Forever Waiting (25 page)

John didn’t respond.

Annoyed, Paul added, “In other words, the game is over, and you’ve won. Is that it, John?”

“It hasn’t been a game for a very long time. Maybe if you had realized that, Charmaine would be your wife right now instead of mine. However, she is my wife, and you will respect her as such. So, no more cornering her when she’s alone, no more making her feel she wronged you when, in fact, it was the other way around.”

Paul snorted. “What I said to Charmaine was between the two of us.”

“No, Paul, you hurt her with your accusations, accusations that included me, and I won’t allow it to happen again. I realize you were upset, but you’ve had your say, and there won’t be a repeat performance.”

“Aren’t you a fine one to talk?” Paul roared. “When Father married Colette, you couldn’t keep from tormenting her—even on the night the twins were born!”

“Colette has nothing to do with this,” John stated softly, controlling the anger his brother was desperately trying to incite. “And if you think you can shake Charmaine’s feelings for me by throwing Colette in her face, you’re wrong. She knows Colette is in the past— that my love belongs to her alone.”

“You’re awfully sure of that, John. But I’ll be right here when your ‘love’ fails her.”

Agatha studied the portrait of Colette Duvoisin. Over the past week, many who entered the manor marveled over its opulence. Amongst its palatial splendors, this one item, this exquisite painting, rendered each and every guest momentarily speechless. She recalled their open admiration—the comments, the questions.
Oh my, isn’t she breathtaking! Who is she?
Once again, the bile rose in Agatha’s throat. She had forced a stiff smile, then uttered Colette’s name nonchalantly, unprepared for the final insult: the astonished eyes, the perceptible nod that measured the third wife against the second in the space of one awkward moment. She would never suffer such humiliation again!

Agatha confronted her adversary—the woman who taunted her, even in death.
You frivolous little whore … the father and the son! Why do men always fall for trollops like you?
The blue eyes stared back, so lifelike, they condemned her from the lofty perch upon the wall.
Condemn all you like
,
but this is the last time you will harass me
. Like the wife, it was time for the painting to go.

She rang for Travis Thornfield. “I want that canvas removed,” she stated blandly, her arm sweeping upward in a dismissive gesture, “immediately.”

The butler hesitated. The portrait had hung in the foyer for nearly a decade, serenely greeting those who entered the mansion, and he knew how ferocious Frederic could be in all matters concerning the Mistress Colette.

“Immediately!” Agatha shrieked. “I said immediately!”

Frederic had come abreast of the upper staircase and heard the strident command. “What is this?” he seethed as he labored downward.

“Why, Frederic,” Agatha replied bracingly, “this painting should have been removed a long time ago. After all—”

“Leave it alone!” he barked over his shoulder to Travis as he grabbed hold of Agatha’s arm and marched her into the study.

Paul and John were there, but before Frederic could ask them to leave, Agatha pulled free of his grasp and allied herself with her son. “Tell your father I am the mistress of this manor.”

Paul scowled and looked away.

“Agatha,” Frederic began, “I have made a grave mistake.”

Oddly, she seemed placated, but when he continued, she grew horrified.

“A year ago, I thought to right the wrong I perpetrated against you long ago, but I have only made a sad situation worse. Had I married you when Paul was a baby, things might have been different. However, we are two very different people now. I cannot continue with this ruse.”

“Ruse? You call our marriage a ruse?”

“Agatha, I told you Saturday night—I don’t love you. I have directed Edward Richecourt to draw up the documents required to—”

But she didn’t allow him to finish, her long-contained agony erupting. “Now let me tell you something! You ruined my life! I loved you! I gave you everything! You proposed to me!
We
were betrothed! And then, oh God, you took Elizabeth instead—first to your bed and then to the altar! How could you do that to me? How could you turn your back on me when you
knew
I was carrying your child?
How?
”

Paul paled, and John surmised Frederic hadn’t told him the entire story.

“Do you know how it felt to have my baby ripped from my arms because he was a bastard—because I had shamed my parents—” she accused, genuine tears streaming down her face “—how it felt to be called a whore because I had loved you? And Elizabeth, your
precious
Elizabeth, she knew my heart was breaking, but she stole you anyway. I hope she’s rotting in hell!”

“Enough!” Frederic roared, his eyes glassy. “Any pain you endured was my doing, not Elizabeth’s.”

She abruptly composed herself, wiping away the moisture with the back of her hand. “That’s right, Frederic, you excuse her, but I know what she did.
She
was the whore, for she did not have your vow when she went to your bed.”

“Damn it woman!”

“I’m already damned,” she pronounced proudly, chin raised. “You remember the money you threw at me?” When his brow gathered in confusion, she continued. “You said it would provide financial security for my child. You do remember, don’t you? Tell Paul you remember!” She looked directly at her son. “Your father didn’t intend to raise you as his own. He thought to buy me off — abandon us in England so he would never have to look at us—at you.” She turned back to her husband. “I took that money, Frederic, and I invested it.”

“Invested it?”

“I used it to bribe some men. They did not refuse my hefty purse.”

Frederic felt the blood drain from his limbs. “What are you saying?”

“I can inflict pain, too.” Her eyes turned maniacal. “I took great pleasure in knowing Elizabeth was raped over and over again. Those ruffians were only too glad to take your money. If only it could have purchased her life as well!”

Frederic descended on her in a deranged fury, his hands around her neck before anyone could react. Paul shouted, then grabbed hold of his arms, John, Agatha. It was all they could do to tear them apart, Frederic’s burst of strength dissipating the moment he was disengaged. He slumped into a chair and buried his head in his hands. Agatha collapsed into the sofa, sobbing pitifully.

“I’m sorry, Frederic, but I love you!”

“Get out! Get out, damn you, and never come back!”

“But, Frederic, I’m your wife!”

“Not anymore!” he snarled, his face set in stone, her future inexorable.

“But, Frederic! I love you!” she implored. “Truly I do!” When she got nowhere, she turned pleading eyes on Paul. “I only did it for you … ”

With great pity, Paul went to her. He knew his father would not change his mind and resentment consumed him. Placing an arm around his mother, he coaxed her up. “Come with me. You’ll be comfortable on Espoir.”

“But I’m the mistress of
this
manor,” she objected, her expression strangely blank. “Frederic needs me here. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’ll realize his mistake and … ” Her words trailed off as Paul ushered her from the room.

John shook his head and sat opposite his father. “Are you all right?” he asked, amazed he felt sympathy for the man.

“Dear God,” Frederic groaned. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”

“From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate,” John murmured.

“She has every right to hate me.”

“And my mother as well,” John said, suddenly understanding why Agatha had despised him all these years.

“No, Elizabeth didn’t do any of those things,” Frederic insisted. “I was enamored of your mother just as my affair with Agatha began. Elizabeth had no idea we had been intimate until after she and I were lovers.” Frederic bowed his head again. “But for Agatha to have wanted her dead—to have hired those men to … ” His words fell away under the weight of the incomprehensible, the realization he’d seriously underestimated Agatha and her pernicious animosity. “She fostered more evil than you can imagine, John. For the first ten years of your life, I thought you were born of that vile crime against your mother, and I believed the rapes caused her death. Blackford convinced me of it. I suppose he was avenging Agatha.”

John was astonished.

“It’s no excuse,” Frederic said, his hand massaging his forehead. “You were only a baby; it shouldn’t have mattered. But I missed Elizabeth desperately, and you were an easy scapegoat.” He breathed deeply, and the minutes gathered before he spoke again. “What is wrong with me? Will my decisions ever prove sound? When will my family know peace?”

John had no answers. Hadn’t he often asked the same questions of himself, cursed his propensity for hurting those closest to him? Unexpectedly, he was beginning to understand his father and was uncomfortable with the realization they were alike in many ways.

Yvette protested when she learned she and her sister were not invited to the newlyweds’ picnic. “But we want to go, too!”

“Charmaine and I are on our honeymoon,” John attempted to explain.

“I know what that means: you want to be alone so you can hug and kiss.”

“Exactly,” John affirmed, sending her into a pout.

Charmaine’s face was beet-red. “They know we’ve been kissing, my Charm,” he chuckled.

“In your bedroom,” Yvette interjected. “Does it have to go on all day, too?” She spoke to her sister. “I liked it better before they were married, Jeannette.”

“I think it’s wonderful they’re married,” Jeannette countered.

“I have an idea,” John offered. “Father has had a bad morning and could use a bit of company right now. If the two of you cheer him up, we’ll take you on a picnic tomorrow. How would that be?”

“I guess it’s better than nothing,” Yvette relented.

With John’s smile of encouragement, they went off in search of Frederic.

Charmaine enjoyed having John all to herself. He told her about his father’s will and all that had happened with Agatha. “Paul’s mother for Christ’s sake,” he muttered, still incredulous. “All these years, all the times we pondered it, and I never thought of Agatha.”

Although astounded, Charmaine was happy to learn the woman would no longer reside at the house.

“That makes you mistress of the manor,” John quipped. “You’re Mrs. Faraday’s boss now!”

Charmaine smiled wickedly. She’d never been anybody’s boss!

“And you must look the part,” he continued. “It’s time for the governess garb to go. Tomorrow morning, I’m taking you to the mercantile to select a more appropriate wardrobe.”

“I don’t think we will find anything grander than what I’ve been wearing.”

“We shall order them out of Maddy’s catalogs. My wedding present to you.” He kissed her then, a long, delicious kiss.

The twins awaited their return, having prepared them a wedding gift. “You are going to be so happy!” Jeannette bubbled from the steps of the portico.

“Oh, yes!” Yvette agreed. “It’s the best present you’ll ever receive!”

“Really?” Charmaine asked as they stepped inside the house and Jeannette nudged them up the stairs.

“Truly!” the girl gushed. “And best of all,
we
can enjoy it, too!”

The declaration drew a swift glare from Yvette, but it did not succeed in stifling Jeannette’s jubilance. “They’re going to see it anyway,” she reasoned.

Yvette rushed ahead and stopped at Charmaine’s dressing room door.

“Is this where your gift is hidden?” John asked, eliciting wide-eyed nods. “Well, what are we waiting for? The suspense is killing me.”

Jeannette giggled, but Yvette scowled. “Go ahead and make fun of our present,” she dared, “but you’ll see how unique it is!”

“Unique? Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Open the door.”

Jeannette led them into the immaculate room. Not one piece of furniture was out of place, not one speck of dust marred the polished wood floor. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The twins snickered at John and Charmaine’s confusion.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Well, what?” Yvette inquired innocently.

“Where or what is our wedding gift?”

“Can’t you see it, Johnny? It’s right before your eyes.” Yvette turned to Charmaine. “Maybe Mademoiselle Charmaine knows what it is.”

“Yvette, this isn’t fair,” Jeannette interjected, “we haven’t shown them everything.” She opened the door to Charmaine’s bedchamber and gestured for them to step in.

John’s large armoire sat opposite them, against the wall that abutted the nursery. “How did you get that in here?” John asked Yvette.

“Joseph helped us push it along the balcony so nobody would see.”

“And what is it doing here?” he probed curtly, his eyes narrowing. “And I hope it’s not the reason I think it is.”

“It’s part of your present, silly!” Yvette giggled, unaffected by his stern regard. “Both rooms are your present.”

“Isn’t it wonderful, Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette asked. “Just think, you’ll be right next to us again, and so will Johnny!”

“That’s right,” Yvette piped in, “now we can bring you breakfast every morning and keep you company during thunderstorms and—”

“Damn it, girl! Don’t you know when you’ve gone too far?” John’s heated query sent Jeannette scurrying to Charmaine’s skirts, tears welling in her eyes. Yvette stood her ground, pretending confusion, though her eyes blazed brightly. “Whose idea was this—” he growled “—as if I really have to ask?”

“A fine brother you are!” Yvette spat back. “This gift took us all afternoon to organize! You’ll never get another one from me! That’s a promise!”

They matched scowl for scowl. Finally, John strode to the bell-pull, and yanked it violently. When Travis appeared, he instructed him to install a lock on the adjoining nursery door, then he asked for George.

“He’s in the drawing room with Miss Wells,” the manservant informed him.

“Can you send him up here?”

As Travis left, Jeannette looked at John woefully. “I thought you’d be happy with our present, Johnny,” she lamented. “We could have so much fun.”