Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  Devon kissed his cheek and wiped away her tears. "Well, I know we should go. A long delay on my part will only anger Andre, and I don't want that. Not today."

  * * *

  Devon's heart began to pound the moment she glimpsed Raveneau coming up the tree-choked path from the beach to meet them. He was so magnificent—tall, broad-shouldered, striding with powerful grace, the hard muscles in his thighs visible under his breeches as he neared. Rapier-sharp eyes met Devon's, revealing none of his feelings.

  Minter mumbled a hasty farewell and left them alone. In the distance, a chorus of deep voices could be heard from the privateer, along with clattering footsteps on the decks and squeaking groans from the yardarms.

  "Is there anything you require?" Raveneau asked. "I have instructed Souchet to see to your every need; you are to be treated as a member of my family, with every courtesy. I have told him to give you access to the entire house and also to the storerooms. I want you to choose anything you see that strikes your fancy, especially fabric for gowns. Make as many as you like. The serving girls will help. And, enjoy the island, but have a care. The cliffs are treacherous. Also—" He broke off as he realized Devon's shoulders were trembling. Almost apprehensively, he enfolded her in his strong embrace, feeling wet warmth soak through the linen shirt he wore. She wept silently against his broad chest, her heart splintering.

  "Devon—"

  Had his voice caught? She lifted her tear-stained face in wonder.

  "I—" A muscle moved along the scar on his jaw.

  "Oh, m'sieur! Padonnez-moi!" Souchet exclaimed, standing behind them on the path. "I was only going to the beach to bid you a last farewell. Please excuse my interruption."

  Raveneau sighed harshly. "No, that's all right, Souchet. We were just going down ourselves." He put out a hand to smooth Devon's damp cheeks, then shifted it to her waist as they started toward the beach.

  Souchet followed along, even hovering nearby as Raveneau pressed a last, searing kiss on Devon's trembling mouth.

  "Take care, petite chatte," he said. "I shall return in the spring, and, as you said, we shall then endeavor to find a workable solution to your future."

  Moments later, the boatswain's pipe shrilled and the Black Eagle began to get underway. The anchor was lifted and the sails were set amidst the flurry of activity that usually charged Devon with excitement.

  This time, watching with Souchet from the windswept shore, she felt as though she might die.

  Chapter 21

  ***~~~***

  December, 1781

  If not for Elsa, Devon's talkative German maid, she might not have survived the next months with her sanity intact. Each morning Elsa woke her with a steaming cup of chocolate and a bright smile. Devon would feel the sadness lift as Elsa opened the drapes to let in sunshine, chattering cheerfully until she was able to draw a smile from her mistress.

  After Raveneau's departure, Devon paid closer attention to the signals from her own body, and it didn't take her long to suspect that something was amiss. How is it that I never thought of this before? she wondered. Was I so lost in my adventurous dream world that I believed myself immune to the realities of life? Still, she kept silent, hoping crazily that it was a mistake. By the end of November, she realized that she had missed her time for the third month in a row. She faced the fact that a child was growing within her body, and it was Elsa to whom she turned for advice and support.

  "I don't know..." the flaxen-haired maid murmured, pursing her rosy lips. Devon sat on a chair before her, her hair crackling as Elsa brushed it. "You have gone through a great deal since September. What happened to your mother could be enough to stop your menses. I knew a girl once whose husband was killed in a carriage accident. Her flow stopped that same day and hasn't begun since, as far as I know. That was more than five years ago!"

  Devon sighed heavily. Elsa was only a few years older than she—twenty-five, perhaps—but her maturity was reassuring. She talked and gossiped too much, but when the subject was serious, she would offer a strong, reasonable-sounding opinion.

  "Elsa, I wish I could believe that were the case, but there are other signs that just haven't gone away."

  "Yes?"

  "I have been sleepy for weeks. My appetite hasn't been good. I cry easily and feel so sad. I've never been like that. At first I thought I just missed Andre, but too much time has passed and these feelings persist. I’ve lost my appetite for so many foods I usually love, and the thought of wine turns my stomach—"

  "And you haven't bled since the end of August," Elsa concluded, her tone less optimistic. As she had been pregnant three times and delivered two babies successfully, the catalogue of symptoms was all too familiar. "When do you think the child was begun?"

  Devon blushed. "It must have been in mid-September, while we were sailing from New London to Yorktown. There was only that one time, until last month. It must have been September. I always flow at the end of each month, but I've been too preoccupied to notice. Andre and I were so close at the end of October—I probably thought I wished it away."

  Elsa bit her lip. "If it is so, you must not worry, fraulein. Hermann and I will help you. You aren't alone. And now, even when I am away during the night, you will have your baby warm inside."

  Elsa clucked over Devon like a mother hen, fortifying her with cheerful thoughts about the miracle of birth and the rewards of motherhood. Andre Raveneau was an adventurer who appeared to care for nothing but his privateer, and she thought it would be cruel to offer Devon hope where he was concerned. Still, Elsa felt sure that he would care for the mother and child—he had brought Devon to his island, hadn't he?

  The two women agreed to keep Devon's pregnancy a secret from the other residents of the house. This was Elsa's idea, and she argued hard to convince Devon. She maintained that Souchet would make Devon's life unpleasant, that she might be gossiped about by other servants, and that it was important that the early months of pregnancy be tranquil and serene. Privately, Elsa worried about letting the news out until Raveneau's reaction was known, but she refrained from sharing this concern with Devon.

  Devon urged Elsa to confide in her husband at least, for she knew how close the couple were. Hermann Kass was a dark-haired giant of a man who labored in the bowels of the house as a carpenter, repairing the furniture already in use and the pieces that came to the storerooms. Hermann was as quiet as his wife was talkative, but Elsa decided to keep Devon's secret to herself for the present.

  The taciturn Souchet appeared glad to leave Devon alone as long as she made no trouble. When Andre Raveneau had left, the little Frenchman worried that the titian-haired coquette might attempt to usurp the entire household, as Veronique had, but just the opposite was true. Devon kept to her room, leaving it only to scan the library shelves or to walk outside with her attentive maid.

  Better Elsa than me, Souchet thought acidly, watching one December afternoon as the two women disappeared through the front door.

  Outside in the balmy sunshine, Elsa asked, "How do you feel today? I don't want you to overdo—"

  "No, no. I'm fine, really. It is a lovely day; I keep expecting to wake one morning and find the island covered with snow!"

  "If you did, you would be dreaming, fraulein. The winters are pleasant here, aside from an occasional storm or a north wind."

  "Good. My baby and I shall be able to enjoy the outdoors until the day I deliver."

  "Walking is fine but you must be very careful now. I lost a baby myself after three months."

  As they wandered away from the house toward the far side of the island, Devon considered Elsa's advice. So... a bit of imprudent exercise might put an end to her complicated problem. She tested the thought and found that it chilled her brow with cold sweat. I'm sorry, my baby, she thought. I didn't mean it. I love you and want you.

  After a half mile, they paused to rest on a bed of lush, perfumed grass and made plans to begin Devon's new wardrobe as well as the tiny gowns for her baby. Aloud,
Devon impishly envisioned herself waddling along in a few months, clad in lavish gowns of gold brocade or crimson satin. "Perhaps the baby might look well in royal purple velvet," she teased, and Elsa giggled in response.

  "I am full of energy today," Devon announced at length. "Couldn't we please go on to the beach? I have always heard that salt wind is good for women with child."

  Elsa looked at her in surprise, then saw the twinkle in her mistress's blue eyes. It was so heartening to see Devon in good spirits that she could not refuse. "We will go on if you promise to tell me when you tire."

  Devon held up her hand, palm out, and vowed with mock solemnity, "I promise!"

  When they reached the cliff, Devon recognized the location instantly. Below them lay the secluded beach where she and Raveneau had spent their last afternoon. Heart swelling, she dropped gently to the ground and stared meditatively at the few feet of sand on which they had made love with such urgent tenderness. This baby growing in her belly was one half Raveneau's, but Devon refused to think about what that could mean. It was easier to concentrate on each new morning, on loving her baby and enjoying Elsa's companionship. Devon disciplined her heart, building a wall between romantic love and mother love. As for the future... to brood about it would have driven her mad, so, for the baby's sake, she strove to remain calm and cheerful, looking ahead only to the day she would give birth.

  "Do you know," Elsa was muttering, tapping a finger against her nose, "I believe this is the place where that woman died."

  Devon blinked, coming back from her reverie. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Yes, I'm quite certain. That woman—you know, the first Master Raveneau's mistress. Veronique."

  "Did you say that she died? Here? But how?"

  "Do you mean he didn't tell you? Hmmm!" Elsa settled her firm bulk on the ground, relishing the chance to reveal all she knew. "Of course, I have been here only a few years, so most of this has been told to me by the other servants. Cook has been on the island since the house was finished some thirty years ago." Elsa's voice dropped as she added with a wink, "She knows everything!"

  "Will you please get on with it?" Devon demanded, smiling in exasperation.

  "You have heard of the old master's... ah... lady? It is said that he built this house for her."

  "Yes, I know all about that."

  "Well, as I understand it, after a few years she gave birth to a child, which old Herr Raveneau of course accepted as his own. According to Cook, when the little girl was about five, he somehow learned the truth—that another man was the father. That night he and Veronique had a terrible argument. Cook says she could hear them through two floors, down in the kitchen. Then it was quiet." Elsa paused for dramatic effect. "The next morning the lady—Veronique—was missing. They found her there—" She pointed to the beach below. "Her neck was broken."

  Devon gasped, "Oh, my God!" She stared down at the beach. She and Raveneau had made love on the spot where Veronique's dead body had lain. Shuddering with revulsion, she met Elsa's sky-blue eyes. "What happened after that?"

  Elsa pursed her lips, concentrating. "I do remember that old Herr Raveneau denied killing the lady. Cook says he was quite distraught; shut himself away for days and refused food. He was certain that it must have been an accident—that she had been upset after their quarrel and had gone out for some air. You know—a misstep in the darkness."

  "Quite a misstep!"

  Elsa nodded skeptically. "Cook told me that he ordered his mistress's child removed from the island at once. I gather he had her sent back to that Veronique's relations in France. He went to sea soon after and was away for two years."

  "No one knows who the real father was?"

  "No one on the island except for Veronique and perhaps the old Herr Raveneau."

  "Wouldn't the servants have known if Veronique had been unfaithful to Andre's father?"

  Elsa rolled her eyes. "There were plenty of ships in and out in those days, before the war. When the old Master was away, I hear that the lady was quite fond of her play, and no doubt those randy seamen were happy to oblige."

  The bitch! Devon thought furiously. No wonder Raveneau despised her memory so bitterly. "Andre's poor father! If he possessed even a fraction of his son's pride, he must have been shattered by the entire ordeal."

  "I think that is true. He died only a year after I arrived here. He always seemed old before his time, but I do recall hearing the older servants remark on how greatly he had changed since his youth. Cook must have told Hermann and me a dozen times that the younger Raveneau is the image of his father thirty years before, when the house was first built."

  * * *

  Christmas week came, bringing melancholy feelings for Devon. It was impossible not to remember other years of her early childhood. When her father was alive, Christmas had been overwhelmingly festive. They had lived in their fine house then, and Jamie had joined Devon in her high spirits. The house had been festooned with garlands of pine, while snow had covered New London and the surrounding woods like a white blanket. Happy people had skimmed over the curving streets in sleighs and great quantities of hot mulled cider had been consumed. Devon and Jamie had spent long hours in the kitchen, watching as Deborah created all manner of pies and confections, inhaling the wonderful aromas. And on Christmas Eve, their father had lit the yule log, a moment of speechless enchantment for the two small children.

  In retrospect, Devon thought that her gift on Christmas morning had been of the least importance, though at that time anticipation had ruled the children's lives. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered the meal that had followed the presents—a golden, fragrant bird, spicy meat pies, sweet potatoes, hot rolls—her father saying the blessing, and her own inevitable poke in Jamie's ribs when he had grown long-winded...

  On the island, Christmas was only an illusion. Warm, moist breezes blew; there were no evergreens from which to fashion garlands. Cook prepared a wonderful feast on Christmas Day, complete with flaming plum pudding, and Devon decided to eat below with the servants. She watched the children, including Elsa's two blond toddlers, Rudolph and Winifreda, as they pulled the wrapping from their modest gifts—toys handmade by Hermann, each one unique.

  Afterward, Devon returned to her room, lay down on the rose counterpane, and wept tears that burned her eyes and throat like acid. She grieved for all she had lost and all the dreams that might never be fulfilled.

  Chapter 22

  ***~~~***

  January, 1782

  The new year renewed Devon's spirit. Day by day, she felt better. Her appetite returned, and she had more energy than ever before. Her hair shone, a blend of sun and flame, her cheeks glowed with color, and her tears were replaced by euphoria. Elsa was a perfect companion. She listened cheerfully to Devon's conversation about the baby, and the two women spent long, contented hours creating a wardrobe for mother and child. Six other serving girls were enlisted to help. They weren't told the reason, Elsa leaving them to assume that Captain Raveneau's latest mistress desired elegant gowns, most of them cut with high waists and billowing skirts. Elsa whispered that Marie Antoinette wore nothing else.

  The baby's tiny clothes were sewn by Devon and Elsa alone, and hidden away.

  Bernard Souchet cast the only shadow in Devon's life. His rudeness grew in proportion to her radiance. Occasionally she would fret about his attitude, but Elsa supplied quick and effective diversions and Devon would put Souchet out of her mind.

  January fourteenth was like many other days before, until late afternoon. Elsa urged Devon to lie down and rest, for the baby's sake, while she gathered up their sewing and put it away in the back of the wardrobe. They were both at peace; Devon smiled dreamily, one hand on the still-hidden, hard curve of her abdomen.

  Suddenly Devon's eyes opened wide. She lifted her head and whispered, "Elsa!" urgently. The German maid rushed to her side, but her expression of fear disappeared when Devon breathed, "I felt him. Elsa, he moved! Oh! There it is again!" Her eyes filled wi
th tears of joy. "My baby!"

  They hugged, and Elsa remained on the side of the bed for several minutes, chatting happily with her excited mistress until a noise outside roused her. Voices?

  Casually, Elsa stood up and walked over to the window. Figures moved under the trees below. There were several men, at least one woman in a fine gown, and what appeared to be a child. In the distance Elsa saw a schooner anchored off the beach. Then Bernard Souchet appeared. Arms outstretched, he ran down the front steps and the woman ran forward to embrace him. Elsa narrowed her eyes. Sable hair tumbled in curls down the woman's back. A tiny wasp waist and round, prominent breasts were apparent even under the bronze silk gown.

  Eugenie! Elsa thought, anger and wariness mixing. What was she doing here again?

  "What is it, Elsa? Has a ship come in?" Devon sat up on the bed, suddenly anxious. "It's not—"

  "No, no, it's not the Black Eagle. Ah..."

  "Elsa! If you know who it is, do tell me. I don't like the look on your face."

  Elsa had no choice. Wincing, she perched on the edge of the bed and concentrated on not meeting Devon's eyes. "Someone has come," she began lamely. "Her name is Eugenie... Richoux, I believe. Yes, Richoux."

  "And?"

  "She... ah... has been here before. Six years ago, after the old Herr Raveneau died, his son came at once from America. As I recall, Fraulein Richoux arrived soon after he did. She was a friend of the Raveneau family or of Souchet. I don't remember, exactly, though I do know that she and Souchet became friends."

  "I suppose that she had an affair with Andre," Devon said in a flat voice.

  Elsa flushed. "I think so. But no sooner had she begun to hang on his arm, smiling like a cat with a canary, than he had to leave. Suddenly. I must say, it was a pleasure to see her lose that smug look. I suspect she thought he'd marry her so she could stay and be the queen here on the island."

  "What did she do then?"

  "Oh, she sulked and pouted for a fortnight, then left herself in a big hurry. That morning I helped to pack her trunk, and I remember that she was smiling in a way that gave me goose flesh. I had a feeling that we hadn't seen the last of her."