Forever Waiting (20 page)

“I can change, Frederic, I promise I can!” she pleaded.

“Then there are my daughters,” he pressed on. “We both know how you feel about them. And when Pierre was alive—”

“Is this still about that spanking?”

“No, Agatha. The spanking was a manifestation of your true feelings for my children. It is something I should have taken the time to notice, to realize would never change.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you,” she whimpered softly. “I never meant to hurt your children, especially Pierre. As for the girls, I thought a school for young women would be best for them.”

She hung her head, and he realized she was crying. He hadn’t intended to inflict pain, not tonight when she’d been so happy. But he
was
through pretending. “Agatha, I’m tired,” he said softly, compassionately. “It has been a grueling week. Let us await our guests’ departure. Then we can talk again—with Paul.”

She looked at him lovingly. “Yes, Frederic,” she eagerly agreed. “We
should
speak with Paul and explain everything to him.” She crossed to him, stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek. “I do love you,” she whispered, “more than you will ever know.” She quietly left his room.

He closed his eyes to agony, the agony he read on her face. He turned back to the French doors. Perhaps Colette would come to haunt him tonight.

Agatha leaned against the door, breathing deeply, allowing the stabbing sorrow to subside. She’d pushed Frederic too far, too fast. But she loved him and, in the end, that love would vanquish his disillusioned heart. She’d gained too much to think otherwise. Wasn’t the prosperous week and triumphant evening testimony to that fact? Frederic might be upset, but she’d weathered setbacks before. Now that John was removed from the will, she would back off. In time, he would be banned from Charmantes. She must concentrate on getting back into Frederic’s bed. He would come around.

Frederic lay abed, listening to the silence. One year … it had been one year since he had held Colette in his arms, one year ago tonight he had prayed for a miracle that never came. She had breathed her last while he slept, his arms wrapped protectively around her. Now, a year later, he closed his eyes to the piercing pain he’d experienced when he’d awoken to find her cold in his embrace, when he had cuddled her for hours and wept for the love he had chastised, the happiness he had thrown away.
Colette, I’m sorry, and I promise, if it’s the last thing I do, I will make amends. I love you
, ma fuyarde …
I will always love you
.

He did not remember sleeping.

Chapter 4

Sunday, April 8, 1838

P
AUL
awoke at the crack of dawn with a splitting headache. He lay in bed considering the week’s accomplishments, yet he felt disenchanted and depressed. His tryst with Anne London had satiated his manly need, but in every other way, it had left him empty. She’d wanted to accompany him back to his bedchamber, but he turned her down flat, relieved when she rushed to her rooms in an insulted huff. If he had made love to Charmaine in the early hours before dawn, he would now be sound asleep, content with her in his arms.

Charmaine—therein lay the rub, the root of his depression and the headache that awoke him. He should never have allowed himself to be manipulated into escorting Anne to the grand gala, not when he had already invited Charmaine. What had he been thinking? He had proposed marriage to her! He should have used the event to present her as his future wife, but that opportunity had slipped through his fingers. Now, when he announced his betrothal, he would really appear the fool. He could hear the gossip already:
You know, the governess. No, Paul didn’t escort her to his ball; he was with Anne London all evening. Remember? Yes, the young woman who tended to his two sisters. The woman who returned on John’s arm! Isn’t that curious?

Damn!
Last night had been a debacle. And John had certainly made the most of it. Paul couldn’t understand why Charmaine was smitten with him, but he should have read the signs. They’d been obvious all week long. Still, nothing rankled him more than seeing her rejoin the festivities with John. It was his own fault. If he had proposed sooner, Agatha would not have dared meddle.

Paul left the rumpled bed, dressed quickly, and headed to the dining room, grateful no one was there. He needed peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, his sisters came out of the kitchen, bright and bubbly.

“Good morning, Paul,” Jeannette greeted. “Wasn’t the ball magnificent?”

“Magnificent,” he answered gruffly.

“Have you seen Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Yvette asked.

“No,” he said. “Isn’t she with you?”

“We haven’t seen her since last night,” Yvette replied in exasperation.

“She’s not in her room,” Jeannette added, “and her bed is made, so we thought she’d already come downstairs, but Cookie hasn’t seen her either.”

Paul was intrigued. It had been well past midnight when Charmaine left the banquet hall with John. Why would she have risen, made her bed, and left her chambers so early? And if she had, why hadn’t she let the twins know of her whereabouts? Suddenly, he was uneasy and suspicious.

“I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s find John and see if he knows where she is. Yvette, I’ll pay you five dollars if you can get him to open his bedchamber door and come out.”

Yvette eyed him dubiously, but she wasn’t about to turn down a sum like that, no matter how odd the request. She’d worked harder for a lot less.

Once they were at John’s door, Paul nodded for her to go ahead and knock.

Charmaine awoke slowly, the room bathed in the early light of dawn. She was lying on her side, with her knees curled up, and John cuddled behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his warm legs tucked under hers, an arm draped possessively across her shoulder. She could feel his even breathing close to her nape and sighed contentedly. She had slept for only a short time, but it had been a deep and satisfying slumber. She belonged to John now.
Please, Dear Lord, let him belong to me as well
.

As if she’d spoken, he stirred, and his arm tightened around her. He kissed her neck, and she could tell he was smiling. They reveled in the warm cocoon until he broke away and rolled onto his back. When Charmaine turned to face him, he plumped up her pillow, tucked it under his arm, and beckoned to her. She had just snuggled in when someone knocked on the door.

Startled, she bolted up in the bed, clasping the sheet to her breasts. The knock came again, but John put a finger to his lips. “Who is it?” he called.

“It’s me, Johnny,” Yvette answered in a loud whisper. “Can I come in?”

“What do you want?” he asked, rising from the bed and pulling on his swimming breeches, suppressing a chuckle when Charmaine turned away in embarrassment.

“Jeannette and I are looking for Mademoiselle Charmaine,” she answered.

John helped Charmaine slip into her robe, then led her into the dressing room. “Stay here,” he whispered, brushing his lips across hers, “and don’t leave this room without me.”

He pulled clothes from his armoire, grabbed his boots, and stepped back into the bedchamber, closing the connecting door behind him.

“. . . she’s not there, either,” Yvette was saying as he yanked on his trousers. “Have you seen her?” The silence behind the door annoyed her. “Open up!”

“I’m getting dressed,” he called. “Did you look downstairs?”

“I told you—we can’t find her. Open up!”

“I’m coming,” he said, pulling on his shirt.

Yvette snatched the five-dollar note out of Paul’s hand and pocketed it before John opened the door. He was astounded to find Paul there, too.

“Good morning, Paul. Are you looking for Charmaine as well?” he inquired nonchalantly, fastening the buttons at his neck.

“In fact, I am,” Paul replied, peering over John’s shoulder and into the empty room. “We’re concerned. Apparently, she didn’t sleep in her bed last night.”

“And you suspect she slept somewhere else,” John remarked sarcastically, glaring at his brother in disgust. “Is that it?”

Paul thought better of responding.

John returned to the bed. “Did you check in the chapel?” he asked as he sat and pulled on his boots.

Yvette wrinkled her nose. “It’s too early to be there.”

“Well, that’s where I’ll look,” he stated, his eyes on Paul as he stepped out of the room and closed the door. “Perhaps she was upset about something and went there to be alone.” He turned to his sisters. “Why don’t the two of you check upstairs? Maybe it was too noisy last night, and she decided to sleep there. And Paul, why don’t you check the boathouse?”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. John must have seen him with Anne last night.

“The boathouse?” Jeannette asked. “Why would she be there?”

“Just a thought,” he said with a shrug. Then, with a wicked smile and lighthearted gait, he left them.

The twins headed toward the servants’ quarters, but Paul hesitated at John’s door, his eyes riveted on the knob. Charmaine might have taken cover in the dressing room. Indecisive, he contemplated going in, but decided against it. If Charmaine had slept with his brother last night, John would have flaunted the conquest. Besides, she wouldn’t do something that dimwitted.

Suddenly, he was very hungry. Dismissing the thought of Sunday Mass, he went back to the dining room for breakfast.

Not a half-hour later, John returned to the dressing chamber with fresh bed linens and clothing for Charmaine. He found her working out the tangles in her hair with his comb. He hadn’t thought to retrieve her brush.

She turned quickly when he entered the room and blushed, memories of their night together rushing in.

She was radiant, and John’s heart missed a beat as her shy manner swiftly aroused him. There would be time for that later. He smiled joyously, knowing he would have limitless nights with this woman.

“The coast is clear, my Charm,” he said, taking her in his arms. “The girls are searching for you upstairs, and I’m to find you in the chapel, awaiting Mass.”

He wondered if she had heard his brother’s voice in the hallway, but didn’t ask. Instead, he cupped her chin and kissed her tenderly.

It served as a stirring reminder of their lovemaking and left her so incredibly giddy she grabbed hold of him for support.

“It was worth the wait, my Charm.”

He stepped out of the dressing room so she could dress. When she returned to his bedchamber, she found him spreading a clean sheet over the soiled one and looked at him quizzically. “You’ll understand tomorrow,” he explained. Without a word, she helped him make the bed.

“Now, come with me,” he commanded, scanning the hallway before he led her from the bedroom.

They descended to the foyer and walked through the messy ballroom. The staff had retired late, and the tedious task of cleaning up hadn’t begun. The lavish hall was empty and quiet.

“It’s early for Mass,” Charmaine said as John led her to the chapel doors. Like a bolt of lightning, a new thought struck her, and she froze.

“What is the matter?” he queried.

“I’m in a state of mortal sin,” she moaned, bringing her hands to her mouth. “Everyone will know when I refuse communion.”

“Don’t fret, Charmaine.” Though his voice was kind, she was certain he would mock her religious conviction. Instead, he said, “We haven’t come for Mass. We’ve come to exchange marriage vows. That is—if you’ll have me?”

Charmaine was dumbfounded. When John had left her this morning, cold reality set in, and she’d chastised herself for succumbing to her physical yearnings. She was a good girl, had always been a good girl! Not even the memory of their intimacy—that crowning moment when she had been one with him—could assuage her belated misgivings. Yes, she had given herself to this man, but until this very moment, she had been afraid to hope he wanted her as completely as she wanted him.

“Have you?
” she asked incredulously. “Surely you jest?” But one look at his earnest face, quietly waiting, and she knew he was dead serious. Her joy burst forth, and she threw herself into his arms. “Of course, I’ll have you!” He lifted her clear off the floor and whirled her around. By the time he set her back down, she was shaking all over, tears streaming down her cheeks.

They stepped into the chapel and found Father Benito preparing for a large congregation of worshippers. John grasped her hand and pulled her to the altar with him. When he explained his reason for being there, the priest immediately objected, contending he could not officiate over the holy sacrament of matrimony during the solemn Lenten season. “Today is Passion Sunday. It is entirely inappropriate. And there is the matter of confession,” he continued. But before he could finish protesting, John fanned a wad of ten-dollar notes under his nose. Charmaine gaped in disbelief as Benito snatched them and, without so much as one repentant word from either of them, made the sign of the cross and intoned a general prayer of absolution.

The chapel door opened, and George and Mercedes stepped in.

“Our witnesses, my Charm,” John explained.

In less than five minutes, they had spoken their vows and were husband and wife. Charmaine thought she was dreaming.

“Where to now, my Charm?” John asked. “Mass doesn’t begin for another hour, and we can’t hide here forever.”

“No,” she agreed, “and the girls are probably still looking for me.”

“Why don’t we go back to the nursery?” he suggested. He wanted to take her back to his room, but that would have to wait until tonight.

They passed a few guests as they made their way upstairs, all too exhausted to pay them much notice. Still, Charmaine breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the nursery. She didn’t fancy coming face-to-face with Paul just yet. It was short-lived, however; Paul’s chamber door swung open, and he stepped into the hallway.

“So, you’ve found her,” he said.

Charmaine wondered what he meant. Paul’s assessing eyes raked her from head to toe as if plumbing for secrets, making her terribly uncomfortable.