A Silent Ocean Away (15 page)

Is he serious? What should I say?
She decided it was safer to say nothing.

“Well, Charmaine?” he probed. “We’re almost home. Perhaps you’d like to think on it. But when you do, remember what I said to your Mrs. Harrington this morning. I meant every word.”

They were home, and Charmaine inhaled before facing him. The buggy stopped, and their eyes locked as each tried to read the other’s thoughts. The approach of another carriage intruded upon the moment. Dr. Robert Blackford had arrived for his weekly visit. Paul swore under his breath, jumped from the chaise, and rushed around to help her down. The faintest “thank you” fell from her lips as she hastened up the steps and into the house.

Paul stared after her, a wide grin mirroring his mood. She was something to behold, and all the more enchanting in her innocence and ire. Yes, she was innocent. He was certain of that now, and for that reason alone, he couldn’t remain angry with her. She was too lovely for that. Today, he had enjoyed teasing her, but he also wanted her to feel at ease in his presence. Perhaps this “agreement” he’d contrived was the best way to do that. He also had to consider what Colette asked of him in the courtyard the other day.
I don’t want you toying with Charmaine’s affections. I don’t want her to become another conquest. The children will need her should anything happen to me. Please promise me you won’t hurt her.
Because he respected Colette, he had reassured her he would be on his best behavior. As for Charmaine, he’d make good his “agreement.” He was certain if he did, she would come to enjoy his company. It would only be a matter of time before she recognized her own desires, and he’d be there when she was ready to enjoy them.
Yes, Charmaine Ryan
,
I can wait.

Robert Blackford interrupted his musings, and they exchanged
a few words before going into the house. The doctor was early; it was just after twelve.

“Quickly, Jeannette!” Yvette implored on a strained whisper. She was crouched near the top of the staircase, peering through the rungs of the balustrade into the nursery. “If you don’t hurry, we shall miss it!”

“Miss what?” Charmaine asked from the landing.

Yvette swiftly straightened up. “Mademoiselle,” she said sweetly.

Perhaps it was the manner in which the girl smiled, or the fact she didn’t give Charmaine a direct answer, but Charmaine knew trouble was brewing.

“Miss what?” she asked again.

Yvette knew how to handle this: be as truthful as possible without telling the truth. She gave a big, healthy, exasperated huff. “There’s a horse in the corral I want Jeannette to see.”

The explanation sounded veracious enough, yet Charmaine wasn’t convinced. “Why were you sneaking?”

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was just telling Jeannette to hurry.”

Jeannette appeared, smiling just as sweetly, but her demeanor was natural and honest.

“Where are your mother and Nana Rose?” Charmaine asked suspiciously.

“In the dining room, finishing lunch,” Jeannette answered.

“And they’ve given their permission? This horse isn’t dangerous, is it?”

“Oh, no,” Jeannette answered sincerely. “Chastity is quite tame.”

“Chastity?”

“Mama’s horse,” Yvette supplied with foot tapping.

“And why is this horse of such interest to you?”

“George has something he wants to show us,” Yvette replied, inspired.

“What do I want to show to whom?”

Yvette grimaced.
Rotten luck!

George joined the threesome, a biscuit in hand, another in his mouth. “Was someone talking about me?” he asked, swallowing.

Charmaine turned a critical eye on him. “You know nothing about this?”

“About what?”

“The horse in the corral. The one you want to show the girls.”

“No.”

Yvette was more than exasperated now. “Yes, you do, George,” she argued, arms akimbo. “Remember, last time, when Paul said we were too young? You promised next time we could watch. Well, now it’s next time.”

George shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s have it out, Yvette,” Charmaine demanded. “What mischief are you making?”

Jeannette sighed. “Tell her, Yvette.”

“Oh, all right,” she capitulated with a huff, “but George did promise! Joseph said Gerald and the other stable-hands are helping Phantom and Chastity mate, and I want to watch.”

Charmaine’s hands flew to her face, her fingers fanning her cheeks.

But George’s convulsive coughing surpassed her mortification, the biscuit he’d been eating lodged firmly in his throat. “I think—I’d better—go now”—he sputtered, fist thumping his chest—“if you’ll—excuse me.”

Once he was gone, Charmaine turned her humiliation on the girls. “What a disgusting remark! Why, in heaven’s name, would you want to see such a thing?”

“I was just interested.” Yvette shrugged lackadaisically.

“I suggest you become uninterested. Whether you like it or not, Yvette, you are a young lady. Even gentlemen don’t speak of such things—”

“What things?”

Charmaine winced.

“Charmaine?” Paul queried, drawing up behind her, his eyes shifting to Yvette when she refused to look at him. “A gentleman doesn’t speak of what things?” he probed further, the context of the conversation dawning.

“Horses mating,” Yvette supplied without shame.

Charmaine held her breath against his certain anger, surprised when he said, “Mademoiselle Charmaine is correct. Gentlemen don’t speak of such things, not freely, anyway. I’m surprised you are causing her grief today. This is hardly the way to show your appreciation. If I’m not mistaken, she delivered a letter to the
Destiny
for you, didn’t she?”

Yvette’s stormy eyes turned contrite. The moment held, the silence growing awkward. “I’m hungry,” Charmaine said.

Colette was wiping Pierre’s mouth clean when they entered the dining room. Agatha’s face brightened at the sight of her brother. “Why, Robert, you’ve arrived early today.” He seemed equally pleased to see her, an unusual smile breaking across his face.

Colette straightened. “Dr. Blackford,” she breathed. “I do not require your services today.”

The man bristled, throwing back his shoulders. “Madame, that is not a decision for you to make. Your husband has requested I restore you to good health. I cannot do so unless I minister to you on a regular basis. I thought you understood that when we agreed on weekly treatments.”

“I’ll tell you what I do understand, Robert,” she returned heatedly. “I felt fine before you arrived last Saturday. But after you left,
I was dreadfully ill for the remainder of that day and well into Sunday.”

The man took offense again, his brow severe. “It must be the new compound. It’s quite potent. But it needs to be, especially since you refuse to take it when I’m not here.”

Colette’s eyes shot to Agatha, and Robert nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard how difficult you can be. If you’d be reasonable and consume the elixir as prescribed, a lower dosage might be more appropriate. I’ll have to consult my medical journals to see what can be done.”

“Consult all you like, Doctor, but you will
not
be treating me today.”

Agatha clicked her tongue. “It’s the governess,” she accused, indicating Charmaine. “She has been filling your head with her medical opinions.”

Colette frowned. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Agatha. But I do know how poorly I’ve been feeling.”

“Exactly,” the older woman agreed, “and that is why Robert is here. Think of your children and how it will affect them if your condition worsens.”

Colette faltered, and Agatha capitalized on her reaction, nodding toward Charmaine again. “If Miss Ryan thinks my brother is incompetent, I would like to hear why she feels that way.”

All eyes rested on Charmaine who was forced to defend herself. “I never said Dr. Blackford was incompetent, Mrs. Ward. I merely suggested the best therapy for Miss Colette was the company of her children.”

Paul cleared his throat. “Why don’t we leave your visit until next Saturday, Robert?” he suggested in an attempt to placate all parties. “In that time you can consult your journals and determine the proper dosage for Colette. Meanwhile, she can see how she fares without her weekly treatment.”

Robert gave a cursory nod, clutched his sister’s arm before she could protest, and led her out of the house.

When Colette heard the front door close, she sighed. “Thank you, Paul.”

He responded with a suave smile, then spoke of a different matter. “I’ve invited Stephen Westphal to dine with us this evening. My father has agreed to meet with him. I think you are right. It
will
do him good to get involved in island business again.”

Colette’s eyes lit up. “Did Frederic mention dining with us?”

“Not that involved,” Paul replied flatly, “not yet, anyway.”

Charmaine and the girls spent the better part of an hour transferring her belongings to her new room. Certain she’d never use the dressing room, she had asked George and Travis to move the armoire into the bedchamber where her dresses would be within easy reach. When the girls had finished tucking the last handkerchief away, she stood back to survey the final result, pleased.

Yesterday, the suite had been aired out. The masculine tones were all but gone: feathery curtains replaced the heavy draperies at the French doors, and the dark quilt that had covered the huge, four-poster bed was exchanged for a downy white comforter. Colette had removed all of John Duvoisin’s possessions. Charmaine prayed Paul and George were correct when they declared the man would never come home. She fretted over Colette’s assertion that he’d be upset to find his quarters given to someone else, let alone the governess.

The dinner hour arrived. Colette reminded her daughters they were to have a guest at their table, and they promised to be on their best behavior. When they reached the dining room, Paul and Stephen Westphal were already there. They had spent an hour in Frederic’s apartments, but as Paul had predicted, his father did not join them. Colette was annoyed to find Agatha positioned directly
to Paul’s left and opposite Stephen, but said nothing. George arrived and said quite tactlessly, “Mr. Westphal, you are in my seat.”

“Mr. Richards, really!” Agatha castigated. “Stephen is Paul’s guest this evening and has important business to discuss with him. There are plenty of other chairs from which to choose.”

George’s face reddened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he took a place near Charmaine and avoided glances toward the head of the table. A sumptuous feast was set before them, and though he fell into the meal, he simmered at Agatha’s insult.

Agatha Ward—how he despised the woman! For as long as he could remember, he and John fell in her disfavor. They stayed far out of her way whenever she came to visit. But Paul, ever polite and the apple of his father’s eye, gained her approval from the start. Agatha was always trying to please Frederic, and if Paul were his father’s favorite, Agatha would champion him as well. But today, something else was brewing.
Today? Bah! For months!
Perhaps it was Frederic’s malady, perhaps it was Paul’s good looks, so much like those of the older man. Evidently, Agatha’s eyes had been diverted from father to son. George snorted in revulsion. Maybe he should warn his friend before the hag dug her claws in too deeply. He snorted again.
Paul didn’t come to my defense tonight, didn’t put the shrew in her place the way John would have, so no, I won’t speak to Paul about Agatha Ward.

The meal progressed and the banter was pleasant. Duvoisin business did not dominate the discussions, though Agatha attempted to direct the conversation to that issue. Paul avoided the topic of sugarcane crops and the shipping industry. After a time, it became obvious he either didn’t want Agatha to know anything about island operations or had covered all the important elements earlier in his father’s chambers.

Charmaine considered Colette. Though she played the perfect hostess, she seemed agitated. At first, Charmaine thought Pierre
was the source of her irritation, for he played with his food and couldn’t be coaxed to eat. But one glance at George, and Charmaine read the same expression there. She felt bad for him, knowing he didn’t deserve Agatha Ward’s sharp rebuke.

Hoping to mellow his mood, she struck up a conversation, pleased when he responded impishly. In no time, they were chuckling over his whispered comments. “I think Agatha and Stephen make a handsome couple. He looks like a proud rooster. Perhaps he fancies being pecked to death by a clucking hen.”

The gaiety at the foot of the table chafed Paul. He threw George a nasty scowl, but the man’s head was inclined toward Charmaine, and he missed it. Charmaine noticed, however, and quickly straightened up. Reading her expression, George looked round, finally making eye contact with Paul.

Satisfied the tacit message had been received, Paul turned back to the banker. “So, Stephen, have you any news from Anne?”

The man swallowed, then patted his mouth with his serviette. “Why, yes. She is in fine spirits and no longer wearing widow’s weeds.”

“Anne London is Stephen’s daughter,” Paul elaborated for those listening. “She lives in Richmond, but was recently widowed—last year I believe?”

The banker smiled down the table, growing garrulous now that he’d been offered the floor. “A year ago, May. She was quite distraught over the loss of Charles, God rest his soul, but he left her a small fortune, and for that, she is grateful. She has begun socializing again. Of course, I’ve cautioned her a level head when receiving suitors. She must be wary of blackguards who will be after her money and not her heart.”

“I’ll bet,” George mumbled, eliciting a giggle from Charmaine.

Again Paul scowled, his jaw clenched.

Charmaine blushed at her own impropriety, especially when Yvette demanded, “What’s so funny?” She was glad when Agatha piped in.

“Has your daughter been receiving anyone, Stephen?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” he chuckled, looking from one face to the other, his gaze coming to rest on Paul, “but, in her last letter, Anne wrote that your brother has been paying her court.”