Upon Your Return (7 page)

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.

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,
Capitain
e--”

“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.