Upon Your Return (2 page)

“An abbey?” She didn’t understand.

“You will be trained in your proper station. The nuns there know how to prepare young ladies for the future.”

“You're sending me to live in a convent?” She gasped. She had heard of the girls' schools. They had all been moved to the nunneries. Rosalie had informed her that it was a possibility, a fate she might be forced to endure. Most parents hired tutors, taught their children themselves, or settled for the latter. She had never dreamed she'd live out her days in a convent though.

He frowned. “For a while. Until they feel you are ready. Then, when time has passed, your season will begin. And then, I will find you a suitor.”

Already he was speaking of marriage? That was so many years down the road! “I'm only eight!” she cried.

“You will remember your position, Fara,” he lowered his voice by degrees.

She swallowed hard. “
Oui
,
oncle
.”

* * * *

The morning sun streamed through the doors of her new room. Fara hesitantly lifted her eyelids to the light of the day. White, nearly transparent curtains enveloped the bed posts, hanging around her like a cocoon. Caught off guard by a sudden chill in the room, she pulled the bedclothes closer to her chest.

It would be hard to live a different life than she was used to. In a few
days’ time, she would travel to the abbey. She should not be all that surprised. With what she had gathered about her uncle, it was no wonder that he wanted her out of his hair as soon as possible. This was his chance to dispense with obligation, by letting someone else tend to her needs.

However, she was not too certain that the nuns would know what she needed. Her parents could not be replaced. But, Fara missed her mother's easy smile and the way she would casually ruffle her hair in an affectionate manner. She yearned for her father to pick her up in his arms and hold her to his hip while he laughed at her stories. Her eyes closed on the thought. Some things she would have to learn to live without. She could not forget what her uncle had said after she
had spoken out to him in the carriage.

“Your father, it seems, was very lenient with you. He was always different. I did not imagine that he would be lax with conventions, however. You have not been instructed of your place. You will learn it in time.”

Her uncle was wrong. She had a tendency to speak before thinking, but that did not mean her father had not taught her in the right way. She was sure her parents had done nothing wrong. They had loved her. It had seemed enough then. Sighing heavily, Fara slid off of the mattress and landed softly on the floor in her bare feet. She picked up the dressing gown which lay near the bed, gathered it around her, and pulled the string tight. At the basin, she splashed water on her face and toweled it dry. She finished her morning ritual by dragging a brush through her unruly length of auburn curls. Then, she reached over and pulled the cord.

Within a few minutes, a maid entered demurely
.
It was not Rosalie. “
Mademoiselle
?”

She tried to hide her disappointment that her nursemaid had not appeared. “I wish a gown please.”

“Of course. Your uncle is expecting you at the breakfast table.” The maid, an average-sized woman with plain features and brown hair shoved beneath a white cap, shuffled around and removed a crimson colored dress from a set of drawers. She began to shake out the wrinkles.

“Oh? I thought perhaps he would have business to tend to.”

“Usually he appears at breakfast, but rarely for dinner unless he does not have plans.”

“I see.” Fara swallowed back the dread of having to appear before her uncle again. Averting her thoughts, she watched the maid working. “What is your name?”

“Marie, at your service,
Mademoiselle
.”

She smiled pleasantly and took the woman's hand. “It is good to meet you, Marie.”

The maid blushed and busied herself with helping Fara into the gown.

When she was prepared for breakfast, Fara thanked Marie and left the room. As she ascended the stairs, a chill ran over her arms, dousing them with goose bumps. Her uncle was not a terrible man, she supposed, only difficult to approach. She doubted they would ever be close.

When she rounded the corner and came to the door of the dining room, her hand rested on the knob, lingering on its cold metal. Her uncle would be her sole caretaker now. She was his responsibility until one day when he would relinquish her to another man. The very thought filled her with terror.

Why did they have to die? Why couldn't her life go back to the way it was?

She shook her head. There was no use lamenting things she could not change.

She would never forget her parents. But, perhaps she could learn to love her uncle in time. And he might feel the same in return one day.

Her heart clenched on the hope of future happiness and she turned the knob, and then stepped into the room. She sat down with the assistance of a butler and glanced across the table at her uncle. He was reading a newspaper. When he glanced up, she thought she saw surprise in his eyes.

“Good morning, Fara.”

Her heart soared. “Good morning,
oncle
.”

Chapter One

April 12, 1863

“Oh, dear, did you see the Follets the other day? I'm surprised they have the nerve to show their faces.”

Fara Bellamont nodded to Juliet Masson and attempted a smile. The chandelier lighting cast a harsh light over the dinner party this evening. The tapestry panels about the room depicted a floral motif; huge bouquets of flowers against a crimson and ivory background. There were twelve people at the dining table, mostly comprised of her uncle's business partners and their wives and daughters. There were also a few available gentlemen whom her uncle occasionally consorted with.

She then heard an unforgivable giggle from her female companion. Focusing her attention on her plate of chicken almondine and roasted potatoes, she tried to ignore the ruckus the lady to her left caused. Juliet must have had too much wine; most young women her age refused to gossip at dinner parties, especially if men were present. Usually that kind of talk was reserved for the parlor or at tea.

The woman began to laugh uncontrollably. “Oh,
Monsieur
! You are too much!”

Good Lord. What is she about?
Fara hadn't heard either a flattering or humorous comment all evening. Most of the talk had been about the political uncertainty, it being a time of war. The gentlemen were concerned about invasion. Surprise attacks were known to happen, especially if the emperor's ambitions were getting out of hand.

The gentleman to her right brushed against the sleeve of her dress. She saw his apologetic gaze as she jerked away. When his eyes did not leave hers, an uneasy feeling began in her stomach. She was not used to men looking at her. It had only been a year since her season celebration and though she had danced with many men that night, none had approached her uncle with an offer. She had almost forgotten that look until now.
             

A year had passed since she'd returned to the estate to resume her place as lady of the house. The nuns had given her uncle a full report on the progress she'd made during the nine years she spent at Cluny Abbey in Burgundy.

Fara had hated leaving Helene behind, seeing as she was the only companion she'd found at the convent. Helene, a bright eyed but dark-headed girl with quite a knack for making trouble, had to stay another year to finish her training. The nuns claimed her friend had yet to be tamed.

Fara had learned how to be a lady in the years she was at the convent. She also learned that her fate, to be a wife and a mother, was inevitable. She remembered the nights in the mission as she lay in bed, staring up at the barred window which stood too high for any human being to reach.

She would lay awake and wonder if there was more to it all than what she'd been told, if perhaps somewhere, even away from French boundaries, there was a better reason she was alive. She dreamed that the sea held her fate, like her parents; perhaps that was the only place she would ever feel free.

Then, there were the nights she and Helene would stay up, scheming their escape from the convent, planning their whole lives and filling them with excitement and adventure. Helene would go on about how Fara could become a seamstress and she could sell the dresses. However, Sister Mar
guerite would click down the hallway in her black polished heels and peek in the doorway for a head check. The girls would squeeze their eyes shut, covered up in sheets, and as the nun turned away, they would as well. They both knew there would be no escape from the lives planned out for them

There was only marriage. Sometimes she still caught herself dreaming of a way out of her life, or at least a distraction. Perhaps an adventure of some kind that would make this life seem less futile.

Fara startled at the tinkle of metal tapping glass. Her uncle, seated at the head of the table, cleared his throat, and then stood and bowed to his guests. He cleared his throat again. “Let's turn the conversation to a lighter note, shall we? I would like to propose a toast to
Monsieur
Le Croíx, my fair niece, and their coming nuptials.”

She nearly choked on the bite of chicken. As she reached for her wine in a panic, there was a rumble of agreement from the guests and a few ladies chattered quietly after this announcement.

A sudden shiver came over Fara as she took in the unexpected news. Just like that, he decided her future. She was given no say in the matter. She didn't even have time to devise a plan of escape.

Her uncle had obviously been planning this announcement for some time. But, why had he not stated the point of tonight's dinner? He had simply instructed her to plan a meal that would be fit for some well-known ladies and gentleman, nothing more. She had taken it upon herself to be sure the silver was polished, the dishes sparkling and the dining room was laid out with fresh flowers adorning the long table. New tapestries had been hung, and the white silk tablecloth could hardly go unnoticed. She had not, however, imagined it would be for this sort of event. If she had known, she could have done more, or less, she supposed depending on her feelings concerning the matter.

She turned to the man at her left, her supposed fiancé. He nodded to the gentleman across the table with whom he engaged in conversation. Fara regarded him beneath the cover of her eyelashes. He wasn't tall, yet his looks held a peculiar innocence. He seemed rather young for a suitor, perhaps a couple years above twenty, but well-endowed financially. Le Croíx was a known name in La Rochelle, and there were rumors that the family had ties to the crown. Her uncle had chosen him, she supposed, because he was among society's elite in France. Beyond that, she knew nothing else about him; however, her uncle would certainly have something to say if she made an issue of it.

“Fara?”

She jerked to attention at her uncle's tone and focused on his set face. “
Oui
,
oncle
?”

“Will you not escort the ladies to the parlor for tea?”

She nodded, “Of course,” and rose to fulfill her duties as lady of the house. She detested the pointless chatter and gossip that masqueraded as conversation. She could remind her uncle that dessert had not yet been served, but that was pointless too. She'd lost her appetite.

* * * *

In the parlor,
Madame
Masson continued her grating laughter as she found humor in one of the servants who had dropped a tray. After the mess was cleared, Fara waved the girl away. She shook her head at Juliet.

Mademoiselle
Fournier, who had attended the dinner with her mother, leaned forward. “
Mademoiselle
Bellamont, you must tell us more about Jean Le Croíx. How did you meet?”

“I am afraid there is very little to tell. I do not know the man.”

Most of the ladies nodded. Women were often raised with the knowledge that their future husbands would be chosen for them. It was not anything new.

Madame
Masson scoffed, “Surely you must have something to tell. Perhaps he took you into a corner, and your uncle discovered it? You cannot be so innocent,
chère
.”

Fara clenched her jaw before scolding her. “
Madame
, please. This is not at all appropriate. And I have only entertained him in the presence of my uncle.”

Other remarks were made, some more obscene. Her cheeks flamed.

After she'd endured enough of those women, their ravings and cruel gossip, her fiancé appeared in the doorway. Desperate for a distraction, she strode to him, calling over her shoulder, “
Pardonnez moi
,
Mesdames
...” She reached him and muttered, “
Mon Dieu
, you do not know what a bore these ladies have become.” She eyed the sudden pallor of his face and wondered what he was thinking.

“
Oui
, I can imagine.
Mademoiselle
, I must speak with you.”

She smiled. “Surely we should not be so formal now. We are to be married after all, Jean.”

His lips thinned until they were pale and then he took her elbow. “Accompany me to the veranda, Fara...”

As he led her away, her eyes searched his face for something her uncle must have overlooked...malice, perhaps. When they reached the veranda, she pulled away from his biting grasp. “You're hurting me.”

He stepped back, studying her face. “I am sorry,
Mademoiselle
. It is only that we are to be wed in two weeks.”

“
Oui
,” she replied, feeling numb all over by his sudden show of violence and his apparent perplexity of the situation.

“I want you to be honest with me, Fara. I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to tell me the truth.”

“All right.” She looked up into his face and saw panic and desperation. But, what was causing it?

“Do you love me, Fara?” he asked softly.

She gasped. “We've barely just met. We don't know
anything
about each other...”

“Answer the question,
Mademoiselle
.”

His fingers were once again biting into her flesh and she felt a surge of pity for this man she did not know. “I do not love you, Jean Le Croíx.”

“You don't?”

Her breath caught. How could a man expect that kind of feeling at a moment's notice, without having had some kind of affiliation beforehand? Was he mad? Then again, perhaps he held romantic illusions, and believed, as very few did, in love at first sight. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I cannot. Not now, at this moment in time.” She knew it would hurt him, but didn't know how to fix it without lying to him. It was true, however; she could not love a man she did not know or felt absolutely nothing for.

“
Mon Dieu
!” Jean's eyes closed briefly, he let out a long string of curses and turned away, striding back the way he came.

Fara winced and lowered her eyes to the floor. She had seen the shock entering his eyes, and the pain that followed thereafter. She felt poor for how honest she'd been toward him, but he deserved the truth. It was up to him whether he blamed her for it or not.

She felt the imprint his fingers left in the flesh of her arms and attributed it to his reaction to her admission. She might well have bruises by the morrow, but she no doubt deserved that. Fara had been very honest with her fiancé, and ladies were supposed to ply gentleman with smiles and ready agreements. At the same time, she could not imagine why he would ask her such a question when they barely knew one another. Something about the exchange was very odd.

* * * *

The following evening, Fara sat reading from
Madame Bovary
when Rosalie knocked on her door.

She lifted her head. “What is it?”

“
Mademoiselle
, a messenger brought this for you.” The woman entered the room and approached her mistress. “It is from
Monsieur
Le Croíx.”

“
Merci
, Rosalie.” She retrieved the letter from her nursemaid and opened it once she had left the room. Inside was a scrawling script which she had to squint to read.

Dear Fara,

Would you accept my apology about what happened last night? I don't know what possessed me. I would like to make up my poor behavior to you. I would be very grateful if you met me at the harbor tonight on pier two at nine o'clock. If you are not up to appearing, I will certainly understand.

Your fiancé, Jean Le Croíx

She read over the note once more. It was an odd request, to be sure. She frowned, bit her lip a little. At the same time, she felt some amount of guilt for being so honest, even though saying otherwise the evening before would have been worse, and she had to trust that Jean meant well by his apology. Perhaps it would be all right to meet him. Besides, they needed to overcome this dilemma before the wedding. She made certain she had enough time to get there, wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and exited the house quietly. “Pierre!” she called.

The man appeared as he rounded the corner from the stables. He frowned. “
Mademoiselle
? It is late. Is something wrong?”

“I wish to take a ride tonight. Would you escort me to the harbor? I am to meet someone.”

His face hardened and he frowned as if he didn't approve of the idea, but, since she was his mistress, he had no choice. He nodded and helped her into the carriage. Pierre climbed up on the seat and propelled the carriage forward.

It was dark as she looked out the opening of the carriage. There were men hanging about the local pubs, no doubt in search of their own pleasures with women like
dames de nuit
. Somehow the atmosphere about the town grew darker. It was different from when she visited in daylight. Here, there were all kinds of things to watch for. She was not that naïve. She had often found herself browsing her uncle's personal stash of literature, which included even nefarious titles and questionable illustrations.

She knew she should let Pierre accompany her inside the docks for safety's sake, but she needed to speak to Jean alone. Finally, they reached the harbor and she called ahead, “Pierre, stop here at the entrance.”