A Silent Ocean Away (5 page)

Relieved, Charmaine faced him.

Jonah took in her ebullient smile, the sparkling eyes alight with anticipation, and the wild tresses that framed her delicate face, evincing a comeliness thus far obscured. No wonder his men were behaving this way.

“I heard the heralding of land, but I can’t see it,” she complained. “Are the islands still so far away I need a spyglass?”

“No, my dear, but you are searching the wrong part of the sea.”

Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze, but he took her elbow and led her to the opposite railing, pointing to the southeast. There, on the horizon, was land.

He returned to his work, but she remained starboard side, watching the dark smudge grow larger until the whitest of beaches came into view, a great expanse that seemed tremendous for a mere island. Beyond the shore, she detected shrubs and long grasses that meandered into shaded areas cast by huge, bowing palm trees, willows, and silk cottons. She marveled at its untouched beauty, suddenly realizing she had yet to see any human habitation. There were no docks, no houses, and no people. She looked over her shoulder to question the captain about this, but he was nowhere to be found, so her curiosity would have to wait. They were now riding parallel to the seemingly deserted island. She felt much like Jean Duvoisin II, discovering his paradise for the first time—untamed, yet free. There couldn’t be a more serene place on earth, she thought, concluding that this couldn’t be the main island, but rather one of the smaller two that had not been settled.

By and by, the beaches turned rocky, and cliffs dominated the coastline, jutting ever higher as they trekked east. Huge waves sent
sea spray spiraling upward as they bombarded the palisades, showering a mist that reached as far as the decks. They closed in on a lighthouse that marked the northernmost point. Once they passed it, her eyes fell back to the bluffs, which curved to the right far into the distance.

The hour lengthened, and Captain Wilkinson returned, Joshua Harrington at his side. “We’re circling Charmantes,” he said, “and should reach the cove shortly.”

“The cove?” she asked.

“That is where the dock is built, on the eastern coast. Most Caribbean islands have a leeward or western port. During hurricane season, they are safe from those storms. But Charmantes boasts an almost landlocked harbor, a bay that is protected by a peninsula. Because he was able to construct his harbor in the east, Jean II chose the safer western side of the island to erect his mansion, where the beaches are sandy and beautiful. When we enter the inlet, this untouched beauty will be replaced by the bustling town I spoke of the other evening.”

He pointed to the eastern horizon. “If you look carefully, you’ll see the other two islands that comprise Les Charmantes.” Shielding their eyes, Charmaine and Joshua were able to discern two tiny landmasses.

Shortly thereafter, the main island curved sharply away, and the
Raven
tacked south, hugging the peninsula now. Charmaine was once again left alone as Joshua accompanied the captain. Seabirds appeared from nowhere, darting between the towering masts, swooping low and hovering over the water, squawking loudly as if welcoming their approach.

They reached the cape’s tip, and Charmaine’s eyes returned to the spider-web rigging. Ropes groaned as the triangular sails were trimmed. Instantly, they billowed taut, harnessing the wind. The stern veered out, and the vessel pivoted right, completing a
wide one-hundred-eighty-degree loop starboard side. “Wearing ship,” the captain called it, and Charmaine marveled at how the huge merchantman was navigated north and into Charmantes’ estuary. She gasped when the deserted land gave way to a busy wharf and thriving community.

As the captain skillfully maneuvered the
Raven
closer to port, angling the packet against the largest of three docks, Charmaine ran hungry eyes over every visible portion of the island, buildings everywhere. When she had her fill, her gaze turned toward the people, ordinary people she quickly assessed. Why had she thought they’d be different?

The crowd was increasing; the merchantman’s arrival of paramount interest, the pier a sea of faces now—white, black, and every shade in between—all modestly garbed, though far from impoverished. There were women among them, some clutching infants to their breasts as they waved to their sailor husbands. These crewmen were not the wanderers Charmaine had supposed them to be, but had families waiting for them here.

The
Raven
was secured in a frenzy, as scores of men labored with the massive vessel. At last, the gangplank was lowered, and those on the quay scurried to her decks. Friends slapped callused hands across the backs of those they had not seen for many months. Plans were already being made for a night at the town’s saloon. Husbands rushed to the wharf to hug their wives and children. For the moment, all thoughts of labor were suspended as handshakes, embraces, and stories were exchanged.

A hush came over the throng as a tall, dark man boarded the vessel and came to stand in their midst. He radiated a magnetism that commanded everyone’s attention, and Charmaine’s eyes were riveted, admiring him in a way she had never admired a man before. His face was swarthy, testifying to many hours spent under the tropical sun, his jaw, sharp. Intense eyes hinted of a keen mind.
Chestnut-brown locks fell on a sweaty brow, and his straight nose plunged down to a dark moustache and full lips. His stance was easy, yet his bearing was self-assured, proud—aristocratic. “Let’s go men!” he bellowed, white teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. “The sooner we get this ship unloaded, the sooner the drinks are on me at Dulcie’s!”

Loud cheers went up, and all was in chaos as the men fell into their work. The tall stranger stood his ground, feet planted apart, issuing a spate of orders to all quarters of the deck. The main hatch was thrown open, equipment was rolled forward, and a pulley and boom were quickly assembled. He smiled broadly as he surveyed the enthusiastic laborers before him.

Charmaine could not tear her eyes away, pleased she’d gone unnoticed.

With a sweep of his forearm, he mopped the sweat from his brow. Then, in imitation of the seamen and longshoremen, he ripped off his own white shirt, revealing a broad, furry chest and wide shoulders. He flung the garment over the railing and threw himself into unloading the vessel.

Charmaine’s heart took up an unsteady beat. In Richmond, gentlemen never doffed their shirts, and astounded, she gaped at the play of muscles across his tanned back and arms. Obviously, he was not afraid to work; rather, he enjoyed it. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks as her eyes traveled down his back, which glistened with sweat, to his muscular legs, sculpted against his form-fitting trousers. She turned away, overwhelmed. She couldn’t breathe. He was, by far, the most handsome man she had ever beheld.

“Charmaine!” Joshua called, pushing his way through the commotion to reach her. “I’ve located Harold and Caroline Browning.”

“They’re here?”

“Waiting on the wharf,” he answered, taking hold of her arm
and leading her to the stern of the ship. “Apparently, they expected us to be on the
Raven
once they realized it was coming from Richmond.”

Charmaine nodded, though her regard rested on the captivating stranger. He and three other men were rolling the first casks across the deck, one to the other.

“Who is that man?” she asked.

“Paul Duvoisin,” Joshua replied gruffly, noting the blush on Charmaine’s cheeks. “We’ve already been introduced.”

“When?”

“Just a few moments ago on the wharf. But come, Charmaine, we must hurry. The ocean breezes are all but gone, and I do not care to spend the remainder of the day in this heat. It’s only going to get worse as the sun rises higher.”

They neared the gangplank, and Joshua gestured over the side of the ship to a pleasant-looking couple waving up at them. “I have to fetch Loretta. Why don’t you make your way down to her sister?”

“But I have to get my belongings,” she replied. “They’re still in my cabin.”

“Not to worry. I’ll fetch them for you.”

“Don’t be silly! You go ahead and help Mrs. Harrington, and I’ll meet you on the pier with the Brownings in ten minutes.”

Joshua departed, taking the stairs of the companionway quickly down. But Charmaine’s steps were halted as her gaze fell once again upon Paul Duvoisin. Her heart raced, awed by the realization that a fortune rested in the hands of someone so young and handsome. Best not to dwell on it. With that thought, she descended to the deck below and collected her baggage.

When she once again stepped into the midday sun, Joshua was nowhere in sight. Certain she had finished her packing before him, she began her search for Captain Wilkinson. It would be impolite to leave without thanking him.

She learned from one of the seamen that he was in his cabin. Crossing to the quarterdeck, she knocked on his door and was invited in. He was seated at his desk, with Paul Duvoisin leaning over his right shoulder. Neither man looked up from the sheets spread before them, but the captain motioned toward her with a brusque command, “Don’t dally boy! Bring them here!”

Charmaine was stunned and didn’t answer.

He looked up. “Oh, Miss Ryan, I apologize,” he said. “I thought you were Wagner. He was fetching some documents for me.”

With the mention of the unfamiliar name, Paul straightened, his attention instantly snared.
This is unusual—a comely lass: wavy hair, pretty face, and curvaceous figure. Why is she on the
Raven
?
He inhaled. He had never seen her before. “Is this a beautiful niece you’ve kept hidden from us, Jonah?”

“You know I have no kin, Paul.”

“So you’ve said,” Paul mused, dissatisfied with the response.

His eyes remained fixed on the young woman, but before he could pose another question that might reveal her identity, the cabin boy rushed in. Paul snatched the documents from him, sat down, and began reading them.

Dismissed, Charmaine’s heart sank, but she thanked Jonah Wilkinson for his hospitality. He, in turn, kissed her hand and wished her well. Glancing toward the desk, she quietly left his cabin.

Above deck, the heat had intensified. She retrieved her trunk and lumbered toward the gangway, certain the Harringtons were waiting for her.

Joshua spotted her and boarded the vessel, taking her luggage in one hand and her elbow with the other. In no time, she was standing on the solid dock, though her unsteady feet reacted as if she were still on the rocking ship.

“So, you are Charmaine,” Caroline said as introductions were
made, her husband smiling pleasantly. “You’re as lovely as my sister wrote.”

“I’m afraid Mrs. Harrington is too kind.”

“Nonsense,” the plump woman replied. “You are nearly as pretty as my Gwendolyn.”

Her husband cleared his throat, but she silenced him with a cold glare.

Charmaine was glad to climb into the Brownings’ carriage. “Is it always so hot here?” she complained, dabbing at her brow.

“There’s normally a breeze,” Harold replied, “but you get used to it.”

“Not if she wears her hair that way,” Caroline countered.

Charmaine lifted the tresses off her neck. “I was trying to wrap it in a bun—”

“Charmaine,” Loretta interrupted, squeezing her hand, “it’s lovely.”

Caroline raised her nose, but quickly turned her attention to the road. “Look—over there!” she exclaimed, pointing across the thoroughfare, motioning for her sister to shift to her side of the coach. “That’s Dulcie’s. Oh, the goings-on at that establishment! But men will be men. Isn’t that right, Harold?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he mumbled, talking to his lap.

“What did you say?”

This time he answered clearly. “I said, only you would know.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then ignored him altogether as the town continued to roll by. “And over there is the mercantile. It carries a wide variety of goods, nearly as fine a selection as any general store you’ll find in the States. But you don’t want to shop there on the weekends. That’s when the bondsmen make their purchases. What a filthy lot they are!”

“Caroline,” the man reprimanded, offended, “many of them are good men.”

“How can you say that?” she demanded, every bit as offended as he. “Murderers—that’s what they are!”

“They’re not murderers. They wouldn’t be working here if they were. You know that. Most are poor men paying the price of a minor offense.”

“Oh, don’t be so addle-brained!” she accused, insulted by his contradictions. “They’re common criminals. Why must you always make excuses for them?”

“I know them, or have you forgotten I oversee most of their work?”

“Ssh!” she hissed, her indignation and revulsion surpassed by her shame. “Do you want everyone to know you associate with those people?”

“I’m not going to hide what I do for a living on this island,” he replied in exasperation, “or worse still, lie about it, as you do.”

“Harry, please,” she protested, her nervous eyes flitting over those in the coach, “not in front of my family!”

When her bottom lip stopped quivering, she peered out the window and complained anew. “Now look what you’ve done! We’re on the outskirts of town and have missed all the sights!”

She remained petulant for all of a minute, then warmed to a new topic. “It’s a shame you missed meeting Paul Duvoisin, Loretta. Quite a fine specimen of a man he is, but a rogue, if you know what I mean, with an eye for the ladies. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Following in his father’s footst—”

“Caroline!” Harold objected again, appalled by her audacity.

“Well, it’s true!” she returned in kind, annoyed that her husband dared to quash the bit of gossip that begged telling. “Imagine, remaining a widower for all those years—sampling his fill—only to up and marry a girl young enough to be his daughter! And to think that Colette—”

“Caroline!” Harold exploded. “Hold your tongue!”

“But Harold!” the virago mewled, shaken by his uncharacteristic outrage.

His ire cooled as swiftly as it had spiked, and he pulled at his shirt collar in evident distress. “I’m sorry,” he apologized lamely. “But my wife shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”