Upon Your Return

by Lavender, Marie

  “It was nothing really, Capitaine. I was given reason to believe it was a life or death situation.”

  He nodded grimly. “I see.”

  “I wonder if you might provide me with a way home for you seem to be well again.”

  “Oui, of course. I'm feeling better by the moment.” His gaze measured her. “I'll have Eric send for a carriage.”

  “Merci, Capitaine.”

  He nodded and glanced away. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Fara.”

  She frowned. “Inconvenience?”

  “Caring for me must have interrupted your plans.”

  She gasped. Had she made it sound so bad? She swallowed and closed her eyes briefly. Oui, she had acted ambivalent about the whole situation. She cursed herself silently for her behavior. “No, Grant. I--”

  “I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. I have grown in need of rest. If you want to stay, that is fine. But I must sleep. I hope you will understand?”

  “Of course. I'll send Eric in and I'll be in the physician's quarters if you need me.”

  “Oui, that will be fine.” He observed her silently and she could see the haggard look to his rugged features, the pale lines around his mouth that signified illness. She could do naught else but postpone her plan to make up her poor behavior to him. Another time then, she decided. Fara nodded and left the room.

  * * * *

  Grant stretched. He was still sore, but felt better after a few days' rest. He glanced down at the harbor surrounding La Voyageur and noticed a carriage pulling up before it. A medium-sized man stepped down and turned to take a lady's hand, assisting her from the carriage. His breath caught in his throat when she appeared in a rose-colored dress and her auburn locks fell loosely about her shoulders.

  Fara, he mused, and then realized the man beside her was the very one he'd appointed as her protector. When Monsieur Spencer lightly rested his hand upon her waist, he gritted his teeth together. Oh hell, he thought. He had no hold on her. If perchance she thought she'd be happy with the American, then he could say nothing about it. She was defenseless in some ways, but now quite capable of choosing a suitor for herself.

  He watched them approach the gangway, watched as the American helped her ascend upon the steps. When they reached his level, Grant helped Fara onto the ship's deck and waited patiently as Monsieur Spencer found his own way up. Fara looked up at him, her face as radiant as ever. “It is always a pleasure to receive your company, Mademoiselle.” She blushed becomingly.

  “Capitaine, I had to be certain that you were still well. I begged Andrew to escort me here…otherwise I would have come alone.”

  The other man laughed nervously, as if put off by her comment. “Of course, Monsieur, I would not have let Fara do that. She's a lady. Ladies should not go anywhere alone.”

  With an eyebrow lifted, Grant looked them both over. Even though they were on a first name basis, he doubted the man knew how forward Fara could be in her speech or actions, for that matter. Monsieur Spencer was certainly a model of society. He could not expect a woman of her position to be outspoken or strong-willed. Grant grinned. The man had some things to learn where Mademoiselle Bellamont was concerned. In fact, it was one of the qualities Grant liked best about her.

  “How are you?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Well enough, perhaps a little sore.”

  Her eyes darkened as she glanced over the area of his body where his bandaged wound lay beneath his shirt. “It is unfortunate that Monsieur Bordeaux sought his revenge with such a display.”

  “Oui,” he agreed, glancing over at Andrew Spencer, who shifted restlessly on the hardwood of the ship's deck as if uncomfortable in the harbor. Perhaps he was more of a fop than Grant had realized as he saw the movement the man made to wipe the soot off of his coat. In a low voice, he addressed Fara, “I suppose I am to relieve Monsieur Spencer of his obligation now?”

  She nodded. “If you wish, but be gentle. He is a sensitive man.”

  He wondered at her comment, but agreed that he would approach the matter quite delicately.

  * * * *

  A few days later, Grant showed up at the house with Eric in tow just as Fara was leaving for the market with Rosalie. He needed his valet this time because he had been instructing him of his duties on the way to her uncle's house.

  “May I inquire of the reason for your visit?”

  “Would the pleasure of your company be enough?”

  She attempted a smile, but scathingly replied, “Not really. I don't believe you would simply come for that. You are a man of convictions, rarely of leisure.”

  He frowned, disturbed by how well she knew him. But, she also did not realize that with her, the only thing he cared about was leisure. He never worried too much in her presence.

  “I am here because you need a protector. It is not safe to go out alone. You do not know what some people are capable of.”

  “Perhaps, but as I've pointed out before, I am never completely alone. My uncle made sure the servants would be paid whilst I am still here.”

  He wouldn't inquire of the reason they had to argue about the issue once more. When he had protected her before, she had allowed it under duress. He wouldn't pressure her this time. With a cursory glance at her nursemaid, he pointed out, “A servant may not always be familiar with the rough side of the city.” He frowned. “I know you won't see it my way, but at least tell me if you plan to leave the house. I'll be near the stables speaking to your driver.” He walked away and left Eric standing by the door.

  * * * *

  “If you wish,” Fara called after Grant as he departed. Lord, the man was infuriating. Though she did not want him to feel that she was pushing him away as he had somehow interpreted from her after his illness, he was just as intrusive as he'd been before he left for the Caribbean. “Rosalie, see if the cook needs anything while we're out.”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle.” She turned back into the house.

  “I've never seen a man love a woman so much, Mademoiselle,” Eric remarked.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

  “You forget. I've known him for a long time. I don't think he's ever been this concerned about a person before…”

  “It is because I am a woman. It can be nothing else.”

  “I am not so certain that is true. I think, perhaps, you are afraid to admit La Capitaine holds feeling for you, more than he has with any other woman.”

  “That is ridiculous.”

  “Is it? What man except one who has fallen for a woman would continually come to her aid without her request?”

  “He has been a gentleman, Eric,” she protested.

  “Perhaps, but Capitaine Hill would not go to such lengths for just any woman. I believe Monsieur Spencer was paid for his duties, was he not? Well, I must be off now. Capitaine has quite a list of things to be done. Bonjour, Mademoiselle.” He turned from her and left without awaiting her reply.

  Fara stared after the man. Grant had paid Andrew? That fact really didn't bother her though. Surely Eric had to be wrong, even delusional, to entertain such an idea about his master. Grant Hill could not love her; he did not know her yet, at least not entirely. His valet must be mistaken.

  * * * *

  The following afternoon, Fara stumbled across a pile of newspapers her uncle had carelessly thrown into the corner of a drawer in his desk. Some were more recent, others were much older, even as much as twenty and thirty years. She wondered why he had kept them.

  Her eyes skimming over the dates, one headline caught her attention. It read: 'Women Attempt to Gain Power Again'. It was from an article dated from the 1830s that in short, began reminding people of the rise of the utopian social feminists in the late 1700s: Suzanne Voilquin, Reine Guindorf, Claire Demar, Pauline Roland, Prosper Enfantin, and Charles Fourier among others.

  As Fara scanned the newspapers from the 1830s to the present, it became evident that feminism reemerged again in 1830 and continued, in
voking the followers of Claude Henri, Comte de Saint-Simon, under the leadership of Barthelemy Prosper Enfantin. The most influential of these followers was Claire Bazard and in succession, Aglae Saint-Hilaire, Cecile Fournel, and Eugenie Niboyet. Not only were feminist newspapers founded, expressing their opinions, other projects such as a medical and pharmaceutical service, a free vaccination program for children, and a cooperative workshop for seamstresses were established.

  Whereas Enfantin made woman central to human emancipation because of her special nature, Flora Tristan, an avid feminist, exalted woman because of her unique role within the family. Despite her emphasis on women's domestic influence, however, Tristan did not envision limiting women's role to the family.

  Some progress was made, however, with regards to the feminist opinions that were reshaped, utilizing the idea that all women should be highly educated at the least; that would provide its own power and allow them to raise their children properly and function in the world. The Republic's first minister of public instruction, former Saint-Simonian Hippolyte Carnot, arranged to have Ernest Legouve teach a course at the College de France on the moral history of women. Legouve's roots were clearly Saint-Simonian as demonstrated in his book The Moral History of Women:

  'God created the human species double; we utilize but half of it. Nature says two; we say one. We must agree with Nature.... The feminist spirit is stifled, but not dead.... We cannot annihilate at our pleasure a force created by God, or extinguish a torch lighted by his hand.... Let us then open wide the gates of the world to this new element, we have need of it.'

  During the revolution in 1848, however, feminist protests were silenced. The right to form political parties was allowed only under intense government scrutiny and the feminist newspapers were shut down due to increased fees enacted by the law and written attacks against the government were outlawed. For many years to come, the rights of women would not be questioned again.

  Fara sat back in her chair, shaking her head. She could assume that her uncle had not agreed with the rise of the feminists. That was probably the reason the newspapers had been packed away so that he would not have to be reminded of them. Or, perhaps he had kept them as a reminder of the threat women posed if they were not placed in a position of subordination. Though none of the freedoms feminists had strived for in the past had come about, she could still long for such a society, couldn't she? A place where it was safe for women to be out in town without an escort or serving an industry well, an industry that was neither prostitution nor motherhood or the workhouse. She did long to be useful as a woman and not simply as a wife. Could it not be possible for women of her status to provide for themselves as well? It did not seem so, but what could it hurt to try?

  * * * *

  Two weeks had passed since Grant had recovered from his injury. Though he resumed his post as escort, he seemed more distant sometimes as if there was much on his mind. Fara had meant to convey to him that caring for him while he was unconscious had not been an inconvenience, as he'd rushed to charge her with, but the opportunity never presented itself. She would simply have to try harder.

  Then the news of the masque came. The governor was visiting town with his family and his daughters had decided to throw a ball so that he could meet the townspeople, well at least those who were prominent members of society. It would be held at the governor's mansion in La Rochelle. His two young daughters, both of marriageable age, 17 and 19, chose to make it a masque to add an air of mystery to the event. Fara was still in mourning. It would be unnatural for a woman in mourning to attend such an event.

  With the help of her scheming friend Helene, however, she planned to go. Helene aided her in procuring a costume for the ball so she would not arouse suspicion. Fara assumed that Grant would attend as well. She was reluctant to tell him that she was going for two reasons. He would probably remind her of her duties while in mourning, and she also wanted to surprise him if he was there. Despite the fact that the guests were disguised, she hoped she'd still be able to spot him.

  The evening of the ball she stood in front of the mirror as she prepared to leave. She wore an emerald gown with a matching glittery, feathered mask, which covered part of her eyes and nose. Her flame-colored locks were piled atop her head in a coronet with the other half falling like a cascade down her back. She wore emerald slippers and toted a like colored bag. Donning a black shawl against the cool of night, she went to join Rosalie and Helene downstairs.

  Rosalie would be acting as their chaperone tonight. She was dressed more conservatively than the girls, wearing a simple gown of blue. Helene had chosen a pink gown and matching mask for a striking contrast against her incredibly dark hair. Fara and Helene giggled with excitement as they left the house and ascended into the carriage directed by Pierre. She and her friend chatted in near whispers on the way to the ball like cohorts plotting a crime.

  When they arrived at the mansion, they went inside and were welcomed by the Barrets, the governor and his wife. An aide announced her name to them. Fara smiled as the governor kissed both of her cheeks. “It is a pleasure to meet you too, Gouverneur Barret.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mademoiselle.” He then turned to greet Helene.

  Once the formalities were over, the ladies descended down a wide staircase into the ballroom where couples were dancing. Around the edges of the room were chairs, where people could rest. Some ate at small plates from the tidbits of food on trays which were passed on by servants around the room. It really was elaborately planned. Fara did not miss the decorations or the Turkish rugs, the velvet curtains, which covered hidden alcoves where couples could escape from the crowd.

  Her stomach tightened in anticipation. She wondered if she would run into Grant and if he would recognize her at the same time she realized it was him. That was the thing about masques. It was so easy to be mysterious, incognito. She shook her preoccupation away and joined her companions to partake in the meal. They made themselves comfortable in a group of chairs placed along the left side of the ballroom.

  When they were done with their repast, Fara and Helene gossiped about the identities of the guests. It was an honor to receive an invitation, especially from the governor. But, no one had been left out. Most of the townspeople had been invited including those for whom it would not have been socially required to attend, those who were ill, had other circumstances which made it difficult to attend, or those in mourning like Fara. She did not feel she should have been left out of the festivities. There were not many such occasions in La Rochelle besides.

  The ladies spent the first two hours chatting casually and finally two men approached them. Both were of medium stature and dressed in some kind of uniform. Their masks concealed their identities so well it was hard for Fara to tell if she'd seen them before.

  “Bonjour, Mesdemoiselles,” one man greeted, bowing slightly. “It would be my pleasure to escort you. Would you perhaps join me in a waltz?” His gaze flickered between the girls. His companion remained silent as if he would let the man choose for him.

  When the man who spoke turned to Fara and held out his hand, her breath caught for a moment as she wavered in decision. Well, it was not as if she owed anyone anything. She was still unattached. Her betrothal to Monsieur Bordeaux would soon be dissolved and she still had not seen Grant appear. It would not matter if she enjoyed a dance with a stranger this once. That was the point of a masked ball. “Thank you,” she replied, and took the arm he offered. Looking back, she saw that Helene had taken the other man's offer to dance. She was on her own now.

  The man carted her to the floor, led her through the waltz, following each step, and did not bother to converse with her at all. Just as he was about to lead her through a turn, he guided her off of the floor, up a short climb of stairs, and into one of the alcoves. He swept the curtain closed behind them and ushered her to a balcony.

  “Monsieur!” she gasped for breath, winded not only from dancing but from his abrupt manner. Her heart began to
beat in a sick thud. What did he intend? “Monsieur,” she began again, “what is the meaning of this?”

  “I thought we could enjoy a moment alone, away from the crowd.” Through his mask, she could see a lascivious glint in his eyes as he looked her over. “Surely you cannot deny a man what he wants?” He reached to drag her forward with a grip on her arm.

  She gasped, in indignation this time. “I certainly can! I will deny you! How dare you treat me like some trollop--”

  “Quit your whining,” he grated out before trying to crush his mouth against hers.

  She fought him with all she had, teeth, fingernails and as much strength as she could muster. He reared back, swearing. His lip was cut where she'd bitten him and there was an ugly red scratch on his neck where her nails had sunk in. “Leave me alone!” She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to rid herself of his taste.

  “Bitch,” he muttered. “You'll pay for that.”

  “I would listen to the lady if I were you.”

  They both swung to see another man dressed in a dinner coat and trousers with a phantom mask over part of his face.

  “What business is it of yours?” the man who'd accosted her asked.

  “That doesn't matter. I demand that you now treat her like the lady she is. Apologize.”

  A thrill tingled down Fara's spine. She knew that voice. It was Grant. But if he wanted to remain anonymous, she would play along.

  The man beside her shifted uneasily where he stood. “Or?”

  “Or you may not make it to the brothel I assume you attend regularly. Suffice it to say you'll regret it, Monsieur. I may not even go to the trouble of challenging you in a duel.”

  He must have seen the sincere threat in Grant's eyes as well as his rapier, which he always carried at his side. The man turned to Fara. “I am sorry, Mademoiselle. It will not happen again.” He did not wait for a response; he swept past both her and Grant and was out of the alcove before they could stop him.

  “Obviously propriety is lost on him.”

  She smiled. It was so like him to make light of a bad situation. She remembered she still hadn't acknowledged that he knew her. Perhaps he did not recognize her? “I would like to thank you, Monsieur, for your intervention.”