A Silent Ocean Away (12 page)

As noon approached, Charmaine said goodbye to Gwendolyn and had the driver take her back to the manor. Once there, she rushed up to her bedroom and deposited the packages on her bed. She reached the table just in time for lunch.

“Where have you been?” Yvette demanded.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” was all Charmaine would say.

Later that evening, when everyone was abed, Charmaine wrapped the gifts, spending a great deal of time on the ribbons. Colette had recommended she hide them in the back of the girls’ armoire, behind all their dresses. It was best if she crept down there now, when they were sound asleep. Sure enough, no one stirred. When she was finished, she headed down to the library, crossing paths with Jane Faraday on the stairs.

“Is there something you require, Miss Ryan?” the head housekeeper queried brusquely.

Charmaine decided not to take offense. The older woman’s comportment was generally curt. “I was going down to the library.”

“At this time of night?”

“I’m not tired, but I find reading by lamplight makes me so.”

The woman eyed her suspiciously. “Then I suggest you choose a book quickly and take it back to your room on the third floor.” Without further explanation, she continued her ascent.

Puzzled, Charmaine proceeded on her quest, selecting a novel entitled
Pride and Prejudice.
The study was inviting, the lighting good, and because she had spent a great deal of time in her bedroom already, she ignored the matron’s directive and settled into one of the high-backed chairs. For an hour, she was lost to the story, unlike any she had ever read, and the characters of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, imagining Paul and herself as the hero and heroine. Oh, to live such a romance!

Muffled giggles interrupted her revelry. Mrs. Faraday thought everyone was abed. Not so. Charmaine recognized the voices: Felicia and Anna were scurrying about. Paul hadn’t dined with them this evening, and Charmaine wondered if he had just come in. Whenever he was in the house, Felicia and Anna were never far away.
What are they doing?

Charmaine lit a candle and doused the lamp, then crossed the room and cautiously opened the door. The hallway was surprisingly empty and dark, though light cascaded through the French doors in the dining room. She walked toward them, head cocked. No one was there either.

She stepped into the courtyard, breathing in the soft fragrance of the garden flowers. The breeze was a bit chilly, yet refreshing. The cool air carried the scent of ocean spray, sweet against her face
as it washed away the remnants of the hot day. On impulse, she wandered along the garden path, her candle unnecessary, for lamps were lit here and there and a full moon bathed the sanctuary in heavenly light. She blew it out and set it atop her book on a nearby bench.

She sat down and closed her eyes, thinking about her new life and all that happened over the past month. So many changes, all for the better, she realized. Was she happy? Yes, she answered; she had made the right decision in coming to Charmantes. Like Yvette and Jeannette, she had yearned for adventure and had miraculously found it. Her life was no longer dull, but exciting.

The hour grew late. It was time to retire. Sighing, she finally rose.

“Going so soon?”

Startled, she spun halfway around to confront the deep voice that spoke from the shadows. “I’m sorry,” Paul said as he stepped away from the tree he had been leaning against, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

He walked closer. “Long enough to watch you meander through the gardens and sit down on that bench. Actually, I’ve been intrigued. So many emotions crossing your brow, some of them quite vexing, I’d say.”

Charmaine stepped back, her legs connecting with the bench she had just vacated. “Vexing?” she queried. “They weren’t vexing, I assure you.”

“What could someone so young be worrying about?” he pondered aloud, ignoring her remark to the contrary, stilling the hand that wanted to caress her cheek. Her blushes were intoxicating, and he had found himself thinking of her often during the past week, more often since Sunday.

“I told you, sir, I wasn’t worrying about anything.”

“Sir?” he queried. “I thought we’d dispensed with that formality.”

“Paul,” she acquiesced, heart hammering in her chest.

“Are you content here?”

“I think so,” she whispered. “Actually—I
am
content. That is what I was thinking about before you spoke.”

“You’ve been here less than a fortnight. How can you be certain?”

“I can’t, but for now, my heart tells me I’m content.”

He chuckled softly as if he approved of her conclusion, then stepped in so close their bodies were nearly touching. Charmaine closed her eyes, certain of his next move. She was desperately frightened, yet scintillatingly excited. But he didn’t take her in his arms, and her eyes flew open, both relieved and annoyed to find he was now sitting on the bench.

“Stay awhile longer,” he demanded, grabbing hold of her wrist and pulling her down beside him. “There’s no reason why we should feel uncomfortable in one another’s presence. I know you think of me as your employer, but I’d much prefer our relationship to grow into that of…
friends
. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’d like that very much.”

“Good…And perhaps, in time, our
friendship
will blossom into something more. Would that be agreeable to you?”

He edged closer, his warm thigh coming in contact with hers, branding her through her dress, making it difficult to concentrate on his words. “I think so,” she whispered tremulously.

He threw his arm around the back of the bench and leaned forward. “Life can be full for you here, Charmaine. I can see to that. You’re a very beautiful young woman, and I can offer you fulfillment.” With a rakish smile, he leaned back, allowing her to take his lead. She seemed to puzzle over his words, leaving him to contemplate the depth of her innocence.

“You’ve been too kind already, Paul. Just this past Sunday, you could have been angry when I allowed Pierre to run into your rooms, but you weren’t. You’ve insisted I use your given name. I couldn’t ask for more than that. Between you and Colette, I’ve been made to feel very welcome.”

So, she believed him to be a gentleman, he mused, in the strictest sense of the word. He had played the game well thus far. But she had been living under his roof for nearly ten days now, and governess or not, she had caught his fancy. He knew she found him disconcerting. How many times had she blushed in his presence? More times than he could count. But those blushes were born of an attraction as well. Just now she was longing to have him kiss her. But he wanted more than a casual kiss. He would have preferred bedding a housemaid than the children’s governess. When his efforts to hire her on as a servant had been thwarted, he’d changed his tactics. He had played the gentleman, until tonight. Suddenly, his need to have her was great, the time for the plucking, ripe.

“I’m not speaking of kindness, Charmaine. I’m speaking of comfort.”

“I’m quite comfortable, Paul,” she replied, completely misreading his cue. “My room is immaculate and finer than any other I’ve ever had. As for the rest of the manor, it’s beautiful, and I feel fortunate to be allowed to roam about, using the library and the piano whenever I wish. From the very first day, everyone has made me feel at home.”

Paul ran his hand through his hair in mild derision
. Must I spell my meaning out for her? Has she no knowledge of men?
He found that hard to believe; her comeliness must have captured many a young man’s eye. It wasn’t as if she were a Southern belle, smothered every minute of the day by a hovering chaperone. No, Charmaine Ryan must have had experience in the realm of domination
and submission. She was only playing her own game here, perhaps to further her own reward, but that would soon end.

“Miss Ryan,” he began again, “I’m certain you are not as naïve as you would lead me to believe. I’m pleased you find my house satisfactory. At present, however, that is the furthest thing from my mind. Let us say I’m more interested in our sleeping arrangements—yours and mine.”

Slowly, the light began to dawn, and Charmaine’s cheeks flamed scarlet. She tore herself away from the bench and the hand that had come to rest on her thigh. “How dare you suggest such a thing?” she spat out, her ire conquering her shame. “I’m a good girl, and I’d never,
never
do what you are suggesting. I was hired to see to the children’s care—not yours!” Her eyes flooded with unwanted tears, and she suppressed the urge to run from the courtyard; she’d not grant him the satisfaction of laughing at her as well.

Groaning inwardly, Paul cursed himself for the fool he was. He had known she was different, but in his eagerness to have her, he’d ignored the signs of her possible virtue. Was he so conceited to believe every girl on the island would eagerly jump into his bed? He should have waited. But no; he had overstepped the bounds of propriety. She would leave the gardens tonight with her chastity intact, and he, with the brand “cad” stamped across his chest. From this evening on, she’d be wary of him. Somehow, he must mitigate the damage done, perhaps purge her mind of its dark conclusions.

“Charmaine, whatever is the matter?” he asked with great concern. “Is it something I said? What has brought you to tears?” He stood, produced a handkerchief, and moved toward her.

“Don’t come near me!”

Her tone, rather than her command, stilled his advance. With five paces between them, he spoke. “Please, tell me what I’ve said to upset you.”

“You know what you’ve said. I’ll not explain it to you!”

“I fear you misjudge me,” he cajoled, a simple plan germinating. “Surely you don’t think I was suggesting you…” He allowed his shocked query to trail off as if embarrassed. “Charmaine,” he breathed, braving a step closer, “you’ve misconstrued my remarks. Please believe me when I tell you I was only considering the “sleeping” arrangements. There, I’ve said it again!”

She eyed him skeptically, uncertain of herself. He seemed bent upon exonerating himself. If his intention had been to proposition her, why would he bother? She relaxed somewhat, accepting the handkerchief he held out to her.

“Charmaine,” he whispered again, taking another step forward. “I’m sorry, truly I am. I didn’t mean to offend you. We’re blunt on Charmantes. But if you’d indulge me a moment longer, I think I can explain. I’ve been considering your room on the third floor. You’re far too removed from the children there, and with Colette’s poor health, it seems more practical for you to take up quarters next to the nursery. In that way, you’ll be able to comfort them, especially little Pierre, should they awaken in the middle of the night.”

He was winning her over. He could see it in her eyes, in her very being, her body no longer rigid. Inspired, he pressed on. “In fact, if you took the room adjacent to the children’s bedchamber, I could have a door installed between the two, opening your room onto theirs.” He stepped closer still, watching her dab at her eyes. “If that would be agreeable?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she faltered, relying on a formal address for fortification.

“Charmaine, you’re not going to revert to calling me that again, are you?”

“I think ‘sir’ is more appropriate. Perhaps you think I’m naïve, and I suppose I am. However, being naïve does not make me a fool. I know right from wrong, decency from indecency. If I accept
your offer, the move will be for the children’s comfort, not yours. I hope
my
meaning is understood.”

He
had
misjudged her. By the end of her reproof, he was simmering.
Who does she think she is, berating me as if I were a schoolboy? Why did I attempt to placate her? I should have kissed her passionately and been done with it—to hell with her objections.
But the moment was lost, and now he said, “Our meanings are the same, Mademoiselle. What is your answer?”

She hesitated. “Yes, but—”

“But what?” he queried snidely.

“The playroom abuts the children’s bedroom on one side, and according to Yvette, your brother’s chambers, the other side. Certainly either room is out of the question.”

“John’s room sits unoccupied. I’ll have George break through the wall and mill a door for the frame.”

“But what if your brother should return? Surely he won’t be happy to find the governess in his room.”

“He won’t.”

“He won’t what?”

“Return. John won’t return.” The declaration was delivered with such conviction that the matter was closed as quickly as it had been opened. “Now,” he proceeded, his temper poorly concealed, “if we’re in agreement, I’ll say good night. The hour grows late, and I have to be at the dock at sunrise. I’m expecting a ship from Europe.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Good night and thank you…”

Her words were directed at his back. He’d already dismissed her, quickly retreating through the gardens and leaving her perturbed.

Paul was glad to reach his room, fulminating over the wretched scene he had generated. He was grateful for only one thing: his
brother John hadn’t witnessed the complete ass he’d made of himself; otherwise, he’d never live it down.
Well, Miss Ryan,
he thought as he stretched out on his bed,
tomorrow you can have your fancy room and your fancy airs all to yourself! I want no part of them. There are too many women on the island just clamoring for my attention. I have no need of one lovely governess. But when you grow lonely, when you’re ready to become a woman, then you can come crawling back to me, and perchance, I’ll take you to my bed.
Satisfied with that thought, he slept.

Wednesday, September 28, 1836

C
ONSTRUCTION
on the new door began the next morning. The sound of splintering wood echoed throughout the house, confounding those at the breakfast table. The twins dropped their spoons and ran from the room, ignoring their mother’s admonition to wait. Charmaine and Colette found them in the nursery, wide-eyed over the hole in the wall and the debris littering the floor.

“What is this?” Colette demanded as Rose and Pierre drew up alongside her.

George peeked through the opening from the bedroom beyond. “The new doorway,” he offered.

“Doorway?” Colette queried, clearly irate. “What doorway?”

“The one Paul told me to begin working on today.”

“Why would Paul ask you to break a hole through that wall, George?”

George’s eyes flew to Charmaine, and she cringed. “For the children’s benefit,” he replied. “Paul thinks Miss Ryan should be nearer the nursery, so he’s given her this room—and a door in order to provide easy access should they awaken during the night.”

“That’s John’s room!” Colette fumed. “You’ve no right to desecrate it.”

“
Desecrate it?
I’d hardly say I was desecrating it. And it’s not my idea, anyway. I’m just following orders.”

“And what if John were to come home?”

“He’s not coming home, Colette. You know that.”

“Someday he will,” she murmured, her anger spent, “and he’ll be hurt to find his chambers have been given to someone else.”

Jeannette grabbed hold of her mother’s hand. “Don’t be upset, Mama. There are so many rooms in our house, I’m sure Johnny won’t mind using another one. Besides, it will be nice to have Mademoiselle Charmaine nearby. Maybe that was Paul’s birthday gift to us.”

Colette smiled down at her daughter. “Perhaps you are right. I just wonder what your father is going to say when he sees this mess.”

George said, “According to Paul, he approved the project.”

Colette rubbed her forehead. “Yes, I suppose he would.” She motioned to the children. “Come, let us step out of George’s way.”

“Oh, please, can’t we watch?” they begged.

Colette relented, advising them to remain seated on the far bed.

For a full hour, they chatted happily away. George, Travis, and Joseph indulged them whilst sawing, banging, and removing the wood and plaster that seemed to be everywhere.

When Pierre tired of the spectacle, Colette and Charmaine withdrew into the adjoining playroom. Realizing she was not needed, Rose excused herself.

Charmaine inhaled. “Colette,” she said, “I’m sorry Paul didn’t speak to you about the room. I didn’t know he was going to start on it immediately. I should have insisted he get your permission first.”

Colette’s brow dipped in consternation. “You knew about this?”

“Paul mentioned it to me last night. He suggested—”

“Last night? Paul arrived home late last night.”

Charmaine was too embarrassed to reply, and Colette deduced the obvious.

“Charmaine,” she began, folding her hands as if in prayer and bringing them to her lips. “I think I should warn you about Paul. Perhaps I should have done so sooner. He’s a ladies’ man.” When Charmaine hung her head, Colette attempted to ease her distress. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Don’t worry, Colette, I won’t bring shame to your home.”

“I’m not speaking about shame, Charmaine. I’d hate to see you give your heart to someone who has no intention of returning your love.”

Charmaine was stung by the words, though she knew they rang true. Her initial assumption had been correct: Paul
had
propositioned her. When he’d realized she was not about to be compromised, he’d enacted a grand charade of misunderstanding. Her mother had warned her of such men, and Colette was doing the same. There was only one thing Paul desired from her, and it wasn’t “friendship,” not even love.

“I’ll take heed,” she whispered and added as a dismal afterthought, “If you don’t want me in that room—”

“Nonsense,” Colette countered. “Moving you into John’s room is actually a fine idea, and the damage to the wall is done.”

Charmaine reflected on the Duvoisin son she had yet to meet, the strange reaction his name had evoked that morning. Her thoughts circled to Yvette and the letter she’d written. Best to ask now and get it over with. “Yvette would like to send a letter to her brother in Richmond. I promised if she were good, and you gave your permission, I’d ask Joshua Harrington to deliver it.”

“Let Yvette write her letter,” Colette answered without hesitation. “I’m certain John could use some happy news from home.”

Relief washed over Charmaine. “She already has.”

Colette didn’t seem surprised.

After a time, she called to the girls, insisting they do a bit of reading. Together, they finished a narrative on Eleanor of Aquitaine, the French noblewoman of the twelfth century, who, at the age of fifteen, married the king of France, and later, the king of England. The girls pestered their mother for details, knowing Colette’s family, the Delacroix, hailed from Poitiers, the same village where Eleanor grew up. When Colette spoke of the death of Eleanor’s twenty-seven-year-old mother, Jeannette lamented. “That is so sad, Mama. You will be twenty-seven soon.”

Colette squeezed her, promising to live a long life, then sent them over to Charmaine, who had been preparing a series of spelling lists. The girls were already good readers, but she was showing them the letter patterns in words.

Not five minutes later, Yvette was complaining. “This doesn’t make sense!”

Charmaine looked over her shoulder. “What doesn’t?”

“This stupid list,” she grumbled. “Oil, boil, soil, foil…”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, if ‘o-i’ makes the ‘oy’ sound in those words, Du-
vwah-
zan should be pronounced Du-
voy
-zan…and Mademoiselle…Madum-
oy
-zel.”

Charmaine chuckled. “Very good, Yvette,” she praised. When the girl eyed her skeptically, she added, “It shows you’re paying attention and really learning. As for your surname and Mademoiselle, I think the ‘o-i’ is pronounced differently because both words are French.”

Colette looked up from where she was now reading to Pierre. “Mademoiselle Charmaine is correct, Yvette,” she interjected. “In the
French language, ‘o-i’ is pronounced ‘wah.’ But you know that. There are quite a few French words that have made their way into the English language: ‘armoire,’ ‘reservoir,’ and ‘repertoire,’ for instance. Your papa’s other island ‘Espoir’ is also pronounced with the ‘wah’ sound.”

“It’s very confusing,” Yvette grumbled.

“That is English,” Charmaine concluded. “Some say it is the most difficult language to learn because it has so many variations.”

“Is that true, Mama?” Jeannette asked.

“Is what true?”

“That English is difficult to learn?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. I learned the rudiments when I was young, but I didn’t become proficient until…until I moved here.”

“Did Papa teach you?”

Colette grew reticent. “A bit,” she whispered. When Jeannette probed further, she said, “It is nearly lunch time. Let us finish up.”

After the meal, the girls rushed to the piano for their daily lesson. An hour later, everyone retreated to Colette’s chambers where it was considerably quieter. The promise of birthday gifts was more enticing than the construction site. Charmaine volunteered to get the presents from their hiding place. She had just reached the end of the corridor when Agatha Ward appeared.

“Miss Ryan,” the matron criticized, “are you being employed to decorate the hallway or were you hired to care for the children?”

The obtrusive statement left Charmaine dumbfounded, for she had had little contact with the woman, passing a friendly “good day” now and then, but nothing more. Agatha avoided the children, and Charmaine only saw her at mealtimes or when she insisted Colette rest. Most days, Colette politely ignored her.

“Well, Miss Ryan?” she pressed.

“I’ve been sent on an errand”—Charmaine stammered—“for Miss Colette.”

“An errand?” Agatha scoffed. “And where are the children?”

“With Miss Colette, in her chambers.”

“Young lady,” she scolded, “Miss Colette is not well.
You
are the one who should be looking after the children, not she! They continue to contribute to her failing health.”

Charmaine’s ire had been primed. “Miss Colette seems most indisposed after she passes an afternoon with your brother, Mrs. Ward. On the other hand, her health always improves when she spends time with her children.”

Agatha Ward’s eyes widened briefly, then narrowed into slits of animosity. Charmaine realized too late she had just made an enemy. “What are you inferring, Miss Ryan—that my brother is incompetent? Let us hope you are never in need of a physician’s care while on this island. I don’t think Robert would appreciate ministering to someone who eagerly maligns his good name.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t you?” the widow hissed. “You had better scurry back to your—”

“What goes on here?”

Startled, Agatha’s hostility faded, her attention focused over Charmaine’s left shoulder. “Why Frederic,” she recovered, “isn’t this a surprise?”

Charmaine pivoted around, stunned to find the splendent Frederic Duvoisin standing before her. He leaned heavily on a polished black cane, his posture crooked. Even so, he radiated a power that negated the rumors she had heard. He was taller than Paul, his attire casual, yet finely tailored, and he was handsome, positively handsome. Liberal touches of gray highlighted a full head of hair, not quite as dark as his son’s. He was clean-shaven, with
squared jaw, long, curved nose, and thin lips. His steely eyes were keen and bore through her, scrutinizing her more surely than she did him.

“Are you pleased with your assessment, Miss Ryan?” he asked, irony lacing his deep voice, his speech slightly slurred. He knew who she was! “I asked you a question, Mademoiselle. Does the invalid meet your expectations?”

“You’re not an invalid, sir,” she answered truthfully.

The remark surprised him, but he snorted derisively, then confronted Agatha. “Has Miss Ryan done something to annoy you?”

“She has left the children unattended.”

“Where?”

The dowager lifted her nose a notch. “In Colette’s chambers.”

“And where is my wife?”

“With them.”

“I’d hardly call that unattended, Agatha. Colette is, after all, their mother.”

“Yes, Frederic, but she is not well. That is the only reason Miss Ryan was hired. What is the point of a governess, if she does not tend to her pupils?”

“Miss Ryan?” Frederic queried, giving her the chance to defend herself.

“Your wife asked me to get the twins’ birthday gifts, sir.”

“I see,” he said, focusing on the widow again.

“Had I known,” Agatha lamely objected. “Miss Ryan said nothing of gifts.”

“You didn’t give me a chance,” Charmaine rejoined.

Agatha gritted her teeth. She was losing this debate. Best to swallow her pride, apologize, and quickly excuse herself.

Charmaine watched her hasten down the stairs, then faced Frederic again. Suddenly, she understood why Colette might be attracted to a man old enough to be her father. Unlike Paul, who at
times possessed a youthful mien, this man was hardened, lordly, and completely disarming. In his younger days, she could only wonder over the women who fell at his feet. Did he know how intriguing he was? Yes, he definitely knew. Even now, in his crippled state, he knew.

Presently, he was awaiting her next move. “Miss Ryan,” he said, breaking the prolonged silence. “I believe you were sent to retrieve something for my wife?”

“Yes,” she said and headed toward the nursery, intimidated when he followed her, acutely aware of his handicap now that he attempted to walk. She knew he would not appreciate her pity, so she kept her gaze averted, rummaging instead inside the armoire for the girls’ presents. When she turned around, he was standing before the broken wall, studying it. According to Paul, he’d agreed to the door’s installation. She wondered what he was thinking now. Work had come to a halt; the men must have gone off for lunch.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I heard all the banging and wanted to see for myself the progress. I also wanted to spend time with my daughters.”

He faced her. “My wife is very pleased with you, Miss Ryan.”

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I like your children very much, and Miss Colette is a lovely woman.”

“Yes, she is,” Frederic agreed, his eyes intense. “And with your new room, she shall sleep soundly knowing you are not far from the children.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, thinking, he
had
given his permission. Although Frederic Duvoisin might not often leave his chambers, he was fully aware of everything that happened in his home. Most of the gossip was untrue.

“I see you have all your packages. Shall we?” He inclined his head toward the hallway, intending to accompany her.

“Yes. The girls will wonder what has kept me.”

Again, Frederic followed, and she slowed her pace in an effort to diminish his incapacity. The gesture annoyed him. “Hurry up, Miss Ryan, we don’t have all day!” Flustered, she quickly complied.

When they reached Colette’s suite, he asked if she might fetch another three parcels. “There are additional gifts in my dressing room.”

The master’s apartments were congruent to Colette’s boudoir: the same dimensions, doors equally positioned. Yet the similarity ended there. These lavishly appointed quarters were masculine: bold and ornate, dark and somber, with heavy, elaborately carved furniture.

Charmaine didn’t dally. She skirted across the spacious room, re-stacked the parcels, and returned to the passageway moments later. The packages were cumbersome, and she shifted them uneasily, relieved when Frederic rapped on his wife’s door.

Yvette opened it, clearly surprised to find him there. “Papa?”

He raised a dubious brow. “Yvette, am I to stand forever in the hallway? Or will you invite us in? Miss Ryan is overburdened with birthday presents.”