Siren's Song

by Constance O'Banyon

  Dominique's attention was drawn to the music that drifted from the large drawing room where twenty of the island's most elite families, arrayed in their finest, were enjoying the festivities.

  "Dominique, come back inside. Everyone is asking about you."

  She turned slowly to Philippe Laurent, whose family had fled France seven years ago to avoid the mass executions of anyone who supported the royalist cause.

  Philippe was of medium height with coffee-brown hair. His brown eyes reflected a restrained nature, although Dominique was aware that he loved her—or at least he thought he did.

  Being pretty had never been of any particular importance to Dominique, but she knew that men admired her, although her outspokenness often kept them at arm's length.

  Her brother had always affectionately accused her of being a wild spirit with no care for her manner of dress or deportment.

  Thus far, she had met no man who tempted her to abandon her life for wedded bliss. She loved being at Windward Plantation with her brother and grandfather, and was perfectly contented to remain there forever.

  "Forgive me," she replied, placing her hand in Philippe's outstretched hand. "I was watching for Valcour. I am convinced that something dreadful has happened to him."

  His fingers tightened on her hand. "Put your anxieties aside, Dominique—he will be here, with his usual disregard for time and place. Your brother is a dreamer of dreams and does not always consider others' feelings."

  Dominique resented Philippe's implication, and she jerked her hand free. "You do not really know my brother if you believe that," she said defensively. "And you say this when you claim to be his friend."

  "I am his friend," he said softly, glad that he had finally spoken the truth about her brother's frivolous nature. "And to prove it to you, if Valcour is not home from Basse-Terre by Monday, I shall go there myself and find out what has happened to delay him." He looked at her for approval. "Will that make you feel better, Dominique?"

  She shook her head. "I would only feel better if I found out for myself just what is keeping him."

  Philippe looked at her with misgiving, knowing that her impetuous disposition was not unlike her brother's. In fact, it was a flaw that Monsieur Charbonneau seemed to encourage in his grandchildren.

  That very personality was what had first attracted him to Dominique, and it was now the very characteristic he intended to change when they were married. He needed a wife who was settled, who would be at his side and have his children. Dominique thought nothing about rushing headlong into danger without weighing the consequences. Yet, still, he loved her and wanted no other as his wife.

  He looked deeply into her eyes, wishing he could read her thoughts. "Promise me you will not do anything impulsive, Dominique."

  She blinked innocently. "I never make a promise I may be unable to keep, so do not ask it of me, Philippe."

  His hand slipping about her arm. "Give me your word that you will not go to Basse-Terre, looking for Valcour. It would be too dangerous for a woman such as yourself to go alone with those soldiers garrisoned at the fort."

  She looked at him carefully and he lowered his eyes. "You are keeping something from me," she accused. "Do you know something about my brother that you are not telling me?"

  He did not look at her. "Why should you think that?"

  "You have not answered me. Have you any notion what has happened to him?"

  "Non, I have not. But you can trust me to find out where he is and what is keeping him."

  She wriggled her hand out of his grasp and clasped his arm. Something was not right, she could feel it. "Tell me what you know. Tell me now!" she demanded.

  "I speak the truth, Dominique. Do you think I would keep it from you if I knew where Valcour is?"

  There was earnestness in his expression and her anger cooled. "Let us go now and see if we can find him," she pleaded. "He may be in trouble, or hurt and needing me."

  "Dominique, you must calm yourself." He shook his head. "You know that Valcour is always late for any engagement."

  "He does lose track of time," she admitted. "But this is different. I must go to Basse-Terre, and you shall accompany me."

  "How can you even consider such an unconventional action. Think of your reputation."

  "Little I care for my reputation if my brother is in danger."

  "If you do not care about yourself, then consider what others will think," Philippe said, his eyes boring into hers. "You know that if your grandfather were himself, he would not approve."

  She considered his words before answering. "Non, Grandpapa would not approve. But he is very ill and cannot go himself. Much of the time his memory is faulty. There are moments when he does not even remember who I am," she said sadly. With a heavy intake of breath, she raised her chin and looked at Philippe with sadness. "Therefore it is left to me to look for my brother."

  "Come," Philippe said in a jovial voice, hoping to distract her. "Valcour brother arrives home he will laugh at you because you worried so about him."

  She wanted to believe him, but her fear would not go away.

  Philippe studied Dominique's lovely face framed by a bountiful array of black hair. Her eyes were like the turquoise waters that surround the island and her cheeks were the color of coral. He reached out and daringly touched a stray curl that rested against her shoulder, and was encouraged when she did not pull away.

  "Give me the right to protect you, Dominique," he said hurriedly, before he lost his nerve. "If you were my wife, it would be my honor to take care of your family as well."

  She frowned as she looked into his earnest eyes. Philippe, like everyone else, must be aware that Windward Plantation had fallen on hard times, and his offer to help was heartrending.

  Dominique wished she could love Philippe. He was a fine man and he would make a good husband. Why did she hesitate to accept him? She told herself it was because her brother and grandfather needed her, but there were other reasons. She often dreamed that a man would one day sweep into her life and bring her love and excitement.

  "I am honored that you asked me to be your wife. But I cannot marry anyone just now, Philippe. My family needs me."

  Philippe had long ago realized that Dominique was different from any woman he had ever known, and he had known many. She had a wild spirit and a beguiling manner that drew and held everyone's attention. When she entered a room every man's eyes would follow her around as if no other woman existed. He was not certain that she was even conscious of how she affected those around her.

  "Perhaps the time will come when you will reconsider my proposal," he said with hope lingering in his heart. "I know how hard you and your brother have fought to save the plantation. Let me help you."

  "Never! You must understand why 1 can make no commitment to anyone until Windward Plantation is free of debt. We are a proud family, Philippe. Neither my brother nor myself will accept charity. One day we shall prevail, but only because we worked hard, and did it ourselves."

  "Sweet Dominique, I am very aware of the reason you and your brother are having difficulties. I would be willing to lend you money, asking nothing in return."

  Her eyes hardened and her manner chilled as she glanced at him. "Do not offer me your pity. I can assure you that it is not welcome."

  He chuckled and took her hand. "Pity? I think not. You see, I know that your grandfather used his fortune and even mortgaged Windward Plantation, so he could aid royalist families in their flight from France. Even those unknown to him have benefited by his generosity. And while I do not approve of your grandfather squandering his funds and leaving little for his family, I admire his reasons for doing so."

  Dominique glared at him. "All that matters is that my brother and I approve of what he did."

  Philippe's eyes dropped to the hem of her gown, which was frayed and had been mended many times. To him she was more beautiful than any of the young ladies who wore the latest Paris fashions, and to him her ragged gown was only testi
mony of her courageous heart.

  "I wonder if you would accept me as your husband if nothing stood in your way—neither pride, nor money, nor family obligations."

  Dominique's grandfather had once explained to her that love, the lasting kind, came slowly, and was built and grew on a firm foundation. Perhaps he was right, and she should accept Philippe. Surely if she was going to love anyone, it would be him. But no, she thought, there must be more to love than the fondness she felt for Philippe—there just had to be!

  "I cannot give you the answer you want, Philippe. For now, let us remain friends."

  He resisted the urge to enfold her in his arms, to crush those tempting lips beneath his own, to speak of the love that raged inside him, but reason prevailed. "We will talk of this another day, Dominique. I have known for some time that we belong together. Some day you will realize it as well."

  She had no answer for him. Philippe's was not the first marriage proposal she had received. The others had been easy to turn away, but with Philippe it was different. She cared about him, even though she did not love him.

  "Let us join my guests, Philippe. I fear I have been remiss in my duties as hostess."

  He reluctantly ushered her into the house, where he would have to share her with others. "I am certain, Dominique, that Valcour has met with some minor incident, a lame horse, a broken axle, nothing to fret about."

  Dominique entered the room with a forced smile. She danced with several gentlemen, thinking the party would never end. She was thankful when she was approached by her grandfather's oldest friend, Bartrand Dubeau.

  "I see worry in your eyes, little one," Bartrand said. "Will you tell me what is troubling you?"

  She had always been able to speak her mind with this treasured family friend. "Oui. Valcour is in danger, I can feel it."

  "It does no good to worry until you know there is something to worry about," he said with a shrug.

  "Can you find out where he is for me?"

  "I will try, if it will ease your mind." He raised her hand to his lips and smiled. "Tell my old friend that his granddaughter is ready for marriage, and he should send you away from Guadeloupe to find a gentleman who is robust and hardy, and one who will appreciate a woman such as yourself. There is not a man on this island worthy of you."

  She gave him a grateful smile, knowing he was merely talking to her to distract her from worrying about her brother. "There is always Philippe, and I would not even have to leave the island if I married him."

  Bartrand turned his gaze on Philippe Laurent, who was watching him and Dominique with resentment in his eyes. "Philippe is an ignominious fool who thinks only of his wants and needs. He would not know the worth of a woman with your spirit. If only I had had a son, and not three daughters, I would marry you to him. Alas, that was not to be."

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. "A young version of you, I might consider."

  He led her to the edge of the dance floor and handed her to Philippe, winking and whispering in her ear. "A foppish fool, a blandisher, and a boor."

  "I do not like Monsieur Dubeau or his influence on you," Philippe remarked in ill humor, as the older man walked away.

  "I will hear nothing bad about him," Dominique said, wanting to put some distance between herself and Philippe. "Bartrand Dubeau is like an uncle to me. Outside my family, I trust him more than anyone."

  Philippe frowned at her as she moved away from him. Why did Dominique always seem so elusive? he wondered in frustration.

  For the rest of the evening, Dominique avoided Philippe. She could see him watching her, and she knew he was pouting, a trait she did not admire in a man, but one she saw in him more and more. If only she could ask her grandfather what he thought of Philippe, but she would not trouble him with her problems.

  At last, when Dominique was sure she could not endure another dance, the guests began taking their leave. Philippe said a frosty good-bye to her, and she answered him in kind.

  She stared at the long line of torch-lit carriages that soon disappeared around the bend, to be swallowed up by the denseness of the woods.

  3

  Wearily, Dominique instructed the servants in their cleaning duties, then they were sent off to bed.

  She was too restless to sleep, so she stood on the veranda, watching and listening for her brother. After a while she went upstairs to look in on her grandfather. A lone candle burned on his bedside table and his eyes were closed. Pierre, the man who looked after him, moved out of the room to give them privacy.

  Thinking her grandfather was asleep, she bent to kiss his cheek.

  "You could not sleep either, Dominique," her grandfather said, his mind clear, his eyes seeking. There were times when he recognized her, but most often he mistook her for his wife, who had been dead for many years. Even now, his eyes went to the portrait of her grandmother as a bride.

  Dominique wondered how many hours he lay there staring at that likeness and remembering happier times.

  "I am just on my way to bed now, Grandpapa. Can I do anything for you?"

  Jean Louis Charbonneau took his granddaughter's hand and clasped it in his trembling grasp. "You must remember, ma petite, that I am quite capable of taking care of myself. Where is your brother? Does he think he is too old to tell his grandpapa good night?"

  "Do you not remember, Grandpapa? Valcour has gone into town."

  "Oh, oui." He wiped his hand across his face as if trying to remember something. "I have been lying here having very disturbing thoughts. Since Bonaparte appointed General Richepance as governor of our island, many people have disappeared, never to be heard from again."

  Dominique was surprised to find that her grandfather's mind was so clear tonight, and that he, too, seemed to sense that Valcour was in some kind of danger.

  "What is troubling you?" she asked, pulling up a stool and sitting down beside him.

  His gnarled hand shook as he placed it on her dark head. "Many things. I have been remembering the past and I miss your grandmama."

  Dominique studied him in the dim light. There was an aristocratic air about him, but where he had once stood straight and tall, he was now weak and frail. His face was framed by a shock of white hair, and his blue eyes that once sparkled with humor were now dull and lusterless.

  Dominique adored him. He had given her and Valcour a wonderful childhood, allowing them freedom to express their opinions and encouraging them to think for themselves.

  Jean Louis Charbonneau had come to Guadeloupe from France with his new bride, who bore him a son, Dominique's father. Dominique's grandmother had died long before her birth, but she had grown up on tales of the strong-willed woman who had worked alongside her husband, carving Windward Plantation out of the wilderness.

  Jean Louis had often observed with great pride that Dominique resembled her beautiful grandmama, in looks as well as obstinacy and tenacity.

  Sadness had gripped the family of Windward Plantation and a pall hung over them in the form of death. The great yellow fever epidemic that ravaged the island in 1790 had taken Dominique's mother. Then, three years later, her father had died in a hunting accident, leaving her grandfather to raise Dominique and Valcour, and to impart to them his values, chief among them that people were more important than possessions.

  She placed a soft kiss on his rough hand, loving him with all her heart. It would be such a pity if he lost his home because of his generous nature in helping others escape the guillotine in France.

  Dominique and her brother hid from their grandfather the fact that the plantation no longer prospered. Every day was a fight just to keep the moneylenders from taking their home.

  Unlike many of the other planters on the island, her grandfather did not approve of slavery, and therefore had never owned a slave. The men who worked for them were treated fairly and paid wages, even if the Charbonneau family had to go without.

  With a heavy sigh, Dominique stood up and moved to the window, pushing the curtain aside and looking
once more toward the road. The trade winds that tousled her hair brought with them cooling, moist air, a welcome reprieve from the heat that had plagued the islanders for the last three months.

  "You have had a long day, Grandpapa. I will go to bed now, so that you may rest." She bent to kiss his forehead. "Sleep well. I do not want you to be overtired."

  Jean Louis patted her hand. "You guard my health with the ferocity of a wildcat. But I must tell you of a strange acceptance that came over me tonight as I was waiting for you. I realized that more of my life was behind me, rather than ahead of me. My only concern in life is keeping Windward Plantation for you and your brother."

  She pressed her cheek against his and his arms went around her. "All we want is for you to get well, Grandpapa."

  He chuckled and put her from him. "When the body grows weaker, the mind sometimes grows muddled. Why do you suppose that is, Marie?" he asked, and Dominique realized that he thought she was her grandmother again.

  She wished she could tell him about Valcour, and ask him what to do, but already he had closed his eyes and his even breathing told her he was asleep.

  "You will always be the source from which I draw my strength, Grandpapa," she whispered, and tiptoed out of his bedchamber.

  The house was quiet and all the servants had gone to their quarters. Dominique's footsteps were noiseless as she moved across the polished floor. Lifting a candle to light her way to her bedroom, she paused—someone was rapping on the door that led to the garden. There it was again. She decided that it was most probably one of Valcour's hunting hounds that had escaped from the kennel.

  She walked to the door and opened it wide, but no one was there. She was about to close it when her eyes settled on a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor.

  Puzzled, she picked it up and found that it was a note. Rushing inside, she held it to the light and read the scribbled markings.