Decision and Destiny

by DeVa Gantt

  Paul’s reasoning took hold, and Frederic’s ire flagged.

  The terrible ordeal ended when Jeannette valiantly stepped forward. “Paul is right, Father,” she whispered. “Yvette and I waited until Mademoiselle Charmaine was asleep. Then we dressed in the clothes Yvette borrowed from the stable and slipped from the house. We knew we were doing wrong, but we didn’t think we’d be caught, especially in our disguises. We just wanted to see what Dulcie’s was really like, at night. When George saw us there, he was very angry, but Yvette had a good hand. She promised to leave after she’d played it out.”

  Charmaine held her breath, relieved when Frederic’s response held a note of empathy. “And your sister couldn’t tell me this? It was her idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then why you? Is she such a coward she cannot assume responsibility for her own actions, speak for herself?”

  “She was afraid you would kill her,” Jeannette answered simply. “But I didn’t think you would. I suppose that’s why I wasn’t afraid to tell you the truth.”

  Frederic absorbed the statement with a mixture of surprise and regret. He looked up at Yvette, just now realizing the effect his naked wrath had on the rebellious nine-year-old. It was not the first time he had humbled someone to such quaking depths, and he was unhappy to realize he had not changed.

  “I will speak with you tomorrow—the two of you,” he said. “You needn’t fear death, but you will be punished for your bad behavior.”

  He spoke to Charmaine. “Take them back to their rooms and make certain they remain there until I call for them.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Beckoning to Jeannette, she turned Yvette around, and they proceeded up the staircase.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Jeannette offered. “Truly I am.”

  But he did not seem to hear as he labored toward the study, his hesitant gait mocking the swiftness with which he had stormed the house minutes earlier.

  “Oh, Mademoiselle Charmaine, what have I done?” Yvette moaned from Charmaine’s bed, her head buried in the safety of her governess’s lap. “I’ve been so naughty, and now everyone I love has been hurt!”

  “There, now,” Charmaine soothed, stroking the girl’s blond head. She’d never seen Yvette so repentant and was deeply moved. “It’s not quite so terrible as you imagine it to be.”

  “Yes, yes it is! First Johnny. I didn’t mean to get him into trouble, but I did. Jeannette warned me it would be so, but I refused to listen. And then you. She warned me about that, too. But I didn’t think Father would rant and rave at you like that! Even Paul and George. Oh, George will never forgive me! He didn’t deserve any of Father’s anger. He was only trying to protect me, and now he might lose his job. And Jeannette. She should hate me for all the trouble I’ve gotten her into.”

  “I don’t hate you, Yvette,” her sister reassured. “Really, I don’t.”

  “You should,” Yvette argued, slowly lifting her head. “Tomorrow you will be punished, too, and it’s all my fault! Everything!”

  Again she was sobbing. “I don’t know why I do the horrid things I do! I don’t even know why I think of them! Oh, why did I have to go to Dulcie’s tonight? Why couldn’t it have been last night when Father was still on Espoir?”

  “Because you said there would be more action on a Friday night,” Jeannette reminded her. “You wanted to play poker, remember?”

  Charmaine was shocked. Yvette wasn’t contrite over her intractable behavior, just sorry she’d been caught.

  “And I was winning!” she wailed. “I’d more than tripled my money!”

  “But that’s good,” Jeannette encouraged.

  “Good?” Yvette exclaimed. “How can you say that? I ran out and left it all behind! Almost eighty dollars! One hundred, if you count the last pot! And those greedy, stinkin’, cheatin’, no-good lot of dirty swindlin’ seamen probably shoved it all into their filthy pockets when Father left! We’re out twenty dollars!”

  George found John in the stable brushing Phantom’s flank to a brilliant luster, as if the chore could draw out all of the poison that festered in the wound his father had so deftly reopened.

  “Isn’t it a bit late to be currying your horse?” George queried lightly.

  “It’s a bit late for a lot of things, George,” the man bitterly replied. “I’m a fool, one damned fool.”

  “No, John, you’re not. You did what was best. Don’t allow your father to lead you to believe otherwise. You did what was best.”

  “Did I?”

  “You know you did,” George finished. “This is Yvette’s night for mischief, not yours. No sense in acting the spoiled boy just because she’s stolen center stage from you.”

  The remark brought a smile to John’s eyes, and he laughed with his friend in spite of himself.

  “Look!” George weighed a hefty purse in his hand before tossing it over.

  “What is this?”

  “Count it,” George directed, watching John rake his fingers through the contents. “There’s over a hundred dollars there. More than eighty-five in winnings by my estimation.”

  “Winnings?” John questioned bemusedly.

  “Yvette’s winnings. According to the men she was playing poker with, she took a seat at the table with a purse of twenty dollars. She won the rest.”

  “Won?” John asked incredulously. “Are you saying she won this off a surly lot of seamen?”

  “Fair and square,” George replied, “though I’m certain her manner of play was at best baffling. On more than one turn of the card, she held a high ace, hoping to draw a second pair. But the men misread the three cards she kept as beginner’s luck, assuming she’d been dealt three of a kind. If your father hadn’t stormed the table, it would have been downright entertaining.”

  “And how did you come to be there, Georgie?”

  “Just stopped in for a drink,” his friend answered. “But I don’t mind telling you, I nearly crapped my pants when Paul and your father walked in.”

  “I’m sure you did,” John agreed, a deep laugh erupting. “So, tell me more. From the beginning, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” George chuckled, and he launched into the entire story.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday, October 7, 1837

  SPENT of curses, Frederic found the morning less to his liking than the night before. Cloistered in his private chambers, he could spare others his miserable disposition. But for himself, his refuge was nothing more than a prison, an incarceration of the mind, plagued by the memory of the life he had lived, the many opportunities he had wasted, the schemes he had forged in their stead. Another plan had failed. When would he learn he could not bend destiny? The Almighty was determined to prolong the agony of his failure: failure as a father, failure as a husband.

  Voices floated up from the gardens, drawing him to the French doors. John was there, squatting and settling Pierre on one knee, his arm encircling the child’s small shoulders. “Now, let me see,” he said, taking hold of the boy’s hand and turning it over for inspection. “Where is this terrible splinter Mainie can’t see?”

  “There!” Pierre pointed out. Charmaine moved behind John, watching from over his shoulder.

  “Not a very big one,” John commented softly, pulling the palm nearer his face, “but there all the same. They say the smaller ones hurt the most.”

  Pierre looked up at his governess, and John’s gaze followed, the sun catching in his hair. He was talking to the lad again, the love in his voice disarming. “You won’t cry when I take this out, will you?”

  Pierre shook his head, and John stood, hoisting him into his arms. The sun glinted again, playing a color game with the reddish tints in the brown-blond hair, Elizabeth’s hair.

  The boy was a man already. Only yesterday, Frederic thought he had so much time. Suddenly, a distant memory transported him back to a time when John was a similar age to Pierre suffering his splinter. The ship pitched and plunged thr
ough the roiling waves. Bursts of thunder exploded, an untamed beast bearing down on them. The cabin door flew open, and the frustrated nanny rushed in, fretting over his wailing son. John could not be calmed, the darkness too great and the storm too fierce to dike his turgid tears. He was placed in Frederic’s care, a father vaguely known to him, a father who had all but disowned him, but could not bring himself to completely renounce the only remaining part of the woman he still loved. Frederic held the lad for the first time that night, knowing that, if nothing else, his strength and size could shield the three-year-old from the tempest and perhaps soothe him. As they settled in the cot, John buried his head in Frederic’s shoulder and his breathing grew steady. Frederic began to fancy the feel of Elizabeth’s son cuddled in his embrace. Then he remembered Elizabeth in that spot and began to cry, hot tears trickling into his hair as he mourned the woman he had lost…

  “Damn!” he cursed aloud, ignoring the blur of his vision. Why hadn’t John just taken Pierre and fled? Why?

  Yvette stood meekly before her father, ready to accept her come-uppance, comforted only by the fact her sister stood next to her. It had been little over a week since she had last visited the master’s chambers; now she’d be pleased never to step into these rooms again.

  “Two things I would have from you,” Frederic began roughly, his shrewd eyes scrutinizing the child from where he sat.

  He did not delight in her submissiveness. Remembering Jeannette’s declaration of the preceding night, he berated himself for snuffing out the rebelliousness, the savvy, he admired. Still, she had recklessly hatched more trouble than John and Paul at that age and comprehended little of the danger she could have faced had he not intervened. Therefore, it was best to deal with her sternly.

  “First,” he said, “I would have your promise, your word of honor, that what happened last night will never happen again. Beyond that, I want it understood you will never, under any circumstance, leave this house or its grounds without permission from either myself or your governess.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied softly, meeting his eyes. It appeared the man’s apoplectic anger had indeed dissipated, and she regained her aplomb with the pledge, “I promise.”

  Frederic cocked his head. “I don’t want the words given casually. I expect you to hold by them, and not just when you think you may be caught. When you leave here, I want to know I can trust you, that your vow won’t be broken.”

  “On my life, sir,” she pronounced, “I give my word. I won’t ever do anything so naughty again.”

  He smiled for the first time, and Yvette wondered what he found so amusing. “I believe you,” he said.

  “And the second?” she probed; he had mentioned two things.

  “I want you to apologize to Miss Ryan. You could have caused her great alarm if she had gone to your room and found your beds empty. As it was, she was unjustly blamed for your misconduct, something she didn’t deserve.”

  “Is that all?” Yvette asked, convinced the worst had yet to come.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, but aren’t you—I mean, I thought you—”

  “No, I’m not,” the man interrupted, his brow raised. “As angry as I was when I found you gambling at Dulcie’s, I had no intention of beating you, Yvette. However, if something like this should happen again, I’ll not be so lenient.”

  “Then—there’s to be no punishment?” the girl asked hopefully.

  “I didn’t say that. After some consideration, I’ve decided my timely arrival at the tavern last evening will stand as punishment enough.”

  Yvette frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Then let me explain.” Frederic rummaged through his desk drawer, producing the reticule the girl had stuffed with an assortment of gold coins and one-dollar notes only twelve hours earlier.

  Relief washed over her when the pouch jangled, and in unmasked delight, she quickly calculated the value of the purse.

  “There’s more than the twenty American dollars you started with,” he said, as if reading her mind, “close to five times that amount by George’s count.”

  “George?”

  “He confiscated all of your winnings. If your little adventure weren’t so naughty, I’d have to congratulate you. However,” he continued, his voice growing hard and uncompromising, “no daughter of mine is going to gamble—let alone with dirty, low-class seamen. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Yvette muttered, her moment’s elation quashed with the realization of what was coming next.

  “Unfortunately, lessons are often learned the hard way. And the best lesson for you, my dear, is to lose this.”

  “But—”

  “I’m donating it to the poor.”

  “Just the winnings, Papa, please, I promise I won’t—”

  “No, Yvette, not just the winnings. You see, it was only luck that prevented you from losing last night. Do you realize what those men would have done had you continued to win? You feared a beating from me, but I guarantee they would have inflicted far worse. They would have followed you and cornered you alone.”

  She shuddered and meekly mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

  Frederic eyed his other daughter. “What of you, Jeannette? Was any of this money yours?”

  “Yes, Papa. Half of it was mine. Yvette said we’d split whatever she won.”

  “Well, then, you’ve shared equally in the punishment. It had better not happen again.”

  “No, sir, it won’t.”

  They watched as Frederic slid open the deepest drawer in the desk, fumbled curiously with what looked to be a false back, deposited the purse there, and replaced the wooden panel.

  “It would be safer in the safe,” Yvette offered.

  “No, my dear, it won’t remain in the house for long. I’m certain there are a few families in town who could benefit from your generosity. I shall speak to Paul about it.”

  He smiled at them, a self-satisfied smile that riled Yvette. She resisted uttering the recriminations that were rifling through her head, certain they would induce his wrath if they found their way to tongue.

  “That will be all,” he finished.

  Once they were in the south-wing corridor, Yvette took to grumbling. “Just wait until I see George. He snatched all of my winnings and told Father about it instead of me! Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know, Yvette,” her sister attempted to console. “But if Father didn’t use the money as our punishment, we could have gotten worse.”

  “Worse? I don’t see how! All that loot and we didn’t even get to count it! It’s unfair, I tell you.”

  “Tired?”

  Startled, Charmaine looked up from the lawn and squinted against the sun that silhouetted the man looming over her. He stepped forward, blocking the rays altogether. Disappointed, Charmaine smiled halfheartedly up at Paul.

  “Not tired,” she answered as he sat beside her, drawing his knees up and locking his arms about them. “Just discontent, I suppose.”

  “Discontent? You’re not blaming yourself for what happened last night?”

  “Partially. I’m waiting for the girls now.”

  She focused on Pierre, who was pushing the swing back and forth.

  “Everything will turn out for the best,” he soothed, studying her with a sympathetic eye and an indefinable ache in his breast. “Charmaine, look at me.”

  She faced him, surprised by the raw emotion in his eyes.

  “I missed you,” he stated simply, his hand catching hers, squeezing it in understanding and support, instilling her with renewed strength. “How was your week?”

  John left the terrace and stepped back into the house. Charmaine was already occupied. He no longer commanded her attention. His week had come to a close. Hadn’t he realized that last night? He’d be wise to shut the door. He rubbed his forehead and swallowed hard.

  Why was he always denied? Why did he allow himself to be denied? He grunted across the words that chasti
sed him, the gentle petition that haunted him: Take care of them…live and love again, John…

  Coming to an abrupt decision, he crossed the foyer hurriedly and took the stairs two at a time. He knew it was a last resort, but because he had nothing more to lose, he set his pride aside and entered his father’s sanctum.

  Frederic looked up from his desk.

  John read the surprise in his eyes and got right to the point. “I will be returning to Virginia tomorrow. I request your permission to take Pierre and the twins with me.”

  Frederic was stunned by the direct petition, awed by his son’s valor to take this step, especially in light of the ugly episode of the evening before. Wasn’t this what he wanted, an honest give-and-take?

  “For how long?” he asked.

  “Forever.”

  “And who will see to their care when you are occupied with business?”

  Is my father actually considering this request? John had expected a swift and unequivocal “no.” “Miss Ryan, if she is willing. She has friends there. A move back will allow her to be closer to them.”

  Frederic breathed deeply and stood up. He walked to the French doors, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of such an arrangement. Here was an opening to begin setting things aright with his son, but in so doing, would he estrange his remaining offspring?

  “And what of Yvette and Jeannette?” he asked.

  “What of them?” John rejoined, exasperated. “What will they miss here, except a shadow of a father closeted in a room who pays them no mind, or when he does, rants and raves like a lunatic, and a stepmother who despises them? Where do you think they will be better off?”

  Frederic smarted with the truth of the declaration, remembering his cowering daughters. Another grave mistake he needed to correct—for Colette, for himself. He turned back to John. “Why don’t you stay here?” he offered. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just stayed on Charmantes?”