A Silent Ocean Away

by DeVa Gantt

  Yvette had been gone a long time. Suspicious, Charmaine left the nursery. “Yvette?” she called, knocking on the privy door. “Are you all right?”

  “I had a stomachache. But I’m feeling better now. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  She returned, followed by Paul. He had wonderful news: Charmaine had his father’s approval. Agatha would not question her position again.

  “Mademoiselle said a ship docked from Virginia,” Yvette interjected when the adult discourse ebbed. “Were there any letters from Johnny?”

  “No, there weren’t any letters from Johnny,” he answered curtly. “But there was a letter for Miss Ryan, which completely slipped my mind.”

  Paul pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket, addressed in Loretta Harrington’s hand. Charmaine eagerly accepted it. It had been months since she’d heard from the woman, and her eyes flew over the contents.

  “What does it say, Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette asked.

  “Mrs. Harrington writes of the new railway into Richmond.”

  “Railway?”

  “Last year there was much ado about it, but I left Richmond before I had the chance to see the station. She, Gwendolyn, and Mr. Harrington booked passage to Fredericksburg, where two of her sons live, and rode directly behind the huge steam engine.”

  Charmaine looked from eager face to eager face. Even Pierre showed interest. The children had been reading about the locomotives in a periodical Paul had brought back from Europe.

  “In just over an hour they traveled fifty miles and arrived in Fredericksburg without delay!”

  “Was that city named after Papa?” Jeannette asked innocently.

  “No, sweetheart,” Charmaine replied as Pierre climbed into her lap.

  “That is why I want to visit Johnny in Virginia,” Yvette announced. “I want to have a ride on that great big steam engine.”

  “Me, too!” Pierre piped in.

  Charmaine hugged him. “Maybe someday we will visit there,” she said, befuddled to find Paul frowning when she smiled up at him.

  Saturday, July 16, 1837

  Agatha sorted through the papers strewn atop her husband’s desk. He was visiting with the children, which afforded her an hour to tidy up. She was astonished when she came across his will. Had he removed it from the safe because he intended to change something? Had he given some thought to her comments concerning John?

  She had just finished reading it when Frederic entered the room. He instantly realized what she held and turned livid. “How dare you rummage through my personal things?”

  Agatha replaced the document with a great show of dignity. “I wasn’t rummaging, Frederic. I was merely straightening out this mess. Your will was amid the papers.” She crossed the room, then stopped. “I am your wife now. I didn’t think it was a secret. Obviously, I was wrong, and now I know why.”

  Frederic’s rage diminished. “If there is something you want to know, ask.”

  “Paul is going to be devastated,” she choked out, tears glistening in her eyes. “You realize that, don’t you? If he finds out, he’s going to be devastated.”

  “Finds out what?”

  Frederic grimaced. Paul stood in the doorway. “Agatha has read my will,” he replied hesitantly. “It names Pierre as second in line to inherit—after John.”

  The room plummeted into a paralyzing silence. Only a sense of betrayal hung in the air. Paul forced himself to speak, to break free of his father’s perfidy. “I see…I mean, it makes sense…After all…he is legitimate.”

  “Paul,” his father beseeched, his sorrowful eyes growing steely when it looked as if Agatha would interrupt. “You know this has nothing to do with legitimacy. I have tried to provide for all three of you. That is why I’ve given you Espoir. My will is merely a formality. In fact, I was preparing a new docu—”

  “Father, you don’t have to explain,” Paul cut in, his throat constricted with emotion. He was angry with himself, revolted by the wave of jealousy that engulfed him, the harsh judgment he’d been ready to pass. “As you say, you’ve given me Espoir. You’ve financed the entire operation, including the shipping. I’ve no right to ask for more, to be envious of Pierre or John.”

  “But I should have told you about Pierre,” Frederic murmured. “I’m sorry you found out this way.”

  “No, Father,” Paul countered. “There’s no need to apologize, not when you’ve given me so much.”

  Sunday, July 30, 1837

  Frederic pored over the documents he held, studying each element and computing each figure with swift precision. When the papers offered no further information, he placed them aside and turned a satisfied smile on his son, who waited patiently for his opinion. “They appear to be in order.”

  Paul concurred. “I’m very pleased. In fact, I’m surprised we’ve not confronted any delays since taking over the defaulted contracts in January. The shipbuilders have been prompt in meeting our schedule. They were relieved to have someone step in and purchase the titles. The financial panic made it difficult for them to come up with the capital to finish the vessels. We enabled them to put their men back to work and remain solvent at the same time.”

  Paul gestured toward the papers on his father’s desk. “Once you’ve signed the remaining documents, I’ll see them transported to Mr. Larabee when the next ship sets sail. On his end, he’ll liquidate the securities and instruct Edward Richecourt to proceed with the final installment of funds. It was wise to go with the New York firm, and a stroke of luck to boot. Newportes Newes and Baltimore held promise, but I’m glad I continued north. Because the vessels were well under construction, they’ll be ready in a third of the time, and we’ve obtained three ships for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars when we expected to pay one-eighty.”

  “You are not disappointed with fully rigged merchantmen?”

  “From what Thomas Harrison indicated, it will be years before the merits of steam outweigh wind propulsion. Paddlewheels may be faster, but fueling their engines becomes a concern. No, we’re better off waiting until they are perfected. I’m quite pleased with the three-masted clippers. Their hulls sit high out of the water, a brilliant bit of engineering that will greatly reduce the time at sea.”

  Frederic nodded. “And on this end?” he queried. “Will Espoir be ready?”

  “We’ve expanded the dock. Two ships can berth simultaneously. The house is nearly completed and beautiful. The architect proved reputable. He returned to Europe two months ago with a list of furnishings, which he will purchase on my behalf and transport to Espoir when the vessels make their maiden runs. As for island operations, the men have cleared half the land, and three fields have been sown. By next year, they will be on a one-tract-per-month rotation.”

  “We may need to increase the size of the fleet,” Frederic said with a smile.

  “Let’s see how the routes work out first,” Paul advised.

  Frederic’s smile broadened. His son had a good head on his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Paul, very proud. You’ve met your own grueling schedule despite the chaos and tragedy of the past four months. I realize the burden hasn’t been light, and yet, you’ve continued to manage operations on Charmantes amid the press of Espoir’s development. You haven’t shirked your responsibilities, even though you’ve lost George’s able hands.”

  Paul frowned. He hadn’t mentioned George and wondered how his father knew of his prolonged absence. He doubted Travis had shared the information.

  “I know about George,” Frederic said. “When do you expect him back?”

  “I have no idea,” Paul grunted. “You realize he went to Virginia?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “I don’t know, Paul,” his father replied, rubbing his chin, “I don’t know.”

  “If it hasn’t happened by now, George will probably come home alone.”

  Frederic remained silent, deep in thought as he stared into the d
istance. When he did speak, he was directing his attention back to the documents, lifting them from his desk and rereading them.

  “I know you were upset about Pierre and my will,” he commented, to Paul’s discomfort. “But I want you to know I realize which son has remained beside me, who deserves the credit for nurturing enormous profits here on Charmantes, even in the face of our depleted cane fields. It was for this reason I placed Espoir in your hands and invested in its future. I would like to know that when I die, you will own a share of what you’ve helped to build.”

  “Yes, sir,” Paul said, embarrassed by his father’s praise. “Thank you, sir.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Agatha, come in,” Frederic invited. “I would like to place you in charge of something.”

  Though he knew she was pleased with his enthusiastic welcome, she eyed him suspiciously. He chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time now, but I shall need help with the details. I’m certain it will meet with your approval.” He breathed deeply, then shifted in his chair. “Paul predicts the ships will make their maiden crossing before Christmastide. Correct?”

  “Yes,” Paul confirmed, though he, too, appeared apprehensive.

  “This is what I propose: we plan a grand celebration on Charmantes over the Christmas holiday.”

  “Celebration?” The word dropped in unison from Paul and Agatha’s lips.

  “Yes.” Frederic regarded his son. “According to you, it will take a year before Espoir is in full production. In that time, it would be foolish to forge the Atlantic with half-empty ships. I say we bring Paul Duvoisin to the public eye, set him before the world marketplace. Why not advertise to farmers—both in Virginia and the Caribbean—the availability of your new fleet, and allow these tobacco, cane, and cocoa farmers, as well as their brokers, to bid on your transport services?”

  He paused, enjoying their reactions. His wife’s eyes twinkled in burgeoning excitement, while his son appeared thunderstruck.

  He pressed on. “Why place all your coins on one bet? Yes, I’m certain Espoir will produce profitable harvests for years to come, but the ships may prove more lucrative in the long run. Additional vessels can always be commissioned if need be, and so much the better if that becomes necessary.”

  Agatha was elated. “This is marvelous, Frederic, just marvelous! If Paul is jumping into the shipping world, men of influence must be told. And what better way than to invite them here to Charmantes for an unforgettable event?”

  “Exactly,” Frederic agreed. “We shall plan a week of activities, which will include the unveiling of Espoir, the christening of Paul’s fleet, and the signing of contracts. We’ll extend invitations to well-known businessmen, brokers, and prosperous farmers both in Virginia and the West Indies. Let these landowners see what we Duvoisins have built; witness our undisputed success. Let them bid on cargo space or better still, invest in additional ships.”

  “Let them long for a piece of it!” Agatha interjected dramatically.

  Frederic nodded. “And then, after all the proper connections have been made, we will culminate the festivities with a grand dinner and ball.”

  “Father,” Paul breathed, “what can I say?”

  “I gather you approve?” Frederic asked.

  “I do, but…” His words dropped off as concern for his father’s health came to the fore.

  “Yes?” Frederic queried.

  “Are you fit for this?”

  “I’ll be fit,” he vowed. “For you, Paul, I’ll make every effort to be fit. I shall write to Larabee and Richecourt in Virginia. They can supply the names of the men we should contact in the States. After the invitations go out and the positive responses begin to reach us, I’ll rely on you, Agatha, to coordinate the other arrangements. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Absolutely!” she purred.

  “Then it’s settled. My only reservation is burdening you with additional work, Paul.”

  “On the contrary,” his son responded. “Espoir has fallen into its own routine, the overseers conscientious. By the end of next month, I should be able to manage its production from Charmantes, traveling there every week or so. As for this venture”—and he shook his head, still in awe of what his father had planned—“it sounds as if you and Agatha will be taking on far more than I. I’m dumbfounded, actually. This is wonderful!”

  When Frederic was alone, he sighed, happy for the first time in months.

  Charmaine entered the drawing room. Pierre was sound asleep, and now she turned her attention on the girls. They begged to stay up a bit longer, playing a duet on the piano. When Paul smiled her way, Charmaine capitulated. He’d dined with them for the first time in two weeks and hadn’t rushed off as he normally did directly after dinner. He’d been exceptionally charming throughout the meal, his countenance every bit as amiable now. If she insisted the twins retire, she’d no longer have a reason to return to the drawing room once they were in bed. She’d be wise to make the most of the next few minutes.

  Unfortunately, they were not alone. Agatha sat with her needlepoint, Rose with her knitting. Bravely, Charmaine crossed the room and settled next to Paul on the settee, gaining a lazy smile that widened into an intense perusal.

  He relaxed into the cushions, his arm outstretched across the back of the sofa. “Now, isn’t this nice?” he whispered.

  She blushed.

  “I wish I were home more often,” he continued softly.

  “You’re returning to Espoir in the morning?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. However, the work is progressing nicely there, the house nearly finished. It won’t be long before I can rely on my overseers full-time. Then, you’ll be seeing a great deal more of me.” He shifted a discernible degree closer. “Would you like that?”

  Her blush deepened. It was answer enough. Her innocence and visible discomfiture fed a quickening in his loins. It was what he loved most about her.

  Shortly afterward, Rose stood to say good night, and Charmaine and the girls did the same. Paul watched them go, then flipped open a periodical.

  Agatha looked up. They were alone, an unprecedented occasion. She set her needlepoint aside and studied him. He was so very handsome, so much like his father. “Paul,” she began cautiously, waiting for him to give her his full attention, accepting the frown of annoyance he shot her way as he dragged his eyes from the newspaper. “I know you don’t like me.”

  He began to object, but she waved him off. “Please, allow me to say what I have to say, and then you can respond.”

  He leaned forward.

  “I realize you were unhappy when your father and I wed, but I intend to make him happy, truly happy. I’ve loved him for a very long time.”

  “Since I was a boy,” he supplied.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “But I wasn’t at liberty to marry him then.” She bit her bottom lip, distraught. “Don’t judge me harshly, Paul. Thomas, God rest his soul, was a good man, and I loved him as well, but never as I have loved your father.”

  “And?”

  “And I thought perhaps we could come to an understanding.”

  “What type of understanding?”

  “I like you, Paul. When you were young and I would come to visit, you were always polite, always respectful—unlike your brother.” She grimaced in repugnance, pausing for emphasis. “This afternoon, I was proud to be included in these plans your father is making. I would like this enterprise to succeed beyond your wildest expectations. But mostly, I’d like your approval as I lend a hand in the coming months.”

  “Agatha, any effort that contributes to the success of this event will gain my approbation. I am glad my father is getting involved again, and if this new venture gives him purpose, so much the better. Likewise, if you lend a hand in raising him out of his misery, I commend you on that as well.”

  “Thank you, Paul.” Her smile was genuine—beautiful. “I’ve no doubt you will do well for yourself. You are more than ju
st a handsome young man…” She let her words fall where they would, then stood and bade him good night.

  For the second time that day, he was astonished.

  Chapter 9

  Friday, August 18, 1837

  BY nine o’clock the children were sound asleep, and Charmaine had time to herself. She dismissed the idea of spending the remainder of the evening in the drawing room. Only Agatha and Rose would be there, and although Agatha no longer harassed her, Charmaine still avoided her. She did not need companionship that badly, so she rang for Millie, deciding to take a bath instead.

  An hour later, she was finished and sat at her dressing table, working out the tangles in her damp hair. “It’s too darn curly!” she grumbled. Like so many other nights, she tossed the comb aside and grabbed her wooden hairbrush, but it failed just as miserably. She was not in the mood and abruptly sent the brush sailing, where it hit the door and dropped to the floor. Dissatisfied still, she fingered the sewing shears on the table. In the building humidity, it would take hours for the thick mane to dry. How easy it would be to clip it short. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Pushing back from the dressing table, she moved to the French doors. There she stood, allowing the evening breeze to lift the heavy locks off her neck, her fingers absentmindedly raking through the snarls.

  Footsteps resounded on the portico below. Paul was on his way to the stable. Charmaine hadn’t realized he was home and frowned at her decision to remain in her chambers. Nothing was going right. If she had known he was in the house, she’d have gladly withstood Agatha’s disapproving airs to be in his presence.

  She shook her head free of the thought. He’d confounded her over the past two months: setting her heart to racing, yet remaining aloof, always flirting, suggesting he found her attractive, yet never whispering words of endearment. He had turned her world upside down, and she didn’t like it. She had always been sure of herself, not flustered and confused.