by Dana Roquet
“But I do adore you silly!” she giggled, “No need to pretend.”
As he leaned down once more and his lips possessed hers, Desiree tried to imagine what it might be like to be loved by him. She touched the hard muscle of his lean ribs and along his waist, feeling the solid strength there. It was no use though. No use at all.
Rene’ pulled back once more and sighed, “I don’t know about you but I’m convinced—marry me!” With a silly expression he kissed her again and Desiree giggled against his lips, “Please Rene’,” she managed, “Stop!”
He gently caressed her belly, his amber eyes full of mischief, “And if I don’t?”
“I shall tell Antoine and Honore’ and they shall kill you!”
Rene’ scowled darkly and then chuckled, “You are right.” He stood and gently helped Desiree to her feet and they continued their walk slowly across the meadow with arms about one another and Rene’ stated, “You can’t hold on to a memory forever Desiree.”
“Maybe not but for now I plan on having and caring for my baby—alone. I don’t wish to marry and Rene’—I don’t want you to be hurt. If you don’t stop this, you may end up hating me and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you over this. I love you too much.” She leaned against him, laying her head upon his chest.
“That shall never happen. We have more than this between us. No matter what, you shall have my undying devotion forever.”
***
Desiree sat upon her bed, allowing Bridgett to remove her shoes and stockings, then lay back upon the pillows to rest. “Rene’ asked me to marry him again today.” she sighed heavily.
“And? What did you say?” Bridgett asked excitedly, taking a seat beside her.
“No of course. I will not marry him.”
Bridgett patted her hand comfortingly, “It’s early yet. You need time to forget Captain Colter.”
Desiree stared at her in amazement, “Forget him?” she questioned, “Bridgett tell me—how am I to do that? Please tell me—how am I to forget? I love him still! I would welcome him with open arms if he walked through that door today. I have a part of him that shall be with me for the rest of my life, God willing—a constant reminder! It shall never be over and I shall never forget Bridgett. I thought once, that leaving him would end it, as though the distance would wipe him from my mind but time and distance have only served to enhance my pain.” She confessed miserably.
“I understand sweet. Rene’ is very determined though. I have never seen him so set on something. He loves you very much and would love the baby.”
Bridgett spoke as though she hadn’t heard a word she had just said. She didn’t understand—not in the least, “I know all of that. Mon Dieu I wish I could love him. Just forget everything and feel the way he does but…” she stopped mid-sentence. She was so tired—tired from defending her feelings throughout the afternoon with Rene’, “Maybe someday—I don’t know.” She sighed, to Bridgett’s pleasure.
“Well you rest now sweet. I am sorry to have upset you.” Bridgett kissed her brow and took her leave.
Desiree turned to her side, facing the windows and massaged her belly; feeling a tiny limb pushing out against her hand, “Perhaps you need a father little one.” She said aloud, “And he is such a good man. Perhaps I could grow to love him as I loved your father. Perhaps I could love him better, without hurting him.”
Desiree thought of Rene’s kiss and imagined the lean frame above her, loving her—she felt nothing. Then she thought of Stephen, his kiss, his touch and the fusing of their bodies in ecstasy. She could see the dark brown eyes, the strikingly handsome face. She could remember the feel of his muscular body possessing her and his voice, deep and rich urging her on, whispering tender endearments as they plunged upon the roaring tide of fulfillment, clinging tightly to one another and she felt her desire flare. She wanted him—only him, even now.
She dismissed thoughts of Rene’. For now, she could not even consider marriage to him. She closed her eyes and her mind was filled with past images, glimpses of reality that had occurred with Stephen. Then imaginings of how it might have been had she been wise, and she drifted into a dream—feeling him, hearing his voice and she knew it would never be the same with any other man.
Chapter Forty-Six
Desiree lifted her crystal water goblet to join the others filled with wine and Francois Roche’ gazed into her eyes warmly, “To Desiree. May your nineteenth year be filled with happiness.”
“Here—Here!” echoed the table of guests.
“Merci Francois.” Desiree said, smiling softly and touching her goblet with a soft clink to each of her well wishers.
Her nineteenth year, she thought, just one month from this day would be a year she had been without her parents. In two months, she would become a mother and would have, at long last, that small treasure that made its presence known to her often throughout her days. She was growing impatient to behold Stephen’s child. She wondered if she would bear a son or a daughter—if Stephen would be evident in its features and she prayed so. She prayed for a son, with blond curls and velvety brown eyes to forever remind her of his father. So that as years passed and the memory of Stephen began to fade, she would have a likeness of him to enhance the memory.
Francois rose from his seat, holding his wife’s chair as she joined him and they rounded the table to place a kiss upon Desiree’s cheek, “Sweet we must be off—the evening is growing late. Happy Birthday.”
Bridgett and Jacques also rose, excusing themselves for the evening, leaving Desiree and her friends to reminisce over their years of comradery, which had become a tradition between the five of them. Each one’s birthday was a time to recall their shared experiences and between the five, there was never a lack.
***
With a peal of laughter, Desiree questioned, “Now who might this have been?” she lowered her voice to a pitch, well below what was normal and frowned thoughtfully, “My breeches may be on inside out but a fortnight from now, it shall be all the rage—mark my words!”
All eyes turned to Rene’ and he raised a hand, claiming responsibility as a roar of laughter went up. It had been a formal affair, at the grand ballroom in Rouen, when Rene’ had arrived late, having been out carousing for hours and was more than a little foxed. As he explained it, he had dressed in the carriage en route to arrive on time and somehow had managed to don his breeches inside out, fastened haphazardly and looking absolutely comical. All had noticed by the time he had and he had shrugged it off in typical Rene’ fashion, with that remark, bringing the crowd to tears with laughter. He had continued to be the center of attention all evening, for he had worn them so, his entire stay.
Antoine tapped his goblet with a spoon calling for order, “My turn.” he chuckled, “Now which of us might have said this. “What? You mean this—this is Bartholomew?”
Desiree covered her eyes with her hands, shaking her head, “How was I to know that my lamb I took such care of was to become a feast. I was devastated and you—” she waved an accusing finger at Honore’, “With your Baa—Baa, each bite you consumed! And speaking to my dinner plate in gentle tones as I fought to keep from bursting into tears!” she giggled as the others broke into laughter, “I must have been seven—eight?” she wondered, pausing thoughtfully, “I have been blessed to have found so many loyal friends to enhance my years.” she sighed, gazing at them lovingly.
“No more than we.” Philippe stated, lifting his glass to her in salute, “Happy Birthday Desiree!”
Happy Birthday!” echoed the other three.
***
Stephen could hardly contain the anguish as the ship made its way to the dock at Somerset and he looked at the large schooner, anchored in the harbor. He barked orders to the men and as soon as the ship ground to a halt, he was over the side, shimming down a line and leaping to the dock. He stopped the first man he met, motioning to the vessel, “Where is the captain of that ship?” he barked.
“At your home Stephen
,” the young seaman replied hastily, seeing the concern on his face. Stephen headed up the dock at a jog, as the sailor watched him go, frowning quizzically at his receding back.
Stephen headed through the jungle and along the covered path to the back of the house, then around the side to the front door. He burst into the house, slamming the door soundly behind him.
“Stephen Colter!” Bessie barked, turning from the stairs she was about to climb, “Don’t you ever…”
“Where is the pirate captain Bess?” he interrupted anxiously.
Bess pointed toward the drawing room, “With your father—Lord I think you startled me out of ten years of my life! Why must you men always slam doors?”
Stephen hurried past her, ignoring her remarks, “They have been waiting for days!” she added grumbling as she mounted the stairs, for the second floor.
Stephen strode through the door, to find Red and his first mate reclining in chairs as his father stood at the bar pouring drinks.
“Captain Colter!” Red announced, and stood as Macintosh also came to his feet, “We had almost given up on seein’ ye.”
“She is gone Captain Greaves—Desiree left months ago.” Stephen announced lamely.
“Aye we been told all of that.” Red frowned and nodded solemnly, “We be ‘bout to set sail for France ourselves. We got the goods on the culprit.”
“Who?” Stephen asked softly.
“Do the name Jacques Monet mean anything to ye?” Red asked with a shrug of his shoulders, “I can na’ place the name meself. Never heard of the man but it be ‘em.” He assured with confidence, “We also got the name of a man, name of Jones what ‘ad been ‘hired to tamper wit’ a carriage and the same bloke burned the ‘house, all under orders from this Monet.”
Stephen paced the room, deep in thought—running the name over and over within his mind. He knew the name, he was sure of it—and then—it dawned on him, the conversations he had shared with Desiree so long ago on his ship, about her house and business and Jacques Monet living in her home, seeing to its completion.
He turned to Red abruptly, “Oh dear God—he is in her very home! He resides there!” Stephen rasped weakly.
“Sweet Jesus!” Macintosh breathed.
“I must go—now!” Stephen whispered, turning to his father.
“Of course Stephen but…” Michael Colter began and Stephen nodded.
“With your permission father I shall take the Venture and any crew I can collect. I will leave the Windward, she is loaded to the beams and will take days to make ready.” Stephen turned back to the huge pirate, extending his hand, “Sorry to rush off but I want to be under way by nightfall. Thank you for your help and God willing I shall be in time.”
“Stephen!” Red called and Stephen turned back at the door, “Godspeed lad.”
***
By nightfall Stephen was off, with his own crew, aboard his father’s ship. All his own men had been out for close to three months but insisted on coming and Stephen was thankful, for they all worked as one, knowing their duties and were the most experienced crew a captain could ask for. They were under full sail and would remain so as the weather permitted, making the most of every breath of wind available.
Stephen roamed about the unfamiliar cabin that first night as his mind punished him unmercifully, churning up past words and deeds done to Desiree. He remembered a warm night in September when Desiree had voiced her fears of taking his seed. He remembered his grand speech, declaring she would not have been alone, that he would not have deserted her.
He remembered the next night when she had come to him, trusting him and giving of herself to him in spite of how it went against everything that was her nature. Why hadn’t he seen it then? She wasn’t simply taking him to her for pleasure’s sake; she had loved him, even then. Why hadn’t he voiced his love for her? Instead, he had allowed her fears to fester—fear of his intent, his devotion, until she had recalled all, trying to regain respect for herself; trying to regain her innocence.
She had been in France nearly three months now, living in the same house with the man who meant to see her dead or had the deed been done? What of his child—did it exist? At best he would arrive in early May and Desiree would be in her eight month—or would she? He slammed his fist into his hand, cursing the uncertainty of it all—the urgency and the inability to do more than simply make time as best he knew how.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Honore’ adjusted his stock, looking through the window beside the front door, to see Jacques Monet raise his hand in a slight greeting, as he hurried to open the door, admitting him.
“Jacques what did the doctor have to say last night? Is she doing well today?” Honore’ blurted, as he entered and Jacques closed the door behind him.
“Honore’ come in to the drawing room, Antoine and Rene’ are here also. Please—come in.” He gestured the way and Honore’ strode briskly into the drawing room, taking a seat across from Rene’ and they all sat tensely upon the edge of their chairs.
Jacques sighed heavily and took a seat with the three, sadly shaking his head, “It does not look good I am afraid. The physician is totally baffled. He gave a slight indication it may be a problem with the baby but he has never seen such before in all his years. He holds little hope if she doesn’t turn about soon.” He lifted his hands in hopelessness, “He fears the babe may be lost to her soon.” He added, gazing into the troubled eyes of the three.
“But she was fine—just weeks ago!” Rene’ whispered, “On her birthday—remember?” he looked to Antoine, “That was only three weeks ago! How can this be?”
“It is a mysterious malady.” Jacques sighed, “But look here—there is always hope. I shall not give up yet!”
“Does she know the doctor’s fears?” Antoine inquired standing and pacing about the room.
“No and I want it to remain so. She does not need that added torment. I want each of you to give her encouragement—do you understand?”
They nodded and stood from their seats. Antoine turned from the window, where he had paused to look out at the wonderful spring day, “Well,” he began, “I think it would be best if we don’t all go rushing up to her—she will know something is amiss. I shall leave now and come back later.” He clasped hands with each of his friends and with a comforting pat upon Jacques shoulder, he took his leave.
“I shall go for now also.” Rene’ stated looking to Honore’, “Go on up to her and I shall see her later today.”
Honore’ nodded solemnly and as they departed, he turned to the stairs he had climbed often of late, to Desiree’s room, where she had been unable to depart for weeks.
It was the last of April now, but spring held no joy for those within this house. In the last weeks, Desiree had been gripped by nausea and an inability to hold down food of any kind. Her slim form was becoming painfully thin, her eyes hollowed by lack of sleep and proper nourishment. She was taken by convulsions and after such an episode last night, the doctor had been sent for once again and once again he was unable to do anything.
He had learned of the spell last night shortly after it had begun, for Philippe had been present for the bout and after being hustled from the room by Bridgett, he had made his way to his house, to relate what had happened.
“Mother of God—Honore’—she is dying! I know it!” he had cried. “She is so ill and it is worse every day.”
“Philippe take it easy.” He had said gently, bringing him into his house and fixing him a stiff drink. Philippe had tossed it down his throat in an instant and then paced back and forth across the room.
“She’s much worse then?” He had asked as his eyes followed Philippe.
“I don’t know—I don’t know!” Philippe had shouted, shaking his head and running his hands frantically through his dark hair, “I never saw one of the seizures before—it was…Mon Dieu! They are talking of bleeding her to cleanse her blood.” he anguished, “Bloodletting! That is usually a last effort and never
a good sign.”
He had calmed Philippe last night, telling him he had witnessed the fits that possessed her and that she was probably no worse off but as he entered her bedroom now and watched Bridgett and Mary help Desiree to sit up and sip some tea, he nearly burst into tears himself. Her gaunt, drawn face was a mask of fatigue and pain. Her eyes were on him and they looked dead and glazed.
“Honore’.” She croaked, “Come here.” She smiled weakly and he smiled bravely in return, hurrying to her side and taking her tiny, frail hand in his own.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked, as though unaware of her bout last night, while taking a seat in a chair at her side.
“Fine.” Desiree lied, seeing the concern in his eyes. She attempted to squeeze his hand reassuringly but the effort was barely noticed by Honore’.
“You look very dashing this morning.” She took in his tailored suit of deep plum, which set off his light hair. His blue eyes twinkled, as he grinned.
“Just for you.” He chuckled.
“You are most handsome Monsieur.” Desiree nodded softly, “Bridgett I cannot eat, please take this tray away.” She requested, setting her tea cup upon its saucer and waving it away, lay back against the pillows. Bridgett removed the tray from her lap, motioning to Mary and the housekeeper accompanied her from the room, leaving the two alone.
Desiree sighed weakly, “Would you read from Shakespeare for me Honore’?”
Honore’ picked up the bound volume from the table beside him and chuckled, “I am not near as learned as you in translating. You must be patient.”
Desiree nodded in agreement. The book was written in English and she had never thought twice about translating the words to French as she read, but she listened intently as Honore’ read slowly, with choppy and stinted pauses, from a book of sonnets.
