Calypso Magic

by Catherine Coulter

  Patricia's muslin gown was cool, but not cool enough standing in the high heat of the day. She wished she could wander into the shade, but she knew that Papa Lucien wanted them all to stand here showing enthusiasm for his daughter and her husband. She would have preferred that her new sister-in-law remain in England, so that she would have been able to go to London. Daniel, her husband of three months, wanted desperately to go to England, and she did as well, although her motives were vastly different from her young husband's. He would change, she was determined that he should, and when they finally managed to go, it would be in style. She dreamed of the parties, the very fine and fancy people she would meet who would believe her charming. Lucien Savarol was one of the richest planters in the West Indies. If he could be brought around, she would have her wish.

  "It is all very odd," said Deborah Driscoll Savarol to her new husband. "Cast overboard during a storm and a battle. Captain Carstairs seemed very certain they were all right. Yes, most odd indeed."

  "Yes, you've said that," said Lucien mildly, but his eyes were narrowed with worry. God, the past week had been hell, the not knowing if Diana were still alive. And Carstairs telling him that she was married. His Diana married! That in itself was such a surprise that he was speechless for many minutes. And to an English earl, no less.

  Suddenly, the Seawitch drew close so Lucien could see his daughter waving at him from the deck. Her beautiful hair was flying wildly around her face and streaming down her back. She looked as excited as he felt. And there was a man standing next to her. A tall man, slender, but he could not make out the man's features. Her husband, he thought, feeling an unaccountable tightening in his gut.

  "How untidy she appears," said Deborah, frowning slightly into the bright sunlight. "All that hair flying about."

  "She looks beautiful," said Lucien. "Just like her mo---" He broke off. Deborah didn't like to be reminded of his first wife, the exquisite Lily. Her portrait was now in his study, banished from the drawing room.

  The docking seemed to take forever. Lyon smiled indulgently at Diana, who was flittering about and chattering nervously. "That must be his new wife," she said. "But who is that girl? I do wish I could see their faces --- their bonnets are so wide! I hope they are nice. What if they don't like me? Who is that girl, Lyon? Where is my new stepbrother?"

  "Patience, my dear."

  Some ten minutes later, Diana surged down the gangplank and threw herself into her father's arms. "I'm home, Papa, I'm home."

  Lucien didn't want to release her. He'd been so very afraid for her. He drew back and gently touched his fingertips to her face. "This man staring at us is your husband, my dear?"

  Diana started a moment, then said gaily, "Yes. Lyon, come and meet your new father-in-law."

  Introductions were made all around. Deborah offered a powdered cheek to her new daughter, which Diana dutifully pecked.

  "And this is Patricia Driscoll, my new daughter-in-law," said Deborah. "Unfortunately Daniel couldn't come with us. Lucien had some very important work for him to do on Savarol."

  "Ah, well, such a pity," Diana said. They were saved by Rafael Carstairs.

  "They are just as I told you, sir," he said to Lucien Savarol. "They're fit and tanned and healthy. I knew Diana must know enough about living on an island so they wouldn't starve." He made brief greetings to Mrs. Savarol and Mrs. Driscoll.

  "Yes," said Patricia to Diana, "you poor thing, you're dreadfully tanned. It will take weeks to make that awful brown fade. You've even got freckles."

  Diana blinked. She looked at Patricia's very white face, not a freckle to be seen. "I doubt it," she said only. Was she her stepsister-in-law? It was most confusing.

  The three men moved a bit off to the side, discussing what, Diana could not imagine. Manly things, she supposed, her lips curling slightly with amusement. There was no doubt that Lyon was a manly man, she thought, flushing slightly as she pictured him naked as a pagan walking toward her.

  "Well, you are home," said Deborah.

  "Yes, and it is marvelous to be here, at last. Although our week on that island was most amusing. I didn't realize we were on Calypso Island. I was all turned around, you see. But here I am chattering on too much. I suppose we are going to Savarol Island?"

  "That is what your father wishes," said Deborah. "I do not have an extra bonnet with me. Don't you have something in your trunks? You did not lose your trunks, did you?"

  "No, they'll be unloaded in a moment, I imagine. But I don't want a bonnet. To be warm again, it is something I dreamed about in London."

  "And you are married. Your father was very surprised when Captain Carstairs told him."

  Diana was relieved to no end that Rafael had protected them. He'd said to them, a wicked twinkle in his dark eyes, "Never would I face a father and tell him his daughter seduced a man and that man wasn't her husband."

  "He is an earl, I understand."

  "Yes, Lyonel Ashton, Earl of Saint Leven. He probably has quite a few other Christian names, but I don't know what they are. The English peers seem to dote on names. The more names the more consequence, I suppose."

  "He is very handsome," said Patricia.

  "How odd," said Deborah.

  Diana didn't know what her stepmother was referring to, so she said nothing. She wasn't certain yet what to make of her new stepmother and sister-in-law. Deborah was small, pleasingly plump, her blue eyes intelligent, her light-brown hair pulled in a severe knot at the nape of her neck. Her pale-green muslin gown was fashionable. As for Patricia, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Lyon. She was as small as her mother-in-law, but very slender. Her eyes were a dark blue, her hair a very light brown. Her chin was pointed, making Diana think of a fox. She brought her attention back to her new stepmother.

  "You are nineteen," said Deborah.

  "Yes, I will be twenty at the end of the year."

  "Goodness," said Patricia, "it is fortunate that you could marry! I married Daniel three months ago and I am just turned eighteen."

  Diana grinned at this guileless pronouncement. "I never felt like I was on the shelf, as the English put it so quaintly, if that is what you mean. Indeed, I am surprised myself that I am married." She snapped her mouth closed on that ambiguous bit of information.

  She wished the men would leave off their talk. "Is everyone well?" she asked.

  "Who? Oh, my son, you mean. Daniel is an amazing young man, never ill, always so charming and helpful. Yes, he is of great assistance to your father. Lucien is most fond of him, yes, most fond."

  "And the servants? Dido? Has she missed me?"

  Deborah slapped a fly off her sleeve. "That miserable old woman! I have had nothing but problems with her. One more and I'll have her whipped."

  "I beg your pardon?" Diana's voice was icy, her body suddenly very quiet.

  "It's quite true, you know," said Patricia. "For a slave she is much above herself."

  Deborah looked Diana over, her nose elevated. "She is a slave, Diana, nothing more, just as Patricia said. She was allowed far too much license. There was no mistress in the house and she took advantage and ---"

  "I was the mistress."

  "You? Hardly. An unmarried girl can hardly be considered a mistress."

  If Diana weren't so furious, she would have laughed. Not considered a mistress, was she? Deborah could speak to Lyon about that! She said calmly, "Dido, Leah, Tania, Moira, all of them are my friends. Dido raised me after my mother died. She is loyal, intelligent, and loving."

  Deborah shrugged. She didn't want to get into an argument with her stepdaughter, at least not now. Thank God the girl was married. She should be rid of her soon enough. She hoped the earl was rich. Her hopes were for her own son. Dear Daniel had had a rough time of it, what with their expenses these past few years after Brock had died. Now, at least, Daniel would certainly become Lucien's heir, now that his precious daughter was taken care of.

  Diana added in a conciliatory tone, seeing that Deborah had retreat
ed, "She is also bossy and strict. Much like mothers everywhere, I suspect."

  "We'll see," said Deborah. Diana noticed that her lips were thinned with displeasure. Not at all attractive, she thought. Where had her father met this woman? Why had he married her?

  She saw her father finally shake Rafael's hand and turn back toward them. His eyes were twinkling, she thought. She felt a rush of love. Then she looked at Lyon, and the rush of feeling was far more basic.

  They left immediately for Savarol Island on her father's thirty-foot sloop. Dorian was at the tiller and Diana gave him a gay greeting and a hug. The ladies were settled on a padded bench beneath a tarp canopy. Diana fidgeted as she watched Lyon and her father move toward the bow, their heads close in conversation.

  "You have married my daughter," said Lucien Savarol as he studied his new son-in-law. He was a handsome man, but Lucien knew that looks meant very little. He also seemed intelligent and articulate as well. Thank God he wasn't some sort of fop. As for his character, he had no intention of allowing Diana to leave Savarol Island with him until he was certain the man was good enough for her.

  "I have that honor, yes. I shall try, sir, to make her happy."

  "I believe you are related to Lady Cranston? Lucia?"

  "Yes, and she informs me that Diana and I meet somewhere back on the family tree. Have you ever met Lucia?"

  "No, I haven't. We have, of course, corresponded somewhat erratically over the years. I was in England some twelve years ago, but she was at her estate in Yorkshire at the time. Near Escrick, I believe?"

  "Yes. I also have an estate there. Diana has visited the area and enjoyed herself, I believe."

  The two men were silent for a moment. The only sounds were of the slapping sails, the ever-present gulls squawking overhead, the splash of the waves against the sides of the sloop. If Lyon listened carefully, he could hear the voices of the women, but could not make out their words. He wondered how Diana was doing with her new relatives.

  Lucien continued, pointing to starboard, "Savarol Island lies about two more hours east. It's a small island, blessed with ample fresh water and fine soil for sugar. My grandfather changed the name of the island in a fit of immortality, I suppose. It was called Breadfruit Island before. We are, thank God, very nearly self-sufficient."

  "You love it here in the West Indies," Lyon said.

  Lucien nodded, and said after a moment, "So does my daughter. I understand that you inherited Mendenhall plantation on Tortola. Forgive me for bringing you directly away before you could visit your new holdings, but there areproblems at home that I must attend to. It will give you an opportunity to learn something about growing sugar and plantation life before you go to Mendenhall, and to see Diana's home."

  "I thought the cutting of sugarcane was in the spring," Lyon said mildly.

  "Yes, it is our busiest season. You see, we are a community in a very real sense, which means, naturally, that there are always concerns, problems, whatever. Ah, look back at Tortola, Lyon."

  Lyon obeyed. Sugarcane fields and cotton fields seemed to climb the mountains themselves. It was an impressive sight, and he momentarily forgot the squalor of the dock area of Road Town. He found himself wondering at that moment how Lucien Savarol would react to the sight of the dock areas in London.

  "Your wedding was in London? I could get very little from Captain Carstairs," he added, "and believe me, I did try."

  Lyon paused for just a moment. He owed this man honesty. "Actually, no, we weren't married in London. We were married by Captain Carstairs, yesterday."

  To Lyon's surprise, Lucien Savarol simply stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed deeply.

  "I beg your pardon, sir?"

  "Forgive me, my boy. You see, I couldn't imagine my Diana succumbing so quickly, though you seem a man whose character is as strong as hers. HoweverWell, perhaps you will wish to tell me about it."

  "She had refused to marry me, if you wish to know the truth. Indeed, I was simply to escort her back here, but I was coshed on the head in Plymouth and the two of us were saved by Captain Carstairs. He and his crew assumed we were married, and by the time I regained my wits, we were at sea. There weren't, of course, any other passengers on board to act as chaperone. Neither of us had a choice. But as I said, I am fond of her as I believe she is of me."

  Lucien stared toward Savarol Island, not in sight yet, but he could feel its pull. "Perhaps," he said mildly, "it would be best if my wife didn't know the actual circumstances."

  "As you wish, sir."

  "I could tell by the way she looked at you that she does not hold you in dislike. However, DianaWell, she is a most independent girl. I had very little hope that she would find a gentleman in England to suit her. Do you love my daughter?"

  "As I said, sir, I am fond of her. I will be faithful to her and protect her to the best of my ability. She will lack for nothing, nothing material, at any rate." And I will give her passion for as long as I am on this earth. But one didn't say that to a father.

  This, Lyon thought with some amusement, was the parental interview. He liked Lucien Savarol. Time enough to tell Diana's father that he had no intention of owning one hundred souls.

  Lucien asked him about the war and they discussed Napoleon's ill-fated Russian campaign. When Savarol Island came into view, Lyon realized that this was truly a paradise. The island was not large, not more than six miles in length and several miles wide. In the middle, there was a string of gentle hills, their sloping sides covered in sugarcane. The great house, as Diana had told him once that the plantation owners called their homes, was set upon a hill on the northern end of the island. It was a stone English manor house, rising two stories, its balconies covered with the most colorful flowers he had yet seen.

  "The house was begun by my grandfather and finished by my father," said Lucien. "The stone is from our own quarry, and my father spent a fortune furnishing the place with proper English wares."

  "It is very impressive," said Lyon, and meant it.

  "Well, what do you think?"

  Lyon looked about the bedchamber with its high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling French doors, white walls, and Spartan furnishings, and shook his head. "This is your room?" At her complacent nod, he added, "Not a frill or a pink ruffle to be seen."

  "The walls are stone, so it is cool inside." She walked to the French windows and opened them. "Here is the balcony, Lyon. I tend my own flowers, as you see."

  Lyon followed her onto the wide balcony that stretched beyond the corner of the plantation house. Her balcony was a profusion of the most beautiful flowers he'd ever seen, and beyond was the Caribbean, with its brilliant shades of blue.

  "I tend them myself," said Diana. "Dido swore to me that she would take good care of them while I was gone. She did."

  Lyon breathed in the clean salt smell of the Caribbean. There were no cane fields, indeed, nothing in this direction, just the gentle slope of the hill down to the white beach. Indeed, it was only some two hundred feet to the sea, and the sound of the waves was muffled here.

  "I like openness," she added slowly. She grinned up at him. "And I don't like pink ruffles."

  He pictured her for a moment in the fog of London, huddled before a fireplace, and swallowed painfully. She was like a beautiful jewel here, in this lush setting. He wondered what the devil he was going to do.

  "You saw the wide veranda in the front of the house. We eat most of our meals there. It's blessedly cool, always a breeze from the water. I do hope Deborah doesn't insist upon dining in the formal room. It can be ---" She broke off and yanked at his coat sleeve. "You are miles away, Lyon. What are you thinking?"

  "About the bed," he said quickly, turning back into her bedchamber. "Let me see if it suits me."

  Before Diana could react, he grabbed her about the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder. He eased her down onto her back on the wide bed. He came down over her, clasped her hands in one of his, and drew them over her head. "I've mi
ssed you," he said, and kissed her. She was tense and silent beneath him, but he was patient. He felt the moment she began to respond to him. Her lips parted and she arched upward.

  He released her hands and balanced himself on his elbows over her. He looked down at her, smiling.

  "I survived the parental interview. Am I not due some sort of a reward?"

  She clasped his face between her hands and brought his head down. "Yes," she said, and kissed him. She felt him pressing against her belly, hard and probing. She stroked her hands down his back, feeling him shudder.

  "Baby! Hot water for you and ---"

  Dido came to a skittering halt in the doorway. Never had she thought to see her young mistress in such a position. On her back with a man on top of her. Oh, dear, oh, dear.

  "Hello," Diana said, peeking around Lyon's shoulder, her face as red as Dido's was black. Lyon rolled off her and came to his feet beside the bed.

  Dido shook her head. "Heah in the middle of de day with your man all over you! Shameless, lovie! A good figure of a man, though, and handsome as a dog. Well, you straighten yourself, missie, and take your bath now. Your new stepmammy wants her vittles in an hour. No fooling around wid him --- no, indeed. You wait to nighttime like a lady should."

  Lyon was enjoying himself once his body accepted the fact that it was to be denied for the moment. Dido was the scrawniest scrap of humanity he'd ever seen. She was dressed in a plain gray gown, and her hair was scraped back from her face in a skinny bun. He'd met her briefly upon their arrival, watched her clasp Diana to her meager bosom, and tell her exactly everything that had occurred in her absence, all without taking a breath. Yet she was a slave. He shook his head and stepped forward. "Let me help you, Dido."

  "Go along with you, master! You going to bathe wid my baby here? Not enough room, but you young 'unsWell I remember my Orial, quite a man dat one was --- yes, indeed."

  "Yes, I think I will," Lyon said, taking the steaming buckets of water from her old veiny hands. "She needs a good scrubbing, you know. Come along, my dear."

  Lyon was being outrageous and Dido seemed to enjoy this cavalier treatment. Diana scrambled off the bed and slapped down her gown.