by DeVa Gantt
“Excuse me,” John called gruffly, continuing his descent. “Can I help you?”
The stranger tore his gaze from the painting and focused on him. “Yes.”
The dark eyes grew intense, so much so John was confounded.
“Are you John?”
“I am. And who might you be?”
“Wade Remmen,” he replied casually, extending a hand in greeting.
John stepped forward to take it. “Ah yes, the illustrious Mr. Remmen,” he derided. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“And I you,” Wade returned, “more than you could ever imagine.”
John’s brow raised, intrigued. Very self-assured, he thought. No wonder Paul has placed him in charge. “What can I do for you, Mr. Remmen?”
Wade looked down at the papers he held in his other hand. He passed them to John. “Your brother told me you’d be taking over while he’s on Espoir. I expected him back by now, but, as you know, he’s been detained. These are for him. It’s a tally of the wood delivered into town over the past two weeks as well as the shipments sent to Espoir.”
John scarcely glanced at the invoices. “I’ll see he gets them.”
“Actually, I’m to deliver them back to the warehouse with a signature. If you could look them over now, I’d appreciate it.”
“Mr. Remmen, today is the Sabbath. I always honor the Sabbath.”
Wade frowned momentarily. “Very well. If you could possibly get them to me at the mill tomorrow, I’ll take them into town after I’ve finished work.”
“I’ll do better than that,” John said. “I’ll deliver them to the warehouse tomorrow morning. How would that be?”
“That would be fine.”
John saw Wade to the door, then stared down at the documents. Inspired, he took the steps two at a time and, without knocking, entered the nursery. He found Jeannette on his father’s lap, Pierre playing at his feet, and Yvette reading a story to them. Charmaine was nowhere to be seen.
Frederic looked up in surprise as Yvette greeted him with, “What are you doing here? Joseph said you were still sleeping.”
“I have something for Father,” he answered curtly, stepping into the room and depositing the invoices on the desk nearest the man.
“Wade Remmen delivered these. They need to be signed by tomorrow morning.”
“Wade?” Jeannette queried excitedly. “Is he still here?”
“He just left.”
She jumped from her father’s lap and scurried across the room.
“What is this?” her father called after her, but she paid him no mind as she raced out onto the balcony in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the man who had caught her fancy.
Yvette rolled her eyes. “She’s in love.”
Frederic chuckled. “Is she now? With Mr. Remmen?”
“All because Mama told her how very handsome he is.”
Frederic’s eyes turned black.
“What is the matter, Papa?” Yvette asked.
“Nothing,” he bit out.
John was just at puzzled, but he quickly discounted his father’s strange reaction when it looked as if the man were about to speak to him. A second later, he was out the door, ignoring his sister’s calls for him to stay.
“Will there be something else, Miss Ryan?”
“No…” Charmaine hesitated, stroking the more expensive bolts of yard goods. As Maddy Thompson returned them to the shelves, Charmaine bit her bottom lip. “On second thought, I will take the paisley taffeta and blue muslin.”
“It will raise the amount of your purchase considerably.”
“Yes, I know,” Charmaine murmured.
A short while later, she stepped out of the mercantile, package in hand. Though she was light of coin, she did not regret her extravagance. The twins’ birthday was only four days away, the first without their mother. Charmaine intended to make it the happiest of occasions, much as they had hers only nine months ago. The unexpected memory evoked an untenable sense of loss and loneliness. She missed Colette and sighed deeply, hoping to shake off the melancholy. She thought of the girls again. She’d spend the next few evenings sewing, a labor of love made possible by the wages she had saved.
She squinted against the bright sun and headed toward the livery. George was where she’d left him, on the boardwalk, amusing Pierre, who sat on his lap, and the girls, who were climbing on the casks beside him. Clutching her parcel, she picked her way past buckboards and carriages and the strolling townspeople.
“Get everything you needed?” he asked when she reached them.
“Yes, and thank you for minding the children.”
“I was happy to do it,” he replied, standing to lift Pierre into his arms. “And a good thing, too, the mercantile is open on Sundays,” he finished.
Charmaine reserved comment, having refused to shop on the Sabbath on more than one occasion, doing so only today because he had offered his nursemaid services. It had been an ongoing dispute—Keep Holy the Lord’s Day. Charmaine embraced the Third Commandment and stood as the exception among the churchgoing islanders who, every Sunday, directly after noon Mass, discounted Father Benito’s vehement threat of eternal damnation and patronized the many businesses that opened their doors.
“Would you like me to drive you back to the house?” George asked. “Or would you prefer to visit Stephen Westphal?”
His teasing induced a frown and then a giggle. “We had better head home, or we will be late for dinner.”
“Not yet,” Yvette protested. “We’ve been waiting to see Gummy.”
“Who?”
“Gummy Hoffstreicher,” the girl reiterated. “You remember—the boy who stole sandwiches from Johnny and George. He comes past here every day.”
“Yvette, he’s just a man,” Charmaine reasoned. “There will be other chances to meet him, and when you do, I hope you remember he is a human being, and should be treated as such, no matter what stories you’ve heard.”
Yvette rolled her eyes, prompting George to intercede. “Charmaine, I’m sorry. We were just jesting a bit.”
“I know, George, and I don’t hold you responsible—”
She was interrupted by shouts from the dock and the push of bodies gravitating to the wharf. “What is it?”
“A ship must be arriving,” he replied, shielding his eyes to look.
Charmaine did the same, concentrating on a smudge of white passing into the cove. They, too, pressed nearer the quay.
“Can you see it?” Yvette asked excitedly, tugging on George’s shirt. “Where’s it coming from? Can you tell by the mast? Is it flying our flag?”
“Yes,” George replied. “It must be the Gemini. The Raven isn’t due in port until next week. Paul will most likely be aboard.”
“Wonderful,” Yvette mumbled in sudden disgust.
The girl’s reaction did not dampen Charmaine’s soaring spirits as she peered longingly at the white masts that were steadily growing larger. Finally, everything would be right again.
Not ten minutes later, the creaking vessel thumped against the dock. With admiration, Charmaine watched Paul command her crew, throwing himself into the mooring, much like the day she’d arrived on the Raven, one year ago. He was even more handsome now, the finest figure of a man she had ever beheld, and her quickening pulse forced her to look away.
Paul donned his discarded shirt and left the sailors and longshoreman to finish up. As he descended the planking, he noticed the welcoming party, Charmaine in particular, a bit of loveliness he hadn’t expected to see until he got home and a painful reminder of his lack of female companionship for the past three weeks. When he reached them, their eyes locked. Is that lust in her gaze? It ignited his passion. As if perceiving his need, she averted her face. He focused on George, determined to quell his rutting instincts.
“Good afternoon, weary traveler,” that one greeted jovially, “and how is the work coming along on Espoir?”
“Quite well, and what a nice
greeting this is,” Paul returned, putting an arm around Jeannette, his eyes traveling to Charmaine again. “Charmaine, you are looking lovely.”
“So are you,” she blundered. “I mean—you are looking well.”
The girls laughed, bolstering the deep blush that rose to her cheeks.
“I am well,” he replied, “though I’m looking forward to Fatima’s cooking. I won’t even tell you what the men prepared at the camps. Some of it wasn’t fit for consumption. I’m glad to be back. Espoir doesn’t have the feel of home.”
“One day it will,” George replied, “just give it a little time.”
“I suppose so,” Paul concurred. “Have you missed me, Pierre?” he asked, gesturing for George to hand the boy over.
“Uh-huh. But I wanna go home. I’m hungwee.”
“So am I!” Paul agreed, holding Pierre high in his arms. “Home it shall be.”
George ran ahead to the livery, leaving Paul, Charmaine, and the children to walk slowly down the boardwalk. “Well, then,” Paul mused, “you’ll have to tell me everything that’s happened while I was away.” His words were directed at the children, though his eyes remained trained on their pretty governess.
Frederic paced his chambers for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening, his quandary mounting in the dark. So, Wade Remmen had been Colette’s lover. Or had he? Should he bring the man in and question him? He snorted at the thought. The young man would admit nothing. Nevertheless, Frederic knew he would be able to read the truth in Wade Remmen’s eyes. And then what? What could he do? What should he do? And what of his children? Did he want his children to know? They would certainly find out if he pursued it. They loved their mother, thought of her as an angel. Sadly, he realized he still loved her; even in her infidelity, he still loved her. Paul was right: Colette was good and kind. If she had taken another lover, it was because of him and his deplorable disposition. He was through blaming her for every miserable thing that had befallen him, and he refused to torture his children with assertions about her unfaithfulness. Let them hold on to their precious memories. Colette was dead and buried, and this nasty affair would be as well. Reaching that resolution, he stretched out on his empty bed and slept.
Charmaine had intended to sew tonight, but after three aborted attempts, she set the fabric aside. Her mind was not on the task. It ran rampant with images of Paul and the overwhelming feelings his arrival home had incited, foreign desires that tingled her fingertips one moment and drained her limbs the next, leaving her strangely agitated. She recalled the indescribable look he had leveled upon her at the harbor, the rush of blood that had left her lightheaded. Even now, she shuddered in wanton yearning. Dear God, what was wrong with her?
It had been difficult to converse with him for the remainder of the day. She was grateful when he, John, and George retired to the library after dinner, and she and the children were able to slip upstairs unnoticed. Thankfully, they crawled into their beds without so much as an argument and fell asleep earlier than usual.
Right now, she longed for a walk in the gardens, but quickly dismissed that idea. Though it might help clear her mind, she couldn’t chance meeting up with him. She no longer trusted herself. No, until these inexplicable sensations dissipated, she would avoid Paul at all costs. Thus, she said her prayers and climbed into bed.
Paul stepped out onto the balcony. It had been a productive evening. Come morning, he would see if his brother had accomplished all he purported. According to George he had, lending an invaluable hand—with the tobacco in particular. If that were true, Paul wouldn’t be swamped tomorrow.
Thoughts of Charmaine took hold again. He longed to corner her alone and finish what he’d postponed for far too long. She wanted him, perhaps as much as he wanted her. But she had escaped to her room, leaving him to chomp at the bit. Is she sleeping? On impulse, he decided to find out…
The nightstand lamp burned low, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. She was asleep. He stepped up to the bed and stared longingly down at her. Lovely…she was so lovely, with dark lashes fanned against creamy white cheeks, kissable lips slightly parted, a stray hand raised beside her pillow, and her luscious breasts rising beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. How he yearned to make love to her. What would she do if he awoke her with a kiss? His pulse accelerated as he imagined any number of reactions. She might struggle, and he found that possibility highly sensual. But no, it would be her first time, and he wanted the experience to be exquisite, an awakening she would agree, perhaps even beg, to engage in again. With that thought, he backed out of her room. He would never sleep tonight—Never!
Charmaine’s eyes flew open, and she grabbed hold of her coverlet for support. How long had she held her breath? You weren’t holding it, silly! You feigned absolute serenity. And all the while, your heart was thundering in your ears. Surely he had heard it! How could he not? She had waited for the kiss that never came. Prayed that he wouldn’t—longed that he would. Then he was gone…Gone! With a moan, she turned over and attempted to breathe, to sleep.
Chapter 4
Thursday, September 28, 1837
WILL you marry me, Charmaine?”
The words were soft in her ear, caressing her neck, and at first she was certain she was dreaming. Yet Paul pulled her closer, his plundering mouth returning to her lips, his desperate plea speaking to her body as well as her heart…
Charmaine woke with a start, and it was a full minute before her erratic breathing lulled. Then, as the euphoria of impassioned sleep waned, piercing reality took hold, and she groaned. Paul had disturbed her slumber for four consecutive nights, ever since he’d crept into her chamber and stood over her bed. The recurrent dream was so vivid it plagued her waking hours as well.
A dream, only a dream! Dare she hope for more—for the ardent proposal whispered only in sleep? Or was she doomed to stand on a summit of uncertainty, expectant one day, disappointed the next? There were no answers, only a wistful wish spun upon one word: perhaps. She rose and began her daily routine.
The clip-clop of horse’s hooves drew her to the veranda. She watched Paul lead his white stallion from the stable, mount, and gallop away. Since his return, he’d been so busy, it was no different than when he was on Espoir, almost as if he were avoiding her. But that was silly. She knew what he demanded of himself. It was only six in the morning, and already he was gone, probably for the day. Once again, she’d have to wait. But, for what? Another indecent breach of her bedchamber? It was just as well he kept away.
Forget him, she told herself as she turned to dress. It’s the twins’ birthday. Use the occasion as a distraction. She had promised they could spend the day in any manner they wished, and that would certainly keep her mind occupied.
She had been quite sly in her preparations. They knew nothing of her late-night efforts with needle and thread, nor the presents she had wrapped and neatly stacked on the dining room table only a few short hours ago. Jeannette would be delighted with the dresses for her china doll. Yvette was a different matter. Charmaine hoped the girl would be pleased with the feminine breeches she’d concocted. Certainly, Agatha would disapprove. However, the damage was done; best not to fret over the consequences now.
A rap fell on the connecting door, and Charmaine opened it to a sleepy-eyed Pierre. “Good morning, my little man,” she greeted, scooping him into her arms. “What do you think of your lazy sisters? Should we let them snooze their birthday away, or should we wake them up?”
“Wake ’em up,” he directed, squirming from Charmaine’s embrace and bouncing on Yvette’s bed.
The girl groaned. Then, realizing her birthday had indeed arrived, she was across the room, coaxing her sister to rise. When Charmaine mentioned presents in the dining room, they dressed hastily and were gone.
Ten minutes later, she and Pierre found them seated empty-handed at the table, their presents nowhere in sight, their angry eyes on their elder brother.
“That’s unfai
r!”
“Ah, but it is more fun,” John replied, sipping his coffee.
Charmaine stepped up to the table, annoyed. “What is this?”
“Good morning, Miss Ryan,” he responded, ignoring her displeasure.
“Good morning,” she returned stiffly, helping Pierre into his chair.
John’s eyes traveled to the three-year-old. “How are you, Pierre?”
“Good,” the boy answered. “Can we go fishin’ again?”
“Not today. Today I have other plans.”
Charmaine interrupted. “Where are the presents I wrapped?”
“They’re hidden,” John replied.
“Hidden? And who hid them?” she demanded, as if she really had to ask.
“Now, my Charm, please allow me to explain. First, seeking them out can be as much fun as opening them. And second, your gifts aren’t the only ones hidden. Rose supplied me with a few, and there were the two large ones I—”
“Truly?” the girls exclaimed in tandem. Sanguine anticipation replaced anemic disappointment, and Charmaine was forgotten as Jeannette and Yvette bombarded their elder brother with questions.
“I’m not about to tell you where they are,” he chuckled. “It took me the whole night to hide them. It is up to you to conduct a treasure hunt.”
“Treasure hunt?” they queried, the words echoed by Charmaine.
John noted her smile. “I take it you approve of this innovation in gift giving?”
“I suppose so,” she answered honestly, unable to remain hostile, her attention snared by Yvette, who had pushed away from the table.
“Oh no, you don’t, young lady. Breakfast first.”
“But—”
“No buts,” John admonished, enforcing Charmaine’s edict.
“Besides, I have a few clues you might be interested in hearing while you eat.”
Yvette eagerly complied, and they ate quickly. The girls’ alacrity was contagious, and even Charmaine was caught up in it, fed by John, who committed to nothing, but seemed to promise everything. She began to worry they would be disappointed. Her presents were sadly lacking next to the picture he was painting, and though his gifts also awaited discovery, she doubted even they could measure up to the twins’ expectations.
