by DeVa Gantt
She returned to the mistress’s chambers, surprised to hear happy voices. Yvette was nestled next to her father, his arm around her shoulders. Someone had cleaned up the mess; there was no sign of the madness that had trespassed there only a short time ago.
Realizing Charmaine was there, Frederic struggled to his feet. He stared down at his children, then at her. “Thank you,” he eventually murmured, and she knew he was speaking of Yvette. She nodded slightly.
Saturday, October 1, 1836
Charmaine woke to the sun in her eyes. She blinked once and, realizing she’d overslept, jumped from her bed. Muttering under her breath, she flew about the room, splashing water in her face, dressing quickly, and brushing her hair haphazardly. She had no time to pin it up; instead, she tied it back with a ribbon, unmindful of the curly wisps that refused to be tamed.
The Harringtons were leaving at seven, and Paul had promised to take her into town to see them off. She was supposed to be ready at the crack of dawn, but she hadn’t slept well. Felicia had cornered her in the hallway again, making ribald comments about her new sleeping quarters. “Couldn’t be much closer to Paul’s.” Now Charmaine was terribly late. She ran from her room on the third floor and down the servants’ stairwell that led to the kitchen.
Fatima Henderson bustled between table and woodstove, the smell of bacon and eggs filling the air. She was humming to herself, but one look at Charmaine and she clicked her tongue. “Miss Charmaine, why are you running like that?”
“I’m late!” she heaved, completely out of breath. “Have you seen Master Paul? He hasn’t left without me, has he?”
“Slow down. He’s in the dining room waiting for his breakfast. Now, sit yourself down and I’ll fix you something, too.”
“I couldn’t eat a thing. Are you certain Master Paul hasn’t left?”
“See for yourself.”
Paul was indeed at the table. As she entered the room, he stood, his eyes raking her from head to toe, causing her heart to race.
She hadn’t spoken two words to him since the night in the gardens, save a courteous good morning or good evening. That had changed last night when he informed her the Destiny would be leaving with the tide first thing in the morning. Her beloved Harringtons would be aboard, and it would please him to accompany her to the harbor to bid them farewell. When she had fretted over the imposition, withholding her reservations about riding into town with him alone, he brushed her objection aside, saying he needed to inspect the cargo. It was all arranged; he would escort her.
He was still staring at her, a lopsided grin that amplified the leering quality of his perusal. Charmaine glanced down at her dress, wondering if something in her appearance was amiss. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“On the contrary,” he answered, coming around the table and insisting she join him. “You look lovely.”
She blushed. Suddenly, she felt lovely.
He led her to the chair on his left and pulled it out for her. When she hesitated, he said, “Charmaine, we don’t have all day. I promise, I won’t bite.”
She cringed and sat quickly, cursing her Irish blood, which advertised her every emotion. Obviously, her blushing amused him. She must learn to control her feelings. But how?
“I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting,” she said when he was seated again.
“You haven’t. I’ve just come in to eat,” and he took a sip of his coffee.
Fatima was there, filling his plate. When she made her way round the table, Charmaine declined the aromatic food. “I’m not hungry, really I’m not.”
Paul’s brow raised. “You’ll be famished by lunchtime.”
“I’ll have coffee instead. I don’t want to miss the ship’s departure.”
“The captain won’t set sail until I give the order.”
When they left the house, she was surprised to find a chaise waiting for them. “I was busy while you were sleeping,” he needled as he helped her in. This time she willed her face passive. He circled round the back of the vehicle and climbed in, taking up reins and flicking the horse into motion.
The trip was pleasant, and Charmaine was amazed at how easily Paul drew her into casual conversation. By the time they reached the town, she felt comfortable with him, more comfortable than ever before.
The Destiny was waiting just as he had promised. With heavy heart, she boarded the ship, knowing this farewell was going to be difficult.
Loretta and Gwendolyn were just emerging from their cabins, and Charmaine’s eyes immediately filled with tears. She fell into Loretta’s embrace and hugged her tightly. Finally, she drew away, wiping her face.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered hoarsely.
“And I you, Charmaine. But you have a new life here. I will write.” Loretta faced Paul, who had stepped to one side, permitting them their maudlin farewell. “Charmaine is like a daughter to me, Mr. Duvoisin,” she imparted pointedly. “Today I leave her in your care. I pray I am not remiss in doing so.”
Paul responded urbanely. “Your misgivings are unwarranted, Madame. Miss Ryan will be well protected while residing in my home.”
“Good,” Loretta replied.
Charmaine went in search of Mr. Harrington who was with the ship’s captain. She was glad she had stuffed Yvette’s letter in her apron pocket the night before. After bidding the man farewell, she pressed the correspondence into his hand, asking if he would see it delivered. He nodded and gave her another hug. She looked up to find Paul closely watching her, a strange expression on his face.
Then it was time to leave. She forced a smile from the boardwalk as the Destiny cast off. Paul remained at her side, watching as she continued to wave to her friends. As the vessel slipped farther south toward the mouth of the cove, she turned away. Loretta and Gwendolyn were no longer visible; there was no point in staying.
She was frowning when she faced Paul. “I thought you had to check on the ship’s cargo before she left.”
Paul rubbed his chin. “Everything was in order, just as I had hoped.”
“So you weren’t needed to see the Destiny off.”
“Now, Charmaine, if you had known that, you would have insisted upon journeying to the harbor on your own this morning, and I would have been denied the pleasure of your company.”
“Are you saying you lied to me?”
“Something like that.” He was smiling, his deviltry irrepressible. “Come, Charmaine. There is another reason I accompanied you into town today.” He read her confusion and took hold of her elbow, leading her away from the wharf. “Colette asked me to take you into the bank and introduce you to Stephen Westphal. He is the town financier and will calculate the deposits made to your register each month. Unconventional by Richmond standards, but expedient on Charmantes. I’d like to check and make certain the account is in force and you are able to withdraw your salary whenever you like.”
They spent the next hour conversing with Mr. Westphal, a strange man by Charmaine’s estimation. He was of medium height, balding, probably a bit younger than Frederic Duvoisin, but not at all handsome. His eyes were too small, his eyebrows too feminine, and his lips too thin. He looked every bit the European aristocrat, which Paul confided he was; his family boasted a duke as a distant relative, though he himself was born in Virginia. His fingers were long and perfectly manicured. His clothing was expensive and accentuated his paunch, attesting to his own wealth and good fortune. He knew who Charmaine was. News of the Duvoisin governess had spread rapidly on Charmantes.
“Why don’t you join us for dinner this evening, Stephen?” Paul asked. “In fact, come a bit earlier, perhaps six? My father and I have a few matters we’d like to discuss with you.”
The man eagerly accepted the invitation, then nodded to Charmaine.
As they left the bank, Paul inquired whether she’d like to get a bite to eat. They strolled across the street, and Charmaine felt many eyes on them. She was thrilled knowing she was the envy of every young maid today.
However, the pleasant feel of Paul’s arm beneath her own evaporated when they reached the saloon. “I can’t go in there!” she gasped.
“It’s not a brothel, Charmaine,” he chuckled. “I assure you, Dulcie’s food is quite good.”
“I—I didn’t suggest it was!” she stammered. “I must get back to the house. The girls are waiting to help me move my belongings into the new bedroom.”
“Ah yes, the new bedroom.” He chuckled again, but said no more.
The ride home was disconcerting. Unlike their earlier conversation, Paul set her heart to palpitating, touching on indelicate subjects best left alone. Did he enjoy making her uncomfortable now that the Harringtons were gone? Was he reminding her she had nowhere to turn with them far from Charmantes?
“I hope you find your new bed pleasing,” he began. “It might be overly large for just you.”
Charmaine’s cheeks burned. “If Pierre awakens in the night, there will be plenty of room for him to join me,” she courageously returned.
“Hmm…best not to nurture that type of habit. He’ll become spoiled.”
“I doubt Pierre will ever be spoiled. He’s a dear little boy.”
To Charmaine’s dismay, Paul revisited the subject of her new bedroom. “Now that you are on the second floor with the rest of the family, you will enjoy having the French doors at your disposal.” When she didn’t respond, he expounded. “During the summer, they are left open to catch the ocean breezes. The rooms on the second floor are always pleasantly cool. And of course, there is the other convenience they afford.”
Charmaine knew he wanted her to ask him about that other convenience. She resolved not to, then did. “What convenience?”
“Every room opens onto the balcony: my bedroom, the children’s rooms, even your room now. It’s an inconspicuous way to travel from one chamber to the next…” His gaze, which had remained fixed on the road in front of him, now rested on her. “Just another convenience.”
The lecherous overture evoked Colette’s warning: He’s a ladies’ man, Charmaine…I wouldn’t want you to get hurt… Was Paul propositioning her here, in the chaise, in broad daylight? “What are you suggesting, sir?” she bit out.
“Sir?” he queried. “Charmaine, when are you going to drop the formal title? What is it going to take to have you call me Paul permanently? You’re not still upset by what you think happened in the gardens the other night, are you?”
He was trying to confuse her again. “I shall never call you Paul.”
“Perhaps an agreement,” he continued, completely ignoring her declaration, his brow raised in thought. “What if I promised to never again say anything to embarrass you?”
“I would say—that is impossible for you.”
He threw back his head and laughed. When his glee subsided, he pressed on in the same vein. “What if I vowed to never do anything you yourself didn’t want me to do? Would you drop the title ‘sir’ then?”
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.”
