“What are you doing here? Get out!” She flung her feet over the side of the bed and rushed toward him. “Out!”
He caught her wrists as she fell against him, her fists balled. “Mademoiselle…” He sighed again. “You must listen. I had to see you.”
“No, get out of my house. You don't belong here!”
“Fara…Mademoiselle, you are overreacting.”
Pain shot through her wrists from his grip. “Am I? I will scream. Do you think I won't?”
“I believe you, but I needed to see you just once.” His eyes roamed over her transparent figure, lust lighting them.
Fear knotted in her stomach once more. “No!” she cried. “Get out of my house! I'll scream! Let go of me!” She jerked from his grasp, her hip slamming into the armoire. She drew in a breath of agony.
“You heard the lady, Monsieur. You are trespassing on certain property…and it seems to be a recurring theme with you, if you don't mind my saying it.” The reference to a past duel was not lost on Fara.
She swung to see Grant with his pistol trained on Nicholas. He did not often carry it, she knew, and it surprised her to see it in his hand. She had not heard the door open. The light streamed in from the corridor behind him. She was near hysterical from the fear of seeing Nicholas and Grant was the last person she thought would ever come to her rescue again. She had been told by messenger that he would be late tonight because of business.
“Fara?” he asked gently. “I assume this gentleman was bothering you.”
“Oui,” she agreed. “Monsieur Bordeaux was just leaving. Perhaps you might escort him?”
“With pleasure. Monsieur?” Grant gestured with the pistol.
“I am not threatened by you, Capitaine,” Nicholas replied with disgust.
“Oui, but I am not the one who is disadvantaged. Let's go.”
Nicholas grimaced. “I know the way. Mademoiselle, if I had known this English bulldog was to answer your cry for help, I might not have shown up. I see I have much to learn about you…” He turned away.
“Nicholas!”
He looked back at her. “Oui, chère?”
She gritted her teeth in revulsion at the endearment before answering, “It's over. This engagement is over.”
“You cannot do that, Mademoiselle. It was promised. Your uncle set this up in writing--”
“My uncle is dead, Monsieur. His will states that any indiscretion is grounds for annulment. It's over and you know it.”
He stared at her for a moment, his face grim, and then left the room.
“I do not think he will give up, Fara.”
She sighed, both from relief and exhaustion. “No, probably not.” She walked back to her mattress and sat down.
His gaze rested on her face, concern showing in his eyes. “I'm going to make sure he has truly gone. I'll return,” he promised. When he left the room, she despaired. But what was in a promise? With Grant, was it much at all?
She waited the long moments in silence. As soon as he returned, he set the pistol aside and lit a lamp. Then he went to her, sitting at her side.
“I'm going to do everything I can to be rid of your engagement with Nicholas. I know you do not want it. He seriously stepped out of line this time and that should be enough. I will contact your uncle's lawyer tomorrow. And then, I will take you to find your aunt.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. It was all she could manage. She couldn't help her trembling.
“Are you all right?” He lifted her chin toward him, cupping her cheek.
She shook her head. “He was watching me.”
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, pulling her close.
After her trembling ceased, she asked, “How did you get here?”
“I'm supposed to be your protector, remember? I got back from a meeting after you went to bed. I thought you wouldn't like it if you knew I was here and had free rein in your house without your knowledge. So I thought to remain downstairs, but then I heard you cry out.”
He was right. She wouldn't have liked it if she knew unless, of course, she had invited him. “Merci,” she said once more, grateful that she hadn't had to face Nicholas alone.
His gaze swept the length of her body. “Are you hurt? You fell into the armoire, oui?”
“Oui, there will be a bruise. Do not concern yourself.”
His hand gently kneaded the flesh beneath her nightgown. “That is a very difficult thing to ask of me, Fara. I came because I was concerned.”
Fara felt the onslaught of tears and she fought it. She lowered her head to his shoulder and he kissed her temple, gathering her close to him. She felt safe and warm in his embrace, a feeling she was sure she hadn't known since she was a child. She breathed deeply, trying to collect her thoughts. “I do not understand.”
“What, love?”
“Why did he call you English?”
A long silence fell between them. She pulled away, but stayed near him on the mattress, close enough to see his face. A range of emotions crossed his features, none of which she could read, but she thought one might be grief. Her heart strained for him.
“My father was English. This is my mother's country. I am a half-blood. Since I have been here, I have tried to hide my heritage because I know how people see it. It is not one of the stronger aspects of my character. And it doesn't do much for business.”
She had never entertained the idea that he might not be completely French, though his name suggested otherwise. But, she was learning something else about him, and she was grateful for it. “It's all right, Grant. I understand why you wouldn't disclose it. I won't tell anyone.”
He nodded. “I know that.”
“So…you were raised in England?”
“Partially. At least I was until my parents died.”
“And then?”
“And then I was thrust onto the streets. I ended up on a ship later so the crew became a sort of family to me.”
It was evident from his approach to the subject that he had lived a hard life and did not wish to reveal the harsher aspects of it. “What were your parents like?”
He attempted a smile, but there was pain behind it. “My mother was an angel, always supportive and loving. She loved to read to me. My father, on the other hand, was the opposite. Simply put, he was a military man, and that was all that was important to him.”
“I'm sorry.”
He simply nodded.
“You know, I'm not entirely French either.”
“No?”
“I can't be for sure, but I always thought my mother was from another place. She was so exotic. That probably seems silly.”
“No, not at all.”
Fara moved closer to him so that her head rested on his shoulder again. He received the gesture in kind, pulling her close to him. Though the circumstances were different, he had lived with the same indifference she had endured from her uncle. It was unfortunate, though, that he couldn't have had the support and love of both parents as she had. The rough times, however, had made him stronger and she appreciated that. The one thing that concerned her was that the indifference his father had had toward him might have outweighed the way he accepted his emotions; deep down, she was afraid he might never be able to love her in return.
* * * *
They were taking a carriage ride one day when Grant turned to Fara as if he had something important to say. “I've found your aunt, chère.”
Instantly, her mood tuned to this news. She gripped his shirtsleeves, leaning toward him. “Where?”
“She lives in Marseille. You knew that already, but it is some distance from here. About three days travel.”
“I must leave then. I will go to her.”
“You will not go alone, Fara. It isn't right. It is dangerous for a young woman to go alone, especially now when we are at war.”
“I will take Pierre then.”
He scoffed at this. “You may take Pierre, but I will be there as well. If you like, you may bring
Rosalie. She adores you, you know.”
“She treats me like a child,” Fara argued lightly, pouting.
He grinned, “Oui, but you love her as you would a mother.”
She lifted her head, but did not reply. She appreciated the fact that he would recognize this and not reprimand her for it. Then she tapped his sleeve when he looked away, drawn by the sound of the wheels on the road. “What will I say to her?”
“What ails you now?”
“Honestly, Capitaine, you were never this terse before. I might be inclined to throw you out of this carriage. Or my bed.”
Playing up to her sudden haughtiness, he attempted to erase the grin from his face. “Ah, then I must mind my manners. Who are you so afraid to approach?”
“Lina Devereux.”
He countered, “Fara, by the time you reach Marseille, she will have been notified of the relation and will expect you at some point. I am certain if you say who you are, nothing else will be necessary.”
“And if she is difficult like my uncle?”
He frowned, stroking his jaw. “That is the question, isn't it? I can assure you, Fara, that you won't have to beg the woman for shelter. She will know what to do. I hear she is quite the socialite. If anyone is to be known in social circles, she is the one to consult.”
“Oh,” she replied flatly, still affected by how she might be received in Marseille.
“Do not concern yourself. We must prepare for a trip soon.”
“How are we to travel? Your ship?”
“That is a possibility if you like. However, it is not a ship of leisure and probably not suited to your needs.”
She sighed, glancing away. “There is no need to be snobbish, Capitaine. I have never expressed any dislike toward La Voyageur. You know as well as I that I can brave the elements for a short trip. It is nothing I haven't faced before.”
He frowned. “I wonder if there is more to the story of my illness than I thought.”
Flashes of Grant lying in bed suffering and Monsieur Bordeux sneering because of the wound he'd inflicted swam through her head. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
“Fara, will you not grant me a wish to know the horrors you may have been exposed to during my unconsciousness?”
She flicked a glance at him beneath her lowered lashes. “Do you not trust your men, Capitaine?”
“Without a doubt. And I'm certain Eric would have done everything in his power to protect a lady. Your response, however, leads me to believe one thing may have happened that I am not yet aware of. Eric would not keep anything important from me. His loyalty knows no bounds. But, I wonder if only he is sworn to secrecy because you made him vow it. In that case, I can see the reason. A promise to a lady should never be broken.”
A short breath left her and an ache spread through her chest. He gazed intently at her now and she had an idea of what he was thinking. Desire had become a familiar feeling within her. She was no longer chaste, but once she was back among society with her aunt, Grant would only be a memory. She would be expected to marry a man of her own stature. She wondered if he knew it as well. These were the only moments they had left.
“It was nothing. I merely felt responsible for the fact that Monsieur Bordeaux challenged you. It was ungentlemanly of him to confront you in that manner when you had only been protecting me. I was angry with him.” She took a breath and sighed. “I asked Eric to locate him so that I could talk to the man.”
His eyes narrowed in concern. “What happened?”
“Perhaps I stirred things up again. I don't know. I went to him and spoke to him about the duel. I was a game to him. I told him he had never acted as my fiancé. He was arrogant. I saw no reason why I should ever learn to live with such a man.”
“That's why he came to your uncle's house that night.”
“Oui, to try to convince me that we should be married. Or, perhaps he meant something worse.” She tried not to think of what the man was capable of.
“So this was the secret?”
“It was the circumstances I was concerned about. If you'd been awake, you would have told me not to go. Or, perhaps prevented me from going there at all.”
He frowned. “Certainly you did not go alone.”
“No. Eric was concerned, however, about the effect such a place might have on a lady.”
“What kind of place?”
“It was a gentleman's club,” she whispered.
He sucked in a breath. “Are you mad?”
She grinned. “I was so angry with that man about what he did to you. I wasn't as level-headed as I perhaps should have been.”
He shook his head. “At least Eric was there. Had you gone alone, it would have been very dangerous. Men seem to forget their honor in those places.”
“I know…from observation,” she added, touched by the concern in his voice.
* * * *
August 3, 1863
Two days later, Pierre came to fetch the valise Rosalie had packed for Fara. It consisted of her best dresses and underclothes. They'd both felt that leaving her older items behind was best. Her aunt would surely provide anything else she might need in the future. The one thing she had not neglected was the heirloom gown from her mother. It was a family possession that had been stored for safekeeping for years. In fact, it was one of the few things she had left of her mother, a wedding dress that had been worn long before her conception and had miraculously been overlooked when packing for that fateful yet terminal journey ten long years ago. A silk and lace garment in natural white with a becoming bodice and long flowing skirt, Fara was fond of the heirloom for its beauty and of course she could not deny the sentimentality of the dress. It seemed fitting that she keep it. If ever she was to marry, it would be her gown as well.
She had also packed the blue velvet gown her mother had worn the night of her season celebration. Fara doubted she'd have an occasion to wear it, but she cherished the dress for other reasons. She could not look at it or touch it without remembering the story of how her mother and father met, or recalling the look on her mother's face as she told it.
Fara picked up the gold necklace on her vanity and opened the locket. It held miniatures of her mother and father. She held it to her chest while a thin sheen of tears clouded her eyes. She closed it and pressed her lips to the locket in reverence. Then she put it on and lifted her chin, determined to be strong.
As Fara watched Pierre tote the valise down the stairs to place it in the carriage outside the house, she turned and looked around her bedchamber. So many years she'd spent in this room, engulfed in a shield that would guard her from the resentment and harsh judgment of her uncle. Here she could be herself. She never had to pretend to be someone else when in this room and she never had to worry about saying or doing the wrong things. It was her solace, her escape from social expectations. The only comfort she'd ever had whilst her uncle was living.
Things were so different now, Fara thought as she pushed back the lace draperies that hung from four posts about her bed and caressed the smooth, dark velvet spread. She would have a new room in Marseille where her aunt lived. She would even have a new life. She would be expected to leave this one behind. Though living with her uncle had been less than perfect, it was still a life. She had built relationships and experiences around her existence in his house. And though he'd never strived to make her life easy, he had, in his way, protected her and provided for her and the idea of leaving all of that behind seemed very odd.
She had expected this day since the reading of her uncle's will and yet now, it seemed unreal. This unexpected change could not be part of her endlessly planned life. She did not even feel like herself anymore. She did not know how to leave her life and pick it up in a different place, to begin anew. Though she had done it ten years ago when she was passed over to her uncle after her parents had died, it was not the same. There she had lived the comforted life of a child. Here, she had grown into the woman she now was. She would miss La Rochelle
, the house, even the friends she'd gained by acquaintance. It would never be the same in Marseille.
She felt a tightness in her chest, a desolate feeling. Fara knew turning away from this house and heading to Marseille to live with her aunt would bring life-altering change. Though society, no doubt, would be much the same as in La Rochelle, something was going to happen there. She felt it in the pit of her stomach though she'd never seen the place before. Something would happen which she was completely unprepared for, and she couldn't say what it might be. She only knew it was of significance, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, she jerked herself from such thoughts. Rosalie appeared, wrapped in a tan shawl, and stared at her mistress knowingly. “All will be well, bébé. Your aunt will take care of you now.”
Fara nodded. “I know. This is a beautiful house, isn't it?”
“Oui. Many memories,” she murmured and added softly, “There will be other memories to make, chère.”
“Oui.”
The woman cleared her throat. “The carriage is ready. Pierre is waiting. Monsieur Hill is probably worried as well.”
Fara nodded and gestured for her nursemaid to go on. She looked around the room one last time, and then followed Rosalie down the stairs and out to the carriage which waited to take them to the harbor where La Voyageur was berthed.
* * * *
They had decided to take his ship to Marseille. Since it was a port city, sailing would be easier rather than contending with other carriages on the roads. Two hours after departure, Fara joined Grant on the bridge. His men were down below, carrying out their duties.
Eager to forget that she was leaving her life behind for something else, her mind grasped for another idea to hold on to. Her relationship with Grant. Where was it going? Where could it possibly go now that she would be staying with her aunt? Would he choose another woman to satisfy his needs? “You mentioned you'd had the kind services of dames de nuit before…”
“Oui,” he agreed softly. “Why do you ask?”
“I'm far from experienced, yet you seem to know how to love a lady well…”
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