A Silent Ocean Away (9 page)

A knock fell on the outer door.
Is it noon already?

“Come in,” she beckoned, grimacing when Agatha Ward opened the door.

She despised the woman. But Agatha had made herself at home from the moment she crossed the mansion’s threshold six months ago. Unlike past visits, this one had never come to an end. According to Rose Richards, the dowager had been making her sporadic treks to the island since Paul and John were young boys. With her parents dead and herself barren, she made a point of staying in touch with her only living relatives: specifically her brother, Robert, and nephew, John. From the day of her first visit some twenty years ago, Frederic had welcomed her, and she would often stay for weeks at a time, usually when her mariner husband, an officer in the British Royal Navy, put to sea. That husband died in January, leaving Agatha alone in the world. By March, she had swept into Colette’s world, taking up quarters in the north wing of
the Duvoisin manor—permanently. When Colette unwisely suggested a separate residence, Agatha informed her that long ago Frederic had extended a standing invitation to live in the manse, should the need ever arise. The need had arisen, and Agatha Ward was there to stay. To make matters worse, she had masterfully ingratiated herself to the staff, insisting she was Colette’s personal companion of sorts. Colette had neither the will to fight the woman, nor the courage to discuss her misgivings with her husband. Today, she chastised herself for her faintheartedness.

“I thought you were resting,” the woman chided lightly.

Fighting an instant headache, Colette attempted to be civil. “I am.”

“But you are writing a letter.”

“Yes,” Colette breathed. “Hardly a strenuous activity.” She folded the missive as Agatha approached. “Is there a reason why you are here, Agatha? I thought I’d expressly stated an hour—that I’d like one hour to myself.”

“The girls were asking for you.”

“How can that be? George took them into town today.”

Agatha’s brow gathered in confusion, yet she shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m sorry. I thought Fatima had complained about them running around the kitchen. Perhaps she was referring to yesterday. But after last week’s incident in Paul’s chambers, I thought it best to inform you of any inappropriate behavior as soon as it arises. Yvette is the one who takes advantage of your private time.”

“Agatha, we’ve discussed this before. She is only a child.”

“And as such, should know her place. After all, what type of young lady will she grow to be if she is allowed—”

“You are speaking of my daughter.”

“And of course you would defend her,” Agatha continued with hardened voice. “Colette, I don’t mean to upset you, but Yvette does so on a daily basis. According to Robert, it is the worst thing
for you. Listen to me!” and she held up a hand when Colette attempted to argue. “Yvette’s unruliness grows worse by the day. I realize your failing health, your inability to supervise her at all times, has exacerbated the problem, but that is no reason to ignore it. As your friend, your companion, I feel I must warn you of the consequences. She’s in need of a firm hand to eradicate—”

“Mrs. Ward!” Colette blazed. “You are my husband’s guest in this house.”

“On the contrary, I am your companion.”

“That is your title, not mine. You are a guest in this house, nothing more. Therefore, take heed: I love my children. Tread carefully where they are concerned, lest I revoke the gracious invitation my husband has extended to you. Do you understand?”

“My dear,” Agatha rejoined condescendingly. “It is you who do not understand. Your husband is distressed over your failing health and has expressed his concerns not only to Robert, but also to myself. It is owing to Frederic that I have agreed to remain on Charmantes. He has requested I not only tend to your every need, but make certain you follow my brother’s every instruction. You are, for all intents and purposes, my charge.” She smiled triumphantly. “Don’t look so chagrined, Colette. Frederic is only worried for you—and his children.”

Defeated, Colette bowed her head, unable to comprehend her husband and the further suffering he would now inflict. But then again, she knew all too well the hold Agatha had over him, and she hated the woman for it. When the dowager departed, Colette walked out of the stifling room and onto the balcony, welcoming the rain that kissed her face, washing away the tears that were suddenly there.
Frederic—why? Why would you choose her over me?

Colette could still remember that night. The twins had just turned one, and Frederic hadn’t once, in all that time since their birth, made love to her. It was her own fault, she knew. He thought
she hated him.
She
thought she hated him. But she also loved him, loved him fiercely, loved him until it hurt, a love that frightened her in its paralyzing intensity. In addition, there was the doctor’s insistence she never attempt to have more children. Agatha had arrived a few days earlier. She’d come with a number of business associates of her deceased father. Frederic was interested in commissioning a new ship, the
Destiny
, for his ever-growing fleet. These were the men who would take back the specifications and see the vessel built. There was one gentleman in particular, a younger, handsome man, quite taken with Colette’s youth and beauty. It had been easy to flirt with him. She enjoyed watching Frederic across the table: jaw set in tight lines, brow furrowed, his volatile temper perilously close to the surface. Perhaps it was just what he needed to push him over the edge and bring him back to her arms. She gave him a coquettish smile, daring him to speak. Later, in her sitting room, she paced a frightened trek across her carpet, fearful she’d overstepped her bounds. He’d come to her tonight, of that she was certain, but would she be equipped to deal with his wrath? Her pulse raced with the thought of his lovemaking, heart thudding in her ears. But the hours accumulated, and Frederic did not come. Frustrated, she abruptly decided to go to him. She would swallow her pride and admit she wanted him, loved him. Heavy breathing came from his bedchamber. There was no need to go farther. Agatha’s clothes were strewn on the dressing room floor. Frederic had found release in the arms of his sister-in-law. Colette tiptoed back to her own suite, finding release in the many tears she shed on her pillow, her heart dead.

Frederic never knew what she had seen. But every time Agatha came to visit, Colette surmised he welcomed her to his bed. She wondered if, even now, in his crippled state, he embraced the woman who had come to stay.

Colette returned to her letter. It would be pleasant to meet
with Charmaine Ryan, even more pleasant to have someone closer to her own age residing in the manor. She decided to hire the young woman.

“Charmaine, whatever are you doing?” Loretta questioned from the bedroom doorway. “It’s nearly half-past three. You’ll be late for your appointment.”

“I must look my best, but I can’t seem to get this clasp.”

“Here,” Loretta scolded lightly, “allow me.”

The brooch was secured, and Charmaine stepped back for inspection. “How do I look? Will I pass the final test?”

“You look lovely,” Loretta answered, taking hold of Charmaine’s hands in reassurance. “My goodness, you are shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. No wonder you couldn’t fasten that clasp.”

“I’ll be fine,” Charmaine said tremulously, her smile faint, her eyes beseeching. “And if I fail to get the position…?”

“It will be their loss,” Loretta replied. “But, you must think positively. And remember, a white lie here or there is not beneath you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!”

“Nonsense. You saw how effective my fibbing was. And no one in the Duvoisin household was the wiser for it.”

“But what if they were to discover the truth?”

“How could they, Charmaine? You must learn to deal with people as you find them, use their tactics, so to speak. Take Paul Duvoisin, for example. He exploited your inexperience, and I answered in kind. You
are
capable of caring for my grandchildren, even if you haven’t had the opportunity to do so.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” Charmaine queried.

“Who? Mr. Duvoisin? On the contrary, he’s most likely a fine gentleman. However, until you know him better, be on guard.” Loretta smiled encouragingly. “Now, come, Charmaine, the carriage
is waiting to take you to a new life, and in my heart I know you won’t be disappointed.”

Charmaine settled into the landau Colette Duvoisin had provided. Sitting alone, she was left to contemplate her fears. Loretta was so sure of her future, but Charmaine could not muster the same confidence. She’d always found comfort in silent prayer, yet those she’d offered at the noon Mass did not help. The island priest, Father Benito St. Giovanni, had delivered a long-winded, inauspicious sermon, and although Colette Duvoisin’s letter seemed favorable, Charmaine experienced a sense of impending doom. Perhaps the magnitude of the Duvoisin dynasty blotted out the importance of her humble existence. What did she matter? But more important, if Paul disapproved of her, what real happiness could she hope to find within the mansion’s walls?

The master’s and mistress’s chambers were located to the rear of the south wing, far from the noise and activity of the thriving house. One story above the dormant ballroom, these lavish chambers provided the quiet solitude both master and mistress sought, and those who were intent upon living did not trespass there.

This was Frederic Duvoisin’s self-imposed prison, a place to brood over the life he had lived. Seated in the massive chair that occupied his outer chamber, he would often contemplate the oak door closed before him. There were three doors leading from the room: one that opened onto his bedchamber and another leading to the hall. But they were of no interest to him. The heavy door sitting directly across from him, not more than ten paces away, the door that opened onto his wife’s sitting room—
that
was the one he cared about.

He was acutely aware of her movements on the other side of that barrier, as he was every night when he lay abed, listening to
the ritual of her nightly toilette. And when the chamber was plunged into a despairing silence, he would turn to stare at that door as well, the one connecting bedroom to bedroom, but not husband to wife…

He found himself grinding his teeth, unable to control the fulminating anger that seized him. In all his sixty years, he had never been a man to sit idly by and allow time or circumstance to control him. He had always forged forward: relentless, demanding, and above all else, stubborn. These traits had led to this hell of non-existence: half man mentally as well as physically, a decision fashioned eight years ago, a decision cemented five years later on the day he learned the devastating truth, the day of his seizure. Colette…how he loved her.

But dwelling on his love scorned would do him no good. It was the very emotion he fought to control. He had no rights where his wife was concerned. He had renounced them long ago, a punishment he hoped would gain her forgiveness. But had she? Even the memory of his first wife, Elizabeth, no longer brought him solace, for he had failed her as well.

“What must you think of me?” he mumbled, his heart aching for her gentle understanding. Why wouldn’t she come to him in his greatest need? He knew the answer. Even now, Elizabeth remained with Colette.

“Enough!” he grumbled, his guilt tangible today. Mustering his minimal strength, he repressed the revolutionary thoughts, lest they destroy his sanity as well. If after three years he hadn’t died, he must force himself to live. “I’ve sat too long and relinquished too much.”

With enormous effort, he stood, his height mocking his crooked frame. The stroke had not completely purloined his strength. In days gone by, he had been a formidable opponent to any man, the
envy of his peers, and many would be amazed at his determination now, yet those who knew the man of old would be repulsed.

His left side remained partially paralyzed, the leg giving him more trouble than the arm, and he scowled deeply as he leaned on the black cane he required for support. Trapped inside a useless body, he half limped, half dragged himself to the oak door. As always, his eyes traveled to the full-length mirror that had been placed, upon his order, in the corner of the room. And as always, he was revolted. Even so, it served its purpose, a constant reminder of what he’d become, why he must remain closeted away. He’d not endure the stares, the whispers, the comments, and most destructive, the pity.

Colette displayed none of these. In fact, she was the only person who did not avert her gaze, choosing instead to meet his regard directly and without repugnance. Yet, in her eyes, he read the most pain of all, was certain she blamed herself. He knew she longed for his forgiveness, but he could not bring himself to utter the words that would sever the only tie that bound them. Funny how he thought about it every time he prepared himself to see her…

Colette surveyed the sitting room, satisfied that everything was in order. She turned to her personal maid, a smile lighting her blue eyes. “That’s fine, Gladys, just fine. I’m certain Miss Ryan will find the room inviting. Perhaps you could ask Cookie—I mean, Fatima—ask Fatima to prepare some refreshments.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gladys replied, retreating from the chamber.

Colette stood in the balcony doorway, the breeze buffeting her face.
When am I going to forget?
The sound of the door reopening drew her back to the present. “Did you forget—”

The query died on her lips as Frederic hobbled in. It had been three years since he had entered her boudoir, and this unexpected
visit disturbed her. Of late, their only common ground was the neutral territory of the children’s nursery.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he apologized, his speech slightly slurred.

“You didn’t,” she replied, forcing herself calm, her eyes fixed on him.

He limped closer. “I see you are preparing for a guest. Someone I know?”

“A woman I’d like to hire as governess to the children.”