by DeVa Gantt
But dwelling on his love scorned would do him no good. It was the very emotion he fought to control. He had no rights where his wife was concerned. He had renounced them long ago, a punishment he hoped would gain her forgiveness. But had she? Even the memory of his first wife, Elizabeth, no longer brought him solace, for he had failed her as well.
“What must you think of me?” he mumbled, his heart aching for her gentle understanding. Why wouldn’t she come to him in his greatest need? He knew the answer. Even now, Elizabeth remained with Colette.
“Enough!” he grumbled, his guilt tangible today. Mustering his minimal strength, he repressed the revolutionary thoughts, lest they destroy his sanity as well. If after three years he hadn’t died, he must force himself to live. “I’ve sat too long and relinquished too much.”
With enormous effort, he stood, his height mocking his crooked frame. The stroke had not completely purloined his strength. In days gone by, he had been a formidable opponent to any man, the envy of his peers, and many would be amazed at his determination now, yet those who knew the man of old would be repulsed.
His left side remained partially paralyzed, the leg giving him more trouble than the arm, and he scowled deeply as he leaned on the black cane he required for support. Trapped inside a useless body, he half limped, half dragged himself to the oak door. As always, his eyes traveled to the full-length mirror that had been placed, upon his order, in the corner of the room. And as always, he was revolted. Even so, it served its purpose, a constant reminder of what he’d become, why he must remain closeted away. He’d not endure the stares, the whispers, the comments, and most destructive, the pity.
Colette displayed none of these. In fact, she was the only person who did not avert her gaze, choosing instead to meet his regard directly and without repugnance. Yet, in her eyes, he read the most pain of all, was certain she blamed herself. He knew she longed for his forgiveness, but he could not bring himself to utter the words that would sever the only tie that bound them. Funny how he thought about it every time he prepared himself to see her…
Colette surveyed the sitting room, satisfied that everything was in order. She turned to her personal maid, a smile lighting her blue eyes. “That’s fine, Gladys, just fine. I’m certain Miss Ryan will find the room inviting. Perhaps you could ask Cookie—I mean, Fatima—ask Fatima to prepare some refreshments.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gladys replied, retreating from the chamber.
Colette stood in the balcony doorway, the breeze buffeting her face. When am I going to forget? The sound of the door reopening drew her back to the present. “Did you forget—”
The query died on her lips as Frederic hobbled in. It had been three years since he had entered her boudoir, and this unexpected visit disturbed her. Of late, their only common ground was the neutral territory of the children’s nursery.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he apologized, his speech slightly slurred.
“You didn’t,” she replied, forcing herself calm, her eyes fixed on him.
He limped closer. “I see you are preparing for a guest. Someone I know?”
“A woman I’d like to hire as governess to the children.”
“And the woman’s name?”
“Charmaine Ryan.”
“Paul says she’s very young. Most probably inexperienced.”
Astonished and instantly agitated, Colette spoke without thought. “He discussed this with you? How dare he go behind my back?”
“I may ask the same of you, Madame,” Frederic snarled derisively. “I am your husband and master of this house. Paul shouldn’t be informing me of matters concerning the children—you should. Or is that too much to ask?”
“No,” she whispered, lowering her gaze to the floor, fighting the tears that rushed to her eyes, “it is not too much to ask.”
Frederic heard the tremor in her voice and gritted his teeth, his outrage engulfed by self-loathing. “Tell me about Miss Ryan,” he urged.
Colette composed herself. “She is from Richmond and heard of the governess position through Harold Browning. Harold’s wife is related to her previous employers, the Harringtons. She worked for them for three years and has had quite a bit of experience with their grandchildren. She is well educated and—”
“—you highly recommend her for the position,” he finished for her.
“Yes,” Colette murmured. She was losing this battle of wills. In an attempt to regain her poise, she retreated to a chair a few feet away from him.
But he moved to where she sat, towering above her. “This is all fine and good, Colette, but it doesn’t make one whit of sense to me. You, who have never left your children unattended for even a moment, are looking for someone else to tend them? And don’t tell me this has anything to do with their education. You could teach them all they’d ever need to know. Why, then, are you situating a stranger in this house, forfeiting the care of our children to someone else?”
“I’m not forfeiting their care, but I’m not as strong as I was a year ago. Robert insists the children are a burden. Though I do not agree, I don’t want my limitations to restrict their activities.”
“You should never have had the boy,” Frederic stated sharply. “You were told no more children after the twins.”
“It wasn’t Pierre. I was fine after his birth. It was the fever last spring.”
Frederic’s scowl deepened, forcing her mute. The minutes ticked uneasily by until he cleared his throat. “And Robert recommended a governess?”
“His sister did.”
“She doesn’t approve of this one.”
“And how would you know that?” Colette asked suspiciously.
“She asked Paul to speak with me. According to Agatha, Charmaine Ryan is too young and vivacious.” He limped back to the adjoining door, paused, then faced Colette again, his eyes briefly sparkling. “I’d say Miss Ryan is exactly the type of governess our children need.”
Colette smiled, and for the first time in months, Frederic’s heart expanded. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he swiftly turned away. “I promised Paul I would speak to you on Agatha’s behalf, and I have.” When she didn’t respond, he opened the door and returned to his own chambers. Colette had won his approval.
Despite her tardy departure from the Browning house, Charmaine arrived at the Duvoisin doorstep on time. Shaking her skirts free of any wrinkles, she faced the formidable manor and, with the deepest of breaths, began the short ascent up the portico steps. The front door opened, and a man rushed out, head down, oblivious of her. His pace increased, and Charmaine stepped aside to avoid the collision. Too late! He ran headlong into her, nearly knocking her to the ground. Impulsively, he grabbed her arms and steadied them both.
“Excuse me,” he chuckled self-consciously, but as he set her from him, his perusal turned fastidious, and his smile deepened. “My, my!”
Charmaine couldn’t help but smile in return, completely at ease with this lanky stranger.
“I shouldn’t have come galloping out of the house like that, but bumping into you made it all worthwhile.” Without further ado, he grasped her elbow and assisted her with the remaining steps. “And might you have a name?”
Her eyes never left his lean face. “Charmaine Ryan.”
“Oh, the new governess.”
“Am I?” Charmaine queried.
His face sobered, and he groaned inwardly. “Not exactly, but you are being considered. I’m sorry for getting your hopes up, though I’m certain—”
“George, weren’t you supposed to help Wade sharpen the saw at the mill?”
Paul Duvoisin stood in the main doorway, arms folded across his chest, a scowl marring his face. Charmaine hadn’t noticed him there, and suddenly her cheeks burned crimson. “Well?” he queried.
“It’s Sunday,” George replied defensively. “The saw can wait until tomorrow. Besides, I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon with your sisters, having just now returned them to my grandmother. The
rest of the day is mine.”
Paul didn’t respond, yet Charmaine read the silent exchange that passed between the two men. “I guess I could look in on Alabaster,” George added.
Paul’s brow lifted. “Why?”
“Phantom bit him a little while ago.”
“How in the hell did that happen?” Paul demanded.
George cleared his throat, adding emphasis to the slight nod he effected in Charmaine’s direction. But Paul ignored the gesture, unmoved by her presence. Finally, George answered. “Yvette was—”
Paul held up a hand, highly perturbed. “I don’t want to hear it! But I promise you this—and you can tell Rose for me—one of these days Yvette is going to go too far, and when she does, I’m going to put her over my knee and take the greatest pleasure in giving her a damn good spanking!”
George coughed again, louder this time, and glanced at Charmaine, whose face was scarlet. Paul was looking at her, too, a smile replacing his scowl, and she became the recipient of his remarks. “But, perhaps, where everyone else has failed, Miss Ryan will have some positive effect on my sweet little sister. If she does, it will attest to her experience with children.”
“I’ll check on Alabaster,” George broke in. “Good day, Miss Ryan. I hope to enjoy your company in the near future. Good luck!”
“Thank you,” she said, grateful that someone was interested in putting her at ease. “It was nice to meet you, even though we were never introduced.”
“I’m George,” he replied. “George Richards.”
“Mr. Richards,” she nodded. “And thank you, again.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he said. On impulse, he grabbed her hand and kissed it. Then he was striding happily down the steps and across the lawns, unable to suppress the urge to give Paul a backward glance. His friend’s jealous scowl did not disappoint him. Yes, Paul had been warning him off.
“Miss Ryan,” Paul said as he dragged his eyes from George, “I see you have arrived promptly.”
“It was very kind of your family to send the carriage for me,” she answered, her voice steadier than she believed possible.
“Yes…Shall we go into the house? I know Colette is anxious to see you.” He didn’t wait for a reply, stepping forward to fill the spot George Richards had vacated. With the slightest pressure to her elbow, he prodded her forward.
Her breathing grew shallow with the trip-hammer of her heart. No words were spoken as he directed her through the doors, across the foyer, and up the south staircase, presumably to the Lady Colette’s private chambers. Charmaine welcomed the silence, for it gave her time to compose herself.
“It’s not much farther,” he said. “Colette thought you’d be more comfortable in her suite. Unfortunately, it’s at the far end of the house.”
“I knew the manor was large, but…”
“You didn’t realize how large,” he concluded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“This is the south wing,” he explained, stopping at the crest of the massive staircase. “The rooms on this side of the house are relegated to the family. The north wing”—he motioned across the empty cavity below, where the staircase dropped and rose again on the other side—“is vacant for the most part, and used only when my father entertains guests.”
“I see,” Charmaine said with great interest, noticing that a hallway ran the length of the front of the house, connecting north wing to south wing. Ten other rooms opened onto this gallery.
Paul’s eyes followed her avid gaze. “The rooms at the front of the house face east and receive the sun in the morning. My brother’s former room”—he pointed out, not far from where they stood—“and the children’s nursery, complete with bedchamber and playroom,” which sat opposite the south wing corridor, “and if you follow this closed hallway, you enter the south wing of the manor.”
He led her down that passageway now. She was becoming accustomed to his voice. Without thinking, she asked, “What of your room?”
If he thought her brazen, he gave no such indication. “We just passed them. They are directly opposite the staircase.”
“You have more than one?”
“Yes, a dressing room and a bedroom. Most of the rooms on the second floor were designed that way. It allows the occupants freedom and space.”
“Freedom from what?” Charmaine asked, astonished by the grandeur.
“The world, if they choose. But if they decide differently, the sitting room can be changed into a dressing room, as I have done.”
“It is good to know you’re not escaping from the world,” she answered a bit too enthusiastically.
They had reached the end of the hallway, and Paul turned toward her, smiling roguishly. He was so close she could see the flecks of green in his olive eyes.
“No, I’m not doing that,” he reassured softly, sending shivers of delight up her spine. “Shall we?” he asked, inclining his head toward the last door on the left. When she nodded, he knocked, and at Colette’s insistence, they entered the mistress’s private quarters.
Colette Duvoisin’s sitting room was elegantly appointed, yet far from grandiose. There were only a few items of great and expensive beauty, catching the eye quickly and holding it. In the center of the chamber was an Oriental rug, a miniature of the huge carpet that adorned the oak floor of the drawing room. To one side there was a high-backed ottoman, and in front of it, a serving table with marble top. Two mahogany chairs were set to either side, facing the divan. Across the room was an armoire and a chest of drawers adorned with fresh cut flowers arranged in a tall vase. Next to this was a dressing table with jewelry chest. On the far wall, nestled between two sets of French doors, was a desk. Colette had moved its chair slightly and sat in front of the open glass doors.
She rose slowly, allowing Charmaine a moment to admire the room, then suggested they sit on the sofa. Paul bade them good afternoon and left, allowing them the private meeting Colette had promised in her letter.
They spent an hour together, alone: no children and no introduction to the master of Charmantes. Charmaine surmised this interview had been arranged to ease her anxiety and to reach an understanding that Colette would remain an active participant in her children’s lives as long as her health permitted.
“Mrs. Duvoisin,” Charmaine dared to say, “excuse my impertinence, but from what illness do you suffer?”
Colette leaned forward. “Please, you must call me Colette. I insist.”
“Very well,” Charmaine ceded, “Colette.”
Satisfied, Colette said, “It is not an illness, really. I had a difficult delivery with the girls, and the doctor recommended no more children. When I realized I was expecting again, everyone grew concerned. Thankfully, my son’s birth proved easy. But when I fell ill earlier this year, Dr. Blackford claimed the strain of carrying Pierre made it difficult to fight the unknown malady. I fear he is right, for I have yet to recover. Robert is optimistic and foresees an improvement if I don’t exert myself. Hence, daily Mass has been suspended, excursions into town forbidden, and the need for a governess a priority. And with that accomplished now, I leave the rest in God’s hands.”
Charmaine sat stunned, uncertain of Colette’s meaning until she stood and extended her arms with the words, “Welcome to the Duvoisin family.” Charmaine laughed outright, then cupped a hand over her mouth, rose, and fell into Colette’s embrace. She had the job!
While sharing tea, they discussed her salary, a figure tantamount to a king’s ransom in Charmaine’s eyes. Her wages would be nearly thrice what she had earned while working for the Harringtons. Once a month, the money would be deposited in the town’s bank where she could draw upon it whenever she liked. Her services would be required seven days a week, although only the weekdays would be dedicated to lessons. The weekends could be spent in any manner she wished, so long as the children were included. Neither her room and board, nor her meals would be deducted. After a few years in the Duvoisin employ, Charmaine w
ould be an independent woman.
As she rode back to the Browning house, she was both happy and relieved and about to embark on a new life.
Chapter 4
Monday, September 19, 1836
CHARMAINE arrived at the mansion early the next morning. Colette had insisted she take a full day to settle into her room on the third floor. Thus, she wouldn’t step into her role as governess until Tuesday. Loretta and Gwendolyn had accompanied her, and together, they entered the huge foyer, where Charmaine stifled the first of many giggles. Gwendolyn’s “oohs” and “aahs” were plentiful.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it, Gwendolyn?” she whispered, awaiting Colette’s introductions of the house staff.
Charmaine met Mrs. Jane Faraday, an austere widow and head housekeeper of the manor. Falling directly under her authority were Felicia Flemmings and Anna Smith, two maids, a bit older than Charmaine, whose duties included housecleaning, laundry service, and table waiting at each meal. Next, there were the Thornfields, Gladys and Travis, and their two children, Millie and Joseph. Millie was Gwendolyn’s age, and Joseph twelve. They accomplished odd jobs around the mansion and its grounds while their parents attended to the personal needs of the master and mistress. When Travis was not serving as Frederic Duvoisin’s valet, he assumed the role of butler. Unlike Mrs. Faraday and her two charges, the Thornfields seemed very pleasant. But of all the servants Charmaine met, Mrs. Fatima Henderson, the rotund black cook, became her favorite. Warm and loud with a devilish twinkle in her eye, Charmaine liked her from the start.
With Travis and Joseph’s help, Charmaine’s belongings were carried up to the third floor via the servant’s staircase at the back of the north wing. She spent the morning unpacking and arranging the bedroom more to her liking, the finest she had ever slept in, Loretta and Gwendolyn offering their advice.