by DeVa Gantt
“I’m to have a private meeting with Mrs. Duvoisin in a few minutes.”
Agatha…his stepmother…the new Mrs. Duvoisin…Suddenly, he was rankled by more than the title she bore. He didn’t need an explanation to deduce the woman’s motives, nor the distasteful outcome she would attempt to script.
He immediately summoned Travis Thornfield and dispatched a message. The manservant was to inform the new mistress her meeting with the governess had been canceled. “If she complains,” Paul concluded, “refer her to me. Miss Ryan is firmly established in this house. There is no pertinent reason to interrupt her strict schedule. That will be all, Travis.”
The butler departed, wearing an uncommon smile.
Charmaine was astonished. Once again, Paul stood beside her. When was she going to realize she had nothing to fear from him? Perhaps today, her heart whispered, the thought leaving her giddy. Is it possible he’s grown more handsome in the past moments? She had her answer as he casually walked across the room and towered over her, her heart beating wildly in her chest.
“There,” he said with a wicked smile, teeth flashing below his moustache. “She’ll not be pleased, but she’ll think twice before threatening your position again.”
Charmaine was not so certain, though she was grateful for his efforts. “I don’t know…”
“Charmaine,” he chided lightly, sitting in the chair adjacent to hers. He leaned forward and cradled her hand. “You needn’t fear Agatha. Though she’s determined to prove herself mistress of the manor, I have my father’s support in this matter. He’ll not dismiss you, no matter her vehemence.”
“Thank you, Paul,” she said in a small voice. His warm hand made breathing difficult, and she found it equally difficult to concentrate. “You have lifted a heavy burden. I don’t know what I’d tell the children if I were forced to leave. I’ve become quite attached to them.”
His smile turned warm. “I know you have, Charmaine, and they feel the same way about you. My father knows that.”
“I hope he does. After yesterday, I’m not so certain.”
Paul frowned. “What happened?”
She told him about the girls’ reaction to Frederic’s unexpected marriage, and his smile returned. “Yvette has gained my respect,” he said. “I told my father much the same thing. I’m glad he’s heard it from someone other than me. I can imagine how upset he was.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t make any difference, does it? What’s done is done.”
“Unfortunately, you are right, Charmaine. It is just one of many things that has added to a deplorable week.”
“I’m sure. I wish I could resolve your dilemmas as swiftly as you have mine. Unfortunately, all I can offer is sympathy.”
Paul’s demeanor abruptly changed. His eyes sparkled beneath raised brows, and a roguish smile spread across his face. “Don’t depreciate that offer. I’d love to indulge in a bit of sympathy and forget my troubles for a time.”
She knew where his words were leading, where the invitation would take her if she allowed it. That was the key, allowed it. She’d enjoyed his company for almost a year now. Once his flirtatious advances had frightened her; today she found them exciting. Suddenly, she wanted more, wanted to know he wasn’t just toying with her, that he was truly attracted to her, wanted to know what it felt like to have his mouth upon hers. Intuitively, she knew the lust that had sparked his first proposition in the gardens those many months ago had blossomed into something more. And yet, he had never kissed her. Why? On Christmas Day, he had almost done so, but they had been interrupted. And once he’d returned home, they’d been thrown into the turmoil of Colette’s death. Beyond that, there was Espoir and his merciless work schedule, his treks home few and far between. Today was the first time they’d been alone in ages. She returned his dazzling smile. Let him think what he would. She wanted him to kiss her right here and now. As if reading her thoughts, his gaze traveled to her lips.
Paul had watched numerous emotions play across her comely face, yet was no closer to figuring her out. The risqué invitation didn’t seem to upset her, yet she didn’t speak. She was so lovely, and he longed to make love to her, slowly and sweetly. He had no use for this little cat-and-mouse game and was annoyed with himself. “Charmaine? Did you hear what I said?”
Her coyness vanished. “I heard,” she replied, more evenly than she thought possible.
“And?”
He released her hand to cradle her cheek and chin, his thumb brushing across her lips. She closed her eyes to the sensual caress. She couldn’t breathe and broke away, standing and turning her back to him.
“And?” he pressed again, moving behind her.
“And”—she faltered—“I don’t see how I could possibly help you.”
So, he thought, she’s playing to a new set of rules: Don’t act offended, but don’t give in. He had dallied too long, and the dreamy moment was dissolving. He felt cheated and chuckled ruefully, his breath catching in her hair.
Embarrassed now, she stepped farther away and composed herself. Finally, she faced him. “Perhaps if you explained some of your problems…”
“Some?” he derided suavely. “Where would you like me to begin? Agatha? George? Or perhaps John, the biggest problem of all. There’s nothing you can do to rectify that headache.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” she said.
He laughed outright. But when her stance remained set, arms folded one over the other, her eyes serious, he strode to the desk and lifted the sheaf of papers he’d thrown there earlier. “Very well. These are invoices. They—”
“I know what invoices are,” she cut in.
He nodded, then explained why those he held were so perplexing.
Apparently, a ship had docked on Charmantes midweek and had sat in the harbor for five days, her cargo untouched. The captain and Jake Watson had disputed over which goods were intended for Charmantes and which were to be shipped on to Virginia.
“The captain maintained the supplies packed for Charmantes were at the rear of the hold,” Paul was saying. “Jake was confused and demanded to see both the European and Virginia invoices. He didn’t believe even a new captain could be so dimwitted as to bury our goods behind those that would be discharged at a later time. The captain bristled, probably because Jake’s estimation of him was accurate. Again, Jake insisted on seeing John’s invoices, informing the captain not one cask would be hoisted without proof of merchandise. The captain hemmed and hawed, eventually admitting that—although he thought John had given him the proper paperwork—the invoices he carried were, in fact, invalid. When Jake saw these, he had had enough.”
“Enough of what?” Charmaine asked.
“Enough of John’s antics! I didn’t rant and rave when he changed the shipping routes last year, so he has come up with another scheme to impede the work on Charmantes. Once our staples were loaded in Richmond, John removed the legitimate paperwork and gave the captain these instead.”
Paul waved a pile of papers under her nose. When they stopped flapping, Charmaine caught sight of several crude drawings with accompanying notes, which he abruptly withdrew and shoved back into the folder.
“He used invoice sheets for his artwork just to make certain I knew the entire mix-up was intentional.” Paul slapped the folder against his thigh again, his agitation escalating. “When Jake saw the sketches, he was furious. Apparently, he called the captain a few choice names and informed the man that if his crew unladed the packet, he was storing every last cask, including the merchandise for Virginia, in our warehouses until I returned from Espoir and decided otherwise. The captain lost his temper and stood sentry against Jake’s threat. And so, the ship has sat in our harbor for five days! Five days!” he bellowed in exasperation. “Her European cargo losing hundreds of dollars in market value.”
“Why didn’t Mr. Watson talk to you when you returned on Friday?”
“Friday night, Charmaine,” he corrected. “Late Friday night. Everyone
was at Dulcie’s, and I just assumed the ship had been unloaded, reloaded with sugar, and was ready to depart for Richmond. I should have known better! We spent the better part of two hours climbing over barrels to find out whether those in the stern contained island supplies. Without the invoices, I couldn’t be certain, and John would love to learn I had spent the entire day shifting hogsheads just to find nothing at the back was ours!”
Charmaine knew he was chasing circles and felt sorry for him. “Why would your brother create such confusion? He has just as much to lose as your father and you do, doesn’t he? That’s what Colette used to say.”
“He will pay any price, Charmaine, any price, if he knows he’s upset me or, better yet, made my hard day’s work harder.”
She was appalled. “If that’s true, you have to turn the tables on him.”
“How could I possibly do that?”
“Send the ship back to him, just the way it is. Or better still, keep all the merchandise.”
Paul disagreed. “Sending it back will deprive us of valuable supplies, especially grain. Keeping it would cost my father a fortune. His buyers in Virginia would be none too pleased, either. John knows all this.”
Charmaine nodded to his final declaration, but turned back to her original suggestion. “Are you certain Charmantes couldn’t survive without the grain?”
“Of course we could survive, but it accomplishes nothing.”
“Nothing, except sending the problem back to your brother. Maybe you should include your own set of drawings, telling him a thing or two!”
Paul chuckled. He certainly would love to see John’s face when he began unloading the vessel and found his mean-spirited tomfoolery had backfired—that he was the one facing a laborious day on the docks. Let the captain talk his way out of that one, and let John deal with the buffoon he had hired. Yes, it was a most pleasing fantasy…Then Paul was struck by a new thought. Perhaps John knew about Espoir and had hoped to sabotage his efforts by creating more work on Charmantes. But no, Stephen Westphal and Edward Richecourt were sworn to secrecy, so John couldn’t know—unless George had spilled the beans. But that was impossible. The Heir would have left Richmond before George got there.
“Paul?”
He came around when Charmaine called his name a second time. “I’m sorry, Charmaine. Not to worry. I’ll sort it out.”
“Very well, but I wouldn’t stand for such nonsense!”
Her eyes flashed with fervor, and thoughts of his brother vanished. Damn, she was desirable, and he ached to hold her, to release the dark locks pinned at her nape and stroke the abundant mane as it cascaded down her back, to possess her petulant mouth. He stepped closer, but her eyes remained hard, oblivious to the fire she had stoked. He stopped. Now is not the time, he thought, steeling himself against his carnal appetite. We’ll only be interrupted again. But soon, very soon, another opportunity will present itself. Perhaps late one night when everyone else is abed…Yes, he fancied that idea. Then he would conquer her.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Paul chuckled with the anticipated interruption. “Yes, Travis?”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Duvoisin wants to speak to you now, sir. I tried to tell her you were preoccupied—”
Before he could finish, Agatha pushed her way into the room. “So,” she accused, “the governess is overburdened with her duties and cannot make time for an interview with me. And here I thought those duties involved the children.”
“At present, Miss Ryan happens to be helping me,” Paul replied stiffly.
Agatha’s eyes raced up and down Charmaine’s slender form, eagerly searching for some incriminating evidence to feed her evil assumptions. “Helping you? I can just imagine how.”
“Charmaine is helping me, Agatha,” Paul bit out, his jaw twitching with contained anger. “If you’d care to notice, we are sorting through a stack of invoices that accompanied the Heir.” He produced the folder to support his statement. “John has created another headache by misplacing the most important papers. Charmaine was merely—”
Agatha’s face turned livid. “John—always John! How do you withstand it? Why does your father force you to withstand it?”
“I don’t know,” Paul answered, baffled by her reaction. “I believe you wanted to speak to me about Miss Ryan?”
“Yes,” she agreed reluctantly, scrutinizing Charmaine again. “I think I have the right, as the children’s stepmother, to determine who cares for and educates them.”
“No, Agatha, you don’t have that right,” Paul countered. “Your marriage to my father changes nothing. However, since we disagree, I suggest we take the matter to him immediately, and have him settle it.”
“Very well,” she hesitated.
“Good. Let’s have done with it.”
Charmaine was trembling as she preceded Paul out of the study, bewildered when he led her to the nursery. “There’s no need to accompany us, Charmaine. I’ll let you know how everything turns out.” With that, he nudged a miffed Agatha toward his father’s quarters.
Charmaine entered the nursery. Rose, who had been reading to the children, lifted her brow in silent inquiry, but Charmaine only shrugged, aware Yvette was all ears. “Well?” the precocious twin asked. “Don’t you think we should know what happened?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle,” Jeannette agreed. “We’re worried. We don’t ever want to lose you.”
“I don’t think you will,” Charmaine offered gently. “Paul is determined to override any harsh decision your stepmother attempts to make.”
“What does that mean?” Jeannette asked.
“It means he is doing what Johnny would do if he were here,” Yvette explained, “and I’m proud of him.”
Charmaine chuckled, remembering Paul’s earlier words about Yvette. “Paul is speaking with your father right now. He wasn’t in the mood to hear Agatha’s complaints.”
“Why not?” Yvette asked.
Charmaine eyed her for a moment, uncertain if she should tell the eight-year-old what she had learned from Paul. “He was upset with your brother over some missing invoices.”
“Johnny? Do you think Paul is talking to Father about him, too?”
“I don’t know…Maybe…Why?”
“No reason,” Yvette answered nonchalantly. “I don’t want Johnny to get into any more trouble, that’s all.”
Not long after, she left the nursery saying she needed to use the water closet.
Agatha cast a series of aspersions against the governess, saving the worst for last: Charmaine Ryan’s background.
Renitent, Frederic sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and looked her straight in the eye. Thanks to Paul, he’d heard it all many months ago. “Charmaine Ryan was chosen by Colette to care for the children,” he said. “They remain her children, not yours, Agatha. If for no other reason than to respect her wishes, Miss Ryan will retain her position in this house.”
“But Frederic—” she demurred.
“No buts, no more discussion. I am pleased with Miss Ryan. Regardless of her past, she’s demonstrated great love and affection while mothering my children. That is what they need right now, Agatha, a mother. I do not see you lending a hand with them.”
Chastised, Agatha turned aside, saying, “I shan’t bring the matter up again.”
“Good.”
She recovered quickly, spurred on by a new thought. “I fear the entire incident has been blown out of proportion. I had only intended to speak with Miss Ryan today. I would never have dismissed her as Paul has led you to believe. He was upset over other matters and misunderstood.”
“What other matters?” Frederic asked, his regard diverted to his son.
Paul still clutched the folder from the Heir. “John, just John,” he answered, tossing the invoices into his father’s lap.
“What has he done this time?”
His ire rekindled, Paul delved into the aggravating story, forgetting Agatha was there. His father listened pat
iently, shaking his head on occasion. His eyes hardened as he viewed the salacious sketches, complete with obscene remarks. “He’s up to no good again,” Frederic snarled, “as if he has nothing better to do with his time.”
“May I see those?” Agatha asked, arm outstretched.
“No.” Frederic shoved the papers back into the folder and threw them into the dustbin.
Agatha bristled. “Why do you allow Paul to suffer such nonsense?”
“Yes, Father,” Paul interjected, capitalizing on Agatha’s propitious allegiance. “Why must I abide his malicious antics? We’re no longer children. John refuses to behave like an adult, and yet, he’s in charge.”
Frederic smiled sardonically. “You are in charge here, and John is in charge in Virginia.”
“That’s not how I see it. John is in charge above and beyond the Virginia operations. John changed the shipping routes, which led to this fiasco. We never had this problem before. Direct packets carry island supplies, nothing else.”
Frederic nodded, but remained silent.
Paul pressed on, venting his anger. “Beyond that, you and I both know John controls the purse strings that affect the growth of your entire estate.”
“That is owing to the fact he lives on the mainland,” Frederic said, bringing folded hands to his lips. “What would you have me do?”
“Take him off the will!” Agatha cut in. “Then he shall see where his vicious games have gotten him.”
“Really? You think we have problems now?” Frederic paused for a moment, allowing the question to sink in. “We need John in Virginia. For all his faults, Paul knows no one else could command John’s end of the family business as well as John does. As for removing him from the will—if John enjoys a prank when he holds a vested interest in Duvoisin enterprises, what games do you think he’ll play if he knows his actions hurt or benefit only Paul? You can’t begin to guess. He’d have a heyday.”
Paul had not considered this; his father was a wise man. He glanced at Agatha, who seemed to be searching for a rational rebuttal. There was no love lost between aunt and nephew. John was downright cruel to her, and she preferred he remain abroad. With her marriage to Frederic, Paul surmised she worried over her future should his father die and John inherit. He snickered to think of his brother ousting Agatha from the house, if not the island. Clearly, she needed an ally, and he had been chosen. But the Duvoisin empire needed John. As long as John resided in Virginia, he would remain the heir apparent.
