Upon Your Return (8 page)

I am sorry for not keeping in touch. You have been the only person to understand my situation. I sincerely hope that this letter reaches you, and I hope I may see you again. I appreciate all that you have done for me.

Always,

Fara

P.S. If it can be arranged, I need to tell you something in private.

* * * *

Three days later, by messenger, Fara sent Grant a note for him to meet her by the Traveler's Inn in town at midnight. After dinner, when Fara retreated to her room, she did not dress for bed. She threw a cloak over her shoulders and waited. Just before twelve, she crept quietly out of the house and went to the stables. As careful as she could, she made her way through the barn, easing past the sleeping stable boy. When she found her horse, she threw a saddle on it and climbed on with the help of the stable wall.

Clicking her tongue, she forced the horse into a light gallop and left the barn, heading toward town. When she arrived, she tied the horse to a fence and waited outside the inn. The lampposts were bright enough to light the streets, but not the corners. A strange feeling encompassed her belly. She tried to shake it off.
There isn't anything out there, it's your imagination.
After a few minutes, she heard a clicking sound in the distance. Soon, she saw a rider approaching at the end of the street and knew it was him. When the horse slowed, he jumped off of the saddle and tied the horse down.

When he approached her, his face was suddenly lit by the lamp above them. His eyes seemed so dark in the light from the moon. “I got your letter and your message. Are you all right?”

Her uncle's words instantly sprung to mind. She wanted to tell him, but didn't know if she should.

“Fara, what is it?” She lowered her head, but he defeated that move by gently lifting her chin. “Something is wrong?”

She sighed. “My uncle…”

“He said something to you, didn't he?”

“He made the insinuation that promiscuity runs in the family. My mother--”

“Don't listen to him. He's trying to get you to believe that you've done something wrong and you haven't.”

“Society would think so.” She looked up at him, enthralled by the emotion barely concealed in his dark eyes.

“To hell with that--”

“Don't,” she whispered. “That's who I am. I have to do the right thing.”

He nodded. “Are we losing anything if you do what's required?”

She sighed. She would be losing someone she could easily admire, a friend perhaps. But, telling him the truth would only hurt him. “No. I have a fiancé now…”

“This is goodbye then?”

She couldn't answer, couldn't speak for the pain and the lump in her throat. But he needed no answer; she knew he could see it in her eyes before she made fists with both of her hands in attempt to be strong. The words weren't necessary, after all, for he nodded grimly.

“
Adieu
then, Fara Bellamont.” He stepped near and held her against him for several moments. “Maybe someday we'll look back on this and laugh.
Oui
?”

She tried to match his mood and pulled back slightly to look at him. “Perhaps our children will be friends.”

“Hmm…it is a nice thought.” But his eyes betrayed him as they darkened with something she couldn't read. “Goodbye, Fara.” He released her and swung into the saddle of his destrier. “Will you be all right without an escort?”

“Do not worry about me. I know my way.” When he nodded and kicked his horse into a gallop away from her, she watched him race down the street and whispered, “Goodbye,
Capitaine
Hill.”

* * * *

Half an hour later, she reached her uncle's house and slowly led the horse back into its stall.

After leaving the stables, she crept up the back porch, which led into the kitchen. Taking the passage from the kitchen to the center of the house, she knew she had to get back to her room before she got caught.

As she saw the stairway, she edged toward it.

She tripped in the dark hallway, coming up against a glass table.

A light flickered to her right and she turned to see her uncle carrying a lamp. “
Oncle
,” she croaked, her voice tight.

“Late again,
ma chère
? Perhaps out playing with the sailors?” he mocked.

She gasped. “
That
was not my fault!”

“No, I suppose not. But, is this
your
doing? It looks as if you're sneaking back in. You retired early, niece, and leave me to think you meant to exit the house while I was unaware.”

“No,” she whispered. “That's not the case.”

“Isn't it? Perhaps your dutiful
Capitaine Hill
sent you a message…” He tossed a scrap of wadded paper to her feet and she shrank back, recognizing it immediately as Grant's consent to meet her. Her eyes rose wary upon his face and she watched as he gripped the lamp violently. “I might excuse it if you chose to act on the whim of your fiancé,
Monsieur
Bordeaux, but this is unacceptable, niece. I will
not
stand by whilst you consort with this rogue--”

“He is not--”

“Silence!” He groaned. “If I had any lack of self-control, you might be at my feet where you belong!”

Fara choked back a cry. She refused to let him hurt her so. She was already afraid of him, of what he might do. He needn't say these things to get his point across. She did understand. Of course what she had done was against all the rules he'd enforced. It was against society's expectations as well. “I am sorry,
oncle
. I will not--”

He reached out and dragged her closer, his face in hers, his grasp biting. “No, you will never do anything like this again. Think of the humiliation you have caused me. Don't you think tongues will be clacking now about your relationship with him? I can only assume you have developed a
tendre
for this man. But, I want you to forget you ever met him, niece. Remember you have a fiancé, and you will be married soon. You will think of your loyalty to
Monsieur
Bordeaux. This
Capitaine
Hill will never cross your mind again. Say it.”

“
Oui, oncle
. I will do as you please. I will forget him.”

“Again,” he demanded.

Her lashes swept down, concealing her pain, and she repeated her vow.

“
Bon
. If I can get you to that wedding without your conceiving a child, we will both be in good shape.” He stepped back, yet continued to observe her pallor. “You probably will not believe me, but your mother had the same amorous tendencies.”

Her fear subsided, giving her time to react. Anger replaced the pain and she narrowed her eyes at him. Again, he dared to make that insinuation about her mother. “What do you mean?”

“Why, chasing after men for the wrong reasons,
ma chère
.”

“Don't,” she warned.

“What? Are you afraid of the truth?”

“She was never as you say. She was loyal to my father.”

“Of course, niece. I would never question your mother's fidelity to your father. But, she was a female. Why else would a woman want to marry your father unless for his money?”

“For love,” she answered softly.

“Love…ha! You are old fashioned, Fara, a silly romantic. Love is for fools. Your mother sought your father's fortune. Poor Andre. He never saw it.”

“They were kindhearted people,
oncle
--”

“You have been disillusioned, niece. To bed with you.” He motioned to the stairs, and then climbed them himself. “I hope you will not disappoint me again,” he called over his shoulder.

“No,” she whispered. It could not be, not what he said about her parents. In her heart, she knew who they had been and nothing, not even his cruel words, could sway her.

* * * *

As her nursemaid brushed her hair before she returned to bed, Fara stayed the woman's hand. In the vanity mirror, she made eye contact with her. “Rosalie?”

She frowned. “
Oui
?”

“Do you remember my parents?”

The woman nodded. “
Oui
, quite clearly.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“Oh,
Mademoiselle
. They were the only two people I ever took pleasure from being employed. They never asked the impossible and always gave gifts to the servants every Christmas.”

She smiled. “
Oui
, that would be like them. They treated you well then?”

“Not just I,
Mademoiselle
. I do not think they could have disliked anyone.”

“And my uncle?”

“Ah,
Monsieur
Bellamont was not their favorite, but he was family and so, of course, they tolerated him.”

She nodded. “I know you could not have known my mother very well. But, do you think she might have married my father for anything less than love?”

“Never,
Mademoiselle
. Those two were a pair, practically made for each other and inseparable. Your mother's heart was as giving as your father's. Of course, they quarreled, but afterward,
Madame
always loved
Monsieur
. It was the look in their eyes,
bébé
. There wasn't only passion. They truly cared for each other. It is a rare thing to see when a gentleman can marry a lady for love.”

Fara smiled. “
Oui
,” she agreed.

Chapter Six

Several days later, Fara was pondering the same idea. Indeed, it was a beautiful thing, love. And it was something she had always believed in despite the sways of society. How could she marry a stranger? How could she marry anyone without love? And did she really have a choice?

“What are your plans for the day, niece?”

Distracted, she shot him a look beneath the cover of her lashes. Her uncle had nearly caught her daydreaming at breakfast. “It is Monday. I am going to the market with Rosalie and Pierre so that I may plan the week's meals.”

“
Oui
, that is what you…” He seemed to be half-listening to her. He was really focused on his papers, on business.

She sighed. “Why,
oncle
…would you rather I do something else? As lady of the house, I plan the meals and organize the household. I keep tabs on the servants.” She set down her croissant. “Would you rather I check the stables or pay my regards to our neighbors? Visit, shall I?” She made an effort to disguise her sarcasm.

“No,
chère
. If it is on your agenda only. You may visit as well, perhaps even with your
ami
, Helene. Her father is reputable, I've heard. Do not bother with the stables though. I make those rounds as often as possible. You know your duty, Fara. Go to the market as planned.”

“
Oui
,
oncle
. Do you have plans?” An eyebrow lifted and he looked at her as if she was a dimwit and didn't realize that he was running a respectable business. She cleared her throat. “I only mean…shall I be expecting you for dinner and are there any guests you feel I should invite?”

He smiled in relief. “Actually, my business is taking me out of town. I will be staying in Nantes with a client. It is a timely process, I'm afraid, and I will be leaving shortly. However, I would like to come home. I will notify you if my plans change so that you may expect me tonight.”

“Of course,
oncle
.” She excused herself to leave the table and readied herself for a trip to the market.

Hours afterward, as she pushed through a crowd of men and women with her maid and her driver Pierre lugging two baskets behind them, Rosalie pointed to an amber-colored fruit. “From Spain,
Mademoiselle
. Shall we?”

Fara halted in her step and examined the fruit. She imagined a delicious platter she could persuade her cook to prepare. Orange-glazed lamb. “
Oui
, Rosalie. We will make the purchase.” But as she turned to speak to the peddler, she heard someone yell across the way. A man raced toward her in deliberate haste. She tensed in fear. “Pierre--”

He reached her before she could call to her driver for help and stopped abruptly. “I'm sorry,
Mademoiselle
. I did not mean to startle you, but I was sent…are you
Mademoiselle
Bellamont?” It seemed like eons until he caught his breath.

“
Oui
. What is it?” She looked down and in his hand he held a piece of parchment.
Oncle
, she thought. He had changed his mind after all. “You're a messenger?”

“
Oui
. I was to give you this. I could not find you at your residence. I was told you were in town.” He handed her the slip of paper.

She took it. “
Merci
,
Monsieur
.” She looked down and on the paper was a handwritten note:

We regret to inform you that your uncle, Michel de Bellamont, has passed on. Our physician here in Nantes claims that it was a natural death. We are sorry for your loss, Mademoiselle Bellamont. If there is anything else we can do, please feel free to ask.

The text blurred before her eyes. No, he was coming home to dinner. He wasn't dead, couldn't be. She read the message again. She knew no one would lie about such a thing. Suddenly, Fara could no longer feel the earth beneath her feet.

“
Mademoiselle
!”

Everything went black.

* * * *

They would carry his coffin through the town. It was the tradition of La Rochelle. Fara dressed hurriedly in the only black garment she owned, donning a black bonnet to cover her hair for she wasn't to show any female attributes when in mourning. She made her preparations with a resolve that had come over her as soon as she had woken from her spell on the street. It was odd that she had done that; not many things made her faint.

She would be alone now with a future as uncertain as the swells of the sea. Rosalie, fussing about her in the usual way, informed her that the procession approached. As quick and appropriate as she could muster, she and Rosalie left the house, falling into the lines of people. Fara did not want to walk with them, but it was the way it was done. They would walk all the way to the cemetery at the end of the long, winding road. Musicians fell into the line, creating a mournful melody. It was a familiar tune, but one she could not place. Surely she had heard it as a young girl. It carried a lilting tone, but somehow melancholic. As the funeral procession continued, Rosalie had dropped behind Fara in the processional. She felt alone again. It was hard to believe her uncle was gone, that part of her life was over in a sense. Fara trembled with the onset of grief.

A hand on her shoulder caused her to turn and look up into the tanned and chiseled face of her savior. She gasped and stillness came over her. She almost forgot about the funeral procession. But, no, he didn't want anything in particular; she could see it in his eyes. He was only there because of her, and he didn't want anything in return. She nodded and looked ahead to the procession. He knew her place and wouldn't keep her from doing what was required. She felt the heat from his body; his presence was the only comfort because still her uncle was dead and she'd loved him despite his set and offish ways.

At the cemetery, words were spoken by a priest, but Fara heard none of them, just as she had heard none of the words spoken by the man at Mass the day before. Since the news of her uncle's passing, the world had somehow gone silent or at least slowed down. Instead of words, she heard voices forming sounds without meaning. There was a continuous strain of noise muted by the roar in her head, a roar that chimed the finality of her life. When it was time for her to approach the coffin, she did in an obedient way, briefly touching it and releasing the bouquet of bougainvillea in her hand, a flower she had come to love since her parents' deaths. The roar did not cease, not even when the lines of people began to pull away from the cemetery, not even when she stepped away and started to make the path back home. At the entrance, a tall figure blocked her way.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed through set teeth. They had said goodbye. She did not understand why he would try to confront her. Two sides of her being warred with one another; the one that wanted to see him and the other that said she should not be with him in public.

“I am here to escort you back to your home. There are matters of estate to discuss.”

“Estate? You are not family!” She knew her tone increased and she looked around to be sure that everyone else had left the cemetery.

“No, but at the moment,
chère
, I am your only protector. So do accept my offer with gratitude.”

He left her no choice in the matter...society left her no choice. She let him take her hand and assist her into a carriage. When they arrived at the house, Grant made sure she was comfortable before he took his leave respectfully. His comment about discussing matters of estate had obviously been a way to keep her mind off of things. For a moment, she felt guilty for being harsh with him.

* * * *

Two days later, a man came to the house. Rosalie informed her of his presence and his request to speak with her. Fara had been absently brushing her hair before her vanity, staring into space. She did not know how long she had been in her room doing just that. Since her uncle's death, her mind had been in a lull, almost absent. She looked briefly in the mirror, noticed the pale cast of her face. She shook her head. It hardly mattered what she looked like; she was in mourning.

After the news from Rosalie, Fara nodded to her nursemaid and went downstairs. She stepped into the salon. A stout man stood near the fireplace. She thought she recognized him from some business he had consulted with her uncle about in the house. “
Monsieur
, you requested to see me?”

His gaze swept her face and ended there.
“
Oui, Mademoiselle
. I am René Lumas. I am your uncle's lawyer.” He took a deep breath. “There is business to discuss. It seems you have been mentioned in your uncle's will.”

“Regarding?”

“Regarding your future, of course. I'm sure he meant to provide for you in the event of something like this…”

She approached the man and sat on a nearby chair. “I…I could not be sure. You see, my uncle was a difficult man.”

One eyebrow quirked upward, yet he nodded. “I am aware, but surely your uncle had a sense of propriety where his family was concerned.”

Of course, she thought, so long as his proprietary actions benefited him alone. The lawyer watched her with apprehension, and she saw that countering his assumption would only annoy him. She forced a tight nod and a murmured agreement. “Is there some way I may help you,
Monsieur
?”

He frowned. “You wish to compensate me?”

She flicked her hand with an air of dismissal. “Nothing of the sort. I only wish to know if there are legal matters to discuss.”

“I see. No, that will not be necessary. I will return on Tuesday afternoon next week to read the will, and anyone who applies to your uncle's wishes will be present as well.”

“Are there many others,
Monsieur
?”

“Only a few. I must be going now.”

“That is all?” At his curt nod of dismissal, she countered, “Shall I show you out?”

“No,
Mademoiselle
, that will not be necessary.” He began to exit the salon before she touched his arm.

“
Monsieur
?”

“
Oui
?”

“Did my uncle…that is to say, might he have addressed the estate in his will?”

“I cannot answer that. You will know the pertinent information on Tuesday just like everyone else.”

“I see. Well, thank you, M
onsieur.
”

“
Oui
. It is a pity,
Mademoiselle
, that such a grievous event caused this meeting.”

“Indeed, a pity,” she agreed as he left the room. Was he truly regretful? He had spoken so matter-of-factly and avoided all of her attempts to gain any information about her uncle's property. The man probably thought she had no business being concerned. As if she was a mere possession.

Fara clenched her fists, frustrated. All she wanted to know was the truth and if she still had a right to live in her uncle's house. Or would she be thrown out if the will stated otherwise? She did not know, and she doubted that anyone believed she should know. She wondered if she had a life here after all.

* * * *

That night, she mulled over it. What if her uncle had not paid up on the house? She would have to leave, and where would she go then? Her uncle had been the epitome of responsibility; however, it had been known to happen to good people before.

She had known people in the past who had to leave their residences because the primary member of their family had not paid all of the expenses, and in his unfortunate passing, had left his family in need. What if that happened to her, and worst of all, to the servants? Where would they go? Hadn't her uncle provided for them too?

That night, she cried wholeheartedly for the first time…for many reasons. Her uncle's absence, her difficult situation, and the uncertainty of life.

Rosalie must have heard something in her own quarters on the lower level of the house because she appeared not long after, comforting her. “There, there,
bébé
. Twill' be all right.”

She cried softly into her nursemaid's lap. “They will take the house, I know it!”

“Shh. Certainly not before you are wed…”

“
Oui
? And who am I to wed?”

“Who else? Your fiancé,
Mademoiselle
. I'm certain
Monsieur
Bordeaux will still wed you.”

No. Nicholas Bordeaux could have nothing to do with her after her uncle's death. Surely she could have a choice about her future now.

“
Mademoiselle
, you have a guest…”

She struggled to sit up. “What do you mean, Rosalie?” Her tear-numbed eyes adjusted, and she saw him in the doorway. It seemed he would not take no for an answer.

“Shall I inquire to Pierre why he was not escorted to the library, why we were not informed of his presence? At this hour? Really it is not proper, mistress.”