A Silent Ocean Away

by DeVa Gantt

  Once outside the study, Charmaine gave in to her trembling, unable to steady her frayed nerves, let alone soothe her wounded pride. A wench. A brazen wench. A saucy, brazen wench! She had never been called a wench in her life! She looked down at the tray and saw the candle was snuffed out. If she didn’t know better, she’d place the blame on the reprobate who was still closeted in the study with Paul. At least he lived in town, and she wouldn’t have to see him again. Pacified, she pushed the debasing episode out of her mind and groped her way up the stairs, no longer afraid of the dark.

  “What are you doing here, John?” Paul asked pointedly, moving to the brandy decanter and pouring himself a stiff drink.

  “It was high time I checked on business.”

  “Really?” Paul snorted.

  “Really. Lucky for me the ship was delayed by the storm—” With Paul’s raised brow, he added “—or I would have missed you pressing the house help into working the night watch with you. You horny bastard!” He smiled. “She really loves her job, doesn’t she?”

  “Drop it, John.”

  The room fell silent as Paul took a draught of brandy.

  “She cares not who I am,” John mused. “Perhaps she’ll change her mind in the morning.”

  “I doubt it,” Paul answered listlessly, his plans for the evening neatly laid to waste. Leave it to John to screw things up for him. “She’s different.”

  “Really? Not from what I just saw.”

  “Just leave her be!” Paul growled, unable to check his anger any longer.

  “Leave her for you, you mean. Isn’t that right, Paulie? So…you haven’t had your way with her yet.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

  “No?” John clicked his tongue and canted his head, giving the matter some thought. “My assumption must be correct. Tonight was your first tryst with the vixen.”

  “It wasn’t a tryst!” Paul sneered.

  “Then you’re in love with her?” John pressed, receiving only a scowl. “I didn’t think so. In that case, she is fair game. We shall see who is the better player.” Chuckling again, he stood and strode from the room, leaving a puddle of murky water at the foot of the chair he had vacated.

  When she needed the lightning to illuminate the way, it refused to burst forth, and Charmaine realized the storm was over. The staircase was dark, and she clutched the balustrade tightly. When she reached the top, she fumbled down the wide hallway, straining to see. Her hand found the doorknob to the children’s room. She was never more relieved as when she pushed the door inward and was bathed in lamplight.

  The girls were asleep as Paul had predicted. What a fool to have wandered the house at midnight! Not even the memory of Paul’s kiss annulled the humiliation she had suffered. No! I won’t think about that!

  She turned her mind to the twins, coaxing a sleep-drugged Jeannette back into her own bed, frowning when she glanced at the French doors and found them slightly ajar. A shiver chased up her spine, and she walked cautiously toward the glass panels, securing them again. She could not shake the uneasiness that engulfed her, for it was ludicrous to think either the girls or Pierre had opened them. It must be a faulty latch. Yes, that seemed plausible. She would mention it to Travis Thornfield in the morning.

  She lit another candle and turned the lamp down low. Taking the tray of treats, lest the children eat them before breakfast, she stepped into her own bedchamber and closed the door, safe at last.

  In his aggravation over the unpleasant turn the evening had taken, Paul hadn’t considered John’s destination after leaving the study. Even now, he did not remember that the governess occupied his brother’s former bedchamber, for his mind was still relishing the taste of her sweet lips, the feel of her soft body in his arms, her impassioned response to his advance. Had he set aside his glass of brandy and allowed his mind to clear, the implications of the bedroom arrangements would have been manifest, and he’d have been none too pleased.

  John fumbled in the darkness as he entered his dressing room. “Blast it all!” he snarled. “Where’s the confounded tinderbox?” Despite his rummaging, his efforts came up futile. Frustrated, he groped his way to the bedroom door, hoping to have more success there. He was wet and miserable, and in desperate need of a hot bath. He knew the bath would have to wait until morning, but a good night’s sleep in a dry bed after a week aboard the Destiny, which had traveled from New York, would be a pleasant accommodation.

  He was stunned when he flung the door open and found his brother’s concubine climbing into his bed. In fact, he was so surprised, he gave no thought to her reaction: the speed with which she jumped up. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, his shock giving way to a crooked grin. She was bewitching. Perhaps he didn’t need that full night’s sleep after all.

  “Well, well, well, and well again. Aren’t you the little minx?” he chuckled significantly. “Do you always entertain total strangers?”

  Charmaine was too petrified to speak. She only knew she had been set upon by a beast, one that was tracking her now, and in her mounting fear, all she could do was plaster herself against the wall.

  “Now how did you know where I’d be bedding down for the night?” he pondered amusedly, closing the distance between them.

  Charmaine realized she must act, or all would be lost. Pushing off from the wall, she flew like a wild thing, reaching the children’s door in a heartbeat. But in the instant it took to grab the doorknob, her arm was caught from behind, and she was pulled back with one forceful tug. Her scream was stifled as the man’s other hand clamped down on her mouth and she was propelled around, coming face to face with the tormenting demon. Her eyes grew wide at his leering grin, her face turning crimson as she fought to hold her breath against the foul odor she was sure he radiated.

  Reading the repugnance and terror in her eyes, John relaxed his grip. She didn’t seem to know who he was, but that didn’t coincide with the fact she knew where his chambers were located.

  Perceiving his moment of weakness, she began to struggle again. Given an inch, she had taken a yard, and John released her mouth to subdue her thrashing feet that were doing little in the way of assaulting his shins, but much in the way of inflaming his ardor.

  “Calm yourself, Madame,” he hissed, pinning her against the door when she didn’t comply. “I just want some answers to my questions. However, if you’d like me to continue where Paul left off, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

  She submitted, quaking now. His words buffeted her cheek, and she cringed, anticipating acrid, whisky breath. She smelled wet clothing, little more.

  “Why are you in here?” he demanded.

  “This is my bedroom!” she pleaded. “I work here! This is where I sleep!”

  The conviction in her voice held the ring of truth. “So you don’t know who I am?”

  She grew courageous when his hands dropped away. “You’re probably a convict escaped from some filthy prison!” she rallied, bent upon insulting him as he had her. “You should have rotted there!” But even as she blurted out the retort, the light began to dawn: He isn’t Martin, the livery hand.

  She gasped when he pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her hair, his lips close to her ear. “Ah, a prison indeed,” he whispered passionately, “but can you guess what I was convicted of?”

  “I’ll scream if you don’t release me!” she cried, the tremor in her voice nullifying her threat. In truth, she was far too frightened to scream, certain that any outburst would prompt him to ravish her.

  His head lifted from the sweet fragrance of her wild hair. When he chuckled softly, Charmaine knew he was only toying with her. Then his laughing eyes became serious, and quite abruptly, he released her, stepping back apace.

  She was an all-too-feminine distraction, and he was finding it exceedingly difficult to leave her company. But, he would not cajole her to his bed like his brother, and he certainly wouldn’t force her. She’d come of her own accord, or
not at all, and he knew she wasn’t going to do that. He backed away, grateful he was as tired as he was.

  Still, he was having fun with this little encounter, so he wasn’t of a mind to leave just yet. She must be the governess, he surmised. Colette must have given her this room to be close to the children.

  He moved around the chamber, noticing the feminine changes she had made. Her possessions were meager, but they warmed the room in a way his belongings never had. He exhaled, causing her to jump. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, and he realized something besides the change of inhabitant was different, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  “Are you going to leave?” she inquired, hugging herself rigidly against his penetrating gaze.

  “Patience, patience,” he chided, eyeing the tray of cookies. He took one and popped it into his mouth, chasing it down with a glass of milk. “Wouldn’t you like to join me? It would be a shame to waste these, and since Paul won’t be coming, not here, anyway, we might as well—”

  “Won’t you please leave?” she cut in, ignoring his chuckle. “It is very late, and I have a great deal to do in the morning!”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he reassured with the wave of his hand, “I’ll see to it you’re allowed to sleep in the morning, especially since you’ve entertained not one, but two gentlemen this evening. A hard night’s work!”

  When her mouth flew open to protest, he only winked at her, popped another cookie into his mouth and turned to leave. As he strode to the hallway door, something splintered underfoot. He picked up the hairbrush she had thrown across the room earlier that evening. It was broken in two. He studied the pieces for a moment, then tossed them onto the bed. With that, he tipped his cap, opened the door, and left the room.

  Charmaine flew to the door and locked it. She ran to the dressing room door to do the same, only to find it did not have a lock. She fretted for a time, but when the adjoining room remained mercifully silent, she began to relax. She got into bed and picked up the remnants of her hairbrush, letting out a sigh of relief.

  Paul sat heavily on his bed, realizing just how desolate his bedchamber was…“Shit!” he swore, shooting to his feet. “Shit!”

  He sped to the door, but thinking better of it, exited through the French doors. In seconds, he was around the corner of the south wing balcony, past the children’s rooms, and standing at the glass doors of John’s old bedroom. They were closed, but he peered in. Mercifully, Charmaine was sitting in the middle of her bed, alone. He pushed into the room, his eyes raking the chamber, making certain his brother wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

  Startled, she gasped, but when she realized it was Paul, her hand dropped from her breast.

  “Are you all right?” he queried with genuine concern.

  “I am now!” she bit out.

  “Was he here?”

  “Of course he was here! This is his room!”

  “Did he—”

  “No!”

  Paul’s apparent relief fueled her ire. “Why didn’t you tell me who he was downstairs? I made a complete fool of myself, ranting and raving the way I did! And if that wasn’t bad enough, you let me come up here and…”

  Her words dropped off as he rounded the foot of the bed. Again, she jumped off the mattress. You’ve entertained not one, but two gentlemen this evening…Already John Duvoisin’s words were haunting her, and she was furious with Paul for placing her in such a humiliating situation. “You told me he’d never return! You promised me that when you suggested I move into this room!”

  “He shouldn’t have come back,” Paul admitted softly, “and I was just as surprised as you. That’s why I was at a loss for words.”

  Charmaine read the displeasure in his eyes, and her anger waned.

  “I wanted to save you the embarrassment of an introduction, which John would have exploited. And I completely forgot about the sleeping arrangements until I returned to my room. I’m sorry, Charmaine.”

  He continued to advance, so close now her heart thudded in her ears, the beat no longer heated but heady.

  “Forgive me?” he petitioned.

  With her slight nod and timid smile, he leaned forward.

  The moment was at hand. But above the sound of her racing pulse came a resonant, mocking voice: Well, well, well, and well again…Aren’t you the little minx? You saucy, brazen wench!

  Charmaine stepped back; she’d play no part in those vulgar declarations. “You had better go.”

  Paul accepted her refusal with a soft snort of disappointment. His gaze swept the length of her, then he departed the room the way he had come, leaving her confused and shaken. She had been vulnerable, and again he had acted the gentleman.

  She climbed into bed, sitting on the broken brush. She pulled the two pieces from beneath her and thought of John and Paul. Two gentlemen tonight…She’d hardly call John Duvoisin a gentleman. She set the hairbrush aside. At least it was the only thing she had lost this night.

  Saturday, August 19, 1837

  Paul knocked on Frederic’s chamber door at dawn. His father might still be sleeping. He knocked again, and the door opened to a quizzical Travis Thornfield. “Your father is in his bedroom having breakfast.”

  “I must speak with him immediately.”

  Travis stepped aside, and Paul crossed the antechamber for the inner room.

  Frederic looked up in surprise and closed the journal next to his plate.

  “John is home,” Paul stated.

  Frederic sat back in his chair and allowed the news to sink in, his heart besieged with elation, apprehension, and ultimately, despair.

  Uncomfortable with his parent’s pensiveness, Paul felt compelled to say more. “He arrived on the Destiny. She was delayed by the storm and didn’t lay anchor until evening.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “I was in the study when he arrived.”

  “Did you speak with him?”

  “Briefly. It was late. I was tired. He was soaked.” Paul tried hard to read his father’s expression, one he’d never seen before. “He’s here to check on business, or so he says.”

  Frederic stood, leaned heavily on his cane, and limped to the French doors. “Thank you for letting me know,” he murmured.

  When he realized his father would say no more, Paul left.

  Frederic stared down into the courtyard. John was home. He’d been afraid to hope for this day. Now it had come, he wasn’t truly prepared for it.

  Charmaine hadn’t fallen asleep until the first rays of dawn streaked the sky an inky orange, only succumbing to fatigue after reliving her ordeal at least a thousand times. Now, light poured into her room, and she awoke with a start. It had to be late morning. She rose and hurriedly crossed to the children’s bedchamber. A sheet of paper had been slipped under the adjoining door.

  Mlle. Chazmaine,

  It is morning and you are still sleeping. We are with Nana Rose.

  Jeannette, Yvette, and Pierre

  Charmaine smiled in relief; Jeannette and Yvette must have told Rose they had been unable to sleep last night. Last night…the storm…the children…the specter…the midnight snack…Paul—John!

  She sat down on her bed, rubbing her throbbing temple, and looked at the clock on her dresser: eight-thirty. She didn’t want to face the day, inevitably confronting John Duvoisin along the way, but she knew she must. Otherwise, she could never save face.

  John Duvoisin. She’d finally met the heir to the Duvoisin fortune, the man she’d heard so much about, mostly bad. Now she knew why. In their two brief encounters, hadn’t he proven himself deserving of every epithet? She cringed, recalling the words she had spat in his face. You rude, despicable cur…From which filthy hole have you crawled?…Thank God I live here and need never place name to your arrogant face…You’re probably a convict escaped from some filthy prison…She groaned and buried her face in her hands.

  A convict indeed! How could she have been so verbal—dim-witted? Even if she hadn�
��t figured out who he was in the study, his identity had been glaringly obvious once he’d invaded her bedchamber. He hadn’t been stalking her, and he wasn’t some stable-hand either! He’d merely been seeking his bed. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered the assumption he had made when he’d found her climbing into it. Do you always entertain total strangers? Dear God! It was too much to think about! Her head pounded, and her eyes stung from lack of sleep.

  She had nothing to be embarrassed about, she resolved, then moaned. Who was she fooling? She did have something to be embarrassed about. He’d caught her in his brother’s arms. She might not be guilty of “entertaining” a total stranger, but she was guilty of a late-night rendezvous with Paul. To make matters worse, he had found them in their nightclothes and had drawn all the worst conclusions. She couldn’t even enjoy the memory of her first thrilling kiss, for the prurient man defiled it.

  John Duvoisin. What would she say to him? If nothing else, she must face him with her head held high.

  The nursery door burst open, and the children came bounding in, unmindful of the impropriety of storming her room. Fully dressed, they bounced on the bed in glee, their laughter ricocheting off the walls.

  “Have you just awoken?” Yvette exclaimed incredulously. “It is so late! You must hurry and get dressed, Mademoiselle Charmaine.”

  “Why? What is the rush?”

  “Nana Rose told us we are not to go downstairs for breakfast without you, and we are ready for breakfast now!”

  There was a knock on the outer door, and Charmaine opened it to Mrs. Faraday, who bustled into the chamber with a stack of fresh linens.

  “You must hurry, Mademoiselle Charmaine, or we’ll be too late!” Jeannette piped in, taking up where her sister had left off.

  “Huwwy, Mainie!” Pierre echoed.

  Confused, Charmaine took in their effervescent faces. “Too late for what?”