Captain?” she prodded, counting the moments until the door could be closed and she could breathe again.

  “Most assuredly, madam,” he said at last. And then, after another lengthy pause, he queried, “You won’t hesitate to inform me of any needs you may have, will you?”

  “Billy and Philippe have been seeing to my requirements perfectly well, Captain.” Cerynise shrugged and spread her hands with a brief laugh that even she would have admitted sounded false. “I cannot imagine why I should have to bother you with such trifling matters. You have a great deal to occupy you, far too much for me to take up any of your time.”

  Beau didn’t appreciate her answer, but he refused to beg her to give him just a wee bit of her time. He had already done enough of that. He continued on to his room.

  In the weeks that followed, Cerynise came to the deck more often, primarily to dispel any notions that Beau might have been fostering about her health. While there, she looked out to sea rather than any place where he was. Watching him would have led her along a path that she was striving desperately to avoid, and though she
tried to blank her mind to his presence, it took firm precedence over everything else. If she’d been able to simply will it into being, she would have wished for her torture to end by the sighting of land. Toward evening on a crisp late winter day, just a few days short of three months from their departure from London, her wish was granted.

  Eleven

  THE AUDACIOUS APPROACHED Charleston on the morning tide in late January. At first light Cerynise ventured to the deck and strained to catch even a small glimpse of the city through the misty haze drifting tantalizingly along the coast. Seabirds soared overhead like welcoming friends or rode the white-capped waves that splashed against the bow, but as she watched them cavorting, she could only mark the contrast between their carefree spirit and her own growing despair.

  The winds turned brisk as the solar orb began to rise to a lofty height, and the haze was swept away. Cerynise snuggled deeper in her velvet cloak, refusing to allow the crisp breezes to send her fleeing to the warmth of her cabin. Instead of the euphoria she might have expected to feel at her homecoming, she experienced only a growing measure of relief that the journey was at an end. Nevertheless she welcomed the sights as her gaze swept the glistening white beaches that framed the main channel into Charleston Harbor. Drawing a deep breath, she savored the mingled essences of the vast, stately cypress and mangrove forests growing along the shore that wafted toward them on buffeting winds.

  How desperately she had missed her homeland. She hadn’t realized exactly to what degree until now, when her eyes could feast on the familiar land. The shock of losing her parents mingled with the gratitude that she had felt for Lydia had overshadowed recollections of her homeland from years past, locking them deep in her heart. Now the seals were broken, and the memories came flooding back, filling her with a strengthening serenity. It had been a long journey indeed, traversed not across the ocean but through the years of her own life. But it was finally over, and once she stepped to shore, a new journey would commence, one that would see her striving to make a place for herself here in this land where she had grown up.

  A familiar awareness swept over Cerynise. It was unmistakable as always, and she turned with bated breath to find Beau eyeing her from very close range. He was wearing the cap that had become well-known to her in the latter part of the voyage. It was angled jauntily upon his fine head, but beneath it, the short black wisps at his temples were being whipped by the wind. He had condescended to wear a coat, perhaps for her benefit, and to Cerynise he looked every bit as admirable and princely as he always had and, no doubt, always would. Just gazing at him, she could feel her heart nearly thumping out of her chest, reacting to his presence just as it always had and, no doubt, always would.

  “You seem rather pensive this morning, Cerynise.” Beau voiced the conjecture as he stepped near and leaned his elbows on the railing beside her. “Are you not glad to be home?”

  “Oh, certainly,” Cerynise replied, managing a smile the likes of which he had not seen in some weeks. “But I can’t help but feel a stranger here after being away so long.” When her pulse refused to slow to a normal rhythm, she wrenched her gaze away from her handsome husband and fixed it with great resolve on the steadily emerging shoreline. “I wonder how much has changed since I left or if I’ll be able to recognize it as the same city I used to visit.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. It hasn’t changed that much.”

  “I hope not.” Being thought of as an outsider by the inhabitants of the area was a fear that plagued her, but she avoided mentioning that fact. Her uncle would welcome her, she was confident of that, but he had always been a rather solitary, self-sufficient man who had always been content to be alone with his books even when he wasn’t teaching. As for her acquaintances from years past, she knew her childhood friends would all be grown and undoubtedly involved in various activities and the usual endeavors of young women. Some would even be married, perhaps with a child on the way.…

  Cerynise felt a faint shock at her own wifely state, and in sudden distraction smoothed a hand down the front of her gown, over the softly gathered fullness of her skirts. The inadvertent inspection halted abruptly when she realized that Beau was observing her with a curious frown.

  “Will you have family meeting you in Charleston?” she inquired nervously, facing into the wind as she sought to cool a blush.

  Beau was sure he had seen a tiny kitten facing a pack of wild dogs with more aplomb than his wife presently displayed. He lifted his wide shoulders in a casual shrug. “Since most of them are probably at Harthaven, I doubt they’ll be advised of my ship coming into port. I’ll drive out later to see them once I get settled. I have some gifts for them, and of course, my mother wouldn’t take kindly to me staying in the city and not informing them that I’ve come home.”

  “Mr. Oaks said your arrivals here are well-anticipated and that you’re usually beset with throngs of people anxious to see what you’ve brought back. I’m sure if that is the case, it will be some time before you’re able to leave.” Cerynise made a concerted effort to appear insouciant as she added, “If that should be the case, Beau, I think we should discuss how you’ll handle the annulment.”

  It had been in Beau’s mind to suggest that they give themselves plenty of time to think over their relationship before actually proceeding with the division. During that period he intended to ask his wife’s uncle if he could pay court to her like any normal swain considering marriage. In light of his previous tenacity to avoid marriage, he had amazed himself to a goodly degree by coming up with that particular plan, but he just couldn’t imagine giving the girl up. Indeed, the very idea of her being wooed by some other suitor rankled him sorely. “We’ll have enough time to discuss all of that later, Cerynise. I’m in no rush.”

  Cerynise took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. Being Beau Birmingham’s temporary wife certainly had its drawbacks, but only because their marriage was destined to end. She knew that by delaying the task, her heart would be entangled that much more when it came time for her to sign the papers. Indeed, as tormented as she was now, she could imagine the emotional upheaval she’d suffer if she began to hope that their marriage might continue, only to see it dashed to smithereens at some later date. She couldn’t continue indefinitely with the cool, stilted facade that she had, by dint of will, managed to maintain after begging him not to think of them as a married couple anymore. And then, of course, she was forever reminded of another reason which she tried not to dwell on while the subject of their annulment was being discussed. To do so would have seriously threatened her composure. Quietly she murmured, “Perhaps the sooner the better, Beau.”

  Was it her imagination or did he stiffen?

  “I thought we should allow ourselves a couple of months—”

  “No, it’s better to get it over with,” she pressed, nearly panicking.

  “Are you in that much of a rush to dissolve it, madam?”

  Perplexed at his acid tone, Cerynise lifted her gaze to the carefully hooded eyes that studied her closely in return. How could she explain to him that in two months’ time no lawyer in his right mind would think of drawing up papers for such a division? And Beau would only hate her because he’d then feel trapped. With measured care Cerynise gave her well-recited excuses. “Once I set up my studio, I won’t have much time to dally if I intend to sell enough paintings to repay you and have some funds left for myself. ‘Twill be better if we proceed with all possible haste while I still have some free time available.”

  “Of course, your paintings take precedence,” Beau replied snidely.

  Cerynise was overwhelmed by his sarcasm. Didn’t he know that he meant more to her than her ability to paint? Couldn’t he understand that she was desperately, hopelessly in love with him? Or had he foolishly imagined that because she had withheld herself from him that she wanted no part of him? If he had, then he was both blind and witless!

  Cerynise allowed her impatience with such a notion to be conve
yed with her own practicality. “Sir, if I must make my own way in life, my art is of great importance to me. It means my livelihood.”

  Beau chafed in darkening humor. “What will you tell your uncle?”

  “The truth,” she answered simply. “I’m sure he’ll understand and be grateful for everything you’ve done…as I am.”

  The hard glitter in his eyes warned her that she was treading unwarily over uncharted ground. “Just that? Grateful?”

  Cerynise was growing more confused by the moment. “Should I not be?”

  Though he searched her eyes, Beau saw no hint of what he was looking for. “About the annulment…”

  Facing the shoreline, she replied with all the serenity she could muster, “I don’t wish to inconvenience you in any way, Beau. At least, not any more than I’ve already done. Please proceed as you see fit.”

  “I see.…”

  She looked back at him, drawn irresistibly to the virile power and manly grace of his person. He was regarding her with the same care he’d lend an uncertain sea, to the extent that had she not known better, Cerynise might have imagined he was irritated with her because she was insisting that they progress with the annulment posthaste. But surely their separation was what he had both wanted and expected. And just as certainly, it was folly for her to yield to any weak-minded hope that he didn’t want their marriage dissolved any more than she did.

  Beau was frustrated by the shuttered look that forbade any insight into his wife’s thoughts. It seemed to him that her feelings were no different now than they had been for the better part of their journey. She wanted nothing to do with him.