Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  Her earnest pledge seized hold of his heart, and his shallow promise became a quest. He returned to the West Indies, where he carried on her mission until yesterday. But last night, he embraced the truth he had doggedly brushed aside for all those years: she was obsessed with Frederic.

  With a final sigh, he dragged his trunk to the door.

  John shut the door and faced his father. He didn’t relish meeting in this room. Some of their most damaging confrontations had taken place here.

  “Be civil, John,” Charmaine had cautioned. “Your father is making every effort.” Though he placated her, he was not pleased. Why do all the women in my life champion my father?

  “Come in, John,” Frederic beckoned from the desk.

  They were alone. “Richecourt is late?” John asked.

  “Not late,” Frederic explained. “I wanted to speak with you first.”

  John braced himself for the worst. Frederic lifted a sheaf of papers and handed them to him. “I believe they’re all in order,” he stated, “however, before you read them, I’d like to explain my decisions to you.”

  “Your decisions? I thought everything had been decided.”

  “By you, perhaps, but not by me.”

  John began to object, but Frederic waved him off. “John, I’m not about to get into a row with you; I only ask that you listen to what I have to say. Then, if you object, we can discuss it.”

  Shaking his head, John slumped into a chair.

  “First, custody of Yvette and Jeannette will be turned over to you upon my death. Doing so makes a great deal of sense, especially now that you are married to Charmaine.”

  That’s the good news, John thought. Now for the bad.

  “As for the plantation and Richmond holdings, they will be left to Yvette and Jeannette. I know your misgivings concerning an impending civil war; however, the land is there, and at present should be accounted for. The girls will soon be women, and when they are introduced into society, it will likely be with you, in Richmond. When they come of age, the properties can be divided equally. However—” he drew a long breath “—the property needs to be managed until then. I ask you to remain on as guardian to their interests.”

  “No.”

  “John, hear me out. I believe this Underground Railroad business is dangerous for any plantation owner, but I cannot fault you for upholding your ideals. It is a trait I honestly respect in you.”

  John was taken aback. Certain he was being manipulated, he said nothing.

  “Obviously, this escape system involves more than smuggling runaways aboard a Duvoisin ship. I gather Freedom is a stop on this ‘railroad.’ Can it afford to do without you?”

  John hadn’t considered this. He was, after all, Freedom’s mainstay. Brian and Stuart might elect to remain on, but a new manager would not give them the protection he did. He’d discounted switching the station to Wisteria Hill long ago. Freedom was ideally situated on the Appomattox River, making hound tracking nearly impossible. “What exactly are you saying, Father?” he asked. “You want me to run your plantation as a stop on the Underground Railroad?”

  “Run it however you wish—until your sisters come of age,” he said simply. “And lastly,” he went on, as if the previous matter were settled, “Charmantes—”

  What was the score now? John wondered.

  “—I didn’t know what to do about that until this morning. Paul has Espoir, and I will give George Esprit. He deserves it for his many years of dedicated service to this family. However, Charmantes will be left to your children, my grandchildren. If you refuse stewardship, I will place it in Paul’s hands until your sons come of age.”

  John swore fiercely. “You’re still vying for the upper hand, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not surprised you see it that way, John. I’ve never given you a reason to think otherwise. However, there is only one reason I’ve made these adjustments. Leaving you and your children a piece of my estate is the only thing, other than life, I have been able to give to you.” Frederic struggled for words. “I wish that were not so, but for you and me, it is too late for many things.”

  John didn’t know what to say. He was uncomfortable with his father’s naked emotion, and his anger ebbed. All these years, he had craved approval—affection—from this man. Now it was offered to him, the feeling was alien and disquieting. He changed the subject. “And what of the ships?”

  “Upon my death, they will be left to Paul, with the stipulation that any transport you require is free.”

  John snorted. One more point for him. He’d sooner find another carrier than rely on Paul’s generosity. “What of all your investments?” he pursued.

  “They will be divided equally between you and Paul.”

  “I told you I’d—”

  “Do whatever you wish, but they will be equally distributed by week’s end. I have more than enough money to see me content until the end of my days. I don’t want the Duvoisin fortune to dominate and undermine our relationship any longer.” He paused for the moment it took to swallow against the lump in his throat. “I invited you home to start anew, John. I’m sorry about Agatha and Stephen. She got exactly what she wanted, and now Paul is angry with me, too.”

  “Angry?” John asked bemusedly. “With you?”

  “He learned Agatha is his mother.”

  “You can’t be serious,” John chuckled, his incredulity fanned by his father’s grim expression. But he didn’t need Frederic’s affirmation. In its insanity, it made sense—perfect sense. Agatha championed Paul because he was her son.

  “I knew Agatha before I met your mother. After I pledged my troth to her, we became lovers. For her, it was love, for me, another business proposition. Then I grew to know your mother and experienced love for the first time. In the beginning, I held fast to my promise—attempting to ignore my feelings for her. But eventually, the idea of sacrificing that love became incomprehensible, so I broke the banns with Agatha, and married Elizabeth instead, even though I knew Agatha was carrying my child.”

  John was shocked. “No wonder she hated my mother … ”

  “And you,” Frederic finished.

  “So Paul is older than I am.”

  “By three months,” Frederic answered.

  The rest of the story unraveled slowly, Frederic speaking plaintively. When he finished, John inhaled. “Why didn’t you tell Paul the truth?”

  “I was ashamed.”

  John was astonished. To him, Frederic was only a bitter, vindictive man with a hardened heart. “But why was I promoted as your heir?”

  “Because you were the son born into wedlock, because you belonged to Elizabeth, and because, as you got older, I thought it was the only way to make amends for your childhood—my scorn.”

  Strange words, John thought. “So now, Paul knows, and he’s upset.”

  “Yes, though he presented quite a front for his guests this week. But what is done is done, and it had to be told sooner or later. I thought you should know.”

  John nodded. After a moment, Frederic gestured to the documents he still held. “Are you agreeable to them?”

  “Not really, Father,” John smirked, “but what does it matter?”

  Yvette tried to ignore the giggling in the hallway. She had promised to be good and stay in the nursery with Jeannette until Charmaine or John came for them. After all, the morning had been so wonderful, the news that John had married Charmaine so gratifying she truly intended to keep her word. John had gone off to speak with Father, and Charmaine was napping. Yvette turned her back to the door, which was slightly ajar, and stared hard at the book in her lap. Not a moment later, a man’s devilish chuckle echoed outside the room. She glanced at Jeannette, who was deep in concentration at her desk, practicing her script. Yvette crept to the door and peered through the crack.

  John gathered up the last of Geoffrey Elliot’s papers. Except for one, he hadn’t signed any of them. The contracts, which should have been simple renewals, had been comp
letely rewritten, and now each one had a mistake.

  John met Travis in the foyer. “Is Richecourt still with my father?”

  “No, John,” the manservant replied. “He was quite alone when I left him.”

  “Wonderful,” John muttered, “now I’ll have to ride into town to catch him.”

  “No, you won’t, Johnny,” Yvette called from the stairs.

  John walked over to the landing. “You’ve seen Richecourt, then?”

  “Maybe … ”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “How much do you want, Yvette?”

  “Ten dollars.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “One dollar.”

  “Not worth it.”

  “Yes, it is,” Yvette countered in a singsong voice. “You’ll see.”

  John canted his head as if to read her mind. “Very well—one dollar.”

  “Oh goody!” she exclaimed. “With the five dollars Paul gave me this morning, that’s the most money I’ve ever earned in one day!”

  John eyed her in astonishment, the implications of her declaration and Paul’s curious behavior that morning sinking in. “So, where is Richecourt?” he asked, mindful of the more pressing matter at hand.

  Yvette’s lips curled into a smile. “In Felicia’s room. When do I get paid?”

  John threw open the door to Felicia’s room. There was Edward Richecourt suspended on all fours above the maid, his bare buttocks soaring high in a sea of blankets and discarded clothing, his manhood dangling in all its decrepit glory. In a panic, he dove under the covers, pulling them up to his neck.

  “Holy coconuts, Pitchfork!” John exclaimed.

  “This is not what you think!” the solicitor sputtered, his face flaming red.

  “Far be it from me to jump to conclusions,” John expounded, stepping into the room, his shock giving way to a crooked grin. “I suppose if you’re providing legal counsel, there are as many ways to get paid as there are to get laid. Ah … I knew I’d get to see your horn one day, Pitchie.”

  “I have no horns!”

  “Then you’re bound to disappoint Felicia over there.”

  “I hardly think it proper to barge in on us like this!” Richecourt growled. “Was there something you wanted?”

  “I’ve finished with Junior’s papers,” John replied, displaying the contracts. “I thought you’d like to look them over before you throw them out. They need a little work.”

  “Give them here,” Richecourt ordered, arm outstretched.

  “Come and get them.”

  The lawyer glared at him, then shifted uneasily. “Leave them on the bureau. I’ll read them later.”

  “No, I’ve made some notes I want to show you now.” John smiled devilishly, waving the documents in indication that Richecourt come and get them.

  Felicia, nestled quite comfortably next to the flustered barrister, giggled.

  Richecourt glanced around the room in search of his clothes, but they were piled on the floor next to John’s feet. He hesitated a moment and swung his hairy legs over the bed, clutching the linens about him. Reluctantly, he stepped across the room until he ran out of covers just shy of John’s extended hand. He reached out to grasp the papers, but John pulled them back. Humiliated, Richecourt took the last three steps and the coverlet fell away, revealing sagging shoulders, flabby arms, and a paunchy middle.

  With an exaggerated grimace, John considered the specimen, then regarded Felicia in disbelief. “You went from my brother to this? You’ve lowered your standards, Felicia—or dropped them altogether.”

  “Give me those!” Edward barked and, snatching the papers out of John’s hand, quickly lowered them to his groin to cover himself.

  “Junior would be shocked to learn his papers have been reduced to fig leaves hiding the shriveled up—I mean—forbidden, fruit.”

  “Get out! Just get out!”

  Despite her short nap, the heady day caught up with Charmaine, and her eyes grew heavy after dinner, burning when she blinked. The twins were exhausted, too. She coaxed them upstairs, leaving John with George and Mercedes, who were celebrating their engagement, in the drawing room. She was startled when the nursery door opened behind her and Paul stepped in.

  “Yvette, Jeannette, I want to speak to Charmaine—alone,” he stated sharply. “And if you know what is good for you, you won’t go running to John.”

  They sent anxious eyes to Charmaine, intimidated by his dark demeanor.

  “It’s all right, girls,” she said. “Please wait for me in my room.”

  When they were gone, Paul studied her for a moment. She braced herself for the worst, but it was best to get this over with.

  “What happened last night?” he asked.

  She was surprised and heartened by his even tone. Perhaps this discussion wouldn’t be as unpleasant as she anticipated.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she answered softly. She was not about to tell him she had spent the hours after the ball in his brother’s arms.

  “You know damn well what I mean,” he snarled. “I thought we had an understanding. I proposed marriage to you. I thought that was what you wanted, have always wanted!”

  Charmaine bowed her head. “I thought I wanted it, too.”

  “Thought? Didn’t you know?” He was seething. “Let me understand this, Charmaine. You spend week after week in my company. You allow me to kiss you, to caress you, to make plans with you. You lead me to believe you desire me, too, but because of your morality, you require a commitment before you’ll come to my bed. And then, when I give you that commitment, you marry my brother instead? Have I been taken for an idiot here? What is going on?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” she began, hoping to provide answers that would not widen the rift between him and John. “When I walked out onto the balcony, I saw you with Anne London.”

  He inhaled. “So, you ran to my brother’s arms. Is that what happened?”

  “No!” she railed, insulted he was making light of his tryst, while scorning hers.

  Paul was satisfied with the response. He’d been right in assuming if John had bedded her, he would have bragged about it. No, his brother had simply capitalized on her vulnerability when she grew disillusioned with her fiancé’s dalliance. “Don’t be a fool, Charmaine,” he proceeded. “John is never going to make you happy.”

  “And you will?”

  “I’ve been honest with you,” he reasoned. “I’m a flesh and blood man. You refused me time and again. Last night meant nothing to me.”

  “How can you say that? How can you stand there and say that to me?”

  “Really, Charmaine, you are very naïve about men. Do you think John hasn’t taken a woman to his bed since he left here last fall?”

  “But he wasn’t the one who proposed marriage to me. You were! If you cannot be faithful when you are engaged, how will you be faithful when you are married?” And John was alone in his chambers last night, she thought, not cavorting with the loosest woman at hand.

  “Be a fool then. But you are the first and only woman I’ve ever loved. John, on the other hand, will never forget Colette. You know that, and I know it.”

  “You’re wrong!” she objected vehemently.

  “Am I?” he shot back, further annoyed when she turned her back on him. But when he realized she was crying, his anger abated. “Charmaine,” he cajoled, “let us set this situation straight, right now. Let us go together and find Father Benito. The vows have not been consummated. The marriage can be annulled.”

  “No!” she sobbed, wrenching free of the hands that closed over her shoulders, free of the lies he was spinning to confuse her. She whirled around to face him. “I love John! I don’t love you!”

  She saw the pain in his eyes and softened her words. “I thought I loved you, Paul. But when John was gone, I missed him so. If he hadn’t come back, I would have believed I meant nothing to him. But he did come back, and he loves me, too. He does love me! Last night when I
saw you with Anne, I should have been hurt, but I wasn’t. If it had been John in her embrace, I would have cried myself to sleep.”

  Her remarks cut deeply. “You’re lying,” he snarled, his anger barely in check.

  “No, Paul. Truly, I don’t want to hurt you, but I do love John.”

  He didn’t hear her, for his mind was racing. “You saw me with Anne last night, but you say that didn’t upset you. Yet, John finds you praying in the chapel this morning and claims you were very upset … ” His thoughts trailed off as he pieced the puzzle together. Then he glared at her through smoldering eyes. “You spent the night with him, didn’t you?”

  Her silence was affirmation enough.

  “You little fool! You’ve thrown away the happiness we could have shared! John knew you were vulnerable. Can’t you see he’s using you to get to me?”

  When she shook her head in denial he pressed on, determined to hurt her as she had hurt him. “Do you know he came to me and suggested I marry you before he left here six months ago?” He smiled in satisfaction at her stunned face. “It’s true. Ask him. He doesn’t love you, Charmaine. He’s just using you. And when he’s had enough—”

  “Stop it!” she screamed. “I hate you! Get out!”

  When he didn’t budge, she flew at him, pummeling his chest with both fists. “Get out, I tell you! Get out!”

  Frederic heard the cries coming from the nursery and pushed into the room to find Charmaine in hysterical tears. “What goes on here?”

  Paul spun around. “I was leaving,” he bit out.

  “It’s best you do,” Frederic warned, catching hold of Paul’s arm as his son attempted to brush past him.

  Paul stopped, looked down at his sire’s hand, then met the man’s eyes. “Charmaine is John’s wife now,” Frederic said. “Remember that.”

  Paul had no intention of heeding his father like a scolded child, and he tore away. Frederic watched him leave, then turned to Charmaine.

  She fought to master her emotions, wiping away her tears. “I knew I was going to have to face him. But it was terrible. I’ve hurt him deeply.”