Forever Waiting (11 page)

He stared, unseeing, at the shadowed ceiling. Had he screamed? He threw a forearm over his eyes, feeling the sweat on his brow. The bedclothes were damp from perspiration. He sat up, his head spinning and stomach nauseous. Inhaling deeply, he rose and went to the bowl and pitcher on the nightstand. He splashed water in his face and on his chest and braced his hands on the edges of the table to steady the lurching room.

Charmaine could not sleep, and in the early hours of dawn, she abandoned her futile sheep counting and Hail Marys. Pulling on her robe, she left her bedchamber and went downstairs. Perhaps a book from the study and a warm glass of milk would do the trick.

The house was deathly quiet, but to her surprise, she found John seated at the desk in the study, his eyes closed and head tilted back against the leather cushions. The lamp was burning low.

“John?” she whispered. “John?” she called again, touching his arm lightly when he did not respond.

Startled, his eyes flew open. “Thank you, Miss Ryan,” he muttered, “the first bit of sleep I’ve had all night, and you’ve come to spoil it.”

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, stung.

He leaned forward and propped a throbbing head in his hand, closing his eyes once again. In the awkward silence, she turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Why are you up and about at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” she replied, facing him. “My mind kept turning, and I couldn’t stop it. Hasn’t that ever happened to you?”

He was smiling now. “Far too often I’m afraid, my Charm.”

She relaxed with his use of her pet name.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked.

“I’m nervous about the coming week and the social graces needed to see it through.”

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured. “Are you attending the ball on Saturday?”

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed eagerly, her eyes lighting up. “Maddy Thompson has sewn the most exquisite gown! The fittings have taken hours and I’ve had to stand stock-still the entire time.”

His smile grew in proportion to her enthusiasm, his chin propped on a fist, his eyes sparkling. “Will you accompany the twins, or do you have an escort?”

She hesitated.
Is he offering to take me? Why am I reluctant to tell him?
“Paul has asked me,” she said, battling a pang of disappointment.

His eyes betrayed no reaction. “I must admit I’m surprised. I thought the fair Lady London would be his consort. She was glued to his side yesterday.”

“But he has invited me,” Charmaine replied defensively.

“You must be pleased.”

“I am. We’ve gotten to know each other better over the past months.”

John frowned slightly.

“Is there something wrong with that?” she probed.

“Nothing at all. Has he made any plans with you beyond this week?”

She knew what he was implying and did not answer.

“You realize, of course,” he expounded, “that after this celebration is over, Paul will be living on Espoir. You will see much less of him.”

The observation hit her head-on. She hadn’t thought of it before, but it was true. “The future will take care of itself,” she said. “I will have to wait and see.”

“You’ve done a lot of ‘waiting and seeing’ with my brother.”

When she appeared indignant, he harassed her further. “Do you

still harbor hopes for him?”

“Should I not?” she asked directly. “What is your advice?”

John grew quiet, and she could tell he debated what to say. “I don’t think my brother is ready to make a commitment to any woman,” he replied. “He has yet to understand himself, and he won’t be ready to marry until he does.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, baffled by his last remark.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “To state it more simply, he has had plenty of time with you and hasn’t proposed marriage yet. His romantic overtures could turn out to be a seduction and nothing more. That is my honest assessment of the matter, but you have heard it before.”

“Your opinion could be wrong.”

“It could be,” he conceded, thinking his advice had once again fallen on deaf ears. The room fell silent. “So how long are you willing to ‘wait and see,’ Charmaine, before you grow tired of it?” he asked pointedly.

“He is not my only prospect,” she objected, realizing how foolish she appeared.

“He’s not?” John teased. “Who else has arrived on the scene? Have you been kissing someone behind my brother’s back?”

“He’s not the only man I’ve ever kissed!” she insisted heatedly, blushing when his brow rose in merriment, the discourse reminiscent of their early days.

“Now
we have the confessions,” he pursued devilishly. “Who else have you kissed, my Charm? You can tell me. Wade Remmen, perhaps?”

“I’ve kissed you!” she gushed, annoyed he’d forgotten the two occasions he’d taken her in his arms. Belatedly, she realized she’d put her foot squarely into her mouth.

He leaned back and chuckled. “Ah, but that doesn’t count … Or does it?”

“Of course it does!” she expostulated. “I mean, no—it doesn’t!”

His sagacious grin widened. “Then why did you mention it?” he asked.

But as her mouth flew open again, he waved off her retort and rushed on. “I think we had better drop this conversation, because you are growing annoyed with me, and I’d hate for the week to be spoiled so early on.”

“What about you?” she rejoined, her chin lifted in miffed vexation.

“What about me?”

“Will you be escorting a lady to the ball?”

“I have no plans yet. Who knows? Perhaps they’ll change.”

She wondered what he meant, but didn’t ask. She grew serious. “Will you be staying on after the ball?”

“I’ll be returning to Virginia.”

“Right away?”

“I might stay a few days longer—for the twins, but not many.” He rose from the desk. “I’m going to retire. I’d like to get some sleep before everyone begins to stir. Goodnight, Charmaine.”

After he’d left, she stood in the center of the study for a long time. She abandoned the idea of a book and sought her own room, determined to get dressed. She wouldn’t be able to sleep now.

Three days’ sailing and the unpleasant confrontation with his father caught up with John, and he fell into a deep sleep. He rose after lunch and found nearly everyone had left the house to attend the kick-off festivities in town. He was pleased; he needed the afternoon to himself. Memories of Pierre were strong, so after he ate, he saddled up Phantom and rode to the family cemetery to contemplate, pay his respects, and come to terms with the past. He meandered around the island for the rest of the day, visiting old haunts and letting go.

Right now, the night air was balmy, and the leaves rustled, riding the easterly breeze. Crickets chattered in the grass, and the moonlight cast long shadows on the lawns. Voices from the drawing room carried on the gentle wind. Since George and Mercedes had gone off for a walk, and Charmaine had disappeared with the twins, John shunned Agatha and Anne, his father, and Paul, for the peaceful haven of the portico.

Charmaine was headed for the drawing room when she heard Anne London’s pretentious laugh. She walked straight to the main doors instead; she’d enjoy the refreshing breeze before she retired.

She was surprised to find John sitting on the top step of the portico, his elbows propped on his knees, his fingers entwined between them. He turned to see who was coming out of the house.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, turning back toward the doors, even though she wanted to sit down next to him. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

“You don’t have to leave, Charmaine,” he called after her, halting her step. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet. Come, sit with me.”

She gladly joined him.

“We didn’t see you all day,” she commented, arranging her skirts.

“The journey caught up with me, and I slept late,” he replied. “Why aren’t you abed? You didn’t sleep well last night, either.”

“I’m not tired. I suppose I won’t feel tired until the week is over.”

John smiled at her ingenuous remark, his eyes coming to rest on her face.

“How did you fare with your father yesterday?” she asked, daring to broach the subject that had slipped her mind last night.

“It didn’t go well,” he replied. “Westphal had a long list of my latest transgressions. My father and I were at it again in all of five minutes. I don’t understand why he invited me back.”

“Your father didn’t ask Westphal for that list,” Charmaine replied, her anger swift and sure. “Agatha did.”

“Really?” John asked, surprised she’d come to the same conclusion he had.

“She had Westphal get information on me, too,” Charmaine explained. “He’s the one who found out about my father, and Agatha tried to use it to have me dismissed. Fortunately for me, it didn’t make any difference to Colette or Paul.”

She studied John for his reaction to Colette’s name, but he remained impassive. “It was fortunate for the children, too,” he said.

“Not if it had fallen to Agatha. She’ll stop at nothing to get rid of anybody she doesn’t like. I’d lay money down she instigated yesterday’s confrontation sure as she plotted the one last October. Your father wasn’t sending the twins to a boarding school, but she made the girls believe he was, knowing Yvette would run to tell you. I can’t tolerate her. I don’t know why your father married her.”

“He married her to punish Colette.”

Charmaine grew quiet, the silence catching his attention. “I don’t think so,” she replied softly, debating her next thoughts. She was treading on dangerous territory. “He loved her, John.”

John scoffed at the assertion, impelling her to speak her mind. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand the relationship your father and Colette shared, but I’m certain he loved her.” She hesitated before adding, “And Colette told me she loved him.”

“Of course she’d tell you that,” John said derisively, “to keep up appearances.”

“Perhaps,” Charmaine replied, realizing John wasn’t willing to entertain such an idea. There was no point in pressing it. “Still, your father didn’t have a confrontation in mind when he invited you home. I know he is very sorry about what happened. He has changed since you left: coming out of his isolation, taking charge of business again, and spending time with the girls.”

“It didn’t appear as if he’d changed yesterday,” John mused.

“Perhaps he was taken off guard.” She sighed deeply. “He invited you back to make amends. I’m certain of it.”

John mulled over her words; they echoed Michael’s sentiments. “I trust what you say, my Charm,” he ceded. “Still, he’s off to a pretty bad start.”

“I’m sure he is, but old habits die hard, so give him a chance.”

She thought to lighten the mood and changed the subject. “What are your latest transgressions?”

“The list is long, my Charm,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

“Then tell me about Virginia. You never talk about it.”

“I go back and forth between Richmond and the plantation.”

“Do you like it there?”

“I hate it: the slave business, the classes, the games one must play to survive. But, a few people there depend on me, so I’m bound to it.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“Live in New York, play the piano, be a composer. But there isn’t any money in it, and I like having money too much to do without it.”

Charmaine laughed. “You don’t realize how true your words are. You’ve never been poor, but I have. There’s no going back!”

John laughed, too. When their mirth died down, she asked, “Why do you like New York so much?”

“It will be the center of the world before long—bigger than London, bigger than Paris. In New York, if you’ve got ambition, you’ve got a chance. The only thing to hold you back is yourself. In New York, you can start over.”

“Is that why you go there—to start over?”

“Perhaps, but right now, I travel between two worlds.”

“I’d love to see it,” she stated with conviction, turning her regard to him.

“And I’d love to show it to you,” he replied, his eyes captivating her.

She could not look away, thrilled by the plummeting lurch in her stomach, her quickening pulse, and her heart thudding in her breast. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, John leaned in to her.

The door opened behind them, and Paul stepped out of the house. “Here you are!” he exclaimed. “Jeannette had a bad dream and is calling for you.”

Blushing, Charmaine quickly stood and, without a backward glance, rushed past him. Paul watched her go, then considered his brother. But John had turned back to the lawns, apparently disinterested in Charmaine’s departure.

Monday, April 2, 1838

“No, John,” Paul said, “they are not paddlewheels. The European engineers are manufacturing what they’ve termed a corkscrew propeller, which they claim will cut Atlantic crossing time by half.”

“Well, if locomotives are possible, I suppose anything is,” John rejoined.

“Do you realize what this could mean for Duvoisin shipping?”

Charmaine listened to their civil banter, amazed by it. The girls were playing outside, and she could keep an eye on them from the open French doors, so she meandered to the drawing room casement and paused in the archway.

Presently, Paul was asking John’s opinion on the New York guests and how to persuade them to use his fleet for their exports. The Duvoisin barristers were due to arrive shortly, and he was waiting for them. When a carriage rolled up and two distinguished gentlemen stepped out, she assumed it was them.

One man was middle aged, of medium height, with liberal touches of gray in his hair and beard. The younger was short, but good-looking in a pretty sort of way: with blue eyes, long aristocratic nose, protruding chin, and oiled-down blond hair.

“Mr. Pitchfork,” John exclaimed, extending a hand to the elder solicitor when George showed them into the drawing room, “you’ve arrived!”

The man’s face twisted into a grimace, but his associate snickered. George laughed outright. “I’d appreciate the use of my proper name,” the lawyer replied curtly, “Richecourt—Edward Richecourt. When will you realize you’ve worn out that witless name?”