by DeVa Gantt
“May I come in?”
“No,” he growled, his words slurred, “you may not come in!”
“I would like to see Rebecca,” Paul pressed.
Wade’s wicked laugh ended in a hiccup. “Of course you would,” he sneered sarcastically, astounded by the man’s imperious gall. “She’s only seventeen years old! If you think I’m going to stand back while you satisfy your lust on her, you’d better think twice! You just try to step into this house—you just try to touch her—and I swear I’ll break your goddamn neck!”
“You’re drunk,” Paul said softly, disheartened Rebecca had told her brother about them.
“You’re damned right I’m drunk!” he cried. “How do you think I felt this afternoon when my sister stepped off that ship, dressed in the most elegant gown a rich man’s money could buy? What do you think everyone else was thinking? She disappeared for three weeks, and suddenly, she’s back? They all know she’s a whore now—your whore!”
Paul’s blood boiled, but he knew Wade was right. Many were at the landing stage today; surely they had come to the same conclusion. And the dress! Paul had only longed to make her happy. Now he realized he’d unconsciously wanted everyone to know she belonged to him, the gown an emblem of his desire. But in so doing, he had exposed her to public censure, Wade a harbinger of the castigation yet to come. Fleetingly, he thought of Yvette and Jeannette, and what his reaction would be under similar circumstances. I’ d throttle the bastard!
“I want to speak with Rebecca,” he insisted.
“And I told you to go to hell!” Wade snarled.
Paul’s mind was made up, and he easily pushed his way into the cottage.
Wade went after him with a vengeance, and before Paul knew what had hit him, they lay sprawled on the floor. Then the shock was gone, and Paul grabbed Wade’s shirtfront, rolling over and pinning him down. “Now, listen to me,” he growled. “I will speak with your sister. Whatever you think about her, you’re wrong, and I’ll hear no more of it, do you understand? I love her, and I’m going to marry her. That’s why I’m here.”
Paul pushed up and off the floor, then extended a hand to Wade, whose anger had turned to confusion. “Marriage … ?” he murmured, making no move to rise. “But you can’t—I mean, you don’t—”
The strange response ended there, as apparently he fought off the effects of his inebriation. He grabbed hold of Paul’s proffered hand and stood. “I’ll get Rebecca,” he said soberly.
Paul’s relief was momentary, for the bedroom was empty, the green dress spread reverently across her bed. He drove a hand through his hair, gripped with worry. To where had she flown now? Her grief had been great, and certainly, Wade had made it worse. I don’t want to shame my brother. Better I just disappear. Well, Paul wouldn’t let her disappear. He’d find her—tonight!
“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” he asked.
“No,” Wade whispered, suddenly ashamed, cringing with the memory of how he had treated her. “I said some rotten things this afternoon.”
“We have to find her.”
“Felicia!” Wade suggested. “Next-door. She might know.”
Paul hastened to the house, rousing all within with a heavy fist on the door. Felicia’s gruff father opened it, capitulating grudgingly when it was clear Paul would not leave without speaking to his daughter. Felicia was standing before them moments later.
“Where is Rebecca?” Paul demanded.
Her sleepy eyes turned shrewd, and suddenly, she was smiling. “I saw that beautiful gown,” she replied sweetly. “But Rebecca said she wasn’t going to be bought and paid for—even by you.”
“What else did she say?” he pressed through clenched teeth.
“Just that she’s moving on—to a new life,” Felicia answered smugly. “I tried to warn her about you, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept saying she was going to marry you. Some girls have to learn the hard way. Anyway, now she knows better.”
“Really?” Paul scoffed. “Well, Felicia, if you happen to see Rebecca, tell her I intend to marry her.”
He didn’t wait for a reaction, but clamped an arm around Wade’s shoulders and led him back to his cottage. “I know where to look. Stay here and sleep it off. Meet me at the mansion first thing in the morning. I’ll be there—with Rebecca.”
Wade began to object, but Paul countered with: “I need to speak to Rebecca—alone. Now, please, go to bed.” Without further ado, he headed toward the Tempest and the cabin they had shared.
Moonlight spilled through the porthole, illuminating the cubicle. Rebecca was sound asleep in the bunk, her raven-black hair fanned across the pillow. An ineffable happiness seized him. If he hadn’t come tonight, she would have been gone in the morning, lost to him, perhaps forever. Why had he been so foolish? Why hadn’t he wed her on the ship? There had been a priest at his disposal to see the vows exchanged and the union blessed. He had vacillated again, but no more. This might be the worst mistake of his life—or the very best beginning. For Rebecca, he was willing to take that chance.
Sitting gently on the edge of the bed, he took her hand in his, and brushed the hair from her face. She stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. She stared up at him for a moment, dazed. He smiled down at her and could tell she thought she was dreaming.
“I’ve come to take you home,” he said softly. “To my home.”
She pulled her hand away and rubbed her eyes. Her brow gathered and she pushed herself onto her elbows. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep, Rebecca. I was worried about you, so I went to your house. Your brother did not put me at ease.”
“He hates me now,” she murmured, her head bobbing forward. “I knew he would.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“He’s ashamed of me. He has a right to be ashamed.”
“No, Rebecca,” Paul refuted, gently gripping her chin and persuading her to look at him, “he doesn’t have that right. And after tomorrow, no one will dare insult you. If they do, they will have to answer to me.”
She was bewildered, but he stood and extended a hand to her, inviting her up and out of the cot. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
“No!” she said. “I want to go far away from this place.”
“Come,” he insisted. “This is your home—here, on Charmantes, with me.”
“I won’t be your mistress!”
“I’m not asking you to be my mistress, Rebecca,” he declared. “I’m asking you to be my wife.”
Her green eyes swiftly filled with tears, but then she was shaking her head “no.” “I don’t want to marry you now.”
Nonplussed, he felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. “Why?” he managed to utter. “Why not?”
She gulped back her agony. “I want you to love me. I couldn’t live knowing you wished I were Charmaine. You’ve only come because she’s lost to you.”
“No, Rebecca, that’s not true. I swear it is not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Rebecca, since I made love to you, I haven’t been able to think straight. At first, I was confused. I was worried over my brother and Charmaine. What happened between us was so exquisite it frightened me. Even after I knew John was alive, it frightened me. But tonight, when I was alone in my bed, I realized how unhappy I was. Not because I had lost Charmaine, but because I had lost you— you, Rebecca. You’re the one I want.”
He bent forward and kissed her, a slow, tender kiss that deepened in intensity. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, and she pulled herself up and into his embrace. Abruptly, he drew back. “Now, will you marry me?”
“Yes, oh yes!” she sobbed, pulling him close and kissing him ardently.
His resolve to wait until they were back at the mansion crumbled, and in seconds, they were stripping off their clothes and making fierce love. When they had finished, he enfolded her in his arms. She nuzzled against him and sighed in quintessential happiness.
He could feel the moisture of her tears on his chest, and he relished an unprecedented sense of contentment.
Monday, January 14, 1839
They woke to the caterwaul of seagulls and the sun’s light.
“We’d better get up,” he urged, “or Captain Conklin will be setting sail again with us aboard.”
Rebecca smiled up at him. “What made you change your mind about me?”
“I never changed my mind,” he said honestly. “I think I loved you from that very first night.”
“But you called me a little girl then.”
“You’re not a little girl, Rebecca. You’re all woman—my woman.” He kissed her passionately, then sighed. “I’ve had many women, but not one has ever made me feel the way you have, and no woman has ever loved me the way you do. I’d be a fool to throw that away, wouldn’t I?”
Her arms encircled his waist, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “I’ve loved you—for such a very long time.”
He kissed the top of her head, squeezed her tightly, and then stood to dress. She followed suit, pulling on her breeches and shirt. Paul chuckled.
“I told Wade to meet me at the manor this morning,” he said. “We’d best hurry if we’re to get there ahead of him.”
Rebecca puzzled over the remark, but didn’t question him about it.
They left the ship to find an agitated Alabaster waiting for them, hooves pawing the dirt at the end of the pier, ears flicked back. Paul quickly untied the stallion and patted his neck in apology. He mounted, reaching down for her. Rebecca hesitated, but he grabbed her arm.
“Everyone will be looking at us!” she objected, holding back.
“Let them look!” He laughed.
His words touched her heart. She pulled up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his back, certain she would awaken at any moment.
John and George stepped off the last stair of the landing when Paul and Rebecca walked through the doors. One look at their disheveled appearance, Rebecca’s outlandish garb, and John chuckled knowingly. “What have the two of you been enjoying—a nature walk?”
Rebecca bowed her head, but Paul put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Where is Michael?”
John’s grin grew wider. “Has my brother come to his senses?”
“Steady, John!” George warned, despite Paul’s confident smile.
“That’s right, John, I have. Rebecca and I are going to be married—this morning, if possible.”
“Well, then, Paulie, congratulations are in order.” John extended his hand in a gesture of genuine goodwill, even as he was thinking: You should have married her on the ship last week, you horny bastard!
The morning was spent making all the arrangements. Rebecca was closeted in one of the guestrooms, where Millie helped her bathe and dress in the wedding gown Mercedes had kindly offered. Though the fit wasn’t perfect, a few hasty alterations made the garment more than acceptable. Paul also bathed, donning the suit he had worn for the ball. Father Michael prepared the chapel for its first Mass in nearly five months.
At precisely noon, Rebecca Remmen grasped her brother’s arm and walked down the short aisle of the chapel. Jeannette blushed as they passed by her pew and Wade smiled down at her. She looked up at her father, hugged his arm, and giggled softly when he winked at her. Paul stood tall at the altar, ready to receive his bride. Wade handed her over, and the couple stepped before Michael.
Frederic looked on with pride, thankful Rebecca had become Paul’s obsession. During the voyage home, it had been obvious Paul was smitten with the girl, keeping her at arm’s length, as if she’d swallow him whole if he came too close. Though everyone wondered what had happened between them, Frederic didn’t have to guess. He read the hunger in his son’s eyes, knew the feeling all too well, even the circumstances. Paul’s desire for Rebecca mirrored his fierce love for Elizabeth. God had been very good to his family.
After the ceremony, Paul led his beautiful wife to the archway, where they received heartfelt congratulations. Wade was the last to embrace his sister. Paul noted the guilt in his eyes. Or was it something more? Apprehension? But Rebecca hugged him close, too happy to hold a grudge. When he smiled shamefaced at Paul, Paul clapped him on the back, letting bygones be bygones.
Michael rearranged the altar, placing the chalice and ciborium off to one side in preparation for the other two marriage ceremonies he would perform later that day. It could be months before they ascertained the legitimacy of Benito St. Giovanni’s priesthood, and Michael planned on returning to Richmond very soon. He’d been away from the refuge and church far too long already. John and Charmaine, as well as George and Mercedes wanted to be certain God sanctified their unions, so Michael gladly accepted their invitation to preside over the reaffirming nuptials.
Fatima Henderson whipped up an afternoon fete, and family and friends gathered on the porch and lawn to celebrate Paul and Rebecca’s wedding in the mild, winter breezes. Overseeing all the details, Charmaine eventually headed to her chambers to nurse Marie and check on John. As she reached the portico, she espied Paul and Rebecca alone for the first time that day and changed direction.
“Congratulations,” she said when she reached them. Looking pointedly at Rebecca, she added, “welcome to our family. You’ve made Paul and the entire family very happy today.”
Rebecca was amazed by Charmaine’s genuine warmth, and she nodded slightly.
“I’m glad you made the voyage in search of John,” Charmaine said to Paul. “We both benefited from it.”
Paul responded with a dashing smile, pleased she had attempted to put Rebecca at ease. “Thank you, Charmaine,” he said simply, though Charmaine read much more in the depths of his green eyes. They had journeyed a long way together, and she treasured the unique bond they would always share.
Wade joined them, followed immediately by Frederic. “Mr. Remmen,” Frederic declared, “my daughter insists I thank you for saving her sister’s life.”
Wade coughed uncomfortably. “It was nothing, sir.”
Frederic refuted the modest denial. “Charmaine has confirmed the entire story. I am forever in your debt.”
Wade rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, and Rebecca smiled, intensely proud of her brother. “Wade is bashful about compliments, sir.”
“Be that as it may,” Frederic continued, “I am grateful and will, from this day forward, consider Wade a member of this family.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wade replied, taking Frederic’s hand and shaking it heartily, a smile breaking across his face.
Charmaine shooed John into the dressing room so she could complete her toilette alone. “It’s my wedding day, and you mustn’t see the bride until she enters the church.”
“All right, all right,” he laughed as she gave him a final shove through the doorway. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
An hour later, she descended the great staircase, wearing the gown she’d donned the evening of Paul’s ball, her hair cascading down her back. Today, as she walked down the aisle on Joshua’s arm, she looked more spectacular than on that wondrous night nine months ago. Motherhood agreed with her, her figure curvaceous to a fault, her ample bosom straining against the décolletage of her bodice. She was radiant and took John’s breath away. When she reached him, she gave him a brilliant smile before turning her eyes to her father, whose happiness mirrored her own.
Family and friends looked on, overjoyed to share in their second, more profound wedding ceremony. The chapel echoed with sniffles and sighs, and to the congregation’s amusement, Marie shrieked now and then, adding her own two cents to the proceedings.
As the Mass neared a close, Michael asked for the rings. Charmaine watched quizzically as John searched his pockets for the simple wedding band he’d shown her earlier in the day. It had belonged to his mother. When her smile turned to a frown, he whispered, “Not to worry, my Charm, I know it’s here somewhere.” He finally dug it
out of his waistcoat pocket and presented it to her—the largest, most brilliant diamond ring she had ever beheld. Her eyes grew nearly as wide as the stone itself, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see her father smiling broadly at her. A murmur shook the chapel as John lifted her left hand and slipped the beautiful stone on her finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” he pronounced solemnly.
She stared at the fiery diamond a moment longer, felt the weight of it. She looked up into John’s happy eyes, the delight born of her astonishment sparkling there.
It was her turn. She slipped off the plain, loose band she’d worn around her index finger and reached for his hand. “With this ring, I thee wed,” she choked out, as she pushed the ring over his finger, tears evident in her voice.
When she was composed, Michael proclaimed, “You may kiss the bride!”
John pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips across hers. Then he buried his face in her wild locks and savored the fresh scent of her.
She hugged him close. “I can’t wear this ring, John Duvoisin!” she murmured heatedly near his ear. “It is huge and very heavy!”
“Then I will have to find another young lady who will,” he whispered back, squeezing her the harder. “I love you, Mrs. Duvoisin. That ring is only a small token of my love and affection.”
“I love you, too!” she averred.
Someone coughed, and Charmaine realized they had prolonged their embrace beyond the realm of decorum. She broke away, but John kept a possessive arm around her shoulder, and together they received the congratulations of all those in the chapel.
She was conscious of the ring all day, its size alone making it impossible to ignore, and her fingers rotated it continuously. At dinner, John caught her studying it, her fingers splayed upon the linen tablecloth. “Do you like it?” he asked.
“No,” she breathed, looking at him beseechingly, “I love it. But it wasn’t necessary, John. All I’ll ever want is you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know that, my Charm.” He nodded toward it. “Read the inscription.”
She hadn’t thought to look inside the band. She removed it and read the writing there. Once again, her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll always be your charm, as long as you’ll have me.”
