by DeVa Gantt
“Oh yes, I can!” she answered fiercely. “The last measures are extremely difficult. I’m certain the composer would be satisfied with your conclusion.”
“It was the only one open to me.”
Before she could reflect upon the bizarre remark, he approached her.
“I’d like to apologize for my behavior today,” he said, standing only a breath away. “I know it must have been unnerving.”
Charmaine inhaled slowly. “I feel quite safe at present.”
He chuckled softly, just now savoring the femininity before him, a vision imbued with the tantalizing fragrance of purity, an invasion of the senses. At this moment, she was more desirable than ever before. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”
Suddenly, she was in his arms, and his mouth captured hers. He kissed her thoroughly, stealing her breath away, his lips playing a seductive, coveting game, soft one moment, intense the next. She did not resist, nor did she respond, rather she caught hold of him and drew strength from his solid form. Her heart soared and every nerve in her body, down to the tips of her fingers, tingled. Her legs turned liquid, and she clung more tightly to him, submitting completely to his will. She was certain the moment lasted an eternity, yet it was only a moment, she told herself, one unexpected moment. Later, she would argue: if she had been forewarned, she would have fought off his advance—successfully. For now, she permitted John his embrace, her eyes closed to reason and reality, her senses open to the sweet sensations this man stirred inside her: his warm palm on her cheek, his sinewy arm cradling her head, his hard chest pressed to her breasts. He traced kisses along her jaw until his face burrowed deep in the hollow between her neck and hair, where his lips nuzzled the ivory column and his tongue caressed an aching earlobe. She was paralyzed by his magnetism, her agony most manifest when his head lifted and his arms fell away. She swayed on unsteady legs and could hear her heart pounding in her ears.
“We had best leave it there,” he whispered raggedly.
He, too, was bereft and studied her for one hopeful moment. When she said nothing, he smiled. She was an innocent, completely unaware of the effect she had on him, the blood that thundered in his veins and quickened in his loins. She certainly didn’t deserve to get mixed up with someone like him.
“Dawn is only a few hours away,” he continued determinedly, “and we both need some sleep. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find that golden slumber now.”
She disagreed, but wisely held her tongue as he lit a candle and snuffed the candelabrum. When he grasped her elbow, she began to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. “No need for words, my Charm. They’d only mar the moment and spoil the calm.” She took heed.
They walked through the foyer and ascended the staircase, a climb that seemed endless in the shadowy darkness. As they neared the crest, her apprehension mounted, and she drew her robe more tightly around her.
“Cold?” he asked, misreading the action. “Not to worry. You’ll soon be warm beneath the covers.”
She was reassured he hadn’t mentioned joining her there. Still, she mistrusted herself and looked up at him slowly when they reached her door. His regard was intense, an unusual warmth in the amber-brown orbs. He leaned forward and placed a fatherly kiss on her forehead. “Thank you,” he said, looping a stray lock behind her ear.
“For what?”
“For the past few moments—for tonight. It wasn’t the resolution I’d expected to reach at the onset of this day, but it’s not one I scorn. You’ve given me something precious just now, something I couldn’t have given myself.”
“What’s that?” she asked, intrigued.
“Hope—in the future. I’ll float with the tide, not against it, and perhaps someday, it will right itself. Goodnight, my Charm.”
He walked away, but Charmaine stared after him until the light from his candle died with the closing of his chamber door. Certain she would not sleep even if he did, she heaved a perplexed sigh and went into her own room. But as she nestled into bed, the rhapsody resounded in her head, and she felt John’s strong arms enfolding her in a cocoon of contentment.
Tuesday, October 3, 1837
Much as she longed to shirk her duties, Charmaine could only groan at the light, yet insistent, knock on her bedchamber door. “Come in,” she beckoned as she stood and retrieved her discarded robe.
Mrs. Faraday pushed into the room carrying fresh bed linens. Bleary-eyed, Charmaine watched as, without a word, the woman bustled about the chamber, drawing a drape here, extinguishing a lamp there. She turned to the bed.
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Faraday. As I’ve told you before, I’m capable of making my own bed.”
“Be that as it may,” the older woman commented sharply, “today is Tuesday, wash day. The mattress must be stripped and fresh linens spread.”
“And I’m capable of doing that as well.”
“If you were capable, Miss Ryan, it would have been done already. I cannot afford to have my schedule upset by someone who sleeps the day away. As it is, I’m short staffed.”
Charmaine frowned. “What time is it?”
“Nearly eleven.”
“But it can’t be! The children would have awakened me!”
“It is, and they would have had Master John not interceded on your behalf.” She clicked her tongue in evident disgust, tearing the sheets from the bed without a glance in Charmaine’s direction.
“Why the master of the house would take it upon himself to mind three children when his father is paying a governess to do so is beyond my comprehension. I’d say it’s a trifle queer she’s in bed, regaining her—how did he put it?—needed sleep, when he’s up and about, full of vim and vigor. Very queer indeed, if you ask me.”
Charmaine groaned inwardly, certain her crimson cheeks condemned her. “I didn’t ask you. I’m sorry you’ve misconstrued a kindness for something lewd.”
Mrs. Faraday scoffed. “Miss Ryan, I’m no simpleton. That remark you made at the dinner table has the whole house talking. I thought you were attempting to make Master Paul jealous at the time, but now—well, now I don’t know.”
Humiliation yielded to outrage. “Mrs. Faraday! You may pick up your linens and kindly leave my room!”
The woman was silenced. She pursed her lips and bundled the sheets.
“And the next time I’m sleeping,” Charmaine added, “do not disturb me! I’m not being paid to endure your verbal abuse.”
The door thundered shut, but Charmaine remained planted in the center of the room, fists balled at her sides, teeth clenched in unspent fury. She was proud of her mettle, yet, still so very angry. The audacity of the woman! At this moment, Charmaine was certain she was worse than Agatha.
Slowly her ire ebbed. As she turned to make her bed and get dressed, John seeped into her thoughts, reviving those exquisite feelings of the night before. She had slept peacefully; nevertheless, she knew, without specific recollection, John had occupied all of her dreams. How would he greet her this morning? How would she greet him? Unlike the first time he had kissed her, she could not hide behind a façade of injured pride or pretended disgust. She had enjoyed his embrace completely, and her pulse raced with the memory. She prayed he’d heed his own declaration and keep silent about the intimate encounter. But knowing John as she did, she feared he would not.
“Anything?”
“Anything within reason,” John answered, his gaze fixed on Yvette across the dining room table. They were eating lunch!
Pierre spotted Charmaine first and scrambled from John’s lap. “Mainie’s here!” he announced, grasping her hand and drawing her into the room. “Come…you hafta help us plan the week!”
“What week?” she asked, avoiding eye contact with John.
“This week, silly,” he giggled. As she sat down, he climbed into his own chair and gave John his full attention. “All right,” he said most maturely, elbows propped and chin cradled in his hands, “we’re ready now.”
“As I was say
ing to the children, Miss Ryan, the week belongs to them.”
She looked directly at John in spite of herself, surprised to find his smile assuasive rather than sardonic, and her heart skipped a beat.
He turned back to the twins. “Your wish is my command,” he continued. “We’ll spend the next four days in any manner you’d like. And, to be fair, I’ll give each of you a day of your own. We’ll begin with Pierre. Today will be his day. Tomorrow, Jeannette may decide what we’ll do. Thursday will belong to Yvette, and Friday will be Mademoiselle Charmaine’s. How does that sound?”
“Why do I have to wait until Thursday?” Yvette objected.
“I thought you would like time to plan the best possible excursion.”
“Oh,” his sister pondered aloud, quickly warming to the idea. “Yes, I suppose I would, and I promise it will be something extra special, something no one else would ever dream of.”
“I’m certain,” he said. “So, Pierre, what should we do today?”
“I want Fi-day,” the boy insisted. “I need more time, too!”
John chuckled. “I suppose that can be arranged, if Mainie doesn’t mind exchanging days with you.”
He looked at Charmaine, and she quickly consented, realizing too late she would have to contrive some fabulous plan for the afternoon. But what?
John folded his arms across his chest and, with an exaggerated yawn, propped his boots atop the tablecloth. He pushed back, and balanced the chair on two legs.
“Johnny!” Jeannette scolded, “Cookie is going to tan your backside if she comes in here!” Yvette and Pierre giggled.
“I said anything,” he replied, ignoring his sister’s reprimand as he rocked the chair to-and-fro. “Miss Ryan, we are awaiting your pleasure.”
“It would please me to see you sitting properly in that chair. You are teaching the children terrible things, and if you’re not careful, you’ll topple over and injure your back.”
As if on cue, the chair wobbled precariously, then fell away from the table entirely, spilling John on the floor. The children screeched, but Charmaine flew to his side, worry creasing her brow. “Are you all right?”
“I think I’ve fractured my spine!” he groaned, his face a mask of pain.
“I knew it!” she gasped, crouching closer and looping an arm around his shoulders. “Do you think you can get up?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Please try,” she coaxed, so focused on assisting him she was unprepared for his swift movement that stole a kiss. Tricked! John was laughing up at her, and her cheeks burned red from the momentary contact.
“Johnny kissed Mademoiselle Charmaine!” Jeannette squealed in delight.
“On the lips!” Yvette gagged.
Charmaine shot to her feet. “Ssh! Do you want the entire house to hear?”
“What’s going on in here?” Fatima Henderson demanded as she barreled into the dining room, her thick girth heaving. “What are you up to Master John?”
“Nothing, Cookie,” he reassured as he slowly stood and righted the chair. “I took a little spill, but I’m fine.”
Unconvinced, she cocked her head. “Master John, I don’t know what mischief you’re calculating in that handsome head of yours, but I say it’s about time you went about your business for the day. Didn’t Master Paul ask you to do some work for him?”
“He asked, but I didn’t answer.”
The children laughed, but Fatima sucked in her cheeks.
“Later,” he promised, “I’ll do some work later. Right now I’m waiting for Miss Ryan—”
“Miss Charmaine ain’t your concern. She hasn’t even eaten yet, and already you’re in here harrassing her.”
“Harassing? Me? I assure you that was not my intent. As soon as she tells us how we are to spend the day, she may eat in peace.”
“A swing,” Charmaine replied, drawing all eyes to her.
“What?” John queried, confounded.
“A swing,” she repeated. “I would like you to construct a swing for the day’s enjoyment.”
“A swing?”
“Yes, a swing. S-W-I-N-G,” she repeated for a third time, smiling as she imagined John high in the branches of one of the oak trees, where she’d be safe from his capers.
“You spell quite well,” he complimented with a twisted grin. “Still, I don’t see much fun—”
“Are you saying you won’t do it?”
“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just, I don’t think—”
“That you can’t do it?” she pressed.
“I didn’t say that, either,” he argued, his amusement fading. Damn, she was playing the game too well.
“What then?” she asked with arms folded across her bosom, eliciting a chuckle from Fatima Henderson as she returned to her kitchen.
“If you’d let me finish, I was going to ask: where would we hang it?”
“From one of the oak trees nearest the front portico. Yes, that should do nicely…A capital way to spend the day.”
John only snorted. “Actually I think it’s rather—”
“It doesn’t matter what you think, does it? You said the day was mine and I could spend it in any manner I wished. That was what you said, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that was what I said.”
“In that case, why don’t you locate the materials you will need: a nice smooth board and a good length of rope. When I’ve finished eating, the children and I will join you.”
Yvette clicked her tongue. “But I’ve already eaten. I want to go with Johnny!”
“Me, too!” Pierre chimed in. “I wanna build me a swing!”
“See,” Charmaine pointed out, “they like the idea.”
“So they do,” John replied debonairly, “so a swing we shall build.”
He winked at Pierre as if the idea had been his all along, then took the children with him.
An hour later, the swing was suspended, a feat less difficult than Charmaine had at first imagined, especially with the aid of the stable-hands. Presently, she sat on the terrace and watched the children as they took turns on it. Yvette quickly mastered the rudiments of pumping the board to dizzying heights, squealing each time she plummeted toward the earth. Next, it was Jeannette’s turn and finally Pierre’s. The latter had to be pushed gently, a chore Jeannette eagerly assumed once Yvette plopped in the grass some feet away.
“Well, my Charm, you have your swing,” John said as he climbed the steps of the colonnade and sat next to her. “Aren’t you going to at least try it?”
“Later,” she answered, “when the children have tired of their play.”
He considered her, his eyes eventually resting on her lips, a point of interest that caused her to shiver. “I thank you for this favor,” she said, hoping to distract him, relieved when his regard lifted to her eyes. “I would ask another.”
“And what would that be?”
“Refrain from displays of affection toward me,” she replied.
“Displays of affection? If you’re speaking about my passionate kiss this morning—”
“Exactly,” she interjected, not allowing him to finish.
“I’d hardly call such an overture passion, my Charm. I assure you, it was completely innocent.”
“Innocent to you, perhaps,” she argued, fighting hard to retain her poise, “but what do children know of innocence and passion? To them, the two are one and the same.”
“And to you, Charmaine?”
She’d lost the battle, and she felt her face grow warm. She couldn’t answer; neither could she look his way.
“Very well, my Charm. I do not want to spoil our week together, so you need not fear any further overtures from me, passionate or otherwise.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, studying the hands in her lap.
“And I’ll speak to Mrs. Faraday as well, if you’d like.”
Stunned, her eyes flew to his face. “How did you know—”
“I didn’t. Not for certain
, anyway. But the look she gave me this morning when I insisted you not be disturbed…let us say, I realized my mistake. Don’t worry, Charmaine, she won’t be telling Paul. And even if she does, it could work in your favor.”
Charmaine’s shame turned to anger, but she bit her tongue when she noted the deviltry in his eyes, that familiar expression that meant he was teasing her.
“You know,” he goaded when she refused to retaliate, “a bit of jealousy could work wonders at bringing my brother around.”
“Bringing him around?”
“To the altar, Charmaine. That is your deepest desire, is it not?”
Holding silent, she stared out across the lawns. John allowed the minutes to accumulate, and Charmaine knew he studied her. Then, he dropped the subject altogether. “So, what are we going to do for the remainder of the day?” he asked. “It’s still early. Perhaps a visit into town?”
“You could play the piano for me—and the children.”
His smile broadened as if he’d extracted a confession from her. He waved off the idea. “You play for them every day, surely there’s something else—”
“Not nearly as well as you do. After last night, I understand why you…”
“Why I what? Why I inferred your musical ability was lacking?”
She didn’t answer.
“You play very well, Charmaine, and I enjoy hearing the children sing along when you sit at the piano. I was an ogre those first few days home, especially to you. I misjudged you. George tried to tell me I was wrong, so did Paul, but I guess because I was hearing it from my brother, I refused to believe it.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you mistrust each other? Why are you constantly at odds?”
“There are a number of reasons. Most of them revolve around my father.”
“Are you angry with your father for giving Paul an island?”
“No, I’m not angry. At least, I don’t think I am.”
She frowned at his curious reply. “Is it the enthusiasm he’s given Paul’s endeavor? I imagine you must have your own accomplishments in Virginia that deserve recognition.”
“If my father knew of my accomplishments in Virginia, he’d probably put Paul in charge there, too.”
