Forever Waiting (26 page)

John was at a loss for words in the face of the girl’s innocence. Yvette, on the other hand, had ulterior motives.

George appeared in the doorway. “You wanted something?”

“I need help moving this bed into the dressing room. Yvette has decided the wedding present we need most is a new bedroom—this one in particular.”

“How cozy,” George chuckled under his breath.

“Aren’t you taking this a bit far?” Charmaine interjected.

John looked at her in disbelief. “My Charm, on some future morning when we are ‘occupied,’ you will be thankful the door is bolted.”

Charmaine blushed. “I wasn’t talking about the lock. I don’t understand why you want to move the bed into the other room.”

“Why don’t you ask Yvette how many glasses she has hidden in the nursery?”

When the bed had been moved and all was in order, Charmaine sighed in relief. She didn’t relish the idea of sleeping with John in the room he had more than likely shared with Colette, the room with so many sad memories, Pierre’s death the most potent. In this room, they would make their own memories.

John came up behind her. He must have sensed what she was thinking, for he said, “That should do it, my Charm. I didn’t fancy sleeping in the other chamber, anyway.”

Edward Richecourt turned his face into the wind, heaved a deep sigh, and looked at Helen. She stood at the railing with friends. They certainly had plenty of gossip to bring back to Richmond. The ship lurched in the turbulent sea, and the ladies grasped the railing or clutched an arm to steady themselves. Helen … In her younger days, she had been the belle of Richmond. But they had drifted into middle age together, Helen more so than he.

It had been convenient, practical to marry Helen Larabbie. She was the eldest of three daughters, and her father, Neil, ran a respectable law firm in Richmond. Edward was young and ambitious, so when he began to pay court to the eldest Larabbie daughter, Neil couldn’t have been more pleased. The family firm could be passed along to a son-in-law. Edward had an amiable relationship with the man, both professionally and personally. And Neil Larabbie was content with the two grandchildren Edward and Helen had given him, especially his grandson, who was studying law. Neil trusted Edward, expecting only that he uphold the firm’s good name and keep his daughter happy.

Edward was always discreet about his infidelities. And what harm? Helen had little interest in the marital bed, and he’d found relief with youthful damsels who viewed him as distinguished and worldly.

Paul Duvoisin’s triumph
 … It could well be Edward’s waterloo! Old man Larabbie had at best ten years left.
Ten years!
God, what if he found out about the Duvoisin domestic? What if Helen found out? He didn’t want to think about it, hated the fact it all depended on the whim of one man: John Duvoisin. Would he tell Larabbie? Edward hadn’t even consummated the adulterous encounter, and yet, he’d literally been caught with his pants down. The last time this happened, John had extorted information about Paul’s shipping venture. But John didn’t seem to care about Paul’s business plans anymore. Now Edward could only pray he’d come up with something to offer John in exchange for his silence. His future depended on it.

Chapter 5

Tuesday, April 10, 1838

J
ANE
Faraday appeared in the bedroom doorway. “May I have a word with you, ma’am?” she asked.

Charmaine nodded, disconcerted by the woman’s formality.

“As you know, Mrs. Duvoisin—Agatha, that is—hired a temporary staff for last week’s festivities. She indicated the five most competent employees would earn permanent positions on Espoir. I’m assuming she has chosen from the servants that are already there.”

Charmaine listened patiently, wondering,
Why is she telling me this?

“There is one girl working here who is most deserving, and I recommend she be added to
our
staff.”

The monologue ended, and Jane seemed to be waiting for a response. Puzzled, Charmaine said, “I suggest you bring the matter to Master Frederic.”

“No, ma’am. He told me to bring it to you—you are the mistress now.”

Charmaine was flabbergasted.
You’re mistress of the manor now!
Evidently, Frederic thought so, too. It was incomprehensible! She rubbed her brow. “If you feel she is qualified, Mrs. Faraday, I trust your judgment.”

The woman smiled and turned to leave, stopping shy of the doorway. She pivoted around, hesitant. “Ma’am, I apologize for what I said to you last fall.”

“Apologize? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I was in the laundry service yesterday when Felicia and Anna collected the bed linen—” Charmaine felt her cheeks grow warm, but Jane talked on “—and I want you to know I was wrong, terribly wrong. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

“No, Mrs. Faraday,” Charmaine whispered. “I won’t hold it against you.”

A few minutes later, John found Charmaine humming happily to herself.

“Something I did?” he roguishly laughed.

“If only you knew!” she giggled.

Sunday, April 22, 1838

Benito St. Giovanni stood before Frederic Duvoisin, having demanded this meeting directly after Mass, but now found it difficult to begin. Agatha had not kept her weekly appointment last Saturday; the reason confirmed first thing this morning. Her husband had literally banished her to Espoir. But why? Benito didn’t fear exposure. If Frederic had knowledge of his unscrupulous dealings with the woman,
he
would have called this meeting. Even so, Agatha’s exile could potentially prove disastrous.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Frederic prodded.

“Yes.” Benito cleared his throat. “There have been rumors circulating, rumors concerning your wife. As your spiritual adviser, I think you should apprise me of your intentions.”

“Do you?” Frederic queried laconically.

Benito cleared his throat again. “I do.”

Frederic leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. “Very well. Perhaps you can be of service to me, Father. I have renounced Agatha as my spouse and have had legal documents drawn to that effect. Of course, we are still united in the eyes of God. I would like you to write to Rome and obtain a dispensation that will dissolve the marriage entirely.”

“I can’t do that!” Benito objected. “She is your wife. You spoke the words ‘for better or for worse, until death do us part.’ Rome will refuse. You will face excommunication if you proceed further.”

Frederic merely chuckled. “Then the legal document will stand as my repudiation of the marriage. In either case, she’ll no longer be called my wife.”

Benito’s eyes narrowed. This was not going well at all. He’d hoped to sway Frederic, reinstate Agatha to her post of mistress, and continue with his extortion. One more year, and he’d have accumulated enough wealth to retire comfortably. Suddenly, his source of income had been cut off, and the fervor of Frederic’s declaration left no doubt it would remain that way. The only option open to him now was to leave Charmantes. He had no reason to stay. Nevertheless, he must carefully disengage himself, lest his departure raise suspicion. Best to set that in motion now.

“I am extremely displeased,” he remarked condescendingly. “The lack of morality … Paul’s gala celebration during the solemn Lenten season … A disregard for all that is holy … I tell you now, Frederic, I intend to retire by year’s end. I’ve received word from family in Italy, a nephew who is ill. If you wish, I can write to my superiors in Rome and request a replacement.”

Frederic grunted. “Do as you like Benito.” He refrained from adding he doubted the priest would be missed.

Tuesday, May 1, 1838

The days fell in on themselves, a heady blend of lovemaking, picnics, and laughter, all of which left Charmaine glowing. Paul had moved to Espoir, venturing home only twice, and then for only a night. He had three reasons to keep his distance: Agatha, his father, and her. He barely acknowledged her during those visits, so she was glad he stayed away.

This morning they were breakfasting together—a true family— for Frederic was at the table, along with the girls, Rose, Mercedes, and George. Charmaine marveled over the change between John and his father, their discourse no longer baiting and angry. Yvette told a joke that left everyone chuckling. The girls were benefiting most from this newly won harmony.

Fatima bustled in with coffee and biscuits, frowning when she reached Charmaine. “Miss Charmaine, you ain’t touched a bit of your food.”

“I’m sorry, Cookie, but I’m not feeling very well this morning.”

John leaned forward. “Are you all right, my Charm?”

“I’ll be fine once this queasiness passes.” She pushed her plate away.

John’s eyes lifted to his father, who was smiling at them, a shared look that bewildered Charmaine. “Sir?” she queried, as if he had spoken to her.

“Charmaine,” Frederic said, “you are part of this family, and I’d be pleased to have you call me Frederic.”

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable—” she began. Then she was muttering an apology, overcome by a wave of nausea. She pushed away from the table and ran for the kitchen, reaching the washtub in time.

“Miss Charmaine,” Fatima soothed, “are you all right?”

In the next moment, John was there, placing a hand to her back. Another significant look passed between the cook and her husband. “Come, Charmaine,” he coaxed, “why don’t you sit down?”

“I’m fine now, really I am.”

“Yes, I’m certain you’re fine,” John chuckled.

“Stop laughing!” she snapped.

“I’m not laughing. After all, I feel responsible.”

“Responsible?” Charmaine asked, completely baffled. “For what?”

“Your condition.” Then, he bent close to her ear and whispered, “Do you think it will be a Michael or a Michelle?”

She blushed a deep crimson, her innocence warming his heart. “I love you, Charmaine Duvoisin!” he shouted. “Come! Everyone will want to hear the good news.”

“John—wait!” she protested. “Are you certain? How can you be sure?”

“I suppose nine months or your tummy will tell.”

Fatima laughed robustly.

Monday, May 7, 1838

When Frederic arrived at the tobacco fields, John was already there. John wiped his soiled hands on a rag and walked over to him. “What are you doing here?” they asked simultaneously.

Frederic chuckled, but John answered first. “Charmaine doesn’t fancy leaving for Richmond yet, so I thought I might lend a hand. And you?”

Frederic tethered his stallion to a tree. “I ride out every day now. It does me good to work.”

John nodded in understanding.

His father turned and gazed critically across the terrain. “I’m thinking of turning the ground over. The first crop wasn’t what it should have been. Paul’s initial assessment was correct; the fields need to breathe for a while. Then we can go back to sugar.”

John frowned. “I thought Espoir’s bumper crop flooded your market.”

“Paul has done very well,” Frederic agreed.

“It would be a shame to abandon this investment,” John continued, gesturing toward the tobacco fields. “Perhaps the first yield was poor, but Harold says the tracts due for planting have lain fallow for four years. The crop should flourish in that soil, and I know a few tricks that will bring top-dollar at auction.”

Frederic was inspired. “What do you suggest?”

“Fire-curing for one,” John responded. “Add a little charcoal, and your tobacco will have a distinct smoky aroma and flavor. We’ll have to build a couple of barns, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Let’s do it. Where should we erect them?”

John was astounded. Frederic hadn’t challenged his expertise. As they walked off to find a spot for the barns, he realized it was the first time they had worked side-by-side in over ten years—not since the day Colette made her choice.

Saturday, May 12, 1838

Paul sat alone in the study of his grand new mansion. It had been a month since the life he had known had crumbled. His triumphant ascent into the world of commerce had been tainted from the outset. He reflected on John’s return, the confrontation that had removed his brother from Frederic’s will and revealed the truth about his own parentage. Agatha was his mother. Even after a month, it was hard to believe. For years, he had longed to know the details of how he had been placed in his father’s custody. Today, he wished he didn’t.

He had achieved more than he’d ever dreamed possible, stood to inherit much of his father’s fortune. Yet, it left him empty. John was legitimate, John had Charmaine, and John was man enough to stand on his own. What had John called him months ago? A pathetic fool? Yes, he was pathetic. He had revered his father, but had it earned him the man’s admiration or respect? No—just his money, and
that
only when John had turned it down.

Then there was Charmaine. She had been lovely the night of the ball. He’d allowed himself to be manipulated and distracted, taking it for granted she’d always be there. But John had been man enough to pass up frivolous temptation and claim what he truly desired. Paul was certain this had played a part in Charmaine’s decision to marry him, John’s apparent propriety set in counterpoint to his incontinent behavior with Anne London, confirming he would always be a rogue. He rubbed his brow, remembering how she’d pummeled his chest and screamed her hatred of him. He could have loved her, but now she, too, was lost to him.

John, who had nothing, now had everything, even his father’s love. Frederic might storm and rage, but in the end, he really loved his legitimate son. As for his bastard son? Frederic was willing to pay Agatha to raise him in some far off place, choosing never to know him. After all these years, Paul understood why he had never measured up.

A great shame laced with pity seized him. How often had he scorned Agatha, and still, she had championed him? Yes, she had done some terrible things, but he could empathize, and therefore, forgive. She had been egregiously wronged, had suffered at his father’s hands. He would never allow her to suffer again.