The woman looked splendid in a gown of crimson velvet, which showed off her bosom well. She was much older than Fara, yet still beautiful. Seated across the room, she had no companions at her side, but her appearance and obvious status certainly warranted otherwise. Her hair was brown and her eyes were blue. Fara glanced over at Michel de Bellamont, who leisurely sipped wine. He stared at the woman with a look of disdain. “Oncle?”
He turned to his niece. “Oui?”
“Do you know that woman? What is her name?”
“Tis' Madame Devereux, Fara. She has been a widow since you were a child…”
Mockery laced his tone. Fara lifted a brow. “Should I recognize her?”
“No, I do not see why you should. You may have seen her when you were much younger, but that was too long ago.”
She frowned. “Do you know her, oncle?”
“I knew her once. It's been awhile.”
“But…” The look he shot in her direction warned Fara she risked his wrath by pursuing this curiosity. She closed her mouth and looked away. For a few moments, she was content to watch the couples on the floor. Then she grew restless and wondered what her potential suitors were so afraid of, they would not approach and ask her to dance.
“Mademoiselle, you are indeed the picture of innocence and beauty this night.”
Fara looked up into the handsome features of Grant Hill. He was dressed in somber black, yet still contrived to look better than the other gents in the room. She flushed at his compliment, but did not look away. “Merci, Capitaine,” she said softly.
“It would be a great honor, Monsieur, if you would allow me a dance with your niece,” he asked her uncle while keeping his gaze fixed on her.
She looked at her uncle, who was obviously weighing the consequences of the decision in his intelligent mind. “Twill' be all right, oncle. I will not make a scene of it.”
He nodded grimly. “Very well, Capitaine Hill. I expect Fara back at my side in one piece.”
“Oui, Monsieur,” he replied as he pulled Fara to her feet and led her to the floor. Grant led her through the steps as they danced and occasionally glanced over at her uncle, whose gaze bore into them as though he feared Grant might steal her away at any moment. “Is he concerned about me or merely the population of gents requesting your company at this ball?” he quipped softly.
She sighed. “He is not an easy man, Capitaine--”
“Grant,” he corrected.
“Grant…I do not understand him. He has not allowed me one dance tonight except for this--”
“No one else has asked, Mademoiselle,” he reminded her.
Her eyes flew to his face and she wondered just how long he'd been observing her before he'd sauntered over. “What are they afraid of, I wonder?”
He lifted a brow. “There is word about, Fara, that Michel de Bellamont has already chosen another suitor for his niece…”
She faltered a step in the waltz and gasped. “But, that cannot be! There has not been time. Certainly you're jesting?”
He frowned. “My sources of information are usually correct. And I would not joke about such a thing.”
She took a few deep breaths, heedless that her fingernails were digging into his overcoat, which rested naturally upon his shoulder. “I do not believe he has done it again.”
“What, Mademoiselle?”
“The night before we met there was a dinner party. It was there my uncle announced my betrothal to Monsieur Le Croíx. He told me nothing beforehand…”
He sighed. “I'm sorry, Fara. As you say, he is not an easy man. It seems he is bent upon spontaneity as well as…rushed engagements.”
“If that is the truth, why have I not danced with this man, this new suitor?” she inquired distastefully.
Grant lifted a shoulder. “He may have reasons of his own. But, I see you do not think I am a possible suitor…” He frowned, almost as if perplexed by that conclusion.
She swallowed audibly. “Capitaine…my uncle sees you as unacceptable. Do not ask me why.”
“My profession, perhaps.”
“There is nothing wrong with being a ship's captain, but my uncle does not feel the same. I believe it is about having a well-endowed family.”
His eyes darkened, but he did not comment. “I own a few shares as a merchant as well.”
She smiled. “You enjoy what you do, Grant Hill. It is not merely an obligation for you. I admire that, Monsieur.”
He leaned his head toward hers. “It's well past the time that we dispense with formality, don't you think, Fara?”
“Oui,” she replied as his lips touched hers briefly. It was a quick kiss, but one that might even convey betrothal. It was bad for that to occur. Her uncle was undoubtedly seething with rage if he was watching and she certainly was not acting the part of the affianced woman by allowing it. “Grant,” she whispered.
He lifted a hand to her lips. “Say no more. I know I've gone far enough, perhaps too far. But, just for that moment I wanted to pretend it was only us, that we wouldn't have to worry about appearances.”
She smiled. “Society is much too demanding at times.”
He nodded. “I fear I must now return you to your uncle before he decides to have me run through…” She could not suppress a giggle and he shot her a venomous look. “You find the concept amusing?”
She shook her head, saddened by the seriousness of the situation. “Only that you believe he would go so far as to protect me. If not merely for his image--”
His grasp tightened on her waist as he steered her from the floor. “Come, chère. There is an obligation to fulfill…” When they reached her uncle, Fara took her place beside the man, but was confused by Grant's hurried manner. “There you see, Monsieur. Your niece is quite intact, considering all that she had to endure on the dance floor.”
She wanted to melt. In his own way, he was admitting fault to anything that might have occurred while they danced. It was her uncle's decision whether he would let Grant go without a scratch.
“Oui, quite intact,” he agreed, barely glancing at her.
“Now, if you'll pardon me whilst I speak with our host about business affairs. I'm certain you can relate, Monsieur.”
He nodded curtly. “Of course, Capitaine Hill.”
She watched Grant's retreat and knew he hadn't taken the coward's way out. He'd waited to be certain of Michel de Bellamont's reaction before presenting an excuse. She could admire him for that as well. God, but she was tired of playing someone she wasn't and tired of waiting for her uncle's consent on everything. “Oncle?”
“Oui?”
“When were you going to tell me you'd already chosen another suitor for me?”
“Soon, Fara.”
“That is good. Why did I not dance with this man tonight?”
“He couldn't make it due to family illness, I have heard. Why?”
How disturbingly familiar. Didn't Jean Le Croíx claim the same excuse the night that he hired those men to accost her? “It might have been nice to know that before I accepted any offers--”
He grasped her forearm in an uncomfortable grip. “For the first time, Fara, I let you alone. I let you make your own mistakes out on that dance floor tonight. The fault lies with you if perchance you went too far in encouraging Monsieur Hill.”
“I didn't--”
“You would never admit it if you did, chère. It runs in the family. Do not concern yourself.” Then he released her arm and turned away.
What was he saying? Was he saying she was promiscuous and that perhaps someone in her family had been too? A relative? Her mother? No, certainly not her mother. Her mother had been a kind, modest woman, hardly what her uncle insinuated. And Fara knew she did not possess the qualities to which he alluded, either.
* * * *
Fara was restless that night after the ball. It was custom for some guests to stay at the house of the hosts, and she never did well in an unfamiliar bed. The prospect of sleep was too far
away, and she couldn't keep from thinking about her uncle's accusation. It couldn't be possible. Surely, her mother had been the epitome of virtue; at least it had seemed that way from the things her mother taught her.
Fara had often sensed a sort of tension in the air around her uncle when she mentioned her parents, especially her mother. He was usually dismissive, as if the subject bored him. Perhaps her uncle felt some resentment toward her mother because she married his brother. But, what he'd said didn't make sense either. Was there something she didn't know about her mother? It was possible, even likely, for she'd only been a child when her parents were killed. But surely it couldn't be as bad as her uncle insinuated. She had known her parents very well in those eight years she'd spent with them, at least as well as a child could know her parents.
Fara sighed and got up from her bed, crossing the room to the window. The harbor was eerie and uninviting. A thick cloud of fog encompassed it like a monster trapping its prey. She supposed now that she was engaged once more, she would have to be more careful about her actions in order to preserve her reputation. Unfortunately, that also meant having to cut all remaining ties to Grant Hill when he had affected her life so much. She closed her eyes as a kind of desolation gripped her. In all truth, she would prefer not to, but it was best not to lead the man on. She would write him a letter as soon as she had the chance. He needed to understand the situation.
* * * *
May 16, 1863
Grant,
It has been some time since we've spoken. I am sorry for the time that has lapsed since our last meeting, but it has been hard to get away. My uncle is guarding my every move. He has always done so, but now it is even worse.
He does not trust me. He blames me for the fact that those sailors nearly had their way with me and you, being both a captain and a gentleman, felt obliged to save me from impending danger. I never thanked you enough for that.
Still my uncle refuses to put any trust in me. He forgets that Jean Le Croíx sent that message to me, requesting my presence at the harbor that night. No, I am to blame for I left the house without an escort. Even though my fiancé set me up to be accosted, my uncle continues to count me as the culprit for all that happened that night. He has never been an easy man to deal with.
I am sorry for not keeping in touch. You have been the only person to understand my situation. I sincerely hope that this letter reaches you, and I hope I may see you again. I appreciate all that you have done for me.
Always,
Fara
P.S. If it can be arranged, I need to tell you something in private.
* * * *
Three days later, by messenger, Fara sent Grant a note for him to meet her by the Traveler's Inn in town at midnight. After dinner, when Fara retreated to her room, she did not dress for bed. She threw a cloak over her shoulders and waited. Just before twelve, she crept quietly out of the house and went to the stables. As careful as she could, she made her way through the barn, easing past the sleeping stable boy. When she found her horse, she threw a saddle on it and climbed on with the help of the stable wall.
Clicking her tongue, she forced the horse into a light gallop and left the barn, heading toward town. When she arrived, she tied the horse to a fence and waited outside the inn. The lampposts were bright enough to light the streets, but not the corners. A strange feeling encompassed her belly. She tried to shake it off. There isn't anything out there, it's your imagination. After a few minutes, she heard a clicking sound in the distance. Soon, she saw a rider approaching at the end of the street and knew it was him. When the horse slowed, he jumped off of the saddle and tied the horse down.
When he approached her, his face was suddenly lit by the lamp above them. His eyes seemed so dark in the light from the moon. “I got your letter and your message. Are you all right?”
Her uncle's words instantly sprung to mind. She wanted to tell him, but didn't know if she should.
“Fara, what is it?” She lowered her head, but he defeated that move by gently lifting her chin. “Something is wrong?”
She sighed. “My uncle…”
“He said something to you, didn't he?”
“He made the insinuation that promiscuity runs in the family. My mother--”
“Don't listen to him. He's trying to get you to believe that you've done something wrong and you haven't.”
“Society would think so.” She looked up at him, enthralled by the emotion barely concealed in his dark eyes.
“To hell with that--”
“Don't,” she whispered. “That's who I am. I have to do the right thing.”
He nodded. “Are we losing anything if you do what's required?”
She sighed. She would be losing someone she could easily admire, a friend perhaps. But, telling him the truth would only hurt him. “No. I have a fiancé now…”
“This is goodbye then?”
She couldn't answer, couldn't speak for the pain and the lump in her throat. But he needed no answer; she knew he could see it in her eyes before she made fists with both of her hands in attempt to be strong. The words weren't necessary, after all, for he nodded grimly.
“Adieu then, Fara Bellamont.” He stepped near and held her against him for several moments. “Maybe someday we'll look back on this and laugh. Oui?”
She tried to match his mood and pulled back slightly to look at him. “Perhaps our children will be friends.”
“Hmm…it is a nice thought.” But his eyes betrayed him as they darkened with something she couldn't read. “Goodbye, Fara.” He released her and swung into the saddle of his destrier. “Will you be all right without an escort?”
“Do not worry about me. I know my way.” When he nodded and kicked his horse into a gallop away from her, she watched him race down the street and whispered, “Goodbye, Capitaine Hill.”
* * * *
Half an hour later, she reached her uncle's house and slowly led the horse back into its stall.
After leaving the stables, she crept up the back porch, which led into the kitchen. Taking the passage from the kitchen to the center of the house, she knew she had to get back to her room before she got caught.
As she saw the stairway, she edged toward it.
She tripped in the dark hallway, coming up against a glass table.
A light flickered to her right and she turned to see her uncle carrying a lamp. “Oncle,” she croaked, her voice tight.
“Late again, ma chère? Perhaps out playing with the sailors?” he mocked.
She gasped. “That was not my fault!”
“No, I suppose not. But, is this your doing? It looks as if you're sneaking back in. You retired early, niece, and leave me to think you meant to exit the house while I was unaware.”
“No,” she whispered. “That's not the case.”
“Isn't it? Perhaps your dutiful Capitaine Hill sent you a message…” He tossed a scrap of wadded paper to her feet and she shrank back, recognizing it immediately as Grant's consent to meet her. Her eyes rose wary upon his face and she watched as he gripped the lamp violently. “I might excuse it if you chose to act on the whim of your fiancé, Monsieur Bordeaux, but this is unacceptable, niece. I will not stand by whilst you consort with this rogue--”
“He is not--”
“Silence!” He groaned. “If I had any lack of self-control, you might be at my feet where you belong!”
Fara choked back a cry. She refused to let him hurt her so. She was already afraid of him, of what he might do. He needn't say these things to get his point across. She did understand. Of course what she had done was against all the rules he'd enforced. It was against society's expectations as well. “I am sorry, oncle. I will not--”
He reached out and dragged her closer, his face in hers, his grasp biting. “No, you will never do anything like this again. Think of the humiliation you have caused me. Don't you think tongues will be clacking now about your relationship with him? I can only assume you have developed a tendre for th
is man. But, I want you to forget you ever met him, niece. Remember you have a fiancé, and you will be married soon. You will think of your loyalty to Monsieur Bordeaux. This Capitaine Hill will never cross your mind again. Say it.”
“Oui, oncle. I will do as you please. I will forget him.”
“Again,” he demanded.
Her lashes swept down, concealing her pain, and she repeated her vow.
“Bon. If I can get you to that wedding without your conceiving a child, we will both be in good shape.” He stepped back, yet continued to observe her pallor. “You probably will not believe me, but your mother had the same amorous tendencies.”
Her fear subsided, giving her time to react. Anger replaced the pain and she narrowed her eyes at him. Again, he dared to make that insinuation about her mother. “What do you mean?”
“Why, chasing after men for the wrong reasons, ma chère.”
“Don't,” she warned.
“What? Are you afraid of the truth?”
“She was never as you say. She was loyal to my father.”
“Of course, niece. I would never question your mother's fidelity to your father. But, she was a female. Why else would a woman want to marry your father unless for his money?”
“For love,” she answered softly.
“Love…ha! You are old fashioned, Fara, a silly romantic. Love is for fools. Your mother sought your father's fortune. Poor Andre. He never saw it.”
“They were kindhearted people, oncle--”
“You have been disillusioned, niece. To bed with you.” He motioned to the stairs, and then climbed them himself. “I hope you will not disappoint me again,” he called over his shoulder.
“No,” she whispered. It could not be, not what he said about her parents. In her heart, she knew who they had been and nothing, not even his cruel words, could sway her.
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