A Silent Ocean Away (14 page)

“Colette?” he called, his throat constricted.

The golden head lifted, and her face glistened with moisture, her eyes red and swollen. Embarrassed, she stood and quickly attempted to wipe her cheeks dry. But the tears spilled forth faster than she could brush them away.

“Colette,” he breathed again, this time stepping closer, gathering her into his strong arms, a bulwark to shoulder her pain. When she tried to push him away, he pulled her tighter into his embrace, murmuring tender words to soothe her. “Ssh…there now…Cry…cry if you need to cry.”

It had been too long since she’d been held—too long. Relinquishing the battle, she collapsed against him, crying until it hurt, until the well was dry and a strange calm settled over her.

“
Cela est fini,
” he murmured against the top of her head.

Charmaine reached the gardens through the ballroom. She didn’t want to meet Mrs. Faraday, or worse still, Agatha Ward along the way, so she took a route that avoided the main house. Surely Colette would be there, for the courtyard offered a secluded sanctuary.

Soft words spoken in melodic French caught her ear. Colette used it every day when instructing her children, and Charmaine had learned quite a few phrases, but this was the first time she had been privy to an entire conversation. She peered through the branches and watched Paul lead Colette to the very bench they had shared the night before. And like the night before, he produced a handkerchief, pressed it into her hand, and said, “
Tu vas mieux maintenant?
”

“
Me pardonnera-t-il jamais?
” came her desperate response.

He shook his head, studying the delicate hand he held. “
J’éspère que je pourrais te donner la réponse que tu désires entendre.
”

She lowered her eyes. “
Comment est-ce-que je peux demander pardon quand je sais ce que j’ai fait? Je ne devrais pas te demander d’être compréhensif. Tu devrais me reprocher aussi
…”

His voice grew hard, and he released her hand. “
Tu sais que cela n’est pas vrai! Je ne t’ai jamais reprochée.
”

She began wringing the handkerchief. “
Je ne m’attends pas à ce qu’il me pardonne,
” she whispered, her eyes raising to his. “
Peutêtre pourrais-je supporter sa douleur ainsi que la mienne
.”

“
Sa douleur?
” he snorted.

“
Oui. Je lui ai fait plus de peine qu’à moi-meme.
” She inhaled and shuddered. “
Il m’a aimée. Le savais-tu? Il m’a aimée, mais j’étais trop aveugle pour le voir. Je croyais que ma vie était terminée, alors j’ai choisi de mener une nouvelle vie, plus désastreuse que la première
…
Mon Dieu
…
Je me suis mentie à moi-même pendant si longtemps, je ne sais pas où se trouve le vrai bonheur.
”

“
Avec les enfants,
” Paul answered. “You have the children.”

“Yes,” she sighed, “I have the children.”

The words were spoken reverently, as if she were drawing sustenance from them. But as the conversation continued in English, Charmaine tiptoed away, not wanting to eavesdrop. She knew Colette was in good hands.

She returned to the mistress’s chambers, surprised to hear happy voices. Yvette was nestled next to her father, his arm around her shoulders. Someone had cleaned up the mess; there was no sign of the madness that had trespassed there only a short time ago.

Realizing Charmaine was there, Frederic struggled to his feet. He stared down at his children, then at her. “Thank you,” he eventually murmured, and she knew he was speaking of Yvette. She nodded slightly.

Saturday, October 1, 1836

Charmaine woke to the sun in her eyes. She blinked once and, realizing she’d overslept, jumped from her bed. Muttering under her breath, she flew about the room, splashing water in her face,
dressing quickly, and brushing her hair haphazardly. She had no time to pin it up; instead, she tied it back with a ribbon, unmindful of the curly wisps that refused to be tamed.

The Harringtons were leaving at seven, and Paul had promised to take her into town to see them off. She was supposed to be ready at the crack of dawn, but she hadn’t slept well. Felicia had cornered her in the hallway again, making ribald comments about her new sleeping quarters. “Couldn’t be much closer to Paul’s.” Now Charmaine was terribly late. She ran from her room on the third floor and down the servants’ stairwell that led to the kitchen.

Fatima Henderson bustled between table and woodstove, the smell of bacon and eggs filling the air. She was humming to herself, but one look at Charmaine and she clicked her tongue. “Miss Charmaine, why are you running like that?”

“I’m late!” she heaved, completely out of breath. “Have you seen Master Paul? He hasn’t left without me, has he?”

“Slow down. He’s in the dining room waiting for his breakfast. Now, sit yourself down and I’ll fix you something, too.”

“I couldn’t eat a thing. Are you certain Master Paul hasn’t left?”

“See for yourself.”

Paul was indeed at the table. As she entered the room, he stood, his eyes raking her from head to toe, causing her heart to race.

She hadn’t spoken two words to him since the night in the gardens, save a courteous good morning or good evening. That had changed last night when he informed her the
Destiny
would be leaving with the tide first thing in the morning. Her beloved Harringtons would be aboard, and it would please him to accompany her to the harbor to bid them farewell. When she had fretted over
the imposition, withholding her reservations about riding into town with him alone, he brushed her objection aside, saying he needed to inspect the cargo. It was all arranged; he would escort her.

He was still staring at her, a lopsided grin that amplified the leering quality of his perusal. Charmaine glanced down at her dress, wondering if something in her appearance was amiss. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“On the contrary,” he answered, coming around the table and insisting she join him. “You look lovely.”

She blushed. Suddenly, she felt lovely.

He led her to the chair on his left and pulled it out for her. When she hesitated, he said, “Charmaine, we don’t have all day. I promise, I won’t bite.”

She cringed and sat quickly, cursing her Irish blood, which advertised her every emotion. Obviously, her blushing amused him. She must learn to control her feelings.
But how?

“I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting,” she said when he was seated again.

“You haven’t. I’ve just come in to eat,” and he took a sip of his coffee.

Fatima was there, filling his plate. When she made her way round the table, Charmaine declined the aromatic food. “I’m not hungry, really I’m not.”

Paul’s brow raised. “You’ll be famished by lunchtime.”

“I’ll have coffee instead. I don’t want to miss the ship’s departure.”

“The captain won’t set sail until I give the order.”

When they left the house, she was surprised to find a chaise waiting for them. “I was busy while you were sleeping,” he needled as he helped her in. This time she willed her face passive. He circled round the back of the vehicle and climbed in, taking up reins and flicking the horse into motion.

The trip was pleasant, and Charmaine was amazed at how easily Paul drew her into casual conversation. By the time they reached the town, she felt comfortable with him, more comfortable than ever before.

The
Destiny
was waiting just as he had promised. With heavy heart, she boarded the ship, knowing this farewell was going to be difficult.

Loretta and Gwendolyn were just emerging from their cabins, and Charmaine’s eyes immediately filled with tears. She fell into Loretta’s embrace and hugged her tightly. Finally, she drew away, wiping her face.

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered hoarsely.

“And I you, Charmaine. But you have a new life here. I will write.” Loretta faced Paul, who had stepped to one side, permitting them their maudlin farewell. “Charmaine is like a daughter to me, Mr. Duvoisin,” she imparted pointedly. “Today I leave her in your care. I pray I am not remiss in doing so.”

Paul responded urbanely. “Your misgivings are unwarranted, Madame. Miss Ryan will be well protected while residing in my home.”

“Good,” Loretta replied.

Charmaine went in search of Mr. Harrington who was with the ship’s captain. She was glad she had stuffed Yvette’s letter in her apron pocket the night before. After bidding the man farewell, she pressed the correspondence into his hand, asking if he would see it delivered. He nodded and gave her another hug. She looked up to find Paul closely watching her, a strange expression on his face.

Then it was time to leave. She forced a smile from the boardwalk as the
Destiny
cast off. Paul remained at her side, watching as she continued to wave to her friends. As the vessel slipped farther south toward the mouth of the cove, she turned away. Loretta
and Gwendolyn were no longer visible; there was no point in staying.

She was frowning when she faced Paul. “I thought you had to check on the ship’s cargo before she left.”

Paul rubbed his chin. “Everything was in order, just as I had hoped.”

“So you weren’t needed to see the
Destiny
off.”

“Now, Charmaine, if you had known that, you would have insisted upon journeying to the harbor on your own this morning, and I would have been denied the pleasure of your company.”

“Are you saying you lied to me?”

“Something like that.” He was smiling, his deviltry irrepressible. “Come, Charmaine. There is another reason I accompanied you into town today.” He read her confusion and took hold of her elbow, leading her away from the wharf. “Colette asked me to take you into the bank and introduce you to Stephen Westphal. He is the town financier and will calculate the deposits made to your register each month. Unconventional by Richmond standards, but expedient on Charmantes. I’d like to check and make certain the account is in force and you are able to withdraw your salary whenever you like.”

They spent the next hour conversing with Mr. Westphal, a strange man by Charmaine’s estimation. He was of medium height, balding, probably a bit younger than Frederic Duvoisin, but not at all handsome. His eyes were too small, his eyebrows too feminine, and his lips too thin. He looked every bit the European aristocrat, which Paul confided he was; his family boasted a duke as a distant relative, though he himself was born in Virginia. His fingers were long and perfectly manicured. His clothing was expensive and accentuated his paunch, attesting to his own wealth and good fortune. He knew who Charmaine was. News of the Duvoisin governess had spread rapidly on Charmantes.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner this evening, Stephen?” Paul asked. “In fact, come a bit earlier, perhaps six? My father and I have a few matters we’d like to discuss with you.”

The man eagerly accepted the invitation, then nodded to Charmaine.

As they left the bank, Paul inquired whether she’d like to get a bite to eat. They strolled across the street, and Charmaine felt many eyes on them. She was thrilled knowing she was the envy of every young maid today. However, the pleasant feel of Paul’s arm beneath her own evaporated when they reached the saloon. “I can’t go in there!” she gasped.

“It’s not a brothel, Charmaine,” he chuckled. “I assure you, Dulcie’s food is quite good.”

“I—I didn’t suggest it was!” she stammered. “I must get back to the house. The girls are waiting to help me move my belongings into the new bedroom.”

“Ah yes, the new bedroom.” He chuckled again, but said no more.

The ride home was disconcerting. Unlike their earlier conversation, Paul set her heart to palpitating, touching on indelicate subjects best left alone. Did he enjoy making her uncomfortable now that the Harringtons were gone? Was he reminding her she had nowhere to turn with them far from Charmantes?

“I hope you find your new bed pleasing,” he began. “It might be overly large for just you.”

Charmaine’s cheeks burned. “If Pierre awakens in the night, there will be plenty of room for him to join me,” she courageously returned.

“Hmm…best not to nurture that type of habit. He’ll become spoiled.”

“I doubt Pierre will ever be spoiled. He’s a dear little boy.”

To Charmaine’s dismay, Paul revisited the subject of her new
bedroom. “Now that you are on the second floor with the rest of the family, you will enjoy having the French doors at your disposal.” When she didn’t respond, he expounded. “During the summer, they are left open to catch the ocean breezes. The rooms on the second floor are always pleasantly cool. And of course, there is the
other
convenience they afford.”

Charmaine knew he wanted her to ask him about that
other
convenience. She resolved not to, then did. “What convenience?”

“Every room opens onto the balcony: my bedroom, the children’s rooms, even your room now. It’s an inconspicuous way to travel from one chamber to the next…” His gaze, which had remained fixed on the road in front of him, now rested on her. “Just another convenience.”

The lecherous overture evoked Colette’s warning:
He’s a ladies’ man, Charmaine…I wouldn’t want you to get hurt…
Was Paul propositioning her here, in the chaise, in broad daylight? “What are you suggesting, sir?” she bit out.

“Sir?” he queried. “Charmaine, when are you going to drop the formal title? What is it going to take to have you call me Paul permanently? You’re not still upset by what you
think
happened in the gardens the other night, are you?”

He was trying to confuse her again. “I shall never call you Paul.”

“Perhaps an agreement,” he continued, completely ignoring her declaration, his brow raised in thought. “What if I promised to never again say anything to embarrass you?”

“I would say—that is impossible for you.”

He threw back his head and laughed. When his glee subsided, he pressed on in the same vein. “What if I vowed to never do anything you yourself didn’t want me to do? Would you drop the title ‘sir’ then?”