Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (36 page)

Mouette's eyes opened drowsily as she emitted
a resonant belch, and Louisa giggled.

"She's cute! I wish I had a baby sister or
brother."

"You'll have to come back more often,
sweetheart. You can help me dress her and rock her. Would you like
that?"

Louisa nodded vigorously, her eyes luminous.
"I'd
love
it!"

"Good. I don't see nearly enough of you these
days."

"Devon... doesn't Mouette have a papa,
either? Is she going to get one like me?"

Louisa's vulnerable, hopeful expression made
Devon's heart turn over. At least Mouette had one parent who loved
her enough to insure a secure childhood, but this little
ginger-haired girl was starved for affection. And Raveneau was not
a piece of pie that Devon and Eugenie could divide among themselves
and their daughters.

"Well, Mouette does have a papa, but he had
to go away."

"Will he come back and take care of
Mouette?"

"I don't think so, Louisa. I will have to
love her twice as much."

There was another knock at the door.
"Fraulein, there is a young man here to see you." Elsa's tone was
heavy with meaning, and for a moment Devon shivered with panic,
thinking that Raveneau had returned.

Gulping, she lay Mouette along her lap and
fumbled at the hooks on her gown.

"All right, Elsa...send in this mysterious
visitor!"

A long, heart-pounding minute passed. Devon
smoothed her loosely upswept hair, gathered the napping Mouette
back into her arms, and smiled nervously at Louisa. What irony! she
thought. He will meet both daughters at the same time!

The door opened slowly. Morgan Gadwin stepped
in, twisting a tricorn hat in his hands.

"Hello, Devon," he said.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Louisa looked back and forth curiously. "Who are you?"

"Uh... Louisa, this is an old friend of mine
from New London. He... we—"

"Are you Morgan?" the little girl pursued.
"Devon told Mama and me a long story about you."

This news seemed to bolster Morgan's courage.
"Yes, I'm Morgan. I hope it was a nice story." His eyes met
Devon's.

"Louisa!" she exclaimed, "Would you mind
leaving us alone for a little while? I think I smell cookies
baking, and if you ask nicely, Cook is sure to give you one."

The little girl took the hint, said goodbye,
and left.

"What are you doing here?" Devon burst
out.

Morgan shambled over and took Louisa's chair.
"I had second thoughts. And I heard you were unhappy. That was all
I needed to know to make me want another chance." His eyes kept
flicking curiously to Mouette. "Who is that?"

"My daughter. Mouette."

Morgan's long face registered shock,
bewilderment, and finally comprehension. "You don't mean... you...
this...
his
baby?"

Devon nodded.

"B—but that's impossible! Why, it was October
barely over six months ago—that we were in Williamsburg! You were
going to marry
me!
You thought you
had!
I... you must
be joking!"

"No, I'm quite serious. Mouette was already
begun when we reached Williamsburg, but of course I didn't know. If
I had, I would never have spoken of marriage to you."

She felt sorry for Morgan. She knew him well
enough to understand how much self-respect he had doubtless lost in
Williamsburg, but this was the crowning blow. He sat there,
clutching the seat of his chair with white- knuckled hands, and his
face clearly showed his hatred for Raveneau.

"I... Devon... I simply cannot believe this!
Did he
rape
you?"

"No." A split-second memory flashed in her
mind: Raveneau murmuring that he should not take advantage of her,
then her own voice, imploring, "I want you to! I demand it!" In
happier times since, they had laughed about that night, but now her
mouth could manage only a sad, crooked parody of a smile. "No, he
is not to blame. Not at all."

Morgan's face burned as he thought of all the
times she had pushed him away—apparently even after she was no
longer a virgin!

"I am sorry that you came so far to be
disappointed."

"I don't understand—at all. Are you...
married to him?"

"No. He left the island before I was aware I
carried Mouette."

"And when he returns?"

"I... do not expect to continue my
relationship with Andre. He is a hard man; I doubt that he knows
how to love. My concern is for Mouette, and I can depend on no one
to nurture her but myself. Even if Andre did agree to marry me, I
could not bear to go through life knowing that he longed for
freedom. I have responsibilities to my baby; I cannot go on chasing
and clinging to Andre." She couldn't discuss Louisa and Eugenie
with Morgan, and in any event, she was reasonably certain that she
would feel the same even if Louisa didn't exist. The pain of
involvement with Raveneau was too intense; it wouldn't mix with
motherhood.

"I realize that this must be hard for you to
accept—my involvement with another man outside marriage, and my
baby—but, Morgan, you must face the fact that a great deal has
happened since we were children making plans above the Thames. We
are both older and have learned some painful truths. I am a woman
now, and cruel though it sounds, my love for you simply did not
mature. I still love you, but not as a husband or a lover."

He nodded bleakly. A dozen different emotions
churned inside him. Devon seemed almost a stranger to him; she was
an adult, while he still felt clumsy and cowardly. Before he had
gone to war, he had absorbed spirit and courage from her, but his
time in the army had brought him face to face with his true
spineless self.

Morgan had prolonged recovery from his case
of camp fever to avoid the battle at Yorktown, though such
malingering had made him despise himself. Other symptoms of
weakness had appeared, from overindulgence in spirits to backing
down before Andre Raveneau. Raveneau had witnessed Morgan's
weaknesses—including the girl Morgan had had in his room—and Morgan
hated him for it. In Morgan's mind, he became the victim and
Raveneau the ultimate villain. When Hermann Kass had appeared at
the drug shop, offering money and advice, he had seemed a messenger
from God. Morgan thirsted for revenge and redemption, and despite
Devon's speech and her baby, he could see that his dual aims were
still within reach.

"Devon... as hard as it is to understand,"
said Morgan, "I think I do. And maybe you are right. I have been
living in the past and I can see now that those times are gone." He
licked his lips, searching for the right words. "I can't make you
love me—that way—but we do care for each other. I love you and
always will, but I can accept it if it is only spiritual."

Devon laid Mouette down on the quilt beside
her. If he could truly offer her platonic love, she knew she would
accept it happily. At this point in her life, friends were
precious; their affection kept her from freezing inside.

"Thank you, Morgan."

He saw her eyes glisten with tears and seized
the advantage. "I mean it. Truly. Devon, if I were in trouble,
wouldn't you help me?"

"Of course!"

"Well, I want to help you. I have a ketch.
It's not much compared with that privateer, but I got it for you. I
wanted to show you that our old dreams weren't so idle, and I want
to take you away from here. And—" His hesitation went undetected by
Devon. "And Mouette, of course. Let me take you back to New London,
and later, if your feelings should, ah,
grow,
we could be
married."

"New London! Oh, no, Morgan, I don't
think—"

"Devon, Devon! It's not as bad as you think.
I want you to discover it for yourself, but you must trust me. My
parents are alive and you love
them,
don't you? I admit, the
town is still sad, but we all have to begin again, don't we? And
compared with this island—"

Devon begged him to let her think. "If I
do
say yes, I just want to be certain you remember what
you've said. You won't pressure me about marriage, because I don't
think—"

"I know!" His pale face had more color now.
"Just remember that you would be a woman alone... and if we did
marry, you would have me to take care of you. Mou—ah—"

"Mouette."

"Yes. She would have a father. You could hold
your head up in town."

Devon felt that she could take care of
herself and Mouette as well as any man, especially Morgan, but
after an hour of solitary thought, she was forced to admit to
herself that he was right about society. And for Mouette's
sake...

She watched her baby sleep. Tiny, pale blue
veins were visible under translucent eyelids, and for all the
feminine beauty of Mouette's profile, Devon could see Raveneau as
well, especially in the way her infant's lips tightened with
determination. Devon knew what Cook would say that expression
meant—gas, or worse—but she knew better.

Devon's heart might have won the battle, for
she loved Raveneau more than she hated him, but Louisa was an
innocent child, and Devon couldn't forget the look of utter longing
on her face. After all, she thought, I'll be sparing Mouette and
myself a greater amount of pain later on. It will be easier for
everyone, including Andre, if I leave now. I need some peace and
tranquility.

Morgan was jubilant when she told him her
decision. He even forced himself to pick up Mouette.

"What does Mouette mean?" he asked
conversationally.

Devon paused for a moment before replying,
"Sea gull." Andre would not help shape his daughter's life, she
thought, but the essence of his spirit would always be present in
her name.

***~~~***

May 16, 1782

Mouette gurgled happily from her
pillow-throne, smiling with each sway and lurch of the ketch. They
had been at sea two days now, and within an hour of their departure
from the island, the baby had produced her first real smile. Devon
had worried that Mouette might be seasick, but soon realized that
this was an impossibility, given her parentage. There were times
when she felt so sick at heart that only Mouette's happy cooing
could alleviate the pain.

Devon lay sideways across the bunk, forming a
barrier in case Mouette should topple from her pillow. This cabin
was a far cry from Raveneau's on board the
Black Eagle,
but
then the entire craft paled in comparison. It was obvious that
Morgan had acquired the ketch for the sole purpose of "rescuing"
her, and Devon wondered where he had gotten the money.

During the week that had elapsed between his
arrival on the island and their departure together, it had become
increasingly evident that Morgan did not need her love. His eyes
had glowed at the revenge he thought he was taking against
Raveneau, which he seemed to believe would restore his own
self-respect and wipe out past humiliations. He had urged Devon to
make haste for their departure, but Devon, suspecting that Eugenie
was coaching him, had refused to be pushed out of the house until
she was certain that Mouette was strong enough.

It had taken nearly the full week for Devon
to compose a letter to Raveneau. In simple terms, she had admitted
the baby's birth but left him a suspicion by not declaring him the
father. She explained her feelings about the futility of their
relationship and the importance of a secure home for her baby. The
written words had sounded cold, but certainly there was no other
way. The break had to be unquestioned.

Devon had also written what she had learned
about Souchet and Veronique, telling Andre that his father had not
killed her after all. An entire page had been devoted to Louisa,
who needed her papa so much, begging Raveneau to give her a chance,
knowing that once he saw her smile and held her in his arms, he
would be as captivated as Devon had been.

She had rewritten the letter over and over,
striving for an impersonal tone. When she had finally signed her
name at the bottom and sealed the sheets of parchment, bitter tears
burned her cheeks.

Saying goodbye had been wrenching. Elsa and
Cook had wept openly, but worst of all had been little Louisa.
Devon had held her on her lap, embracing her for several minutes as
they both wept. "Your papa will be here very soon, sweetheart," she
had said, "and I have a feeling that you and he will be great
friends."

In the kitchen, all the servants had
clustered around to say farewell and wish Devon and Mouette
happiness. Then Elsa had carried Mouette, Louisa clinging to
Devon's hand, as they went upstairs. On the landing where she had
given birth, Devon paused to take something out of her reticule.
She pressed the folded letter into Elsa's free hand.

"Please, promise me that you will deliver
this to Andre when he arrives. Guard it carefully and put it into
his hand when you find him alone."

Morgan had been conversing with Eugenie in
the entryway, their heads close together. The woman wore a
beautiful gown of pink velvet over an ivory satin petticoat trimmed
with layers of ruching. More ivory satin fashioned a sash around
Eugenie's wasp waist and was fluted on the neckline to accentuate
her bosom. When she looked up at Devon, her eyes were fiery with
triumph.

"Goodbye," had been all Devon could
manage.

"Goodbye."

After one last hug for Louisa, Devon had
taken Mouette from Elsa, and Morgan had gone forward to open the
door.

Morgan had insisted that Devon have a servant
who could see to clothes and baths and other services for her and
Mouette. Quiet little Jeanette had been eager to fill this
position, and now, as mother and daughter lay together on the
narrow bunk, the young maid was preparing a tray for Devon's noon
meal.