A Silent Ocean Away (33 page)

“Where are our presents?” Yvette asked presumptuously.

“Presents?” John queried. “What presents? I didn’t bring any presents.” His voice was deep and crisp, and quite pleasing to the ear.

“Oh really? Then why did you wink at Jeannette just now?”

“I wasn’t winking,” he insisted, “I had something in my eye.”

Yvette wasn’t fooled. “Well, then, what’s in that large sack under the table?”

“My, haven’t we sharp eyes,” he laughed in that chuckle that was already disturbingly familiar to Charmaine. “See for yourself.”

Yvette clambered under the table to fetch her loot. She was soon forgotten as Pierre tugged on John’s leg. “We hab a gubberness,” he said, smiling up at the man, who leaned forward to lend his full attention.

“Do you?” John asked, and Charmaine could tell he was smiling. “Is she old and ugly like Nana Rose?”

“Oh no,” Pierre pronounced seriously, the cruel remark lost on the innocent child. “She’s boo-tee-full and I love her!” He hugged John’s leg all the harder to emphasize his point, exacting another chuckle from the man.

“There she is!” Yvette pointed as she crawled from beneath the table.

John turned, and Charmaine’s breath caught in her throat. Lifting Jeannette off his lap and setting her on her feet, he stood, and their eyes met, his lazy gaze holding her prisoner as he assessed her in the light of this new day.

So this is John Duvoisin,
Charmaine thought. He was tall, though perhaps not as tall as his brother, with broad shoulders and a slender waist. Unlike last night, he appeared distinguished, his attire that of a gentleman. The cut of his face possessed a rugged handsomeness she had missed yesterday. Now there was no mistaking his identity. The resemblance to Frederic was distinct: brown eyes, long curved nose, square jaw, and thin lips. Even had his visage been blank, she would have known he was a Duvoisin, such was his bearing and stance—one that radiated the power wielded by the men of this family.

As if reading her mind, his thick brow tipped upward, touching the light brown locks that covered the whole of his forehead. She wanted to look away, except he seemed to challenge her to do so, his scrutiny supercilious, mocking her fear. She shivered at the thought of her future resting in his hands: she’d never be free of the tormenting fires he had stoked just a few short hours ago when he had come barging into her sheltered life. An inkling of the pain he would bring her caused her to recoil.

“I believe we’ve already met,” he said with a crooked smile, “though we don’t know each other’s name.”

“I know who you are!” she responded heatedly, her anxiety gone.

His brow raised further. “Well, now, for someone who thanked God never to ‘place name to my arrogant face,’ it certainly didn’t take you long to scrape up all the details.”

She gaped at him, nettled by his precise recollection. His respectable appearance was not going to foster polite conversation.

He, in turn, was amused by her blatant outrage. She was playing the lady wronged, though he knew she was no lady. Her self-righteousness would prove interesting indeed. “Come, Mademoiselle—it is Mademoiselle, isn’t it?” With her rigid nod, he continued, “You act as if I’m still the water rat come in from the rain. Or perhaps in dry attire, I’m just a rat?”

“I never called you a rat!” she replied defensively.

“No?” he queried snidely. “What else but a rat crawls from a filthy hole? But then, considering we’ve only just met, perhaps I’m wrong. Surely you couldn’t have formed a fair opinion of me, unless someone has influenced you. My brother hasn’t been filling your head with nasty stories about me, has he?”

Her silence was answer enough, and he chuckled softly.

His merriment pierced her deeply, yet she could only glare at him, realizing he had manipulated her into betraying Paul.

“Don’t look so chagrined, Mademoiselle,” he commented. “You haven’t told me anything that I didn’t already know.”

“I haven’t told you anything!”

“That’s right, you haven’t, Miss…?” He didn’t know her name, and suddenly feeling at a disadvantage—he never tolerated that; putting others at a disadvantage was
his
forte—he pressed on. “You do have a name, don’t you?”

Charmaine was intimidated by his directness. She thought of Anne London and grew wary of his motives. According to Stephen
Westphal, John was engaged to the widow. He had to know her name—and more! She’d not open herself to further ridicule by answering. Instead, she spoke to the children, who were seated at the table, watching them avidly. “I’m going to ask Mrs. Henderson to prepare a breakfast tray. We can eat—”

“I asked for your name, Mademoiselle,” John cut in curtly.

There was no avoiding it. “Charmaine Ryan,” she threw over her shoulder, praying her assumption was wrong, yet hastening toward the kitchen in case it wasn’t.

“Well, then, Charmaine Ryan,” he replied slowly, testing the sound of it. “You and the children shall breakfast with me. Come now, no need to be afraid.”

Though his gibe halted her step, curiosity turned her about face; his voice betrayed not the slightest indication he knew who she was.

He, in turn, canted his head to study her. Somehow, she seemed familiar, though he was certain he had never met her before. “Charmaine Ryan,” he murmured again as he pulled out the chair he had propped his feet on earlier and gestured for her to sit. “Since you are guardian of the children, I would just like to talk—become better acquainted with you
and
your moral conduct in my home.”

She stood stunned. How would she ever reclaim her dignity? She considered leaving the room, but that would lend credence to his lewd conclusions. More important, she couldn’t abandon the children; he’d hold that against her as well.

“I’m sorry, John,” Paul called as he entered the room, “but Miss Ryan and the children are breakfasting with me.”

Charmaine sighed in relief.

“How charming!” John chortled, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms and legs. “If it isn’t the knight in shining
armor come to rescue the damsel in distress.” The twins giggled. “And I’m not invited?”

“You can join us, Johnny!” Yvette interjected.

Paul grunted. “Come Charmaine,” he said, taking her arm, “we can eat in the kitchen.”

“Don’t bother,” John replied, pushing off from the table. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Don’t go, Johnny!” Jeannette implored. “We haven’t visited with you yet.”

“I will come to see you later,” he promised. And then, on an afterthought, he asked, “Why hasn’t your mother joined you this morning? Is she taking breakfast in her chambers?”

The girl froze, her astonishment mirrored by Yvette. He turned befuddled eyes upon Paul, who struggled with a response.

“John—I—”

Then Jeannette was crying, and John’s mounting perturbation was diverted. “What is it? What is the matter, Jeannette?”

“Mama is dead, Johnny,” Yvette whispered unsteadily. “She died in April.”

A tumult ran rampant across John’s face, and suddenly, Charmaine felt sorry for him. He obviously had no idea about Colette’s death.

“When were you planning on telling me this, Paul?” he snarled.

“I didn’t know you hadn’t been told—”

“The hell you didn’t!”

The moment held until John headed toward the foyer in large, angry strides. Paul rushed after him. “Where are you going?”

“To see Father and find out what other secrets he’s been keeping!”

Paul grabbed his arm. “No, John! You hurt him enough last time.”

John ripped free, his face contorted, a feral gleam in his eyes. “
I hurt him?
” he thundered. “
I
hurt him?” Then he fell on Paul in volcanic fury, grabbing great fistfuls of his shirtfront and slamming him into the wall.

Charmaine wasn’t sure if the impact or her scream brought Fatima Henderson racing from the kitchen.

“What’s going on in here?” the cook demanded, her voice bringing John to his senses. “Master John, what’s gotten into you?”

John’s grip relaxed, and Paul pushed him away. They glared at one another, refusing to meet the woman’s reprimanding eyes, Paul adjusting his jacket as if he were the conqueror instead of the vanquished.

“Miss Charmaine,” Fatima pressed when neither man would answer her, “what are these two up to, already at each other’s throats and Master John not even home a day yet? Are they fighting over you?”

“No, Fatima,” Paul refuted coldly, his eyes fixed on his brother. “We’re not fighting over Charmaine. John just doesn’t like hearing the truth.”

Reality began to sink in, and John’s wrath caved in to desolation. His face had gone white, and Charmaine read his anguish. He bowed his head and left.

She regarded Paul, silently beseeching an explanation.

“Fatima,” he directed, “please see to the children while I speak with Charmaine.”

Fatima took charge of Pierre’s plate, giving Jeannette a comforting pat on the shoulder. The girl continued to sniffle, her cheeks wet.

Paul looked to Yvette. “When you’re finished, you are to take your brother and sister back to the nursery. Mademoiselle Ryan will meet you there.”

Yvette nodded. It was clear from his tone he’d brook no resistance.

John reached the landing, head down, when his eyes fell upon the bottom of her gown. His gaze lifted, taking in the folded hands, her bust, and finally, her breathtaking face, smiling down at him from the portrait, young and innocent, and suddenly dead.
Too late, I’ve arrived too late
.

His name echoed from above. He tore his eyes from Colette’s lovely face and looked at his aunt.

“So it
is
true,” Agatha said as she descended, “you’ve returned.”

“So I have,” John muttered, “and unfortunately, so have you.”

Unperturbed, she smiled triumphantly, eyebrow arching. “Apparently, you haven’t heard
all
the news. Unlike Colette’s unfortunate passing, there has been a joyous wedding in the manor. I am pleased to tell you your father and I were married in July.”

John thought he would vomit. His aunt’s smug mien fired him anew, and he took a threatening step toward her.

Her smile broadened, unalarmed. “It was inevitable. Frederic and I have been in love for many years now. Had I been widowed sooner, I would have become the second Mrs. Duvoisin, rather than the third. Colette was much too young for your father, really. After all, she could have been his daughter. He needs a
woman
to love him, not a little girl.”

John would have taken great pleasure in slapping her face if Rose had not called to him from the crest of the north wing staircase.

“John, you
are
home! I was just coming down to see you.”

He spun around, masking his emotions. “I’m afraid I can’t talk right now, Nan. My father is waiting to see me.”

“John,” Rose admonished gently, warily, “please…be kind.”

“As you say, Nan,” he bit out, before pushing past Agatha.

His mind was a maelstrom of words and images. What had George said?
Colette fears Agatha
…
fears the hold she may exert over Paul
…
fears for the children
…Clearly, his aunt had been after bigger game and had bagged it.

Agatha’s twisted smile followed him. When he was gone, she threw a knowing look to Rose, then turned and climbed the stairs.

Rose offered a silent prayer. She had hoped to have a moment alone with John, but she was too late and headed to the dining room instead.

Paul closed the study door and leaned back against it.

“What happened out there?” Charmaine asked.

“You needn’t be concerned about it,” he replied with an exasperated sigh.

“Needn’t be concerned? I was terrified! He attacked you!”

“My brother is easily incensed. He imagines slights against him when none exist, and then he carries on as he did just now.”

“But not having been told about Colette
is
a slight. And although I’m not fond of your brother, surely he was justified in being angry about that!”

“He was informed about her failing health months ago,” Paul stated flatly. “Her death shouldn’t have come as a shock.”

“Then why was he so angry?”

“As I said, he doesn’t like to hear the truth. He’s hurt members of this family with this sort of behavior. Even Colette, as good and kind as she tried to be to him, suffered at his hands.”

Charmaine gaped at him in disbelief. She shuddered to think episodes similar to the one she’d just witnessed had taken place in the past. God forbid, had the man been violent to Colette? She didn’t dare ask. “But why?”

“Ever since I can remember, John has been determined to do things his way, and his way invariably runs afoul of our father’s wishes. My father has good reason to be angry with him on many accounts. Likewise, John hates the fact that our father is still in charge. It is the very thing that fuels his fury.”

She could not speak. The picture Paul painted was all too reminiscent of her parents’ home. Fear was nipping at her heels again, that same gnawing apprehension she had constantly lived with when her father was around.

“Charmaine, you’ve heard me speak of my brother before. You saw for yourself how he is, both last night and this morning. Even so, you needn’t worry. You can trust me to watch out for you.”

“I hope I can.”

“You must. Rough times are ahead. John will see to it. He always does.”

“Master John?”

Grave concern creased Travis Thornfield’s brow, and he stood his ground, blocking John’s entrance to his father’s chambers.

“Let him in, Travis.”

Travis stepped back, and John stalked into the bright dressing room.

Frederic was standing, and though he appeared at ease, his pulse was racing.

“Leave us alone, Travis,” John growled, his anger fed by his father’s calm demeanor and restored health.

“Sir?” the manservant questioned, his eyes traveling to Frederic.

Frederic only nodded, and Travis deserted the electrified room.