by DeVa Gantt
John was astonished.
“It’s no excuse,” Frederic said, his hand massaging his forehead. “You were only a baby; it shouldn’t have mattered. But I missed Elizabeth desperately, and you were an easy scapegoat.” He breathed deeply, and the minutes gathered before he spoke again. “What is wrong with me? Will my decisions ever prove sound? When will my family know peace?”
John had no answers. Hadn’t he often asked the same questions of himself, cursed his propensity for hurting those closest to him? Unexpectedly, he was beginning to understand his father and was uncomfortable with the realization they were alike in many ways.
Yvette protested when she learned she and her sister were not invited to the newlyweds’ picnic. “But we want to go, too!”
“Charmaine and I are on our honeymoon,” John attempted to explain.
“I know what that means: you want to be alone so you can hug and kiss.”
“Exactly,” John affirmed, sending her into a pout.
Charmaine’s face was beet-red. “They know we’ve been kissing, my Charm,” he chuckled.
“In your bedroom,” Yvette interjected. “Does it have to go on all day, too?” She spoke to her sister. “I liked it better before they were married, Jeannette.”
“I think it’s wonderful they’re married,” Jeannette countered.
“I have an idea,” John offered. “Father has had a bad morning and could use a bit of company right now. If the two of you cheer him up, we’ll take you on a picnic tomorrow. How would that be?”
“I guess it’s better than nothing,” Yvette relented.
With John’s smile of encouragement, they went off in search of Frederic.
Charmaine enjoyed having John all to herself. He told her about his father’s will and all that had happened with Agatha. “Paul’s mother for Christ’s sake,” he muttered, still incredulous. “All these years, all the times we pondered it, and I never thought of Agatha.”
Although astounded, Charmaine was happy to learn the woman would no longer reside at the house.
“That makes you mistress of the manor,” John quipped. “You’re Mrs. Faraday’s boss now!”
Charmaine smiled wickedly. She’d never been anybody’s boss!
“And you must look the part,” he continued. “It’s time for the governess garb to go. Tomorrow morning, I’m taking you to the mercantile to select a more appropriate wardrobe.”
“I don’t think we will find anything grander than what I’ve been wearing.”
“We shall order them out of Maddy’s catalogs. My wedding present to you.” He kissed her then, a long, delicious kiss.
The twins awaited their return, having prepared them a wedding gift. “You are going to be so happy!” Jeannette bubbled from the steps of the portico.
“Oh, yes!” Yvette agreed. “It’s the best present you’ll ever receive!”
“Really?” Charmaine asked as they stepped inside the house and Jeannette nudged them up the stairs.
“Truly!” the girl gushed. “And best of all, we can enjoy it, too!”
The declaration drew a swift glare from Yvette, but it did not succeed in stifling Jeannette’s jubilance. “They’re going to see it anyway,” she reasoned.
Yvette rushed ahead and stopped at Charmaine’s dressing room door.
“Is this where your gift is hidden?” John asked, eliciting wide-eyed nods. “Well, what are we waiting for? The suspense is killing me.”
Jeannette giggled, but Yvette scowled. “Go ahead and make fun of our present,” she dared, “but you’ll see how unique it is!”
“Unique? Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Open the door.”
Jeannette led them into the immaculate room. Not one piece of furniture was out of place, not one speck of dust marred the polished wood floor. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The twins snickered at John and Charmaine’s confusion.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Well, what?” Yvette inquired innocently.
“Where or what is our wedding gift?”
“Can’t you see it, Johnny? It’s right before your eyes.” Yvette turned to Charmaine. “Maybe Mademoiselle Charmaine knows what it is.”
“Yvette, this isn’t fair,” Jeannette interjected, “we haven’t shown them everything.” She opened the door to Charmaine’s bedchamber and gestured for them to step in.
John’s large armoire sat opposite them, against the wall that abutted the nursery. “How did you get that in here?” John asked Yvette.
“Joseph helped us push it along the balcony so nobody would see.”
“And what is it doing here?” he probed curtly, his eyes narrowing. “And I hope it’s not the reason I think it is.”
“It’s part of your present, silly!” Yvette giggled, unaffected by his stern regard. “Both rooms are your present.”
“Isn’t it wonderful, Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette asked. “Just think, you’ll be right next to us again, and so will Johnny!”
“That’s right,” Yvette piped in, “now we can bring you breakfast every morning and keep you company during thunderstorms and—”
“Damn it, girl! Don’t you know when you’ve gone too far?” John’s heated query sent Jeannette scurrying to Charmaine’s skirts, tears welling in her eyes. Yvette stood her ground, pretending confusion, though her eyes blazed brightly. “Whose idea was this—” he growled “—as if I really have to ask?”
“A fine brother you are!” Yvette spat back. “This gift took us all afternoon to organize! You’ll never get another one from me! That’s a promise!”
They matched scowl for scowl. Finally, John strode to the bell-pull, and yanked it violently. When Travis appeared, he instructed him to install a lock on the adjoining nursery door, then he asked for George.
“He’s in the drawing room with Miss Wells,” the manservant informed him.
“Can you send him up here?”
As Travis left, Jeannette looked at John woefully. “I thought you’d be happy with our present, Johnny,” she lamented. “We could have so much fun.”
John was at a loss for words in the face of the girl’s innocence. Yvette, on the other hand, had ulterior motives.
George appeared in the doorway. “You wanted something?”
“I need help moving this bed into the dressing room. Yvette has decided the wedding present we need most is a new bedroom—this one in particular.”
“How cozy,” George chuckled under his breath.
“Aren’t you taking this a bit far?” Charmaine interjected.
John looked at her in disbelief. “My Charm, on some future morning when we are ‘occupied,’ you will be thankful the door is bolted.”
Charmaine blushed. “I wasn’t talking about the lock. I don’t understand why you want to move the bed into the other room.”
“Why don’t you ask Yvette how many glasses she has hidden in the nursery?”
When the bed had been moved and all was in order, Charmaine sighed in relief. She didn’t relish the idea of sleeping with John in the room he had more than likely shared with Colette, the room with so many sad memories, Pierre’s death the most potent. In this room, they would make their own memories.
John came up behind her. He must have sensed what she was thinking, for he said, “That should do it, my Charm. I didn’t fancy sleeping in the other chamber, anyway.”
Edward Richecourt turned his face into the wind, heaved a deep sigh, and looked at Helen. She stood at the railing with friends. They certainly had plenty of gossip to bring back to Richmond. The ship lurched in the turbulent sea, and the ladies grasped the railing or clutched an arm to steady themselves. Helen … In her younger days, she had been the belle of Richmond. But they had drifted into middle age together, Helen more so than he.
It had been convenient, practical to marry Helen Larabbie. She was the eldest of three daughters, and her father, Neil, ran a respectable law firm in Richmond. Edward was young and ambitious, so when h
e began to pay court to the eldest Larabbie daughter, Neil couldn’t have been more pleased. The family firm could be passed along to a son-in-law. Edward had an amiable relationship with the man, both professionally and personally. And Neil Larabbie was content with the two grandchildren Edward and Helen had given him, especially his grandson, who was studying law. Neil trusted Edward, expecting only that he uphold the firm’s good name and keep his daughter happy.
Edward was always discreet about his infidelities. And what harm? Helen had little interest in the marital bed, and he’d found relief with youthful damsels who viewed him as distinguished and worldly.
Paul Duvoisin’s triumph … It could well be Edward’s waterloo! Old man Larabbie had at best ten years left. Ten years! God, what if he found out about the Duvoisin domestic? What if Helen found out? He didn’t want to think about it, hated the fact it all depended on the whim of one man: John Duvoisin. Would he tell Larabbie? Edward hadn’t even consummated the adulterous encounter, and yet, he’d literally been caught with his pants down. The last time this happened, John had extorted information about Paul’s shipping venture. But John didn’t seem to care about Paul’s business plans anymore. Now Edward could only pray he’d come up with something to offer John in exchange for his silence. His future depended on it.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, April 10, 1838
JANE Faraday appeared in the bedroom doorway. “May I have a word with you, ma’am?” she asked.
Charmaine nodded, disconcerted by the woman’s formality.
“As you know, Mrs. Duvoisin—Agatha, that is—hired a temporary staff for last week’s festivities. She indicated the five most competent employees would earn permanent positions on Espoir. I’m assuming she has chosen from the servants that are already there.”
Charmaine listened patiently, wondering, Why is she telling me this?
“There is one girl working here who is most deserving, and I recommend she be added to our staff.”
The monologue ended, and Jane seemed to be waiting for a response. Puzzled, Charmaine said, “I suggest you bring the matter to Master Frederic.”
“No, ma’am. He told me to bring it to you—you are the mistress now.”
Charmaine was flabbergasted. You’re mistress of the manor now! Evidently, Frederic thought so, too. It was incomprehensible! She rubbed her brow. “If you feel she is qualified, Mrs. Faraday, I trust your judgment.”
The woman smiled and turned to leave, stopping shy of the doorway. She pivoted around, hesitant. “Ma’am, I apologize for what I said to you last fall.”
“Apologize? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I was in the laundry service yesterday when Felicia and Anna collected the bed linen—” Charmaine felt her cheeks grow warm, but Jane talked on “—and I want you to know I was wrong, terribly wrong. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
“No, Mrs. Faraday,” Charmaine whispered. “I won’t hold it against you.”
A few minutes later, John found Charmaine humming happily to herself.
“Something I did?” he roguishly laughed.
“If only you knew!” she giggled.
Sunday, April 22, 1838
Benito St. Giovanni stood before Frederic Duvoisin, having demanded this meeting directly after Mass, but now found it difficult to begin. Agatha had not kept her weekly appointment last Saturday; the reason confirmed first thing this morning. Her husband had literally banished her to Espoir. But why? Benito didn’t fear exposure. If Frederic had knowledge of his unscrupulous dealings with the woman, he would have called this meeting. Even so, Agatha’s exile could potentially prove disastrous.
“You wanted to speak with me?” Frederic prodded.
“Yes.” Benito cleared his throat. “There have been rumors circulating, rumors concerning your wife. As your spiritual adviser, I think you should apprise me of your intentions.”
“Do you?” Frederic queried laconically.
Benito cleared his throat again. “I do.”
Frederic leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. “Very well. Perhaps you can be of service to me, Father. I have renounced Agatha as my spouse and have had legal documents drawn to that effect. Of course, we are still united in the eyes of God. I would like you to write to Rome and obtain a dispensation that will dissolve the marriage entirely.”
“I can’t do that!” Benito objected. “She is your wife. You spoke the words ‘for better or for worse, until death do us part.’ Rome will refuse. You will face excommunication if you proceed further.”
Frederic merely chuckled. “Then the legal document will stand as my repudiation of the marriage. In either case, she’ll no longer be called my wife.”
Benito’s eyes narrowed. This was not going well at all. He’d hoped to sway Frederic, reinstate Agatha to her post of mistress, and continue with his extortion. One more year, and he’d have accumulated enough wealth to retire comfortably. Suddenly, his source of income had been cut off, and the fervor of Frederic’s declaration left no doubt it would remain that way. The only option open to him now was to leave Charmantes. He had no reason to stay. Nevertheless, he must carefully disengage himself, lest his departure raise suspicion. Best to set that in motion now.
“I am extremely displeased,” he remarked condescendingly. “The lack of morality … Paul’s gala celebration during the solemn Lenten season … A disregard for all that is holy … I tell you now, Frederic, I intend to retire by year’s end. I’ve received word from family in Italy, a nephew who is ill. If you wish, I can write to my superiors in Rome and request a replacement.”
Frederic grunted. “Do as you like Benito.” He refrained from adding he doubted the priest would be missed.
Tuesday, May 1, 1838
The days fell in on themselves, a heady blend of lovemaking, picnics, and laughter, all of which left Charmaine glowing. Paul had moved to Espoir, venturing home only twice, and then for only a night. He had three reasons to keep his distance: Agatha, his father, and her. He barely acknowledged her during those visits, so she was glad he stayed away.
This morning they were breakfasting together—a true family— for Frederic was at the table, along with the girls, Rose, Mercedes, and George. Charmaine marveled over the change between John and his father, their discourse no longer baiting and angry. Yvette told a joke that left everyone chuckling. The girls were benefiting most from this newly won harmony.
Fatima bustled in with coffee and biscuits, frowning when she reached Charmaine. “Miss Charmaine, you ain’t touched a bit of your food.”
“I’m sorry, Cookie, but I’m not feeling very well this morning.”
John leaned forward. “Are you all right, my Charm?”
“I’ll be fine once this queasiness passes.” She pushed her plate away.
John’s eyes lifted to his father, who was smiling at them, a shared look that bewildered Charmaine. “Sir?” she queried, as if he had spoken to her.
“Charmaine,” Frederic said, “you are part of this family, and I’d be pleased to have you call me Frederic.”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable—” she began. Then she was muttering an apology, overcome by a wave of nausea. She pushed away from the table and ran for the kitchen, reaching the washtub in time.
“Miss Charmaine,” Fatima soothed, “are you all right?”
In the next moment, John was there, placing a hand to her back. Another significant look passed between the cook and her husband. “Come, Charmaine,” he coaxed, “why don’t you sit down?”
“I’m fine now, really I am.”
“Yes, I’m certain you’re fine,” John chuckled.
“Stop laughing!” she snapped.
“I’m not laughing. After all, I feel responsible.”
“Responsible?” Charmaine asked, completely baffled. “For what?”
“Your condition.” Then, he bent close to her ear and whispered, “Do you think it will be a Michael or a Mic
helle?”
She blushed a deep crimson, her innocence warming his heart. “I love you, Charmaine Duvoisin!” he shouted. “Come! Everyone will want to hear the good news.”
“John—wait!” she protested. “Are you certain? How can you be sure?”
“I suppose nine months or your tummy will tell.”
Fatima laughed robustly.
Monday, May 7, 1838
When Frederic arrived at the tobacco fields, John was already there. John wiped his soiled hands on a rag and walked over to him. “What are you doing here?” they asked simultaneously.
Frederic chuckled, but John answered first. “Charmaine doesn’t fancy leaving for Richmond yet, so I thought I might lend a hand. And you?”
Frederic tethered his stallion to a tree. “I ride out every day now. It does me good to work.”
John nodded in understanding.
His father turned and gazed critically across the terrain. “I’m thinking of turning the ground over. The first crop wasn’t what it should have been. Paul’s initial assessment was correct; the fields need to breathe for a while. Then we can go back to sugar.”
John frowned. “I thought Espoir’s bumper crop flooded your market.”
“Paul has done very well,” Frederic agreed.
“It would be a shame to abandon this investment,” John continued, gesturing toward the tobacco fields. “Perhaps the first yield was poor, but Harold says the tracts due for planting have lain fallow for four years. The crop should flourish in that soil, and I know a few tricks that will bring top-dollar at auction.”
Frederic was inspired. “What do you suggest?”
“Fire-curing for one,” John responded. “Add a little charcoal, and your tobacco will have a distinct smoky aroma and flavor. We’ll have to build a couple of barns, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Let’s do it. Where should we erect them?”