Forever Waiting (33 page)

“So, because she reminded you of my mother, that gave you the right to rape her?”

“No,” Frederic replied softly.

“Then why did you force her? Why did you steal her away? Do you really hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you, John!”

“No?” John cried, spurred on by the malice he’d endured and suppressed the whole of his life. “Were you so angry I took Elizabeth from you that you took Colette from me? I loved her, couldn’t you see that?”

Frederic stood stunned, moved by his son’s unmasked torment.
Dear God, is that what he thinks?

“How could you do that to me?” John demanded.

“I didn’t do it
to you
, John,” Frederic refuted. “And though you may never believe it, I
am
sorry.” He paused, at a loss, fearful of saying more. John continued to stare at him, his disbelief and misery increasing, an awesome front. For Frederic, it was now or never. “I misjudged Colette,” he began hesitantly, his chest constricting. “I was certain she was playing you for the fool—me for the fool. I’d overheard a few conversations between her and her friend and could see her mother’s fear of poverty. So I assumed Colette didn’t love you at all, that she was simply out for a rich husband. That night, I only thought to confront her, to make her realize she was playing with fire. But that fire got out of hand. Once I’d kissed her, the years fell away, and it was as if I had your mother back in my arms again. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was lost to desire.”

Frederic breathed deeply, the ache in his breast acute now. “She didn’t fight me. I realized later she was too frightened to fight. But when it was happening, I believed I was right about her: she had had other lovers. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t hurt her, John, not physically, anyway.”

He gulped back his pain. “When it was over, I realized my mistake. She
was
pure and innocent, and I was ashamed over what I had done. At the same time, I was elated my speculations had proven wrong. The next day, I couldn’t concentrate for thinking about her. That night, I went to her and offered marriage. I promised to help her family. Yes, I wanted to set things right, but more than anything, I wanted her to be
my
wife. I convinced myself what happened between us was destiny: she belonged with me and not you. You were young, I reasoned, too young to be married. You weren’t in love, merely infatuated. Eventually, you’d find another. So, I brushed your feelings aside.” Frederic closed his eyes, struggling valiantly to rein in his rampant emotions. “I convinced Colette this was true and warned her she might already be with child, my child. She realized she couldn’t go to you a soiled bride and agreed to marry me.”

He regarded his son, wondering how his words had been received. The ignominious story had to be as difficult to hear as it was to tell. “It wasn’t planned, John. It just happened.”

“I don’t want to hear any more,” John sneered.

“Very well,” Frederic rasped, grabbing hold of John’s arm before he could walk away. “Answer me this: If I am willing to accept your love for Colette—forgive your affair—why can’t you consider that I loved her, too?”

John yanked free, unmoved by his sire’s beseeching voice. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Father! I didn’t do anything wrong. I took what belonged to me in the first place.”

Frederic shook his head, knowing John couldn’t possibly believe that. “I should have released her,” he murmured. “I tried to deny loving her for those five years. It would have been easier to let her go.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“
Because
I loved her,” he said simply. “I loved her, and I couldn’t bear to see her walk out of my life. Having her there, even without her love, was preferable to never seeing her again.”

“So, you admit she didn’t love you,” John rejoined.

“I
thought
she didn’t love me,” he corrected softly. “The first year we were married, we were happy—I was happy, happier than I’d been in a very long time. I had a reason for living again. I thought Colette was happy, too. Though she never said it, I felt in my heart she’d grown to love me.

“Then she was expecting and we were overjoyed, until the night the twins came into the world. It was a terrible ordeal, the labor long and hard. Blackford gave her something for the pain. I stayed with her, frightened I was going to lose her all over again, as I did the night you were born. Then the laudanum took effect and she became delirious. She called for you over and over again, leaving no doubt as to whom she really loved.”

Frederic bowed his head with the painful memory, and John recalled the fierce argument he’d had with Colette that night, one that had induced her labor, perhaps ravaged her mind.

“I begged God to spare her, John— vowed I’d never touch her again if He’d just let her live. And so, when she recovered, I stayed away. At first, I was able to accept my promise, but as time passed, I began to pray she would come to me. When she didn’t, I ached with the belief she had never loved me.

“I threw myself into work—first on Charmantes, then on Espoir. Then you came home, and things went from bad to worse. I don’t blame you, John, and I don’t blame Colette, I blame myself. At that time, however, I wanted to blame everyone
but
myself.

“After the stroke, I prayed to God to take me, so you and Colette could be together. But death never came.

“The years passed, and suddenly, she was gravely ill. I was going to lose her all over again, and I damned myself for the pain I had caused her, the time I had wasted. I bared my heart to her—told her I had always loved her and asked her to forgive me. She said she’d forgiven me years ago—said she loved me, but thought I hated her for what she had done—thought I no longer wanted her. Dear God, how could she think I wouldn’t want her?”

His eyes grew glassy, his hoarse voice nearly inaudible. “She died in my arms that night, John. When I awoke the next morning, she was gone. She died in my arms … ”

Frederic’s tears fell freely now, and John, with eyes stinging, walked away.

Wednesday, August 29, 1838

In less than four days, the
Raven
reached Richmond. John threw his knapsack over his shoulder and rushed down the gangplank, bent on abandoning his sire. He glanced back to see Frederic laboring far behind him, trying his level best to keep up.
It wasn’t planned—it just happened
 …
That’s how it starts—with a slip, an innocent slip
 …

“Shit!”

John hailed a carriage, then turned back to his father, grabbed his bag, and helped him into the conveyance.

“Good luck!” Jonah Wilkinson shouted after them.

“Don’t leave port until I speak with you tomorrow!” John called back. “We may need the packet.”

The bank was busy for a Wednesday, but John and Frederic went straight to the platform and inquired for the bank manager, Thomas Ashmore, an acquaintance of John’s. “I need some information on a Robert Blackford,” John stated, once his father had been introduced and handshakes exchanged.

“Well, John,” the bank manager proceeded cautiously, “what kind of information are we talking about?”

“Robert Blackford left Charmantes four months ago,” he offered. “At that time he had closed out a sizable account with the island’s bank and had a promissory note drawn up payable to this bank. We are trying to track him down. Therefore, I need to find out when he deposited that note, if, in fact, he still holds an account here, or whether the money was endorsed to another bank.”

“Well, John,” Thomas Ashmore replied, “you’re asking for personal information. Can you give me a good reason why I should release it to you?”

“The man is a murderer.”

“Well, John, why don’t you go to the authorities?”

“Because I want to track him down myself, Ash-hole,” John replied through clenched teeth, missing Frederic’s snigger.

“Well, John—”

“Is ‘well John’ the only thing you know how to say?” Frederic interrupted.

Thomas gave Frederic a sidelong glance. “Well, sir—”

“Obviously, it is,” Frederic bit out. “Mr. Ashmore, this institution was one of the few unscathed by last year’s bank panic, was it not?”

Thomas nodded, but his eyes grew wide as saucers.

“I daresay, I had a lot to do with that, considering my substantial backing here. Now, if this bank wishes to avoid another such panic today, you had best go and find the information my son has requested. If you are not back here in ten minutes’ time, information in hand, I will close out every account I have in this establishment, and demand each balance in cash. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ashmore gulped out before fleeing his desk.

Very good!
John thought.

Joshua Harrington overheard the dispute at Thomas Ashmore’s desk and was taken aback when John Duvoisin turned around and flopped down in the nearest chair as the banker scurried away.

“Mr. Duvoisin?” Joshua inquired, determined to speak to him.

John looked up and, canting his head, tried to place name to the man’s face.

“Mr.
John
Duvoisin?” Joshua asked again.

“What can I do for you?” John responded. Frederic looked on in interest.

“I’m Joshua Harrington. We met quite a few years ago … I was wondering if your wife was with you—here in Richmond?”

“Charmaine?” John asked in bewilderment.
Who is this man?
His name sounded familiar.

“Yes, Charmaine lived with my wife and me before becoming governess on Les Charmantes.”

John rubbed his forehead.
Of course!

“We are concerned about her,” Joshua rushed on. “Her last letter— well, we’d love to see her and make certain she is—in good health.”

“Yes,” John breathed, irritated by the tacit message Charmaine was in peril married to him. “Unfortunately, she did not accompany me. I had urgent business to attend, and she wasn’t able to make the voyage in her condition.”

Joshua’s brows raised in what appeared to be ghastly comprehension.

“She is fine,” John quickly added, “but preferred to stay behind.”

Thomas Ashmore returned, and with a nod, Joshua retreated.

Frederic and John left the bank with the information they needed. Blackford had deposited the monies on the fifteenth of April and drawn on the new account immediately. The family’s finances had facilitated his escape: The Charmantes’ seal guaranteed the note and the Duvoisin funds were held against it. He had taken a quarter of the money in cash and the remainder in another note payable to a New York bank.

They headed back to the harbor to check the ships’ manifests for the month of May and ascertain exactly when Blackford had headed to New York City.

The carriage was quiet. John stared out the window. Frederic watched him. “Do you love Charmaine?” he abruptly asked.

John faced him, brow creased. “What do you mean, do I love her?”

“It’s a simple question, John.”

“Yes, I love her.”

Frederic turned and looked out his window.

“That’s it, Father?” John queried. “That’s all you wanted to know? I know you better than that. What was your real reason for asking that question?”

“You certainly didn’t give Mr. Harrington the impression you love her,” Frederic replied, ignoring John’s dismissive grunt. “The man was obviously concerned. You did nothing to alleviate his disquiet. In fact, he appeared more worried when he walked away.”

“He’ll get over it,” John replied dryly.

“Yes, but what of Charmaine? Do you think she’ll get over it?” He gave John a moment. “You may have told her you needed to do this for Pierre, and I understand that. But on the ship, your anger was about Colette.”

“My
anger
, Father,” John ground out, “was directed at you, no one else. Do you want to hear how I hate you for robbing me of the three short years I could have spent with my son? If you had seen Agatha for what she was, Pierre would still be alive, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes, he would,” Frederic capitulated softly. “But Charmaine sees only one face when she thinks of you running off and leaving her, and that face is not Pierre’s. You should go back home and allow me to find Blackford.”

“No,” John snarled. “You’re not going to deprive me of the satisfaction of seeing
his
face when I confront him. He will wish he had died and gone to hell.”

“We’re of a similar mind, but are you willing to forfeit Charmaine for that?”

“Charmaine has waited for me before, Father. She will wait for me again.”

“Are you certain?” Frederic probed. “Your brother loves her, too, you know. I’ve seen it in his eyes.”

John grunted again, and again Frederic paid him no mind. “
Your eyes
, when you looked at Colette after I married her.”

“My eyes were filled with loathing.”

“And deep pain and longing,” Frederic finished. “Strange how one can desire something the most when it is no longer his to claim.”

“Charmaine doesn’t love Paul,” John reasoned, “or she would have gone to him long before I returned.”

“I pray you are right. But she has a woman’s heart now, one that you’ve broken. In her pain, she may turn to the nearest arms that offer her solace.”

John was ill at ease with Frederic’s words, but as the carriage drew near the docks, he refused to be deterred. He resolved to write Charmaine that night and let her know he loved her despite their strained good-bye.