A shadow crossed her face at his words.
Dmitri became serious again. "Spend the day inside, if you wish, I can handle this. I will tell them all we met at the party your Uncle gave in Seattle, fell in love, then had a tiff, which we made up after dinner. We wished to be married by your uncle last night, as a romantic lark. Stay here."
"No. I will join you in the salon in an hour."
"As you wish." With a smile, he left the cabin. There was a slight scratching on the connecting door between the main cabin and that of the Count's valet.
"Come in please."
A small dark man entered the cabin. "Madam, may I be of service?"
"You are Gregor?"
He smiled as he bobbed his head in response.
"I need my clothing. Would you be good enough to fetch my things from my cabin?"
"No need Madam." He opened the wardrobe. Camille was surprised to see her things hanging neatly next to the Count's.
"And here Madam." He opened two drawers in the chest next to the wardrobe. "Here are your underthings. I am sorry we have no ladies maid to assist you."
"This is sufficient. I do not believe I would know what to do with a maid. I have always taken care of myself."
Gregor appeared horrified. "Madam! The Countess Bressoff has always had a maid!"
Camille laughed. "We will address the problem later. I would appreciate it if you would take a message to my uncle. Please ask him if he would visit me for a few moments. Tell him it is important I speak with him."
A frown creased his dark forehead. Gregor then bowed stiffly from the waist. "As you wish."
As soon as Gregor left the cabin, Camille rose from the bed. She washed quickly at the washstand and dressed hurriedly. She was seated at the dressing table brushing her hair when the knock came.
"Come in." Camille felt her old dread of her uncle return. But, Dmitri's words gave her courage. She was free of Samuel Devins now. Forcing a smile, she glanced at him in the mirror.
"Good morning, Uncle." She twisted her long hair into a knot at the base of her neck and began to pin it into place. She was grateful to the Count for having made sure her things were brought here.
"Have you recovered from this morning's surprise, my dear?"
"What surprise? Oh, you mean my marriage." She felt a fluttering in her chest. "Uncle, you heard me say my marriage vows. Indeed, that must have convinced you I was aware of everything taking place?"
"Yes." Hesitantly he took off his cap and twirled it on the fingers of one hand.
Camille's heart sank at his admission. She was trapped in this marriage by his affirmation that she willingly gave her pledge. Camille felt her eyes fill, as tears threatened.
She blinked them back. Never would she give him the satisfaction of knowing how betrayed, how used she felt. Both her uncle and the Count had manipulated her for their reasons.
"Remember your family, Camille. You are now in a position to be a great help."
"Whatever do you mean?" She stared at Devins in the mirror.
"Listen, my girl. If not for me, you never would have fallen into such an elevated status. Never forget it."
"Thank you, Uncle. Now, will you please leave? I have things to do." I will never forget. Camille silently promised herself.
Realizing he was dismissed, Devins thrust open the door with a muttered curse. He slammed it shut behind him.
Camille lowered her hairbrush, as she watched the woman in the mirror begin to cry. "No! No, I will not!"
Brushing away the tears with one hand, the young woman fought for control. Both men knew the circumstances surrounding this hurried marriage. Both of them were treating her like an empty headed dolt. She would not give either of them the satisfaction of knowing how she was hurt by their autocratic behavior. Leontine's attitude toward men, in general, was beginning to make a bit more sense.
Had it not been for Leontine they both would still be in New Orleans, living, Bon Dieu only knew how. Perhaps they both would have been forced to become mistresses to some rich carpetbagger. Set up in houses on Rampart Street with nothing but a man's patronage to rely on, they both would have eventually found themselves on the street when the patron tired of them.
After her mother's death, it was Leontine who set out to deliberately capture a breadwinner. She had won Samuel Devins and insisted he take both of them away from New Orleans. Camille stared at herself in the mirror.
Often, having sat in judgment of Leontine, by thinking she would marry for love, not money and position, it appeared Leontine, was more in touch with reality than she understood. Camille recalled advice Leontine once gave her.
"Do not tell a man everything Camille. If they hurt you, do not let them see your pain. If they know your weaknesses, they will be able to use them against you. Have your little secrets. Also, try to have your own little nest egg. Put something away from the household account every month if you must. Run the house as efficiently as possible so you will have something of your own."
Vividly, she recalled how her aunt, only a few years older, lectured her on her wedding day. At the time, she thought love was more important. If two people loved each other, what did the rest matter? Now, she was forced to reassess her opinions. It seemed Leontine was right, and she was wrong.
Frank left her with nothing, except a small widow's pension from a small investment he made upon joining the service. Once widowed, she was forced to live on Devins' good will once more. It would not happen again.
She was a Countess now. The man might well turn out to be every bit as difficult to live with as Devins. However, she patted her hair into place and smiled at the image in the mirror. She knew how to deal with difficult men. Leontine daily provided her with a wonderful example. Now, if she could only follow Leontine's advice.
***
Dmitri sat with a cigar in hand, fielding off pointed questions deftly. He wished Camille would arrive. The situation was becoming difficult. Dmitri was tired of all the innuendos.
The Captain was pacing the bridge like a man possessed. The men forced to stand watch, cringed when his glance happened to touch them. He was in as foul a mood, as any of them had ever witnessed.
Damn uppity bitches! Camille and Leontine seemed to feel they were above him!
There was a great deal he meant to say to Leontine when he returned home. Damn the whole lot of them!
Devins ground his teeth in frustration. Taking a cigar from his inside coat pocket, he nipped off the end with his teeth. "Shouldn't do that!" He muttered, mimicking Leontine, "It really is vulgar."
Penniless, New Orleans aristocracy! All they had ever given him was trouble. Devins paced the deck, mentally cursing every LaTours ever born.
Camille swept into the main salon feeling oddly, almost confident, after the meeting with her uncle. She did not break down, and the realization gave a lift to her spirits. On seeing the group of people clustered around Count Bressoff, the small measure of confidence wavered and came close to slipping. Camille steeled herself; she did not allow her momentum to falter. This appearance was far too important to both of them and must be carried off without any hesitation on her part.
She glanced slowly around the group. Camille thought to herself how ridiculous they would all look scrambling around on the muddy bank of a bayou, catching crawfish. The thought was so amusing; she found herself giggling, as she met the Count's relieved glance. With a warm smile, Camille hurried forward to meet him.
Dmitri rose, offering her his arm, as the group silently parted to let her through. She took his arm.
"I am sorry to be so late, my dear." Camille smiled up at her new husband He lifted her hand to place a light kiss on her fingers. Camille felt a nervous giggle begin to push its way to the surface. She suppressed it with difficulty.
"I am happy to see you, Camille. Would you care to have a seat for a moment?"
She wondered if the inquiry was in actuality a command. It was difficult to tell with this man. Not having
the experience on which to make an informed decision, she assumed it was a command. Perhaps, if they met the inquisition head on and dealt with it, they would be able to ignore the matter for the balance of the voyage. She made herself comfortable in the chair. Mrs. Coapes approached her immediately.
Camille watched her, wishing Mrs. Coapes had stayed in San Francisco, instead of making this particular voyage.
The lady fancied herself a world traveler. A couple of years previously, the woman induced her son to go with her on a sightseeing tour of the southern California desert, during the winter months.
On that occasion, Mrs. Coapes and her son were almost killed by a flash flood. The tale enlivened parlor conversation in the social strata in which the Coapes family circulated, for quite a while.
For Camille, remembrance of the incident helped bolster her confidence that seemed to be in danger of wavering. The lady had redeeming qualities and her support of Camille, during her mourning, was unfaltering.
Taking a seat next to Camille, Mrs. Coapes directed a sharp glance at Count Bressoff, before turning to speak with Camille. "This was a bit sudden, child. But I am happy to see you are finally recovering." She reached over and patted Camille's hand. "However, I would not be pleased to hear you were not getting on well. Marriage is a big step. I have always felt it is wise to get to know one's future spouse, before taking the plunge. It does appear you have not had much time for courtship."
Camille secretly agreed with her, but now was not the time to make it known. "Dmitri." Camille felt her face flush. She glanced away for a moment, as she attempted to calm herself. "The Count and I found we had an immediate rapport, while in Seattle. Uncle Samuel introduced us. I believe Aunt Leontine is correct, it is time I ceased mourning and began living again."
"A wise decision. But, when were you married? It certainly could not have been in Seattle, you both acted as if you had never met. There were no visible sparks last evening at supper." The woman's eyes searched Camille's face carefully.
Fairly certain his attention to Vanessa had been noted, Dmitri knew he must divert the lady's focus. Giving a short, somewhat forced laugh, he broke into their conversation. "Madam, have you never heard of a lover's quarrel? I would imagine a sophisticated woman such as you would understand these things."
His hand, which had been on Camille's shoulder, moved to the back of her neck. Dmitri began to gently stroke the side of her neck with his fingertips.
Camille felt a sudden awareness of him which surprised her. It was a physical reaction she had not experienced before. In confusion, she glanced upward at him. Dmitri noted her reaction, as well as her confusion regarding it.
With a smile for Mrs. Coapes, he continued. "We had originally thought it would be romantic to be married at sea by my wife's uncle. We did have a bit of a tiff, however," he waved one hand slightly, dismissing all previous problems, including he hoped, Vanessa.
"After making up the silly quarrel, we decided to end our torment as swiftly as possible. After all, it is not the first marriage for either of us."
A twinge of remorse at the lightness with which he dealt with Anya caused his chest to tighten. Dmitri did not want to discuss his love with any of these people.
The muscles in the back of Camille's neck were a good barometer of her feelings. They tightened at the mention of previous marriages. It occurred to him, Camille's feelings of betrayal could well match his own.
Mrs. Coapes smiled at the both of them. She may or may not have believed the story. However, she appeared to have made up her mind. Whatever the truth, the woman was satisfied with this version of it.
"Quite a romantic tale, Count. You do seem like typical newlyweds, unable to take your eyes off each other. Take good care of this young lady, she is a sweet girl and has had enough unhappiness. I do warn you, her friends in San Francisco will be looking forward to good reports. I wish you both luck and happiness."
Having said her piece, the lady rose and made her way out of the salon.
Vanessa took a cup of coffee from the steward. Toying with it, she was paying minimal attention to Mr. Wilkins. The mining engineer continued with his boring monologue, regarding the science of extracting gold from the earth.
His methods didn't matter; he could go about it any way he chose, as long as she was able to get her share.
At the moment, she was more interested in the Count. She had been close enough to the newlyweds to have heard the whole treacle tale. It would be entertaining to blurt out the truth and watch the fun.
Two excellent reasons existed for reining in her first impulse. She could have need of an influential friend in Alaska Territory if her plans were to succeed. A powerful enemy was the wrong thing to acquire at this juncture.
Vanessa's second reason was a physical one; she wished to finish what she and Dmitri had started. Vanessa watched covertly, as they left the salon. Dmitri gently held Camille's arm, to steady her against the slight rolling of the ship. The couple appeared to be lovebirds. Vanessa smiled at the sweet picture they made.
Before the voyage was over, she intended to speak with Bressoff alone. She and Dmitri could yet seal their friendship with a kiss. His child bride be damned! Vanessa wanted the man and fully intended to satisfy her desire at one point or another.
Marriage might have been a consideration, but was not essential to her plans. In fact, marriage to such a man could be much too confining for her taste. She wanted her independence. Vanessa O'Hare was going to call the shots from here on. Her desire for the Count was simply physical, and the devil could take his bride, for all she cared.
The deck was clear of people. A seaman could be seen tossing a sounding lead at the bow. Glad to be free of the too warm, smoke filled air of the salon, Dmitri lifted his face to the sea breeze, then smiled down at Camille. He guided her to the rail, before moving to stand behind Camille, one hand on either shoulder.
"Well done, my child. Mrs. Busybody will be wondering about us for quite a while."
Camille tried to lean away from him. His characterization of her friend irritated her. "She is not a busybody. Mrs. Coapes is an old friend of the family and was very kind to me after my husband died. Furthermore, I am not a child. I am a grown woman and your wife."
Suddenly silent, Dmitri stared down at his wife. She was correct. Whatever was he going to do with her? Perversely, he moved closer to Camille, forcing her against him.
Camille wanted answers to several questions, but exhaustion was taking hold of her. She felt drained. Being held tightly against the Count, did not improve her mood at all.
Pretending to look toward the bow, Camille tried to break away from his embrace. Dmitri released her, but Camille was quite aware of him standing tall and unyielding just behind her.
"I am terribly tired, Count. Do you mind if I take a short nap?"
"Not at all. I have some paperwork I need to finish before we reach the island" He took her arm, as they made their way back to the cabin. "By all means, rest while you can."
After opening the door, Dmitri removed his coat, then threw it over the back of a chair. Opening his case, he began to lay things out on the dressing table, discretely ignoring Camille.
She removed her dress and put it away. Remembering wifely duties, she also hung up his coat. Leaving on her chemise, Camille took her arms out of the light slip. With her hands under her chemise, as it hung from her shoulders, Camille untied the strings of the corset. Losing it sufficiently, so it could slip to her feet, she then put her arms back into the straps of the chemise. The corset went into the wardrobe.
Camille turned down the bed covers. After pulling the pins from her hair, she shook it free. Tossing the hair pins onto the small side table, Camille slid into bed. Trying to ignore his presence, she rolled onto her side toward the wall. Exhausted as she was, it still took some time for her to drift off to sleep. The slight sounds of papers moving about reminded her of the man seated at the dressing table.
Dmitri tried to concent
rate on the papers laid out on the tabletop. He found it was far more than he could manage. Lack of sleep the previous night caused his mind to wander. Dmitri watched her unpin and shake out her hair.
Camille was an untried southern city girl. How would she take to living on an island, in the middle of a vast expanse of ocean and wilderness? Visits to Sitka, Seattle, and San Francisco were few and far between. He was comfortable living on the island. Immersing himself in a city, or the society whirl did not interest him, as it did other businessmen.
There was no way for her to know she married the son of an adventurer, who was no less an adventurer than his father. His youthful desire to see the States and Europe were satisfied some time ago.
Dmitri wondered if Camille might be better off if he sent her back to San Francisco and set her up in her own establishment. He could visit her from time to time to see if they could work something out. It was an alternative to consider if things did not go well on the island. Knowing so little about her, Dmitri was not sure what he could or should do. At the moment, all was chaos.
Dmitri threw down the pen. Leaning back in his chair, he knew he was far too tired to think clearly. Pulling off his half boots, he rose and stretched. After stifling a yawn, Dmitri decided to join Camille. A nap might enable him to decide what course to take. He removed the collar and loosened the cuffs of his shirt before he lay down beside her.
Dmitri came awake immediately and found himself looking into Camille's frightened eyes. Her long hair lay trapped beneath his arm. Dmitri realized he had pulled her close to him while asleep. Face pale, she was watching him warily.
Her blatant fear annoyed him. What was she afraid of? He was not a monster. Angrily Dmitri rose. With a mumbled oath, he stalked over to the wash stand. Sweet saints in heaven! He was not prepared to deal with another child, Anya was quite enough.
Dmitri turned up the eye patch to splash water on his face. Grabbing a towel, he dried his face and brushed his hair.
Behind the Raven Mask Page 4