“Oui, oncle.” As he left the library, her heart sank.
The man did not understand her. Why couldn't he recognize that with everyone he selected she would be miserable because marriage would only be for convenience, for the purpose of a social construct and never love? She would only be content if she herself chose the man she was to spend the rest of her life with, and knowing her place, that never would happen.
Far from content, Fara stood up. She propped herself against her uncle's desk, unaware that she straightened his ledgers as her thoughts raced.
She hated to admit it, but she would not at all mind choosing a man like Grant Hill to marry. Even if the prospects seemed futile, the man was dangerous, yet appealing.
Though she'd only been with him a single night, he was the first man who'd left her feeling something. Not that she'd ever spent the night alone with a man before. She had spent evenings dancing with available gentlemen, however, and never had one of them affected her as Capitaine Hill had. Part of her could only attribute that to inexperience. But she knew that, were circumstances different at all, she would not mind getting to know the man as he learned of her in return.
Chapter Four
“Mademoiselle?”
“Oui?”
“There is a guest here to see you. It is Mademoiselle Perét.”
“Merci.” Fara had been discussing the week's menu with the cook when Rosalie informed her of her friend's presence. She rushed into the hall to meet her. “Mon Dieu…Helene?”
“M’amie!” They hugged.
Pulling away from her friend, she observed any possible changes. No, Helene Perét was the same girl she'd known for years, her erstwhile companion at Cluny Abbey.
The woman was slightly taller than average, with light green eyes, and a nearly black fall of hair. She was thinner than Fara, but certainly with the same iron will she knew her friend took pride in.
It was Helene's season for she had been released from the nuns for a mere two months. She would be in the market for a husband as well, or at least her parents would push her to marry after a time.
Fara turned to the servant behind her. “Francine, we will be having chocolate in the parlor.”
“Oui, Mademoiselle.” The woman left to see to her duties.
Fara led her friend to the parlor and they both sat down. Sitting across from her childhood friend, she knew something must be wrong. Helene would only pay a visit unannounced if there was a serious matter at hand or if she was truly curious about something. The latter was the more likely of the two. Helene's only fault was her incessant need to dabble in others' affairs.
Francine entered to serve up the hot drink from the chocolate pot and offer pastries. She took her exit quietly. Fara sipped the drink as she'd long ago been taught, her small finger pointing to the sky; it was now second nature to her.
“Tell me, m'amie. What is troubling you?”
A full pout rose to the girl's lips and she did not blink in surprise. “We've been friends awhile as you know…”
“Mon Dieu, Helene! It cannot be that bad!” She sat forward, put off by the woman's hesitance.
“Perhaps not. But, there is a rumor concerning your reputation. It is something to heed.”
Fara frowned. “Perhaps I will as long as you tell me what it is being said.”
“Perhaps the truth? Perhaps not. I know you, m'amie. You can be a trifle curious about things as well, but I know there are some things you won't do.”
“Such as?”
“Be seen in public with a man below your station who is not a servant?”
Fara should have known it would be news by morning. “Ah. Might it involve a young captain?”
Helene's eyes widened. “It is true? I wouldn't have guessed…”
Fara rolled her eyes. “Is it about being seen with him or perhaps something more? It doesn't matter though. Nothing happened.”
“Who are you trying to convince? I was only curious and certain you would not allow yourself to be seen with such an individual--”
She stood, feeling a bit miffed by her friend's comment. “Don't be a snob, Helene. Neither of us have ever been so strict in our ways.”
“Ah, but you would not unless there was an honest reason. Perhaps this man saved you from something…or someone?”
Fara stood up and stepped away toward the large window, swallowing hard against what she knew to be the truth, against what she had felt with him. “I do not know Jean Le Croíx’s whereabouts, Helene…” She looked over her shoulder to see the lady frowning. No matter how close she felt to Helene, she could not tell her the details. Pride kept her from admitting her fiancé had set her up.
“That one has betrayed you, I fear.”
“Oui,” she agreed.
“Twill' get better. Your uncle will be on the lookout for another suitor?”
“I believe so.”
She nodded and rose to pat her friend's shoulder. “Get some rest, Fara. It will help. You look confused, and I'll bet I can guess the source of it. It's enough that we're meant to breed and play the socialites for men. Must they toy with our emotions as well?”
They laughed together and hugged again. When Helene turned away, Fara whispered, “Merci, m'amie,” and the lady smiled over her shoulder, winking at her in return before taking her leave.
But, even she knew Helene would not understand her reaction to being with Grant Hill. The girl was hardly experienced with gentlemen, and her friend had assumed that Monsieur Le Croíx’s deception was the only cause for Fara's perplexity. She began to wonder if anyone would ever truly understand her.
* * * *
That evening at dinner her uncle seemed to be concentrating on the veal set before them. His silence unnerved her. She wondered, while chewing on the meat, if he was still cross with her about spending a few moments with Grant Hill on his ship.
He cleared his throat after taking a sip of wine. “I have decided to invite this Monsieur Hill to dinner. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“What?” In attempt to hide the shock and the utter fear in her voice, she asked, “Why?”
“I want to meet this man who seems to have won your approval. I've asked that he join us for an evening repast. If he is a gentleman, as you so claim, then he will do well to honor my request.”
“I see. And what do you have to gain from this proposition, oncle?”
“I wish to satisfy my curiosity about the man's intentions.”
“And if he dares to gaze at me overlong, what will you do?”
He tossed his head in a nonchalant manner. “I will do nothing, save consider him unfitting of a gentleman's stature.”
She gritted her teeth. Mon Dieu…all she'd ever wanted was an expression of concern, something to prove he really cared or wanted to protect her. And now he proposed to make sport out of playing the host at dinner. Did he have no feelings at all?
The dinner did not matter one bit really; it was obvious her uncle would never see Grant as anything other than a captain of a ship. He had already made up his mind about the man and the evening would be more or less a demonstration to her of Grant's lack of worthiness as a suitor. No matter what, her uncle would make sure there was a satisfactory outcome, at least on his side.
“If it is your wish, oncle,” she said softly, silently daring him to see the despair in her eyes so she might glimpse some kind of human response within him. But given the years of absence when she was away at Cluny Abbey as well as his offishness in the past year, it was not likely to happen. Her uncle was an autocratic man, and he would not move to the most influential plea. She shook her head. She must yield to his wishes.
* * * *
While preparing for dinner with the help of her nursemaid, Fara heard commotion outside. She went to the window, easing back the curtain. From her vantage point, she could see a dark figure step out of a hackney right before the house. When the moonlight shone on the man's features, a thrill shot down her body as if she'd been touched. It wa
s Capitaine Hill. He had arrived. She drew back from the window before he saw her. There was no sense in being improper in front of a guest.
As she was finishing her preparations, there were voices in the house. They definitely belonged to the male variety. It could only be her uncle speaking to Grant in the jovial way he addressed his guests. He was all too predictable, always kind yet reserved, never going out of his way to let someone know how he felt about a certain matter. He was the same with her, expecting propriety and nothing less. When he made less than savory comments, they were subtle yet pointed in such a way the undertones were hardly lost on the receiver, but nothing could be said in response because of her uncle's approach.
Dinner that night passed in a painfully quiet way. Never once did anyone offer to speak about current events or the goings-on in the town. They all stared at their food, helpless to contribute. Not that Fara blamed them or herself for that matter.
It was a disconcerting meal. The tension in the room was so great that when a utensil grazed a glass or plate, the staccato beat echoed far and wide. Michel de Bellamont did not hesitate to bore his gaze into Grant from time to time as if he was a dueling target.
After the dishes had been cleared away, they retreated to the lounge, where she entertained herself at the pianoforte. Both Grant and her uncle sipped burgundy by the fireplace, staring blankly into the flames.
“Might I chance to question you about the night I met your niece?”
Fara, unsettled, hit a faulty key on the piano, dropping her hand with an anxious feeling. No one seemed to notice the off-key stroke. Her uncle would not like that a person of mediocre reputation dared to question his motives.
He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped. “I believe we all know the circumstances of the situation...”
Grant nodded, briefly assessing the man's expression. “Oui, and what, may I ask, did you do with the gentleman your niece was to meet at the docks, Monsieur?”
“I was unable to locate Monsieur Le Croíx for I hear a family member died, and it seems he took a carriage immediately to Nantes.”
“How convenient. Does the situation seem curious, Monsieur? His timing is rather impeccable to have escaped the wrath of Mademoiselle Bellamont's dear uncle.”
The man smiled as if pleased by Grant's choice of words or the prospect of Monsieur Le Croíx fearing him. “Oui,” he agreed.
Grant studied him for moments and went on. “There are other avenues of locating such a man, Monsieur, if that is your wish. I might be able to--”
Her uncle's jaw tightened instinctively. “I assure you, La Capitaine, I am able to handle my own affairs...”
“Of course, Monsieur. I meant nothing by it.”
His body relaxed as he acknowledged Grant. “Now, down to business...what is it you really want from my niece?”
Grant glanced at Fara, who now stood by the piano observing them, and his gaze returned to the old man. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Oh, Capitaine Hill, do not play simpleminded with me. My niece claims you rescued her and brought her aboard La Voyageur to your very own cabin.”
He nodded. “That is the truth, Monsieur.”
“You realize the implications of such an act.”
“I do. But, nothing happened.”
“Then you understand the need for discretion.”
“Of course.”
“And what are your intentions regarding her?”
Grant sighed. “I am afraid, Monsieur, that you will have to be blunt for I don't understand what you're implying...”
“Mon Dieu! All I want to know is if you are a gentleman who rescued my niece in a time of need, or just a captain long at sea who waits for me to leave town so that he may have his way with her.”
“Oncle!” Her eyes widened. She felt mortified at her uncle's perversity.
“Silence, Fara,” he said sternly and she looked away.
Grant swallowed hard, clearly insulted by her uncle's lewd implication. He was a ship's captain. It was an honorable profession. Why must her uncle liken it to that of pond scum? It wasn't as if Grant held no respect within their social circles. Though, she shouldn't delude herself. The respect he held obviously wasn't enough to stifle the rumors concerning her encounter with him.
Grant's stare was hard, unmoving. “Like a gentleman, I will defend my honor for that night. I was there only to protect your niece from impending danger and nothing else. I did right by her; I did not make any advances upon her maidenly state. She will testify to that. I'm sure even her nursemaid could tell you the same if you perchance do not believe what I have to say. I'll not lie to you though, Monsieur. Your niece is a very beautiful woman, but hardly experienced. She is a lady and will be treated as such.”
Her uncle nodded. “That is good to hear, La Capitaine. I trust still no unnecessary advances will be made whilst I am living?”
Grant's lashes swept downward to reveal nothing. “You have my word, Monsieur. It will be as you wish. Now if there are no objections, I will take my leave.” He set his wine glass down, and like the perfect gentleman, he bowed to his host and briefly glanced at Fara. “Monsieur…Mademoiselle.” Then he left the room.
Fara moved to the settee, glancing at her uncle. “I suppose you are satisfied now?”
“Why yes, niece. And tomorrow I will resume pursuing a suitor for you.”
“Oncle, please…” She heard the vulnerable note in her voice, as if she already knew there was no choice in the matter.
“No, Fara, you will listen to me. Your future is at stake, and I'll not have these foolish girl's dreams of suiting up with a young captain compromise it, do you hear?”
She looked away and began to repeat the bitter words Grant had spoken, “It will be as you wish it…”
“Very well, niece. I wish you to retire to your chamber whilst I attend to business affairs.”
She nodded. “Oui, oncle. Good evening.” She stood and made her exit in the same way Grant had made his.
It was likely she would never see the man again, and she had no choice but to follow her uncle's wishes. The thought brought nausea to her current state and as an ache rose around her heart that night, she requested a dose of laudanum from her nursemaid to help her sleep.
She thought of the morning she woke in his arms, or rather lying against him, while he looked at her with amused eyes. Grant Hill, a strong man who was appealing in so many ways…what did it mean when he was occupying her thoughts so often? Was her uncle right about her having foolish dreams that would never be fulfilled?
It was possible she was only daydreaming about Capitaine Hill because he was nothing like the gentlemen she usually consorted with. For God's sake, he was just a man, not some great hero dredged up by her own imagination. He was real and different, that was the only reason for wanting such a man.
Even as the laudanum set in and muddled her thoughts, she knew she only lied to herself.
* * * *
Several days later, Fara went with Pierre to the milliner's shop in town to check on a gown she had ordered. After speaking to the clerk, who nodded and went to find the item, she heard a sound of laughter behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw three young women snickering.
She wondered if the gossip was about her. Perhaps Helene was right; news did not travel slowly in this town. So they had heard about her run-in with Capitaine Hill, and it was likely that, somewhere along the way, tales had spun to the extremes. Surely by now, the story had formed into something lewd and distasteful. It was probably a tale so ridiculous and unimaginable, it couldn't possibly represent her morale.
As soon as the clerk handed her the gown, already settled into a box, she started to leave the shop. Her ear did catch one phrase from those ladies, however, as she headed out. The Harvest Ball.
Outside the shop, Pierre helped her into the carriage, and settling back against the cushion, she let her mind wander. The annual ball would be absolutely riveting in its splendor. The
house in which it was held would be decorated to the nines. And especially on that evening, the gentlemen would be on their best behavior in order to impress every lady who walked into the room.
Surely her uncle would not miss an opportunity to appear at a social event. She hoped he wouldn't, anyway.
Chapter Five
The Harvest Ball was a thing to imagine, a much anticipated event in La Rochelle. It was the perfect chance to measure character and position. Had it been Paris, it would be a much more spectacular event. But in La Rochelle, it was enough to have the honor of an invitation.
That night, Fara attended with her uncle as her escort. She silently hoped she might see Capitaine Hill at least once more before her uncle chose yet another suitor. She wore a gown of pure white with matching adornments and a trace of gold ribbon threaded throughout. Her uncle wore a gray suit lined with navy, a simple fashion for a businessman of his stature.
She could not be certain why the man had never married…perhaps he'd not wanted more reminders of his place in society. He'd only wanted the best of business ventures. She knew now that even his social life was business-related. She was a hindrance to him, a piece of property, not a niece, and certainly not a relative. His relentless pursuit of a suitor made his obvious desire to be rid of her quite clear. Perhaps then, she thought bitterly, the ball might offer untold advantages to him.
Upon their arrival they were greeted by their hosts, Monsieur and Madame Borden, who were very kind. The woman grasped Fara's hands in her own. “Mademoiselle! You are absolutely stunning tonight. Oh, what I would give to be young again!” she cried.
Fara smiled. “Merci,” she replied politely and turned with her uncle in the great hall. The music was already starting and many couples had taken to the floor for dancing. As they found a place to sit, Fara noticed many gentlemen looking her way in apparent appraisal. She wondered if her uncle would object on the chance that one might request a dance with her.
Servants passed by with trays of food, and everyone flocked to fill their plates with the marvelous choices. It was exquisite. Every bite filled her mouth with delightful flavors, and Fara could not help but think her hosts must have an extraordinary cook. After satisfying the hunger pains in her stomach, Fara settled back against her chair. She sipped a little wine as she glanced around the room. Couples danced once more, and the music was perfect for the usual waltz. As her gaze wandered, one figure caught her eye.
Upon Your Return Page 6