Decision and Destiny (35 page)

“You are a vile woman!” Charmaine accused.

“And you are an impudent little fool,” Agatha hissed. “But this shall be the last time you address me in such a manner! You are responsible for the death of an innocent three-year-old. My husband, blind to your neglect up until now, has finally seen the light. The twins are to be sent to a boarding school, a fine English academy, and a governess is no longer required.”

“You cannot be serious!” Charmaine objected.

“Oh, but I am, Miss Ryan. The past three days have forced my husband to take stock of his posterity. He’s contemplated all his options concerning the welfare of his remaining offspring, and when I spoke with him earlier this morning, he asked to see you.”

Charmaine’s eyes widened.

“Yes, Miss Ryan,” she acknowledged, eyebrow arched, “this is his decision, not mine, and I warn you now, he is not happy with you, not happy at all!”

Charmaine paled, fear clashing with her anger.

The chamber door slammed shut, and Agatha was once again alone. She smiled in self-satisfaction. She’d played it just right, had struck the most promising chords, and now, Charmaine Ryan, incensed by the injustice of it all, would stand before Frederic, her temper ablaze. With any luck, she’d overstep her bounds and seal her own fate. More important, she’d initiate the final confrontation between father and son.

Agatha hesitated as a wave of apprehension swept over her.
What if Frederic suffers another seizure? Worse still—what if this battle
proves fatal?
She brushed aside such a possibility. It was a risk she was forced to take.

Her eyes hardened. She mustn’t waste time. The governess’s audience with her husband would be brief; therefore, every second counted. It was time to speak to the twins, Yvette in particular. She’d be quite upset to learn her father had summoned her precious “Mademoiselle” to his apartments and was, at this moment, dismissing her. She’d run to John, inform and infuriate him, spur him into mindless action. Agatha had made certain he was in the house before setting her stratagem in motion. When John stormed into Frederic’s chambers, there would be no rational truth seeking, only that vicious hatred they doggedly shared. And her husband would, for all his righteous resolve, deliver the final blow.

Charmaine’s palms were sweating, and her stomach churned violently. Where was her valor now? Even her zealous rage had simmered down. As she stepped into the master’s quarters it evaporated completely, like a drop of dew before the gates of hell. Damn her impulsive temper! Agatha had baited her.

The man she faced was no demon; he sported no fangs, sprouted no horns. His staff was a crutch that supported his crooked frame, a body that appeared to have further withered. This could not be the man who had bred contempt in his own home, abandoned one son and embraced another. Reason insisted both sides were guilty, that John had wronged as well. But John had also loved. Where was Frederic’s love?

Instantly, Charmaine repented her rush to judgment. Frederic
had
loved Pierre! She had only to look at him to know that. He couldn’t run and play with the boy, but he had loved him and had feared John might whisk him away. Suddenly, it all made sense. Frederic hadn’t flaunted that love to enrage his estranged son; he was merely gathering his own memories. Charmaine wondered if John could ever understand this. Sadly, Frederic seemed prone to
injuring those who should have been closest to him. But she realized now, the older man had been backed into a corner with no escape.

Frederic assessed her much as she did him, his eyes sweeping upward, searching her face and measuring her pain. It was a moment before Charmaine realized he had addressed her. “How are you faring?”

The concerned query took her by surprise. He blamed himself; it was etched across his face.

“As well as can be expected, sir,” she murmured, fighting back tears, grateful he didn’t know she had been privy to the truth about Pierre’s conception and birth. “I’m sorry about Pierre.”

“Charmaine, you don’t have to apologize to me. It was an ugly accident and no one, least of all you, is to blame. But I do accept your condolences.”

She nodded, cleared her throat, and changed the subject. “Is there a reason you wanted to see me this morning, sir?”

“Yes, but let us sit down.” He motioned to a chair opposite his desk, and as he moved behind the secretary, she cautiously crossed the room.

Fatima told George she had sent breakfast into the study for John. George found him there, gathering up the papers on the desk. George didn’t say anything, but put a comforting hand to his friend’s shoulder, then poured him a cup of tea from the untouched tray.

“I haven’t seen Paul this morning,” John said. “Has he left?”

“He’s upstairs.”

“I’ve lost track of the days, George—don’t even know when the next ship is due in port.”

“Why?”

“I’m going back to Richmond, after the funeral.”

George bowed his head to his tightening chest and stinging eyes. The study fell silent, but for the rustling of papers John mindlessly shoved into a valise.

The door burst open, and Yvette charged in, followed closely by a sobbing Jeannette and a concerned Paul.

“Johnny,” she blurted out, “Father is sending us to a boarding school, and he’s called Mademoiselle Charmaine to his chambers. He’s going to dismiss her!”

“What?
” John’s face twisted in feral disgust. He abandoned the papers and headed toward the door.

“John!” Paul called after him, but George grabbed Paul’s arm.

“Let him go.”

“But they’ll kill each other—”

“Leave them be,” George advised sharply, holding fast Paul’s arm. “They need to have it out, once and for all. You can’t keep protecting them from each other. You’ll only end up being blamed for interfering.”

Frederic waited for Charmaine to be seated. “How are my daughters?” he asked. “I assume they know about Pierre?”

“Yes, sir, they know.” She looked down at her hands, reliving the girls’ grief, witnessing the horrific disbelief that contorted their faces when they learned their younger brother would no longer be a part of their lives. “They were asleep last night,” she whispered hoarsely, “but I was there when they awoke. They’re extremely upset and have been in tears all morning. I should be getting back to them soon.”

Frederic nodded. Charmaine Ryan was the only ray of hope on this dismal day. God had sent his family a blessing when she had come to live in his house. “They are not going to face their loss alone,” he vowed. “This time I will console them. I want you to know that.”

Charmaine silently thanked God. “They would welcome seeing you, sir.”

“Would you like to bring them here or would you prefer I visit the nursery?”

Charmaine relaxed with the query, choosing to answer it with one of her own. “Sir, you’re not going to dismiss me, are you?”

His brow lifted. “Why would you ask that?”

“Mrs. Duvoisin said you were sending the girls to a school in Europe.”

Frederic mastered his instant ire. “Her idea, not mine,” he ground out. “That’s the last place my daughters need to be right now. They need their family, and you, Charmaine. They’ve suffered two terrible tragedies this year. I want to see them emerge from the second as successfully as they did from the first. I want to see them whole and happy again.”

“So do I, sir.”

“That brings me back to the reason I wanted to speak to you this morning. John came to my quarters on Saturday morning and asked if—”

The unfinished statement hung in the air. Charmaine grimaced, and Frederic read the torment in her eyes. “What is it, Miss Ryan?”

“Nothing, sir,” she lied, suppressing another urge to weep, the sudden chill that left her trembling.

Her shallow denial left Frederic unconvinced. “Have you seen John this morning?” he asked, dreading some unfathomable answer.

“No, sir, not this morning.”

Apprehension gripped her. She did not want to discuss John with his father.

“Last night?”

“Yes, sir.” She was back in the chapel, back in John’s arms, reliving his piercing pain, powerless to her tears.

Frederic was moved by her compassion. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“He blames himself!” she blurted out. “He lays all blame on himself.”

Frederic’s eyes grew turbulent, but before he could comfort her,
there was a wild commotion from beyond. The outer door banged open, and John charged in, slamming the door shut behind him.

“You lousy bastard!” he shouted, taking in Charmaine’s tear-stained face. “You’ve reduced her to tears already? How despicable can you be?”

Frederic’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, John?”

“You tell me, Father! Why don’t you tell me?”

Charmaine jumped up. “John! Listen to me!”

Her petition fell on deaf ears. For all his apparent outrage, he wasn’t seeing her at all. “You enjoy watching the women in this house cry, don’t you?” he sneered, stepping deeper into the room. “It makes you feel powerful, doesn’t it?”

Frederic shot to his feet, fists clenched, Agatha’s allegations ringing in his ears. “I don’t know what you think is happening here, John, but—”

“But what, Father? What don’t I understand? I’ll tell you what I don’t understand—how you can rob your children of love and affection! Are you out to hurt the girls now, or just me? Maybe that’s it: hurt Yvette and Jeannette, hurt John. After all, it worked with Pierre, didn’t it? Didn’t it, goddamn you?”

Frederic paled, the calumnious words a minor attack when set against the torment in his son’s face. “John, I’m sorry about Pierre. I never—”

“Don’t! Don’t even say it, because I’ll never believe it. Pierre was only a pawn in your cunning game of subterfuge and power.”

“Please, John, you misunderstand,” Charmaine interrupted, stepping directly between the two men.

He looked at her for the first time. “No, Charmaine, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. I told you once: my father is the master of manipulation. Pierre was a valuable piece in his scheme, valuable because he was my—”

“Watch what you say in front of the governess!” Frederic warned.

“Why, Father? Are you afraid she’ll find out she works for a fiend?”

“John!” Charmaine gasped. “Please, don’t—”

“She knows everything, anyway,” John announced, ignoring her protests.

“So,” his father snarled in derision, “you’ve shared your intimate relationships with the hired help?”

John chuckled ruefully. “When the ‘hired help’ offers more compassion than my own family—yes. Charmaine knows Colette had a husband and a lover. What she doesn’t know is the lover should have been the husband!”

“That’s enough! I want you to leave—now!”

“No,” John growled with a fierce shake of the head, “I’m not going anywhere. I want to know why Charmaine is being dismissed? Why, damn it?”

“But, John, I’m not!” Charmaine countered in surprise.

He wasn’t listening. “You wouldn’t give the girls to me when I asked for them, but a boarding school will suit them just fine! Is that how you shower them with love and affection? Or is this just another way to hurt Colette? Even though she’s in the grave, you still want to hurt her! Damn you! Damn you to hell!”

“John, stop it! Please stop it!”

“No! I want some answers! You manacled Colette to you by withholding her daughters. You attempted to do the same to me. And now they’re to be sent away? Cast aside? Why, because they’re no longer of use to you?”

“John, I have no intention of sending them away. I was—”

“Liar! Always deceit and lies with you! God, how I loathe them! How I loathe you! How can you stand there and lie again and again to me—to Colette?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t you? She loved me! Me! We were to be married! But somehow you manipulated her into breaking the banns!”

Charmaine gasped.

“That’s right, Charmaine, I knew Colette first, but my father convinced her I’d never amount to anything—that I didn’t have a penny to my name, save what I would inherit from him one day. The great Frederic Duvoisin, on the other hand, could take care of her family here and now, rescue them from poverty. So, Colette sacrificed herself for her poor crippled brother. And what did it gain her but a miserable cripple of a husband instead?”

“It wasn’t all about money, John,” his father murmured dolefully.

“What then? Love? Don’t tell me she loved you! She was so sad when I came back into her life she had forgotten how to smile. It didn’t look like love to me!”

“What would you know of love?” Frederic lashed out.

“Nothing that came from you!” John fired back, a volley that met its mark. “You say you loved my mother, but I don’t believe that, either. If you did, you would never have done what you did to me. But unlike you, I loved my son. And now he’s dead—dead because of your hatred for me!”

Frederic inhaled, wounded.
Agatha is right: John loathes me, and that will never change.

Still John persisted. “You’ve taken everything from me, haven’t you? Anything—anyone I’ve ever loved, you’ve managed to wrench them away.”

“John,” his father attempted again, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare grovel with an apology now, for I will
never
forgive you! And I’m glad Colette came back to me, that she finally followed her heart. When she looked upon you, it was with pity—pathetic pity, nothing more. If only you had died first, that fair lady would now be
my
wife!”

Charmaine recoiled, the agony on Frederic’s face piercing. “John!”

But Frederic was armed for his own battle. “That
lady
, as you call her, was far below such a title. You blame me for her death, but you don’t even know how she died. She miscarried a child that was not mine. Yes, John,” he sneered smugly, savoring the befuddled expression on his son’s face, “she loved you so much she took another lover.”

John laughed scathingly, the consternation gone. “Who fed you that shit?”

“Blackford—” Frederic faltered “—ask Blackford.”