Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  She looked away.

  “I’ve come to take you to the ball.”

  “But—I can’t,” she stammered. “Mrs. London will dismiss me if I dare.”

  “She won’t make a scene. She’s trying too hard to impress my brother.”

  “Really, I mustn’t. She will be furious and dismiss me in the morning.”

  “I have a hunch it won’t matter tomorrow, Mercedes,” John replied with a crooked grin, “but if it puts you at ease, I will see to it you’re taken care of, one way or another. I’m in desperate need of a farrier at my plantation.”

  She smiled, and the door opened completely. “Really?”

  “I owe you this for ministering to Phantom.”

  “But I haven’t anything appropriate to wear!”

  “Sure you do,” John countered. “The armoire in Mrs. London’s dressing chamber must be packed with expensive gowns. Pick one she has never worn.”

  Jeannette and Yvette began to fidget. The hum of voices and instruments tuning up drifted upstairs, and Charmaine could tell the crowd had grown larger. She and the twins watched from the balcony as carriage after carriage rolled up and men in top hats alighted, lending assistance to elegantly dressed women. The last one pulled away, and it was time to go down. As they stepped out the door, Charmaine took one last look at her lovely gown.

  The twins charged jubilantly into the glittering ballroom. Couples were already on the dance floor, and the first number was coming to a close. George was partnered with a very pretty young lady. Her jet-black hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, her dress plain. She had to be an islander. Anne was dancing with Paul, her eyes fixed on his face, her arms ensnaring him whenever the cotillion brought them together. Though the woman irked her, Charmaine was indifferent to the sight of them in each other’s embrace. Perhaps she’d grown accustomed to seeing them together.

  Robert Blackford stood in the shadows close to the orchestra and watched his sister. As the musicians tuned up for the first waltz, Agatha led Frederic to the dance floor, where she placed one possessive hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist. Her exquisite blood-red gown accentuated a curvaceous figure that every woman her age would envy. Her fine jewelry glittered in the light of the chandelier. Robert admired her anew. She was still beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the room. As Frederic stepped into the waltz, Robert fantasized … He crossed the room with an authoritative step, tapped Frederic’s shoulder, and took the man’s place. But now, as the couple drifted past him, his sister’s radiant face shattered his idyllic musings. Though Frederic worked hard at the cumbersome steps, Agatha’s eyes were suffused with pride, satisfaction, and love as she looked up at him. Yes, love was the word. After all these years, the truth struck Robert like a full broadside. His sister was, and always had been, in love with Frederic Duvoisin.

  As the second waltz began, Yvette and Jeannette took to dancing together, until Yvette caught sight of Joseph Thornfield leaning against the wall holding a tray. She broke away, grabbed the tray, and deposited it on a table. She paired him off with her sister, prodding them to waltz together. They danced off awkwardly, much to the guests’ amusement.

  A hush and then murmurs near the main archway caught Charmaine’s attention. John walked in with Mercedes on his arm. She wore a gorgeous tawny gown, her uncoiffed hair falling to her waist. She was stunning.

  Charmaine felt betrayed, consumed with jealousy. Her eyes searched the dance floor to see George’s reaction, but he was still partnered with the black-haired girl.

  Yvette ran over to her brother and pointed out Jeannette and Joseph. A smile broke across John’s face, but Mercedes’s gaze was riveted on George.

  The music stopped. John grasped Mercedes’s elbow and led her to George, who was now quite alone. They exchanged a few words, and George’s smile widened when Mercedes fell in at his side. He placed a possessive hand on the small of her back, and Charmaine’s envy ebbed. Mercedes was beaming.

  The three stood chatting until Rose grabbed John’s arm and pulled him into a Scottish reel. She broke into a spry step that belied her advanced years, and John had to work to keep up with her. They danced two more numbers before John wiped the sweat from his brow, and handed her off to George.

  Charmaine felt miserable—isolated—anxious for her hour with the twins to be over so she could barricade herself in her room and cry herself to sleep.

  Frederic was glad when the waltz ended. It had been a test of stamina, not only of body, but of mind. And now, as he walked off the dance floor and left Agatha with a clutch of prattling matrons and their vacuous conversation, he dropped his constrained smile.

  A group of men were arguing heatedly in a corner of the room. He headed their way. “. . . no Percival, I’ll leave the first runs to you. You test the waters with your goods and your money.”

  “Once Paul has an established market, there may not be space next year.”

  “I’ll take my chances. There are always shippers out there.”

  “Yes, but at what price? The Duvoisin fees are too gainful to decline.”

  There were murmurs of agreement, quickly quelled when the first man pressed his point. “Yes, with a five-year commitment. I’ve heard too much talk of discord. Some say Frederic and John aren’t on speaking terms.”

  “Advantageous to Paul—and anyone using his shipping line. He might very well take charge of his father’s fleet one day.”

  The man grunted. “But in the interim, pandemonium may reign.”

  Another man said, “I’ve watched the three of them together throughout the week. I’m not fond of John, but I haven’t heard one word that alarms me.”

  “A word? No. But what about the hostile undercurrents? Even Paul has turned curt. I met him last year at Edward Richecourt’s office. He was quite affable then. I get the distinct impression he’s annoyed his brother is involved. I also think all three are presenting a grand façade for us.”

  “When has John ever ‘presented a façade,’ Matthew? He doesn’t care—”

  “When it involves money, and his fortune to boot, he cares. He loves to flaunt his wealth. Take that sign above his plantation gate. It must have cost—”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Frederic interrupted, the small group falling silent. “Allow me to respond to some of your concerns.” He looked at the man who was arguing most vehemently and smiled. “You make a good point, Matthew. I would ask the same questions if I were in the market for an intercontinental carrier. John and I have often disagreed—it stems from a desire to be in charge—but those disagreements have never adversely affected Duvoisin business. You see, I respect John’s judgment as surely as I do Paul’s. During the ten years he has been in charge in America, my assets have more than tripled there.” Frederic paused, allowing his words to sink in. “Nevertheless, John is not the issue here, Paul is. His fleet of ships, his shipping concern, the routes he has set up, are just that—his. Everything you have seen this week, he has planned and built on his own. The only help I’ve provided is financial backing. Neither John nor I will have any dealings with his enterprise, other than to give advice when and if he asks for it. In fact, that should be your primary concern, Matthew—that Paul does, in fact, ask. This area of Duvoisin business is fairly new to him. John has dealt with most of the shipping thus far, and knows, even better than I, the ins and outs that make it lucrative, not only for the Duvoisin family, but for the brokers who utilize his transport. It is the main reason he is here this week—to share his knowledge.”

  “Frederic, I meant no offense.”

  “No offense taken,” Frederic replied expansively. “Your objectivity in reviewing all aspects of these contracts indicates a sound business mind.” He extended a hand to the gentleman, then shook each in turn. “Now, if you have any other concerns, please come to me. That is why you’ve been invited here.”

  Anne was incensed. Her personal lady’s maid had waltzed by in the arms of her smitten suitor, George Richards,
wearing her finest gown, a gown she had yet to wear, a gown that had cost a small fortune. Her couturier had designed it expressly for her, and she had been saving it for Mass tomorrow, determined to surpass tonight’s stunning effect. That plan was foiled now, and Anne’s blood boiled. How dare she? How dare that snip of a girl deliberately flout her mistress’s authority? Anne inhaled deeply, holding the violent breath for untold seconds. Well, Mercedes Wells … you will regret coming down here! On Monday, after all the guests have departed, I will dismiss you. Then you shall see how dearly your beau cares for you!

  John was simmering by the time Charmaine and his sisters left the ballroom. Anne had been his brother’s dinner partner and had returned on his arm, obviously his companion for the entire evening. Charmaine was dressed in her drab governess garb, seeing to his sisters. Apparently, Paul’s invitation had been rescinded.

  The twins were already asleep. Charmaine had changed into her nightgown and had settled into the armchair with a book in hand when there was a rap on her door. She was astounded to find John waiting in the corridor.

  “I thought Paul was to be your escort for the evening,” he stated directly.

  “I didn’t lie to you, John.”

  “I know you didn’t lie,” he replied. “What happened?”

  “Agatha invited Anne London to the ball on Paul’s behalf yesterday at lunch. She spoke for him, and he couldn’t refuse.”

  “So he lied to you.”

  “It wasn’t a lie. He wanted to escort me.”

  “Right,” John remarked doubtfully.

  “Agatha threw them together. Paul didn’t want to embarrass them.”

  “I wouldn’t have cared about embarrassing them.”

  “You enjoy embarrassing people, John,” she retorted. “Paul doesn’t.”

  “No. Paul enjoys having a woman on his arm while another waits for him in the wings.”

  Charmaine smarted from his words. “You’re wrong. He wanted to take me. He regretted what happened and apologized.”

  “You humored him and are cheated out of this evening.”

  Charmaine didn’t care to be reminded of her disappointment. Still, she knew the slight had not been intentional and felt compelled to defend Paul. “You don’t understand, John, and you are being unfair. He has promised to make it up to me. What does one silly night matter, anyway, when the future—”

  She caught herself, certain she’d revealed too much, John’s brow already furrowed in swift comprehension. Embarrassed, she turned back into the room, but he followed her.

  “Paul proposed to you?” he asked. “Is that what you’re trying to hide?”

  “Is that so inconceivable?” she rejoined, pivoting round to face him, nettled that he didn’t think her worthy.

  “What? That he proposed to you, or that you’re trying to hide it?”

  “I’m not trying to hide it!” she exclaimed. “And, yes, he proposed to me.”

  “So he’s trying to hide it.”

  “No, he’s not!” she objected.

  John’s frown deepened. “So when does Paul plan on announcing this engagement, Charmaine? At the ball tonight, with you in your room and Anne at his side?”

  His words stung like salt in a fresh wound. Again, she was baited into saying more than she wished. “We’re not betrothed yet. I told him I would think about it.”

  John’s eyes betrayed surprise, but his words were cutting. “How generous of you and convenient for him. One last stand before he’s a happily married man!”

  “I haven’t made it convenient for him!” Charmaine countered defensively, her anger and shame melding into one sickening lump of foolishness. “I’ve told you, he was embarrassed by Agatha and forced into a situation beyond his control.”

  John snorted in disgust. “So tell me, Charmaine—if Agatha tells Anne tonight, ‘Anne, Paul has asked for your hand in marriage,’ my brother will be too embarrassed to tell Anne, ‘I’ve already proposed to Charmaine.’ Do I have it right now?”

  She glared at him furiously. There was no point in responding.

  “Now we’ve figured that out, get dressed. I will take you to the ball.”

  She hesitated, stunned and thrilled by his offer. She opened her mouth to accept, but the implications of doing so stopped her. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to accompany another man until I give Paul an answer.”

  John stood incredulous. “But it’s acceptable for him to escort another woman to the ball with a standing marriage proposal to you?”

  Charmaine sighed in frustration. “Why does it matter to you, anyway?”

  John debated his answer. He must drop talk of his brother if he were to convince her to accompany him. “It matters to me because I know you’ve been looking forward to this night. You’ve talked of little else the entire week. I could see how disappointed you were at dinner.”

  She was surprised. He had noticed her. Suddenly, her mood lifted.

  “Now, Charmaine,” he coaxed, “there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t give her right arm to be downstairs tonight. This opportunity may never come your way again. You can tell anyone who asks we are merely friends.”

  Her resolve was weakening, even though she knew no one would believe they were merely friends.

  “Please come, my Charm,” he pressed on. “I’ve attended many such parties, and it won’t matter to me if I miss this one. But I will take great pleasure in seeing you enjoy it. If you don’t accompany me, we shall both be disappointed.”

  Charmaine mulled over his petition. Why should she miss such a splendid affair, perhaps the opportunity of a lifetime? She desperately wanted to go. Then there was her daring side, chuckling inwardly, wondering how the likes of Mary Stanton and Anne London would react when she arrived on John’s arm.

  “Very well,” she capitulated. “I’ll go. But I’m warning you now, if you embarrass me even once, I will leave.”

  “I won’t, I won’t,” he replied, waving off her threat as he headed toward the door. “You have ten minutes,” he directed, as he stepped out of the room.

  “Ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes.” His face was bright with satisfaction. “I’ll be waiting.”

  The door closed behind him, leaving her to her hasty toilette. In a flurry, she was ripping off her nightgown and pulling the evening gown from her armoire. It hugged her bust and waist, flaring out at her hips and falling to the floor. The champagne silk complemented her skin and dark hair, pronouncing her natural innocence, while the sash at her waist accentuated her slim, yet curvaceous figure, and the sheer frill that trimmed her décolletage drew attention to the swell of her breasts. She’d have to get used to the low-cut neckline as well as the feel of the delicate satin slippers on her feet. Already John was rapping on her door. Quickly, she brushed out her hair and swept the curls off her face with ivory combs. Like Mercedes, she left the rest unfashionably loose, a riotous cascade tumbling down her back. With a pinch, she coaxed her cheeks to a rosy hue. Before long, she was standing at the looking glass, wondering if she were the same girl of only twenty minutes ago. She turned from side to side and was pleased with what she saw. She considered her glowing face one last time, then stepped confidently to the door.

  John leaned over the balustrade, his impatient eyes on the landing below. At the sound of the door opening behind him, he straightened and turned. The vision of loveliness standing there surpassed any he’d conjured. If he didn’t look away, he’d lead her right back into the bedroom and forget the ball. He trained his eyes on her pretty face. She was oblivious to the effect she had on him, for although her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled girlishly.

  Charmaine was unnerved by his perusal, which compelled her to speak. “Could it be you of all people are speechless?”

  He laughed, glad she had broken the spell. “You are a sight to behold, my Charm,” he replied. “A vision of perfection.”

  His compliment made her feel attractive and feminine. “And you are ver
y handsome this evening,” she returned. “Black becomes you.”

  “Not the first time you’ve voiced words to that effect.”

  She giggled, her giddiness rising.

  “Be careful, my Charm,” he warned, “you are so beautiful tonight, I may have to live up to my black reputation, and we may never make it to the ball this evening.”

  She smiled with his brash flattery, happy to know he found her desirable. He took her arm and led her to the staircase.

  A heady blend of apprehension, joy, and excitement reached its pinnacle as they began their descent. She broke away, and he chuckled when she raced ahead, throwing him a backward glance from the landing. Leaning over the banister, she could see into the ballroom, where the mélange of color, fragrance, and music was irresistible. Hems of gowns flashed past the arched doorway, a kaleidoscope of sight and sound. The waltz was fast and catchy—the newest craze—the Bohemian Polka—the instruments perfectly tuned. Only John held her back.

  “Am I not the escort, my Charm?” he smiled wryly as he caught up with her. He extended his arm, and she slipped her hand through the bend of his elbow, reveling in the feel of muscle beneath the fabric.

  “I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered, “and you’re my fairy godmother.”

  “How can that be, my Charm,” he queried devilishly, “when I haven’t taken out my magic wand?” He laughed at her confusion, then guided her down the remaining steps and through the foyer. They crossed the threshold of the great hall together.

  The music had stopped and Charmaine looked around the room. Her eyes met those of quite a few guests, who considered her with intense interest. She was dressed like an elegant society lady, yet she knew that had little to do with it. The world had suddenly noticed her because she was with John. Two words—“the governess”—passed in murmurs behind her. Undaunted, John led her farther into the room, tall at her side, his gait unrushed and confident. She felt protected next to him, his firm hand at the small of her back.

  “Charmaine, you look lovely!” George exclaimed when they reached him. “I’m glad you’ve returned. Everyone is having a fabulous time!”