A Silent Ocean Away (32 page)

He moved around the chamber, noticing the feminine changes she had made. Her possessions were meager, but they warmed the room in a way his belongings never had. He exhaled, causing her to jump. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, and he realized something besides the change of inhabitant was different, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“Are you going to leave?” she inquired, hugging herself rigidly against his penetrating gaze.

“Patience, patience,” he chided, eyeing the tray of cookies. He took one and popped it into his mouth, chasing it down with a glass of milk. “Wouldn’t you like to join me? It would be a shame to waste these, and since Paul won’t be
coming,
not here, anyway, we might as well—”

“Won’t you
please
leave?” she cut in, ignoring his chuckle. “It is very late, and I have a great deal to do in the morning!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he reassured with the wave of his hand, “I’ll see to it you’re allowed to sleep in the morning, especially since you’ve entertained not one, but two gentlemen this evening. A hard night’s work!”

When her mouth flew open to protest, he only winked at her, popped another cookie into his mouth and turned to leave. As he strode to the hallway door, something splintered underfoot. He picked up the hairbrush she had thrown across the room earlier that evening. It was broken in two. He studied the pieces for a moment, then tossed them onto the bed. With that, he tipped his cap, opened the door, and left the room.

Charmaine flew to the door and locked it. She ran to the
dressing room door to do the same, only to find it did not have a lock. She fretted for a time, but when the adjoining room remained mercifully silent, she began to relax. She got into bed and picked up the remnants of her hairbrush, letting out a sigh of relief.

Paul sat heavily on his bed, realizing just how desolate his bedchamber was…“Shit!” he swore, shooting to his feet. “Shit!”

He sped to the door, but thinking better of it, exited through the French doors. In seconds, he was around the corner of the south wing balcony, past the children’s rooms, and standing at the glass doors of John’s old bedroom. They were closed, but he peered in. Mercifully, Charmaine was sitting in the middle of her bed, alone. He pushed into the room, his eyes raking the chamber, making certain his brother wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

Startled, she gasped, but when she realized it was Paul, her hand dropped from her breast.

“Are you all right?” he queried with genuine concern.

“I am now!” she bit out.

“Was he here?”

“Of course he was here! This is his room!”

“Did he—”

“No!”

Paul’s apparent relief fueled her ire. “Why didn’t you tell me who he was downstairs? I made a complete fool of myself, ranting and raving the way I did! And if that wasn’t bad enough, you let me come up here and…”

Her words dropped off as he rounded the foot of the bed. Again, she jumped off the mattress.
You’ve entertained not one, but two gentlemen this evening
…Already John Duvoisin’s words were haunting her, and she was furious with Paul for placing her in such a humiliating situation. “You told me he’d never return! You promised me that when you suggested I move into this room!”

“He shouldn’t have come back,” Paul admitted softly, “and I was just as surprised as you. That’s why I was at a loss for words.”

Charmaine read the displeasure in his eyes, and her anger waned.

“I wanted to save you the embarrassment of an introduction, which John would have exploited. And I
completely
forgot about the sleeping arrangements until I returned to my room. I’m sorry, Charmaine.”

He continued to advance, so close now her heart thudded in her ears, the beat no longer heated but heady.

“Forgive me?” he petitioned.

With her slight nod and timid smile, he leaned forward.

The moment was at hand. But above the sound of her racing pulse came a resonant, mocking voice:
Well, well, well, and well again
…
Aren’t you the little minx? You saucy, brazen wench!

Charmaine stepped back; she’d play no part in those vulgar declarations. “You had better go.”

Paul accepted her refusal with a soft snort of disappointment. His gaze swept the length of her, then he departed the room the way he had come, leaving her confused and shaken. She had been vulnerable, and again he had acted the gentleman.

She climbed into bed, sitting on the broken brush. She pulled the two pieces from beneath her and thought of John and Paul.
Two gentlemen tonight
…She’d hardly call John Duvoisin a gentleman. She set the hairbrush aside. At least it was the only thing she had lost this night.

Saturday, August 19, 1837

Paul knocked on Frederic’s chamber door at dawn. His father might still be sleeping. He knocked again, and the door opened to a quizzical Travis Thornfield. “Your father is in his bedroom having breakfast.”

“I must speak with him immediately.”

Travis stepped aside, and Paul crossed the antechamber for the inner room.

Frederic looked up in surprise and closed the journal next to his plate.

“John is home,” Paul stated.

Frederic sat back in his chair and allowed the news to sink in, his heart besieged with elation, apprehension, and ultimately, despair.

Uncomfortable with his parent’s pensiveness, Paul felt compelled to say more. “He arrived on the
Destiny
. She was delayed by the storm and didn’t lay anchor until evening.”

“Did you see him?”

“I was in the study when he arrived.”

“Did you speak with him?”

“Briefly. It was late. I was tired. He was soaked.” Paul tried hard to read his father’s expression, one he’d never seen before. “He’s here to check on business, or so he says.”

Frederic stood, leaned heavily on his cane, and limped to the French doors. “Thank you for letting me know,” he murmured.

When he realized his father would say no more, Paul left.

Frederic stared down into the courtyard. John was home. He’d been afraid to hope for this day. Now it had come, he wasn’t truly prepared for it.

Charmaine hadn’t fallen asleep until the first rays of dawn streaked the sky an inky orange, only succumbing to fatigue after reliving her ordeal at least a thousand times. Now, light poured into her room, and she awoke with a start. It had to be late morning. She rose and hurriedly crossed to the children’s bedchamber. A sheet of paper had been slipped under the adjoining door.

Charmaine smiled in relief; Jeannette and Yvette must have told Rose they had been unable to sleep last night. Last night…the storm…the children…the specter…the midnight snack…Paul—John!

She sat down on her bed, rubbing her throbbing temple, and looked at the clock on her dresser: eight-thirty. She didn’t want to face the day, inevitably confronting John Duvoisin along the way, but she knew she must. Otherwise, she could never save face.

John Duvoisin. She’d finally met the heir to the Duvoisin fortune, the man she’d heard so much about, mostly bad. Now she knew why. In their two brief encounters, hadn’t he proven himself deserving of every epithet? She cringed, recalling the words she had spat in his face.
You rude, despicable cur
…
From which filthy hole have you crawled?
…
Thank God I live here and need never place name to your arrogant face
…
You’re probably a convict escaped from some filthy prison
…She groaned and buried her face in her hands.

A convict indeed! How could she have been so verbal—dim-witted? Even if she hadn’t figured out who he was in the study, his identity had been glaringly obvious once he’d invaded her bedchamber. He hadn’t been stalking her, and he wasn’t some stable-hand either! He’d merely been seeking his bed. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered the assumption he had made when he’d found her climbing into it.
Do you always entertain total strangers?
Dear God! It was too much to think about! Her head pounded, and her eyes stung from lack of sleep.

She had nothing to be embarrassed about, she resolved, then moaned. Who was she fooling? She
did
have something to be embarrassed about. He’d caught her in his brother’s arms. She might not be guilty of “entertaining” a total stranger, but she was guilty of a late-night rendezvous with Paul. To make matters worse, he had found them in their nightclothes and had drawn all the worst conclusions. She couldn’t even enjoy the memory of her first thrilling kiss, for the prurient man defiled it.

John Duvoisin. What would she say to him? If nothing else, she must face him with her head held high.

The nursery door burst open, and the children came bounding in, unmindful of the impropriety of storming her room. Fully dressed, they bounced on the bed in glee, their laughter ricocheting off the walls.

“Have you just awoken?” Yvette exclaimed incredulously. “It is so late! You must hurry and get dressed, Mademoiselle Charmaine.”

“Why? What is the rush?”

“Nana Rose told us we are not to go downstairs for breakfast without you, and we are ready for breakfast now!”

There was a knock on the outer door, and Charmaine opened it to Mrs. Faraday, who bustled into the chamber with a stack of fresh linens.

“You must hurry, Mademoiselle Charmaine, or we’ll be too late!” Jeannette piped in, taking up where her sister had left off.

“Huwwy, Mainie!” Pierre echoed.

Confused, Charmaine took in their effervescent faces. “Too late for what?”

Mrs. Faraday explained. “Master John returned late last night, and the children are anxious to see him. He is in the dining room, eating as we speak.”

“Master John?” Charmaine queried in feigned ignorance.

“Their elder brother. The girls expect him to shower them with gifts as he did the last time he arrived unexpectedly from Virginia. Apparently, Master Paul was still awake when he came in and has just now told Rose.”

Charmaine felt the blood rush to her cheeks. The telltale blush was not lost on the housekeeper, whose assessing eye rested momentarily on her face. Then she babbled on. “She is the only one in the house truly pleased to have him back, though I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why. She is as bad as the children, rushing off to her room to make herself presentable before seeing him.”

“We’re glad he’s come home!” Yvette countered. “I’ll wager he has a great stack of presents for us! Maybe something bigger than a piano this time!” She stood on her tiptoes and reached as high as she could in indication of the magnitude of wonders that awaited them with the return of her beloved brother.

“And Pierre wants to meet him!” Jeannette added. “Don’t you, Pierre?”

“Uh-huh!” he agreed with an alacritous nod. “I never saw him before.”

Tying back the drapes, Mrs. Faraday shook her head. “He can be a rascal,” she proceeded, eager to impart what she knew of the man, “a bad influence on the children, teaching them disrespect the likes of which I’ve never seen.” She leveled her gaze on Yvette as if to fortify her point, then motioned toward the tray of half-eaten cookies. “What would you have me do with this, miss?”

“I’m finished with it, thank you.”

Yvette eyed the discarded snack. “You
did
bring them for us! We waited and waited for you, but you never came back last night.”

Charmaine caught the housekeeper’s raised brow. “It took a while to warm the milk. By the time I returned, the two of you were fast asleep.”

“So you ate the cookies yourself?”

“No—I mean—I didn’t eat them all.”

Mrs. Faraday frowned in bewilderment, taking the tray with her as she left.

“Oh Mademoiselle Charmaine, please hurry and get dressed! We want to see Johnny before he’s gone for the day!”

“Very well,” she ceded. Best to get the introduction over with.

The children returned to the nursery, and she began washing up, splashing water in her face, brushing out her hair and securing it in a tight bun. As she pulled a dress from her armoire, she realized her heart was racing. She inhaled deeply. What would Mrs. Harrington do if she were in this predicament? Perhaps the situation wasn’t so dire. If she presented herself with dignity and grace, a warm smile and friendly greeting, they could start afresh. She recalled Joshua Harrington’s opinion of John Duvoisin and grimaced. Somehow, she knew this was wishful thinking. But see the man she must.
You owe him nothing,
she thought, and then groaned.
Nothing but respect
.

She was fastening the last button on her plain dress when a pummeling resounded on the door. “All right, all right!” she laughed artificially as she opened it. Three eager bodies spilled into the room, dashing to the hallway door.

“What are you waiting for?” Yvette cried over her shoulder, disappearing into the corridor. “Come quickly!”

Charmaine followed, but by the time she reached the crest of the staircase, the twins were far below, slowed only by Pierre, who was trying to keep pace. Even in her excitement, Jeannette lovingly took his hand and helped him along. Next, they were jumping off the landing and racing out of sight, the patter of feet marking their passage. Charmaine lifted her skirts and hurried her descent, knowing it would be better to enter the dining room with the children.
She was too late; their voices echoed in unison, attesting to their boundless joy.

“Johnny!”

The name shook her to the core. He was still present at the table, most probably alone. But even if he wasn’t, she felt certain he’d take pleasure in taunting her. She passed the study and braced herself, sighing in relief when she reached the archway and found his back was turned to her. She could observe him first, inconspicuously.

He lounged in Paul’s seat, his boots propped on George’s chair. The children were clustered around him. Jeannette was sitting in his lap, Pierre leaned against his left leg, wearing the widest of grins he’d ever bestowed upon a stranger, and Yvette, his staunchest ally, stood to his right, fiercely hugging his arm. Charmaine was astounded by the raw emotion betrayed with this reunion. One look at the girls’ adoring faces, and she knew she had seriously underestimated how much they loved him. Even more striking was her impression the man reciprocated the feelings, his attention fixed on the twins, a hand rubbing Pierre’s back.