A Silent Ocean Away (16 page)

Paul was surprised. “John? She’s been receiving John?”

“That’s what she writes.”

“Johnny?” Yvette inquired. “Does your daughter know Johnny?”

He began to respond, but was cut off by Agatha. “Children should be seen and not heard. This is an adult conversation, young lady.”

Colette’s restraint wore thin. “Agatha—I am Yvette’s mother and will do the reprimanding when necessary.” She ripped her turbulent eyes from the widow and spoke to Stephen. “Mr. Westphal, please answer my daughter’s question.”

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat, uncomfortable with the clash of wills across the table, “my daughter knows your elder brother. She writes fondly of him. Perhaps she will be your sister-in-law someday.”

Colette’s smile did not reach her eyes. “Tell me, Mr. Westphal, does your daughter have any children by her deceased husband?”

“No, Madame,” he answered, confused by the question. “She never really liked children, so I suppose it was for the best. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering.” She sipped her wine, her gaze traveling to Paul. He considered her momentarily, then returned to his dinner.

The meal ended without further incident, and much later, when Charmaine retired to her second-floor chamber, her thoughts
were far from Stephen Westphal, Anne London, or Agatha Ward. She was thinking of the Harringtons and George and Paul. The dreams she would dream tonight would be wondrous in her new bed, for the mattress was luxurious, the pillows soft, and the comforter warm in the cool night air. Bravely, she left the French doors open and fell into a blissful slumber.

Paul and Agatha sent Stephen on his way and climbed opposite staircases to their chambers. Only Colette and George remained behind in the parlor. “George,” she said when he rose to retire, “I must speak with you.”

“Yes?” he said on a yawn.

“Have you noticed the way Agatha is mooning over Paul?”

He laughed with the comment. “You’ve noticed it as well? I thought it was just me! I was going to warn him about it, Colette, really I was.” He shook his head, disgusted. “I could have wrung her neck tonight! Who does she think she is, talking to me like that?”

“I know, George. I was angry, too. Aside from that, I’m uncomfortable with the way she’s been looking at Paul. For weeks now, I’ve tried to convince myself I’ve been misreading it. But tonight, when I saw her seated near the head of the table, leaning close to Paul, interested in his every word, I know I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, Colette, Paul is not going to fall for Agatha Ward. And if he does, what does it matter?”

“
What does it matter?
Do you think I want her living in this house permanently? She’s at least ten years older than he.”

“More like twenty. Elizabeth was her younger sister, and if I’m not mistaken,
she
was eighteen when she had John. That would make Agatha fifty.”

“One would never know. She’s a handsome woman.”

George only snorted. “Looks are only skin deep, Colette. Paul will be considering more than her beauty if he looks her way.”

Colette rubbed her brow. “He never has before.”

“Colette, don’t fret over it,” George soothed, just now realizing how upset she was. “I don’t see how you can think any man would be interested in Agatha. She’s downright cruel. Besides, Paul is far more taken with Charmaine Ryan. Did you see how angry he was with me tonight? He’s been giving me that ‘she’s mine—I saw her first’ look for two weeks now. If you want to place some distance between Paul and Agatha, make certain Charmaine sits next to him at the table. He won’t be looking at anyone else in the room. I guarantee it.”

Colette forced a smile, and George knew he had not put her at ease.

“I’ll talk to him about it. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know, George…But I would like Agatha Ward out of my life.”

George nodded in understanding.

Much later, when she was abed, Colette mulled over her predicament. If only she could talk to her husband the way she had during their first year of marriage. They’d been quite happy then, certainly able to communicate once they’d worked their way through those first stormy months. What had happened? She knew: The twins…the birth of the twins had happened, and she had been forbidden to have any more children. Frederic was a passionate man, and the strain this placed on their relationship had been destructive. How often had she caught him ogling her in the months following the birth of their daughters, those months when he had never once made love to her? But it was more than that. Much more. Frederic had longed to hear her speak three simple words, words he had often murmured when he climaxed inside of her. Why then had she withheld the love she knew he craved, the love she readily possessed? Why hadn’t she told him she loved him in return?
Because I was frightened,
her mind screamed,
frightened
of yielding him a greater power over me!
And so, she had remained silent, allowing him to believe the worst, that she was still very angry with him, hated him. And then something else happened. Agatha Ward had come to visit, and Agatha Ward had found his bed. Frederic’s intense perusals stopped, and Colette was left desolate.

Tonight, she worried anew. She’d been mistaken in believing Agatha still sought Frederic’s embrace. Evidently, the disabling effect of his stroke had left the woman wanting. Was Paul her next target? Colette shuddered with the thought. Not that she cared about Paul’s sexual proclivities. She did, however, fear the possibility of an enduring relationship. The woman was devious and capable of manipulating a younger man. Colette was strong enough to combat Agatha today, but what of tomorrow? What would happen to her children if she were not well or, worse still, not there to protect them? If Agatha gained a greater foothold in the Duvoisin home, her children would suffer. Colette prayed to God she was wrong, but she wouldn’t wait for God to answer. Though she didn’t want to send Charmaine to the wolves, she did have Paul’s promise to respect the young governess. Perhaps with time, he would look beyond Charmaine’s lovely face and see the beauty beneath. Yes, Colette sighed, finally able to close her eyes in pursuit of sleep…
Beginning tomorrow, before Agatha becomes accustomed to sitting next to Paul, there will be a new and permanent seating assignment at my table. Let Agatha fume.

Friday, December 16, 1836

I
T
was Charmaine’s nineteenth birthday, though no one in the house knew.

As soon as she was dressed, she went into the nursery. The children were still asleep, but Pierre sensed her standing over his bed, for he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched out his arms. Charmaine cuddled him, as she did every morning. She had come to cherish him as if he were her son, and he reciprocated that love, an ever-growing bond that made his mother’s frequent absences bearable.

Colette’s health was deteriorating. Robert Blackford had indeed consulted his journals, changing the compounds he’d been prescribing to a more potent tonic. Throughout October, Colette had improved dramatically. Unlike September, she’d be up and about after his Saturday visits, maintaining she felt fine. Over the last month, however, the fatigue she’d experienced in late summer began setting in again. Charmaine noted that by week’s end, Colette’s cheeks were pale and her meager energy depleted. She often complained of headaches and dizziness. By Saturday, she desperately
needed another dose of the doctor’s elixir. She no longer spent Fridays with the children; she was too ill.

Therefore, Charmaine was surprised when she swept into the nursery this morning, proclaiming she felt fit as a fiddle. “I think it did me good to see the doctor yesterday. As much as I hate to admit it, perhaps I should allow him to visit twice a week.”

I just wish his ministrations had a lasting effect,
Charmaine thought as she smiled at Colette, her friend. Over the past two months, they had grown so close Charmaine couldn’t imagine life without her. Their similar age had a lot to do with it, but there was something deeper that drew them together: an unspoken, almost reverent, sympathy for one another.

“Good morning, my little Pierre.”

Pierre held out his arms to his mother. When she sat on his bed, Charmaine deposited him in her lap. “Mama, I missed you!”

Colette chuckled. “How could you have missed me,
mon caillou
? You were sleeping.”

“I dreamed you was far away, and I was wookin’ for you,” he said in earnest. “It was scary!”

“Oh, my!” Colette replied, feigning fearful eyes. “What happened?”

“There was so many peoples I couldn’t find you. And someone was callin’ me, but I was scared so I kept runnin’.” His brow, which had furrowed over stormy eyes, suddenly lifted, and his face brightened. “But I found you.”

“Where was I?”

“In heaven,” he answered simply, happily. “It was very boo-tiful there.”

A baleful chill rushed up Charmaine’s arms, but Colette’s countenance remained unscathed. She hugged her son and laughed. “Oh, Pierre! Someday, we’ll all be in heaven together, with everyone we love. It’s a wonderful place.”

Once the girls were up and dressed, they went down for breakfast. Paul was at the table, an unusual sight. He was normally gone long before they had risen and wouldn’t return until evening.

Complying with Colette’s strange request, Charmaine sat down next to him. Two months ago, she had approached the new seating arrangement with demure reluctance. But she had survived that first day and the day after that. Today, she could honestly say she enjoyed sitting near him. Ever since their private carriage ride home, he had been the perfect gentleman, and though Charmaine often noticed that assessing look in his eyes, he hadn’t once embarrassed her. True to his word, she was safe in his home. Any indecent proposition remained a memory of the past, and she could now spend an entire evening in his presence without blushing. Colette seemed pleased with their blossoming “friendship,” and Charmaine wondered if she were now playing matchmaker.

“What keeps you at home this morning, Paul?” Colette asked while helping Pierre into his chair.

“I’ve been into town and back already,” he answered. “Now I have an important matter to discuss with my father.”

His voice was hard, and they realized he was irate. His fingers drummed a short stack of letters on the left side of his plate. Charmaine wondered if they were the cause of his anger.

“Is something wrong?” Colette asked in genuine concern.

“Just my brother.”

Yvette perked up. “Johnny? Did he write to you?”

“He wrote to me all right,” Paul replied. He leafed through the correspondence and pulled two letters from the rest. “Here, Yvette, Jeannette, at least someone will be happy today.”

“From Johnny?” Jeannette queried, her face radiant as she accepted the post.

“Why did you get one?” Yvette sulked. “I’m the one who wrote to him.”

“Yvette,” her mother remonstrated lightly, “don’t be envious. It’s not becoming. Besides, you received a letter, too. Why don’t you read it to us?”

The girl wrinkled her nose. “It’s private, Mama. That is the only reason I learned to read and write in the first place, remember? So that Johnny could send me my own
private
mail.”

“Very well,” her mother said. “Maybe Jeannette will read
her
letter to us.”

The girl was quietly devouring the missive. When she looked up, her eyes twinkled. “Oh no, Mama,” she breathed, “mine is a secret, too!”

Getting nowhere with the twins, Colette turned back to Paul. “What has John done this time?” she asked.

He’d begun to eat and didn’t answer. If Charmaine didn’t know better, she would have thought the topic dismissed, but she had learned to read his moods. He remained agitated, his scowl similar to the one he’d worn the day he’d confronted Jessie Rowlan.

Colette buttered and handed Pierre a piece of toast. He ate it greedily. “Slow down,
mon caillou,
you have too much in your mouth, and you will choke!” Pierre tried to respond, but with his mouth so full, no one could understand what he said. Colette just shook her head, smiling.

She regarded Paul again, seemingly unable to let the matter rest. “Well?”

“John has changed the shipping routes,” he replied curtly, shuffling through the letters again and producing one addressed to Charmaine. “You wanted to know why the mails were delayed,” he said, tapping the envelope on the table before passing it to her. “The ships that usually come directly to us from Virginia have now been redirected. Since November they’ve traveled to Europe first, and
gradually
make their way to us en route back to Virginia. In short, we have to wait on our post and our supplies.”

“Why?” Charmaine asked.

“John loves to interfere.”

“That is not true,” Colette objected.

“Isn’t it?” Paul demanded, full-voiced, his temper unleashed.

Charmaine sat stunned. He had never spoken a harsh word to Colette.

Colette responded calmly. “If John changed the routes, he had good reason.”

“Why are you always defending him?” he growled, his query strikingly reminiscent of Frederic’s remark on the twins’ birthday.

“I’m not defending him,” she argued diplomatically. “I’m merely stating a fact. John will inherit his father’s fortune someday. Why would he jeopardize it by setting up shipping routes that would undermine Duvoisin enterprises?”

Paul was chafed by her logic. “Clearly you are blind to his maneuverings. Therefore, there is no point in discussing it.”

“Paul—you and John were close once,” she rejoined, unaffected by the fury in his eyes. “Why are you allowing money to come between you now? When I think of the three of you, George included, I can’t believe what I see and hear.”

“I said I don’t want to discuss it!”

Colette sighed, but did not press her point.

Yvette finished eating quickly and ran from the room, saying she was going straight to the nursery to write another letter.

“You have lessons!” her mother called.

They had developed a routine. After breakfast, the children returned to the playroom. For two hours, they read, did arithmetic problems, and studied geography or world history. If Paul or Frederic were available, they would question them about the travels of the newest ship that had put into port. After lunch, Pierre took his nap while the girls had their piano lessons. Most days, Colette would listen to them, happy with their progress. Other days, she
would retire to her own room to rest. The late afternoon was left for the outdoors. The rainy season of autumn was behind them, the weather beautiful, a bit cooler than the summer, and quite unlike the Decembers in Virginia. Now that the children had a governess, Nana Rose had more time to herself. Nevertheless, she was available when the weekends arrived and Charmaine chose to take the girls into town or on a picnic. Sometimes it was best if Pierre stayed home, and if Colette was indisposed, Rose stepped in.

Presently, Charmaine stood from the table. She looked to Paul, who hadn’t said another word to anyone; he was reading a periodical that accompanied the perplexing letters. “Thank you,” she whispered.

It was a moment before his head lifted and another before he realized she had spoken to him. “Excuse me?” His eyes were grave, but not angry.

“I said, ‘thank you’—for the letter from my friends in Virginia.”

“You’re welcome, Charmaine. I hope they are well.”

“I’ll soon find out,” she said. “How much do I owe you for the postage?”

“Nothing,” he replied with a debonair smile. “Any charges are taken out of the island account.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She nodded a second “thank you” and, with heart thumping, called to Jeannette. “Come, sweetheart, it is time we got on with today’s lessons.”

Jeannette complied, grasping her own letter. But as she passed behind her mother, she stopped as if remembering something and hugged her, capping the capricious gesture with a kiss.

Stunned, Colette laughed. “What was that for?”

“It’s a secret, too,” she whispered, turning to Pierre next.

He struggled against the embrace until Colette said, “Your sister is trying to give you a kiss.”

Charmaine heard tears in Colette’s voice and realized she was trying not to cry. But the moment passed, and she was lifting Pierre to the ground, speaking to Paul at the same time. “Please don’t upset your father with talk of John.”

He frowned. “This is all about John, Colette. I can’t pretend he doesn’t exist—leastwise not while he controls the purse strings from Virginia.”

It was futile to argue, so Colette took Pierre by the hand and followed Charmaine and Jeannette from the room.

Later, while the girls were busy working, and Pierre was playing with his blocks, Charmaine turned pensive.
John Duvoisin
. Any time his name was mentioned, emotions ran high. The men of the family spoke of him as if he were an adversary, the women, his proponent. Charmaine began to wonder if she were ever going to meet the man and form her own opinion of him.

“Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette queried, cutting across her thoughts. “You haven’t read your letter. Look, it’s under my paper!”

Charmaine was embarrassed. For the better part of a month she’d complained over the delayed mails. Yet here she was, a letter in hand, daydreaming about someone she’d never met. Chuckling, she broke the seal and began to read, happy to find all was well with the Harrington clan. The letter had been a wonderful birthday present. She’d write to them tonight.

Paul entered his father’s chambers, nodding to Travis as the man left them alone. Frederic sat in his abominable chair, staring out the French doors, past the gardens and toward the pine forest that ensconced the family’s private lake. Beyond that was the ocean and, farther still, the States—Virginia in particular. His eyes did not waver as he said, “You needed to speak with me?”

“Yes, sir,” Paul answered, purposefully placing himself between his father and the glass panels. When the man eventually looked up, Paul handed over the documents he carried. “John has changed most of the shipping routes.”

“Why?”

Strange question…
Paul had expected a furious reaction. “According to his letter, it’s an issue of the trade winds. But that has never been a factor before, not when we were in need of supplies.”

“How have the routes changed?” Frederic asked, disregarding the papers.

“He’s established two circuits: a Richmond, Europe, Charmantes course, and a Richmond, New York, Europe course. More often than not, we won’t see half the fleet, and those that do eventually reach us will be hauling staples all the way to Europe first. It’s ludicrous. Furthermore, sugar bound for New York may have to change ships in Richmond.”

“Is this such an ill-advised decision?”

“It’s an annoying one, Father!” Paul railed. “John is looking for an excuse to upset the apple cart. It is his way of exacting retribution.”

Frederic rubbed his brow. “Those are harsh words.”

“Don’t tell me
you
are defending him!” Frederic’s eyes narrowed, and Paul cringed. “I’m not trying to stir up trouble, Father. But I am tired of John controlling
everything
—at his whim, I might add.”

Silence prevailed, and Paul could see the man’s mind working, a mind unaffected by the stroke that had damaged him in every other way. Paul, in turn, experienced a wave of righteousness, Colette’s assertion surfacing. “To be fair, John may have rerouted the ships for another reason.”

Frederic showed surprise. “Really? What is it?”

“For the past two years, the sugar crop has been deplorable.
I’ve had difficulty filling the ships’ holds to capacity, sending quite a few back to John with room to spare. In our need to meet the increased demand, we’ve overworked the soil, using fields that should have lain fallow. This season alone, the yield was two-thirds what it was three years ago, and that with more acres harvested. The land is effete and requires a more relaxed rotation if the necessary elements are to be restored. We should either suspend planting for a year or two, or turn the next few tracts over to tobacco.”

Frederic grunted. “Tobacco is just as taxing on the land, and then we’d have to consider the other adjustments we’d be forced to make: training the bondsmen, equipment, buildings. And even if it were to flourish, we’d be placing all our coins on one bet. I’ll not have the Duvoisin fortune left to the whim of one crop. The Virginia plantation is relegated to tobacco. Charmantes produces sugar.”