Upon Your Return (17 page)

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…”

He grinned. “What a compliment. Their services were useful enough. I think, however, you are asking if there was a real affair with a woman,
chère
.”

She lifted a brow in inquiry. “I might be curious.”

“Prostitutes cannot fulfill the position of companion. Believe me, I tried to be charming enough to entice them in conversation, but they just wanted the damn deed over and done and to be paid for their services. I required more.” He sighed. “There was a lady. Not as young as you, but still young enough to have prospects for the marriage bed.”

Fara nodded. “Go on. What was her name?”

“
Mademoiselle
Lisette Demont.”

“She sounds pretty.”

“
Oui
. The glamorous type, accustomed to all the new styles of the day and such. But keep in mind that when I saw her, I was tired of making love…”

She giggled, clasping her hand over her mouth. “I'm sorry,” she whispered when she saw him frown.

“Hard to imagine, I presume? Let us just say she was merely a companion and no more. She grew demanding though, wanted to have a real affair and I resisted as much as I was able. I desperately wanted to see if a woman was capable of being a friend. It didn't last. I made love to her and two days later, I discovered she was not the patient kind. She had been seeing another gentleman while she was with me. She could not devote herself to one man.”

Her eyes darkened in pain, in empathy. “What happened to her after that?”

“Lisette married the dolt. I hope one day he realizes the kind of woman he's saddled himself to…”

“Would you have married her if she hadn't done that?”

“Perhaps, but that is hard to forgive.”

“
Oui
,” she agreed. She grasped for his hand and he smiled at her. “I could not do that to a man,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said softly and held her close.

She smiled. “Grant…”

“
Oui
?”

“Before she showed her true colors, you wanted to befriend a lady in the first place. I admire that impulse.” He did not reply. But when she sought his expression, she began to understand his reasoning. He was a hard man, but not impenetrable. His eyes were bright with an emotion she could not identify, but knew at once it was not desire. He had been surprised by what she'd said; that was all she could attribute for his loss for words.