Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  “I understand,” she forced herself to say, head bowed.

  “Charmaine,” he tried to soothe, taking her hands in his, “I’m sorry about this. I really am.” When she remained quiet, he felt helpless. He wanted to appease her. “I was looking forward to escorting you. I will make this up to you.”

  She looked up at him, befuddled, yet hurt, nonetheless.

  “Charmaine … ” he murmured, struggling to find the right words. He started again, fearful of what he was about to say, yet realizing the time was right. “Anne will be at my side tomorrow night, but I want you at my side always. Will you marry me?”

  She was flabbergasted. Even though they had spent so much time together over the past months, she never expected this. She couldn’t react, so incredible was his proposal. The heart-thumping excitement she should have experienced wasn’t there, leaving her acutely confused.

  Paul was disturbed by her muteness. He’d anticipated an immediate and unequivocal “yes.” Why is she so quiet? “Well, Charmaine, you have me in suspense. What is your answer?”

  “I—need to think about it,” she replied, her face flushed.

  “Very well,” he muttered curtly, thinking all the while: She is angry with me. “I will give you some time.”

  When she didn’t respond, he left the gardens hurriedly, stung that this monumental step had elicited such a tepid response.

  Chapter 3

  Saturday, April 7, 1838

  WILL you marry me, Charmaine?” Charmaine woke with a start and stared unseeing at the ceiling above. On a moan, she turned onto her stomach and cried into her pillow. Not a dream! The impossible fantasy was no longer a dream. Then why was she weeping?

  Stupid, stupid question! You know why! John. The answer was as simple as whispering his name. Mercedes was right. She was in love with him.

  Dear God! What am I to do? What answer am I to give Paul?

  Little more than six months ago, that answer would have been a resounding “Yes!” Last year, she had loved him. Why then had she suddenly turned fickle? Was she no better than he?

  The marriage vows are simple, Charmaine, but how can either of us know how we will feel toward each other years from now …

  Years from now? Again she moaned.

  In mere months, her love for Paul had vanished. And if her feelings could change that quickly, could she rely on them? Yes, she yearned for John now, but how could she be certain it was love when so many other emotions were involved: loneliness, sorrow, and empathy. What if it wasn’t love at all? What if it was only a tidal wave of commiseration? Perhaps it had engulfed her desire for Paul, and in time, that desire would reemerge.

  Yes, that makes sense, she decided.

  Her relief was short-lived. She was fooling no one, least of all herself. The elation she had experienced when John returned—the memories of his lips upon hers—mocked all logic. She’d been attracted to him long before Pierre had died. I love him! Much as it would be simpler to deny it, I love him.

  But what of John? Does he feel the same about me?

  He hadn’t given her any reason to think so. Yes, he’d returned, but he’d told her if he extended his visit, it would be for his sisters’ benefit. So, where did she fit in? Did she fit in at all? He had walked away from her six months ago. If she had meant anything to him, why had he abandoned her when she had needed him most?

  She gulped back her burning misery. Paul had comforted her during those months of agony, had cared and cried with her, held and sheltered her. Could she set aside his compassion so easily— hurt him?

  And even if John told her today he loved her, was she willing to gamble on such a declaration? Now she was forced to think about it, she realized she was afraid of loving John. I’ d forfeit every penny for just one more second of her time! I loved her, Charmaine, will always love her …

  Fool! Fool! Fool! She could never compete with Colette.

  Charmaine wept again.

  When she eventually rose, she was grateful she wouldn’t be attending the ball, wouldn’t have to face Paul. She had a full day to deliberate her dilemma, a full day before Paul would expect an answer; she still had time to decide.

  Richmond

  Michael Andrews stood in the Harringtons’ front parlor, wringing his hands nervously. He’d rehearsed what he would say many times over the past week, and still his pulse raced. Loretta appeared, as surprised as her housekeeper with this visit. “What brings you here, Father Michael?”

  “Actually, I had hoped to catch you after Mass the last two Sundays.”

  “Joshua has not been feeling well for the past fortnight,” she offered by way of a hasty excuse. “He’s much improved this week, however.”

  Michael chuckled. “Good Lord, that’s not why I’m here,” he reassured and, suddenly inspired, plunged ahead. “Actually, it’s Charmaine Ryan I’ve been concerned about. I haven’t seen her at Holy Mass for some time now. I had promised Marie, her mother, to watch over her.”

  “Charmaine?” Loretta queried, bewilderment supplanting her initial surprise. “Why, Father, she left Richmond well over a year ago. She’s living in the West Indies now.”

  “The West Indies?” he asked, astonished.

  “She’s working for the Duvoisin family,” she continued. “They’re prominent shippers here in Richmond and own an island in the Caribbean. Frederic Duvoisin and his wife were looking for a governess for their three young children. Charmaine was able to obtain that position.”

  “Governess, you say?”

  The timbre of his voice and his furrowed brow were disconcerting. Loretta attempted to alleviate his anxiety. “She’s quite well. My sister and brother-in-law live there. That is how we learned of the job. I’m sorry, Father, but I was unaware of your concern for Charmaine. Had I known—”

  “No—no,” the priest interjected, belatedly camouflaging his emotions. “Any miscommunication is owing to long hours at the refuge and my thoughtlessness. Over a year, you say?”

  “Yes. She was extremely distressed after her mother’s passing, especially when her father was never apprehended. I thought distance and new faces would provide a solution, the start of a new life, so to speak.”

  “You are undoubtedly right. Is she happy there?”

  Loretta sighed. “The Duvoisins have endured two tragedies over the past year. Naturally, they were upsetting, but overall, yes, I think she is happy.”

  “The next time you write to her, please let her know I was asking for her.”

  “I’ll do that, Father.”

  On his way back to the refuge, Michael’s mind was reeling. Charmaine was living with the Duvoisins! She’d been there for the two deaths: the boy, six months ago, and the child’s mother. She must have suffered heartache all over again. And John … she must know him, and he, her! Michael couldn’t focus on anything else for the remainder of the day.

  Likewise, the priest’s visit perplexed Loretta. If Michael Andrews had promised Marie Ryan to look in on her daughter, why had it taken him so very long to do so? And why had he seemed so emotionally involved? Yes, Loretta thought, very intriguing indeed!

  Charmantes

  The fine ore captured the lamplight, a quicksilver glint that traced the delicate engraving within: My Love, My Life. The locket snapped shut in Agatha’s trembling hand. Gingerly, she placed it on the dressing table and stared at it. The charm had been Elizabeth’s wedding present from Frederic.

  Bitter memories faded when Agatha beheld herself in the mirror. Elizabeth had not won. The tables had turned in Agatha’s favor. Through years of careful planning and maneuvering, she had orchestrated the ultimate victory. Tonight was the culmination of her triumph. Tonight, her genius prevailed. Agatha laughed lightly with the irony of it all. She had won. Elizabeth lay, long disintegrated in the cold earth, a brief six months of marriage the only thing she’d given Frederic. Tonight, the true joy of Frederic’s life was the loyal and long lasting treasure Agatha had given him: Paul. He was Freder
ic’s pride this night, carrying on the lofty Duvoisin legacy.

  Agatha studied the locket again. She would have been the happy recipient of this fine piece had Elizabeth not interfered. Now, that didn’t matter. Yes, time had been on her side. Tonight, she would enter the ballroom on Frederic’s arm. Tonight, she reigned victorious.

  Dinner was to be served at six o’clock. The twins wore their new chiffon dresses, pale blue with white lace, accentuating their eyes— Colette’s eyes. Soon they would look exactly like her. They milled about the nursery, anxious to go down to the festivities. As voices floated up from below, Charmaine decided to humor them. She looked longingly at the lovely gown she would not be wearing tonight. Thanks to Agatha, she would be attending as the girls’ governess, nothing more, so she wore her best Sunday dress, as was appropriate. Frederic expected his daughters to attend the dinner and had given permission for them to participate in the first hour of the ball, which was scheduled to begin at eight-thirty. After that, Charmaine would retire with a good book and try not to think about what she was missing.

  The twins’ new shoes tapped loudly on the marble floor as they crossed the foyer to the ballroom. The doors were open wide, the room as Charmaine had never seen it: splendid beyond description, the crowd clustered and abuzz with anticipation. It was intimidating. She took Yvette and Jeannette by the hand and they passed under the archway together.

  Flickering candles in the huge chandeliers cast sparkling light on the place settings of fine china and crystal. The lamps on the wall glowed warmly on the Italian murals. Bouquets of freshly cut flowers crowned four round tables at the far end of the banquet hall. Guests strolled in, with glasses in their hands, gentlemen with ladies on their arms, all elegantly dressed. While they waited to be seated, they ambled about the dazzling room, conversing and enjoying hors d’oeuvres.

  As the twins sped over to a waiter with a serving tray, Charmaine eyed the place cards on the tables. She and the twins would be seated with Frederic, Agatha, Edward Richecourt and his wife, Helen, Geoffrey Elliot, Robert Blackford, and a couple from North Carolina.

  Paul and Anne London walked into the room. His impeccable formal attire of gray waistcoat and jacket, black trousers and white shirt accentuated his sleek, muscular form. Many women were looking his way. Anne wore an off-the-shoulder gown, skin-tight at the bust with ruffled sleeves, full and flowing from the waist—the newest Paris fashion. The ivory satin was cut scandalously low at the bodice, revealing the generous swell of her creamy white bosom. Delicate lace-trimmed gloves covered her arms, and her ears glittered with diamonds. Her blond hair was meticulously coiffed into tight braids looped high on her head, where a shimmering tiara held them in place. Charmaine knew it had taken her the entire day to dress, for she had not seen Mercedes since breakfast.

  John and George appeared next, conversing with the guests from New York and Boston, a corpulent businessman nodding now and then. Charmaine’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of John in formal attire. He was dressed entirely in black, save a white shirt and an ivory carnation pinned neatly to the velvet lapel of his jacket. The finely tailored suit accentuated his lean body, catching his broad shoulders and tapering to his slender waist. His hair was combed back, his short sideburns neatly trimmed, his face clean-shaven. He talked easily with the Northern gentlemen, his eyes lively, a window to his keen mind. He was so handsome and projected such confidence Charmaine could not tear her eyes from him.

  John, too, had caught the attention of quite a few young ladies. One of them broke away from her mother, who nodded approvingly, and boldly crossed the room, producing a dance card before she reached him. Clearly, these farmers’ and brokers’ wives had their own agenda. While their husbands sought business partners for their clients, they sought marriage partners for their daughters. In a wave of despair, Charmaine turned away.

  The waiters began to usher the guests to their tables, and Charmaine quickly located Yvette and Jeannette. As an attendant helped Agatha with her chair, Charmaine sat down with the girls on either side of her, but Frederic remained standing, waiting for everyone to find their seats before he himself reclined. As she gestured to his daughters to place their napkins in their laps, she looked up to find his eyes on her. She resisted the urge to look away, only doing so when his attention was drawn to Edward Richecourt. In the corner of the room, a string quartet tuned up and began playing a divertimento. As the first course was served, Charmaine felt her tension ease.

  She glanced around the room, noting a Duvoisin family member hosted each table. Paul and Anne were at the table directly opposite hers, where the company was engaged in quiet conversation. Her eyes caught Paul’s momentarily, and he smiled at her. Charmaine watched Anne apply the charm, her hand resting possessively atop his. Rose and George were at the table behind her. Though George chatted amicably, his face was forlorn. John was at the next table, which was animated in a lively discourse. As usual, he commanded the banter; all the guests at his table were laughing.

  Geoffrey Elliot watched her throughout the endless meal, engaging her in conversation whenever their eyes met. Helen Richecourt chatted with Jeannette and Yvette. They responded confidently, golden curls bouncing on their shoulders as they nodded, their manners exemplary. Colette would have been proud.

  As the dishes were cleared away for dessert, Charmaine looked to John again, leaning forward in his chair, arms folded casually before him, a hand clasped to his chin, engrossed in the recounting of some story. He hadn’t looked her way all evening. Had he even noticed she was there?

  After dessert, the waiters ushered everyone out of the banquet hall so it could be rearranged for the ball. Some of the guests wandered into the drawing room and study for after-dinner drinks, while others left the house to stroll on the lawns or in the courtyard.

  Charmaine accompanied the girls to the parlor, where their father introduced them to several of his guests. All were gracious. Helen Richecourt had learned both girls knew how to play the piano, and she asked Jeannette to play. Before long, a small audience had gathered around to listen as the twins took turns with their favorite pieces. Frederic looked on with pride, and Charmaine was satisfied she could take some credit for these two cultivated young ladies.

  “Charmaine? Charmaine Ryan?”

  She turned toward a couple she recognized. “Mr. and Mrs. Stanton! It is so good to see you!”

  Raymond Stanton was a Richmond merchant and business associate of Joshua Harrington. He and his wife, Mary, had not attended the dinner, so Charmaine assumed they had just arrived for the ball.

  “It is good to see you, too, dear,” Mary rejoined. “Loretta and Joshua asked us to look for you. They send their love.” She smiled, assessing Charmaine from head to toe. This polished young woman could not be the same insecure girl she’d met at the Harringtons a few years ago.

  “I’m always pleased with news of the Harringtons. How are they?” Charmaine inquired, ignoring her discomfiture over the woman’s blatant perusal.

  “Quite well and getting ready for a visit with Jeremy in Alexandria.”

  “That’s wonderful. Travel will be much easier now it is spring.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mary agreed, dismissing the topic, her eyes surveying the room. “My, this house is truly magnificent! What is it like to live in such opulence?”

  Charmaine glanced over her shoulder. Frederic was only a few feet away and within earshot. “I enjoy my life on Charmantes, Mrs. Stanton. It is certainly very different than Richmond.”

  “I’m sure you do. That Paul Duvoisin is quite a handsome fellow. I daresay, he must turn many a maid’s eye. Do you see him often?”

  “Almost every day, Mrs. Stanton. He lives here, too.”

  “And I see Mrs. London is with him tonight. That is quite surprising. The talk last year was that she was as good as engaged to his brother, John.”

  Charmaine was about to speak, but Mary babbled on. “Is he here?”

  “Yes … ” Charmain
e sighed, as the woman’s eyes lit up.

  “You’ll have to point him out to me. I’ve heard so much talk about him, but have yet to meet him. Raymond’s partners complain he can be quite difficult.”

  Before Charmaine could respond, the twins came dancing over. She introduced them to the Stantons quickly, as Yvette was tugging on her arm. “Come, Mademoiselle Charmaine, let’s find Johnny!”

  Mary’s eyebrow arched, but Charmaine quickly murmured an apologetic “good evening” and allowed Yvette to draw her into the foyer, relieved to be rescued from the busybody. When John was nowhere to be found, she suggested they return to the nursery to rest and freshen up.

  George was miserable. He could not stop thinking about Mercedes and how he wished she were at his side this evening. John had tried in earnest to convince him to propose to her. The widow London’s threat of dismissal would be moot, and Mercedes would be free to attend the ball. But last night when George had walked Mercedes to her door, he’d grown cold feet, his tongue thick in his mouth. He knew he’d come off the utter oaf if he managed to stammer those four fateful words, but now, he regretted his cowardice.

  As Frederic stepped onto the portico to share a cigar and talk politics and commerce with two gentlemen, he noticed Paul on the lawn with a small group of guests. Anne was still at his side. Frederic had been surprised when his son escorted the widow and not Charmaine Ryan to the dinner table. After his conversation with Paul some weeks ago, he was convinced Charmaine meant more to him than just a casual affair—that Paul intended to squire her tonight. And Jeannette had mentioned something about a new gown. So why had she appeared for dinner plainly dressed and with the twins by her side? Frederic thought back on his affairs with Agatha and Elizabeth and shuddered, uncomfortable his son was so much like him. He could only hope Paul wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  John knocked on Mercedes’s door on the third floor. It opened partway, only her face visible, her eyes red and swollen. “You’ve been crying,” he said.