A Silent Ocean Away (39 page)

“Father—he handled everything.”

“Then he’s only an invalid when he wants to be? I can’t imagine him mounting his mighty steed and riding out to the fields each day. So, who
was
in charge while you were away? Or is that why the sugar crop has been so bad?”

Paul’s temper flared. “You cannot be serious! I work my hands raw for the likes of you, while you sit back and wait for Father’s fortune to fall squarely into your lap. Don’t talk to me about gallivanting when it’s you who’ve gallivanted on the mainland for these past ten years, choosing to do as little as possible!” When he received nothing more than John’s crooked smile, he was needled into reproving his brother further. “In the words of Socrates: ‘Let him that would move the world, first move himself.’”

“Really?” John yawned. “Well, Paulie, I’m more inclined to believe it is: ‘better to do a little well, than a great deal badly.’”

Paul dropped the asinine volley.

John sighed loudly. “Now that we’ve gotten all that figured out, may we get back to the subject at hand?”

“And what would that be?” Paul ground out.

“The men you’ve put in charge—here on Charmantes.” When Paul began to object again, John cut him off. “Just the names, please. That’s all I want.”

“Damn it, John, you know them all!”

“George mentioned a Wade Remmen. Who in hell is he?”

“Wade Remmen?” Jeannette inquired.

John nodded, looking to his sister. “Do you know him, Jeannie?”

“Oh yes! He’s a handsome man!”

Charmaine smiled, aware of Jeannette’s infatuation.

“He’s quite handsome, is he?” John asked, his mien merry.

“Oh yes,” Jeannette nodded eagerly.

“And who told you that?” he probed. “Miss Ryan perhaps? Tell me, does Mr. Remmen have a moustache?”

“No, Johnny,” she denied, “Mama said he was handsome. Then I noticed.”

Paul’s furrowed brow gave way to a gratified grin.

John matched smile for smile. “Did you hear that, Paul? You have nothing to fear: Miss Ryan has eyes only for you.”

“I know that!” Paul bit out, belatedly realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

Charmaine groaned inwardly, displeased her private affections were being broadcast to the entire room, breathing easier when Paul revisited the topic of Wade Remmen.

“When George disappeared four months ago, I asked Wade to run the lumber operation. He’s managed it very well, his decisions sound. For that reason, I’ve placed him in charge permanently. George will now be free to oversee other important matters.”

“Free to be at your beck and call, you mean,” John rejoined. “Tell me, George, how do you like having your strings constantly pulled like a marionette?”

“I don’t mind at all—so long as I’m well paid.”

“I guess some things never change,” John mused.

“That’s an understatement,” Paul mumbled.

Clapping his hands together, John pressed on. “This Mr. Remmen sounds quite industrious. How long has it taken him to reach such an elevated stature?”

Paul knew John couldn't care less about Wade Remmen or any other island employee, for that matter. The sole purpose of this inquisition was to perpetuate the game John enjoyed playing—that of heir to the family fortune—a game John knew chafed him greatly. So Paul steeled himself and put on a face of disinterest, determined not to allow his brother to succeed.

“Wade is from Virginia. When his parents died, he and a younger sister were left destitute. Unable to find work, they stowed away on one of our ships, hoping to build a better life here. The captain found them aboard the packet two days out of port and turned them over to me when the vessel docked. That was two years ago. Wade was seventeen, well built, and used to hard labor. He pleaded his case and promised to pay for the ship’s passage if I gave him the chance. I had nothing to lose and haven’t been disappointed. So it was only natural I relied on him when George deserted us.”

“What a story!” John exclaimed with a dramatic shake of his head.

“Anything else you’d like to know?” Paul asked, ignoring the theatrics.

“Did Mr. Remmen ever pay for his passage?”

Charmaine was astounded at the man’s stinginess, but Paul seemed accustomed to the financial interrogation and laughed spuriously. “Tell me, John, must I account for every penny that might slip past your wallet?”

“If you don’t, our resident moneymonger George will. Right, George?”

“Right, John. And, no, I don’t believe Wade paid for either fare.”

“And why not?” John asked, his eyes leveled on Paul again.

“Because he has needed his wages to get settled,” Paul replied, ripping his furious regard from George. “His salary has gone into purchasing the rundown Fields’s cottage. He’s done a fine job fixing it up.”

“I should think so, having had two passages waived. A bit unfair, I’d say.”

“I didn’t waive them—”

“Miss Ryan wasn’t given a grace period, was she? Two years can earn a fortune in interest.”

“Impossible,” Paul snorted, “it’s impossible to speak intelligently with you.”

“Since you are meting out charity from my pocket, shouldn’t everyone get a share of the bounty?”

“Miss Ryan was not indigent,” Paul responded snidely, certain John was pressing the issue simply to pit Charmaine against him. It wasn’t working: not a hint of anger flashed in her lovely eyes. “Nor was she penniless. She held a comfortable position in Virginia, and could afford the crossing costs.”

“Then why did she leave?” John demanded.

“We have been over this, John. She wanted to make a new life for herself.”

“And that she has,” John smiled wickedly, entertained by his brother’s deepening scowl. “I’d like to meet this Wade Remmen. Indeed, I would.”

“He’s at the mill,” Paul stated. “Whenever you come out of your inebriated daze you can look for him there.”

He stepped over to the serving tray and poured three glasses of port, passing one to Agatha and another to Charmaine.

Charmaine accepted the libation grudgingly, taking a sip before setting it on the table. This evening had served as a vivid reminder of the detrimental effects of alcohol. It made angry men angrier. She’d be happy to never see a bottle of spirits again.

Yvette took advantage of the lull in the conversation and scurried over to the grand piano. “Johnny,” she said in great excitement, “I have a surprise for you!”

Charmaine cringed.
Here it comes,
she thought. John had implied her abilities at the instrument were sadly lacking. Now he was about to discover she had taken it upon herself to teach his sisters the little she knew.

“What’s that, Yvette?” he queried, the timbre of his voice unusually gentle.

“Just listen!” she exclaimed, commencing to play her favorite tune.

Charmaine resolved not to look John’s way, yet her eyes mutinied. He did not seem to notice; he remained transfixed upon the simple recital.

“What do you think?” Yvette asked, swiveling around when she’d finished.

“I’m impressed. That was beautiful.”

The girl was beaming, and Jeannette quickly joined her. “May I play now?”

With John’s assent, she began. This time, his eyes traveled to Charmaine and remained there. She was uncertain what she read in his expression, but it was more than astonishment. Triumphant for the first time that night, she smiled defiantly at him.

“That was lovely, too, Jeannie,” he said, turning his regard on both sisters. “I suppose Miss Ryan has been teaching you to play?”

Jeannette nodded. “But we swore her to secrecy so we could surprise you.”

“Now I understand,” he said, his half-smile sardonic. “Your governess wasn’t at the keyboard after all this afternoon. You were just pretending it was she.”

“Oh no, Johnny,” his sister refuted earnestly. “It
was
Mademoiselle Charmaine. We don’t play that well!”

“Do you think we play that well?” Yvette piped in.

“Nearly,” he replied, satisfied he’d quashed Charmaine’s gloating.

Jeannette moved from the piano to the chessboard across the room. “Will you teach me how to play chess, Mademoiselle? You promised you would.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve played. I wouldn’t be a good teacher.”

Paul capitalized on the request and left John and George, pulling a chair up to the table. “I challenge you to a game, Miss Ryan. Jeannette, I will instruct you as we play.”

Charmaine stammered with an excuse. “I’m afraid I won’t be much of an opponent. Perhaps George would like to play in my stead.”

Her objection had fallen on deaf ears, for Paul was rotating the board so the white pieces were on her side. “Come, Charmaine,” he coaxed debonairly, “I haven’t played in a long time, either. We shall be equally matched.”

She gave in reluctantly. Joshua Harrington had taught her the game’s basic strategies, but she had never committed them to memory. Paul would handily gain control of the board, and although she didn’t care in the least if she lost, she preferred her inadequacy not be exposed to his brother. And yet, John was conversing with George; perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

“…but George, if you purchase land that is nothing more than a swamp, you’ll soon find yourself sinking into a quagmire of debt with that little devil of a lawyer Edward ‘P.’ Richecourt knocking on your cabin door. Now, I know you fantasize about accumulating unlimited wealth overnight,” he continued facetiously, as Rose stepped into the room and moved closer to them, “but it won’t happen if you go looking for bargains. Part with the money you’ve been hoarding, however, and I’ve a few prospects
that might interest you—sound investments that could prove a real windfall over time.”

Paul’s eyes left the chessboard and shifted to John, but Rose interrupted. “How many times must I tell you not to sit in a chair that way, John Duvoisin? You are going to topple over.”

John, who’d been balancing the chair on its back legs, stood and rearranged it. “I’ve been sitting that way for as long as I can remember,” he complained good-naturedly, “and I have yet to fall.”

“Don’t argue with me,” his one-time nanny warned, shaking a crooked finger at him. “I’m older than you, and if need be, I can still take a switch to you!”

The statement elicited giggles from the twins, who had lost interest in the chess game. “Did you really take a switch to his backside?” Yvette asked, her laughter renewed as John feigned a grimace of fear.

“On more than one occasion,” he interjected, placing an affectionate arm around the older woman’s bent shoulders and walking her nearer his sisters. Noticing he had everyone’s attention where he liked it, he said, “In fact, I remember one occasion in particular when I was nine—not always a lucky number—”

“Do you mind?” Paul cut in. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Amazingly, John forfeited his story and gave Rose another squeeze before releasing her. “Is Pierre settled for the evening?”

“Sleeping like a newborn,” she whispered, taking a seat near Charmaine.

“He’s quite a boy,” John commented, talking across the chessboard now. “I’m impressed by how well he speaks for a boy of—”

“John,” Paul bit out, and then, “Please—take your conversation elsewhere.”

“Am I not allowed to speak in my own parlor?” John asked innocently.

Turning slowly in his chair, Paul regarded his brother. “You may speak wherever you wish. I just ask that you spare me your domestic whims until I’ve finished playing this game with Miss Ryan.”

“Now, Paul, I’d hardly be a gentleman if I allowed you to
play games
with Miss Ryan. Therefore, I will act as a chaperone and watch—quietly.”

Vexed, Paul turned back to the chessboard, conscious of John surveying the game from behind him. Sliding his bishop five squares diagonally, he proclaimed Charmaine’s king in check.

She was in a fine mess, and everyone was watching. Distracted, she pretended intense deliberation before edging her king one square forward. Belatedly, she realized she had laid her valuable queen open to attack.

Paul closed his eyes to the critical blunder, for capturing her queen would place her king in checkmate. Ignoring the decisive move, he took hold of his bishop. But John swiftly brushed his hand aside. “What sort of game is this, Paulie?” he needled, grabbing his brother’s black queen and sweeping the white queen off the board. “That’s checkmate.”

Charmaine’s eyes flew from John’s taunting visage back to the chessboard. She was indeed in checkmate.

“You couldn’t have missed that move!” John remarked with relish. “You were always better at this game than I. Or were you just allowing Miss Ryan a small victory before closing in for the kill?”

“That’s it!” Paul snarled, his ire doubly stoked by the twins’ chorus of laughter. “You’ve been at me all night, pressing my patience!”

“Have I now?”

“You know damn well you have!” Paul barked, coming out of his chair and standing toe to toe with his brother.

“Watch your language!” John admonished jovially, unperturbed. “There are ladies present, and we must at least act decently.”

“What would you know about decency?”

“I don’t know, Paul, why don’t you—Mr. Epitome of Decency—tell me? Why don’t you begin with an accounting of the money you’ve spent on Espoir and an explanation as to why you’ve concealed its development from me? Or could it be you don’t want me to know how much of Charmantes’ profits are financing your building project there?”

“So—the real issue comes to light! Why don’t you take the matter up with Father?”

“I have all the figures,” John smiled crookedly. When Paul turned on George, he added, “No, I didn’t get them from George.”

“Then who?”

“Your lawyer and mine, the distinguished Edward Richecourt.”

“The hell you did!” Paul roared. “He was given explicit instructions—” As if caught, his words died in midsentence.

John paid no mind to what he already knew. “Ah, but given a choice, Mr. Richecourt wisely spoke up. You see, even though he despises me, he knows better than to bite the hand that will one day feed him.”

“Very good,” Paul applauded ruefully. “But what are you going to do about it, John? Tell Father how to spend
his
money? It’s not yours yet!”