Forever Waiting (56 page)

Her cheek was pressed to his chest, and as he chuckled again, she found comfort in the deep rumble beneath her ear.

“You’ve plagued me, Mrs. Duvoisin: my thoughts by day and my dreams at night! Now, don’t tell me you don’t belong here with me. You’re as much a Duvoisin as anyone else in this family.”

“But we hardly know each other. There are things—”

“No buts.”

He held her at arm’s length, studying her intently. “You want to learn to read and write? Then you’ll learn. Anything you want to do—just tell me, and it will be done. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Good,” he said, and his smile turned wicked. “Now, I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense or I’ll be forced to put you across my knee and give you something to cry about!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she taunted, her heart suddenly pounding, her cheeks flushed in anticipation of his lovemaking.

Paul savored undressing her, and she, him. He carried her into his bedchamber and set her down on the mattress, making love to her throughout the night. By dawn, they were spent.

“You will soon be carrying my child, Rebecca, if every night is like this,” he said huskily.

She smiled down at her flat belly and stroked it. “I think I already am,” she murmured shyly, grateful he had pursued her last night, his resolution that they wed putting to rest her brother’s volcanic protestations.

Paul’s hand quickly covered hers, his dark fingers spreading across her tawny flesh. “I thought as much,” he replied, his ardor inflamed with the knowledge their first passionate encounter had made them a part of each other. His hand moved down from her tummy and stroked between her legs. When a guttural groan escaped her lips, he rolled on top of her and took her again.

John lay with Charmaine asleep in his arms, pondering the miracle that had brought him home. He remembered and relived that surreal place—that place in the light where his mother, Pierre, and Colette had embraced him. In his mind’s eye, he was there once again in paradise, holding his lost family in his arms—his son and the woman who should have been his wife.

Death … So simple a solution
.

“John,” Colette breathed when he relaxed his embrace. “How is your father?”

The peace that enveloped him was shaken. “My father?”

“He is crying. He is praying for you. He doesn’t want you to die.”

“Why do we have to talk about him, when
I’m
here with you? Now I can take care of you.”

“You did take care of me,” she whispered. “Agatha and Robert— they have chosen to go to that other place … ”

“And we can finally be together,” John stated vehemently, “with our son.”

“We are not meant to be together,” she dolefully replied. “That is not our destiny. Frederic is part of me, John. I belong to him, and he belongs to me.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly, tempering the blow. “You must go back and reconcile with him.”

“I don’t understand … ?”

“He never meant to hurt you, John. He loves you. Don’t you hear how he weeps for you?” Her melancholy eyes bore into him, and he could hear his father crying. “Charmaine has abundant love to give—to my children—to you. She needs you as much as your father needs me. You’ve known that for a long time, haven’t you?”

The blues and blonds melted into mellow browns, and his mother was smiling up at him once again. Pierre was no longer in his arms, but nestled at her side. Behind him, John heard a baby cry. “You don’t belong here, John,” she affirmed. “Go back. Go back to your father and tell him I love him. Tell him
you
love him. Go back to your beautiful new daughter, and go back to Charmaine. She loves you so … ”

The baby cried again. His father was talking to him, begging God’s mercy, and John could feel the man’s deep sorrow, his Gethsemane. He yearned to comfort him, take away the agony. His breast ached, and he drew a deep breath to ease the pain. He longed to hold Charmaine. If he could just get back to his father, he knew he would hold her again.

John turned away from the light. Then he was back on the ceiling of the room. His father was still there, bent over the bed. A priest was mumbling prayers; it was Michael. John looked back at the light, but it was quickly fading away. His gaze shifted, and he saw a woman at the foot of his bed. She looked so much like Charmaine. It was Marie, and she was smiling and beckoning to him. John reached for her. He had too much to live for. He’d fight to live.

He was no longer on the ceiling. He was sleeping, and for a few moments longer, he reveled in oblivion, at peace knowing his son was safe and happy in his mother’s care. When his eyes fluttered open, he saw relief and joy wash over his father’s face. Frederic grasped his hand even tighter, and John was comforted by the contact. “Father,” he groaned before closing his eyes again, content he’d chosen life over death …

Thinking back on that incredible experience now, with his beautiful wife asleep in his embrace and his newborn daughter slumbering in the cradle beside their bed, John realized a miracle
had
brought him home. Elizabeth, Colette, and even Marie had sent him back to Charmaine. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not that she wouldn’t believe him, but she didn’t want to hear about Colette. He would never allow Colette to come between them again. Colette said she belonged to his father, and he was willing to accept that. It didn’t matter anymore; it was over; it was finally over. With a sigh, John hugged Charmaine tightly and closed his eyes. A resplendent serenity settled over him, bathing him in hopefulness.

Epilogue

Friday, March 8, 1839
Accomplished

T
HE
day dawned bright and glorious, but today they would be leaving, leaving Charmantes to travel to Richmond and on to New York City. Charmaine attempted to combat another onslaught of sentimentality. John came up behind her, reading her thoughts as she took the last of the clothing from her dresser drawers. “Don’t be sad, my Charm. We won’t stay away forever.” She turned in his arms and kissed him. When he had gone, she finished packing.

Colette’s letter was not where she had left it, though John’s shirts were still there, and she wondered if he now carried it with him. Did he realize it had been moved, possibly read? She was going to ask him about it, tell him she had found it, almost read it. Someday, she decided, but not today. Today was sad enough.

He had been home almost two months now and, by all signs, fully recovered. The mild weather of March was upon them and, over the last few weeks, they had spent many happy moments together. Her father and the Harringtons had returned to Virginia in late January, and she was looking forward to seeing them soon. Why then was she downtrodden? Charmantes.
This
was her home, would always be her home.

She no longer wore the fiery diamond on her finger, choosing Elizabeth’s wedding band instead. The spectacular ring was suspended on a long gold chain Frederic had presented to her as a wedding gift and rested under her clothing, near her heart. “I’ll wear it on my finger for special occasions,” she had promised John. “But for now, I feel it’s safer here,” and her hand had gone to her breast.

“I’m certain it is,” he had responded devilishly. “However, that diamond will be on your finger when we arrive in Richmond. I want those gossipmongers to
really
have something to wag their tongues about!”

“John!”

“You can’t tell me you’re not looking forward to seeing them turn green with envy when you flash that ring their way … Admit it, Charmaine!”

Unable to deny it, she had blushed, making John chuckle.

At breakfast, Frederic’s countenance was melancholy. Mercedes was also pensive, cradling her newborn son in her lap. George ate heartily, but said little. Sniffles carried from behind the kitchen door. Only the girls were bubbly, excited to be traveling abroad with their brother, out into that other world they’d heard so much about. Charmaine was certain if they were not coming along, the room would erupt into tears.

Marie began to fidget, but before Charmaine could get up, Frederic went to the bassinet. With her nod, he returned to the table with his granddaughter, holding her on his lap. “You’re to bring her back,” he enjoined.

“I will,” Charmaine vowed, but Frederic’s eyes were fixed on John.

“Don’t worry, Father,” John appeased. “Charmaine won’t allow us to stay away for very long. We’ll return by fall.”

“The fall?” Yvette protested. “We want to go to New York and see snow! Why would we want to come back here in the fall when it’s usually rainy anyway?”

John gave her a lopsided smile. “It doesn’t normally snow until January or February in New York, Yvette. We can always venture there in winter. And perhaps Father will come with us then.”

“No,” the man stated. “I’ve had enough of New York to last me a lifetime.”

“And we can’t be away when Rebecca’s baby arrives,” Jeannette interjected.

“Rebecca’s baby, huh!” Yvette reproved. “Wade is the only reason you want to come back. You are hoping to see more of him once the baby is born.” Jeannette smiled with the thought of it, but Yvette bristled in disgust. “I think New York and snow are far more interesting than him!”

Rose shook her wizened head. “We won’t be seeing much of anybody if Rebecca and Paul decide to make a home of Espoir, and I am getting too old to travel all the way there and wait on that little bundle’s arrival.”

John nodded. “To think, in a few more years, there will be a new generation running around Charmantes, instigating mischief and mayhem.”

“I don’t know, John,” George countered. “You have a daughter, not a son. It won’t be the same as the three of us.”

“Thank heavens!” Rose replied.

“You never know,” John said devilishly. “Marie could grow as unruly as Yvette. Everyone knows she’s worse than the three of us combined!”

The room roared with laughter, and though Yvette objected, her eyes twinkled loftily.

Shortly afterward, they departed in three carriages filled to capacity, waving goodbye to Mercedes and Rose, who stayed behind.

The town was busy, with two ships moored in the harbor. Paul descended the gangplank of the smaller vessel. “I arrived in time,” he said, taking in the entire company as they alighted from the carriages. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

With immense pride, Frederic watched his two sons exchange handshakes. “Take care of yourself, John. And don’t stay away too long.”

“I won’t be allowed to,” John replied. “And don’t you work too hard, either, Paulie. Save some energy for that lovely wife of yours.”

“I get more rest when I go to work,” Paul rejoined rakishly.

He turned to Charmaine in time to note the blush that spread across her cheeks. His eyes fell to her slumbering baby, cradled in her arms. “By the time you get back, we might have one of our own to show off,” he said affectionately.

“We hope to return before your baby arrives,” she replied, smiling up at him.

He stepped closer and embraced her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Take care, Charmaine. We’ll miss you.”

“Come on, come on!” Yvette insisted. “You act as if you’ll never see each other again. I want to get going!”

“Just a moment longer, Yvette,” John cajoled. “Why don’t you and your sister scoot up the gangplank and find your cabin?”

Yvette scrambled away, but Jeannette turned to her father with tears in her eyes. She hugged him tightly and whispered, “I’m going to miss you, Papa.”

“And I, you, princess,” he answered hoarsely. “But you will have a wonderful time and come back to Charmantes with many stories to tell me.”

Before her tears spilled over, she turned to Paul and gave him a quick kiss, too. Then she hurriedly boarded the ship in pursuit of her sister.

John watched his father, realizing just how empty the manor would be with almost everyone away. “So, Paul,” he said, hoping to dispel what could quickly turn into a maudlin farewell, “you came to see us off, did you?”

“Actually, no,” Paul chuckled. “Rebecca is still in the cabin. We’ve decided to move back here, at least until the baby is born. None of the servants want to stay in the house, anyway. They maintain it is haunted.”

“And what do you say?” John asked, piqued by his brother’s uncomfortable laugh.

“I’m more comfortable at home. No one cooks like Fatima, not even Rebecca. And she is lonely there. Her friends are on Charmantes, and Mercedes is at the house.”

George agreed, knowing his wife missed Rebecca and would grow lonely with Charmaine away. Rebecca and Mercedes had struck up a friendship, and Mercedes had begun to teach Rebecca how to read and write.

“Well, then,” John breathed, “I guess it’s time we were on our way.” He looked to his father and extended his hand.

Frederic seized it and pulled John into his embrace. “I’ll miss you, son. Don’t stay away for too long.”

“I won’t, Father,” John answered, grabbing hold of his father before stepping back. “Don’t let the tobacco wilt while I’m gone.”

Inhaling deeply, Frederic chuckled and nodded.

With a happy heart, Charmaine embraced the man next. “Thank you—for everything,” she whispered, but Frederic held her at arm’s length and looked at her quizzically as if to say he should be thanking her.

“Take care of my granddaughter.”

“I secured the cradle to the cabin floor,” George told John, “so Marie should be comfortable during the voyage.”

John clapped his friend on the back, put his arm around his wife, and together, they embarked. When the last of the luggage had been loaded, the girls joined them at the rail, waving goodbye. The gangplank was raised, and the ship pushed from the pier. The first sails were released and instantly snapped in the wind, the lofty gales taking hold and pulling each canvas taut. The girls scampered off again, but Charmaine and John remained starboard side, watching as Frederic, Paul, and George turned away, heading for a typical day of grueling labor. Additional sails were unfurled, and the packet began to pick up speed, easily propelled through the inlet.